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THE  PROSE  AND  POETICAL  WORKS 

or 

HEINRICH  HEINE 


Translated  tuith  Introductions  by 

CHARLES  GODFREY  LELAND 


IN  TWENTY  VOLUMES 


,  .--.-  \    v<l',    ■  V    ■  V^^    ■  •    *i    ■v'v 


•■•■^■>n 


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5^- 


HEINRICH    HEINE 


EMtlon  Oe  3Luse 

T/iu  Edition  of  the  Worts  of  Heinrich  Heine  «  limited 
to  One  Thoutand  numbered  and  registered  copies  for 
America. 

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This  is  Copy  No > 


♦>   t'-! 


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..■^«??f*7W\'^ 


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SHAKESPEARi: 
From  tlx  Portrait  b\  Martin  Dioeslmtt 


THE  WORKS 

Translated  by  Charles  Godfrey  Leld^nd 


■^ 


■&.--r: 


The    Works    of 

£1  einrich    Heine 

Translated  by 

Charles    Godfrey    Leland 


Florentine  Nights 


VOLUME   ONE 


ILLUSTRATED   WITH   PORTRAITS 


Printed  for  Subscribers  only  by 
CROSCUP  AND  STERLING  COMPANY 
NEW    YORK 


printed  by 

Ballantyne,  Hanson  &'  Co. 

Edinburgh 


LL.5  3 

V.    I 


INTRODUCTORY    NOTE. 

It  is  much  to  say  of  a  voluminous  writer  in  prose 

as  well  as  verse,  that,  though  he  may  have  left 

many  a  line  which,  for  one  reason  or  another,  he 

might  personally  have  wished  to  blot,  he  has  left 

few  that  can  be  spared  from  the  literature  of  the 

world.     This  may  justly  be  said  of  Heine,  but 

of  how  many  others  ?     Let  us  apply  the  same 

severe  test  to  greater  names  than  even  Heine's. 

Take  the  man  whose  mission  on  the  whole  most 

nearly  resembled  his — Voltaire.     Voltaire  was  in 

some  sense  the  mouthpiece  of  his  generation ;  he 

has  through  it  produced  the  deepest  efifect  on  all 

generations  to  come ;  he  has  left  immortal  things 

behind  him ;  but  the  project  of  a  complete  trans- 

s^^  lation  of  Voltaire  would  kindle  the  enthusiasm  of 

\\  no  publisher  and  no  public.     Take  the  greatest 

C^'  of  German  writers,  Goethe,  in   whom  we  most 

^  cheerfully  acknowledge  a  greater  than  Heine,  but 

b 


i 


/f 


vi  INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 

who  is  totally  unable  to  stand  the  test  indicated 
in  his  poetical  works  even,  to  say  nothing  of  his 
prose.  There  are  other  poets  of  Heine's  calibre 
of  whose  writings  we  would  not  lose  a  word ; 
but  Byron,  Burns,  and  Shelley  did  not  subject 
themselves  to  the  test  which  Heine  successfully 
underwent  of  writing  undying  things  in  prose : — 
philosophy,  and  criticism,  and  even  politics.  | 

If  we  must  account  for  this  singular  distinction, 
we  should  say  that  Heine,  more  than  any  of  the 
great  men  we  have  named,  except  Shelley,  was  a 
poet  by  the  grace  of  God,  and  that  he  carried  the 
happy  instinct  of  his  verse  into  his  prose.  As  a 
poet  he  was  essentially  a  Volksdichter — the  same 
sort  of  person,  that  is  to  say,  as  the  unknown 
musicians  whose  Border  Minstrelsies  and  Spanish 
Cancioneros  are  the  envy  and  admiration  of  an 
artificial  age.  Every  such  writer,  besides  the 
moral  endowment  of  feeling  and  the  sensuous  en- 
dowment of  melody,  is  necessarily  equipped  with 
two  intellectual  gifts,  perfect  lucidity  and  perfect 
proportion.  Imagine  such  a  man  to  be  at  the 
same  time  a  most  original  and  accurate  thinker, 
and  to  possess  in  the  discussion  of  grave  matters 
the  ease  and  brightness  and  symmetry  which 
have  constituted  his  charm  as  a  lyric  poet,  and  it 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE.  ifl 

will  be  seen  that  his  prose  may  be  as  well  worth 
translating  as  his  verse.  To  illustrate  the  mean- 
ing by  an  example  on  the  contrary  side,  Words- 
worth's prose  style,  though  noble  and  dignified, 
is  not  the  style  of  the  immortal  part  of  his  poetry. 
If  he  had  been  able  to  discuss  the  principles  of 
poetical  composition  and  the  Convention  of  Cintra 
in  the  style  of  "  Lucy  Gray,"  he  would  have  been 
not  merely  a  fine  essayist,  but  an  unique  figure  in 
literature.  No  one,  manifestly,  could  achieve  this 
without  a  special,  an  almost  miraculous  gift.  Heine 
actually  possessed  this  gift ;  and  hence  his  prose 
disquisitions,  descriptions,  satires,  and  the  rest, 
are  as  original  in  form  as  in  substance.  The  same 
charm  pervades  all  he  wrote,  and  hence,  what- 
ever judgment  may  be  passed  on  the  moral  char- 
acteristics of  his  work,  from  a  literary  point  of 
view  there  is  absolutely  nothing  in  it  which  a 
translator  is  not  justified  in  rendering — if  he  can. 
If  the  foreign  reader  fails  to  enjoy,  the  fault  is 
not  in  Heine,  but  in  his  own  want  of  preliminary 
acquaintance  with  Heine's  theme.  Writing  for  a 
German  public  on  themes  of  contemporary  con- 
cern, Heine  inevitably  presupposes  an  amount  of 
existing  knowledge  which  the  English  reader  will 
not  always  possess.      It  must  be  added,  however 


^ 


J^'t  ' 


▼iii  INTRODUCTORY  NOTE. 

— and  this  is  one  ^ery  good  reason  for  translating 
him — that  Heine  affords  a  very  potent  stimulus 
towards  the  acquisition  of  knowledge.  The  reader 
of  his  "  Romantic  School,"  for  instance,  who  may 
not  have  previously  heard  of  Tieck  and  Novalis, 
must  be  a  dull  sort  of  person  if  he  does  not  hence- 
forth feel  a  curiosity  respecting  them. 

A  still  more  important  aspect  of  Heine  is  his 
relation  to  the  creeds  and  circumstances  of  his 
century,  and  his  influence  in  shaping  European 
thought.  The  reader  who  would  wish  to  deter- 
mine how  far  Heine  will  repay  his  attention  in 
this  respect  is  advised  to  consult  the  masterly 
criticism  upon  him  in  Matthew  Arnold's  essays. 
Mr.  Arnold  regards  Heine  as  a  great  liberator,  not 
a  man  of  consummate  achievement  as  a  thinker, 
or  one  by  any  means  to  be  implicitly  followed  or 
unreservedly  extolled,  but  invaluable  as  a  dis- 
solvent, breaking  up  and  abolishing  opinions  and 
habits  which  have  become  mere  petrified  formulas, 
and  thus  preparing  the  way  for  new  things  which 
he  did  not  create  and  did  not  always  rightly  con- 
ceive. He  liked  to  be  called  the  German  Aris- 
tophanes, but  he  was  even  more  of  a  Socrates, 
whose  mission,  apart  from  his  poetical  gift,  it  was 
to  make  men  consider  whether  they  really  meant 


■tv- 


INTRODUCTORY  NOTE, 


what  they  said.  It  should  be  added  that,  perhaps 
in  virtue  of  his  supreme  poetical  endowment, 
his  insight  into  the  future  was  often  startling; 
and  that,  if  he  has  not  solved  the  riddles  of  his 
time,  no  one  has  stated  them  so  well.  A  com- 
plete translation  of  his  works,  then,  seems  as 
much  the  due  of  his  intellectual  significance  as 
of  his  matchless  literary  genius. 

R.   Gr. 


(■ 


■j^jfi'vr'r:''"'  ';i7  ^.  " 


; 


:?:rf?i.f:^  ■  «r:^'*^'^ -"SfjvrrS 


CONTENTS 

VOLUME  ONE 

PAGE 

Florentine  Nights i 

The  Memoirs  of  Herr  von  Schnabelewopski         .      93 
The  Rabbi  of  Bacharach 175 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

Shakespeare Frontispitce 

From  the  Portrait  by  MARTIN  Droeshout. 

Milan  Cathedral To  face  page     18 

William  of  Orange 1,       >i        132 

From  a  Portrait  Engraved  by  W.  HOLL. 


'iit^Sk^- 


,>-- 


•'  -4 


FLORENTINE   NIGHTS. 


FIRST  NIGHT. 

In  the  ante-room  Maximilian  found  the  physician, 
who  was  drawing  on  his  black  gloves.  "  I  am 
in  a  great  hurry,"  said  the  latter  hastily  ;  "  Signora 
Maria  has  not  slept  all  day,  and  only  just  now 
has  fallen  into  a  little  nap.  I  need  not  tell  you 
that  she  must  not  be  disturbed  by  any  noise, 
and  when  she  wakens  she  must  not  speak  for 
her  life !  She  must  lie  still,  not  move  in  the 
least — the  only  movement  permitted  her  is 
that  of  a  mental  nature.  I  beg  you — tell  her 
all  or  any  kind  of  fanciful  stories,  so  that  she 
will  only  listen  quietly." 

"Eest  assured,  doctor,"  replied  Maximilian, 
with  a  mournful  smile.  "  I  have  trained  myself 
for  a  talker,  and  will  not  let  her  speak.  And  I 
will  tell  her  fantastic  stuff  enough — as  much  as 
you  will     But  how  long  will  she  live  ? " 

"  I  am  in  a  great  hurry,"  replied  the  physician, 
and  disappeared- 

Black  Deborah  with  her  acute  ear  had  quickly 


r 


a  FLORENTINE  NIGHTS. 

recognised  the  step  of  the  new  comer,  and  softly 
opened  for  him  the  door.  At  his  nod  she  as 
quietly  left  the  chamber,  and  Maximilian  found 
himself  alone  by  his  lady  friend.  The  chamber 
was  dimly  lit  by  a  single  lamp,  which  cast  half 
fearful,  half  inquisitive  gleams  on  the  face  of 
the  beautiful  woman  who,  clad  entirely  in  white 
muslin,  lay  sleeping  calmly  on  a  green-silk  sofa. 

Silent,  with  folded  arms,  Maximilian  stood  a 
while  before  the  sleeper  and  regarded  the  beauti- 
ful limbs,  which  the  light  garb  rather  revealed 
than  hid,  and  every  time  when  a  strip  of  light 
fell  on  the  pale  face  his  heart  throbbed :  "  In 
God's  name ! "  he  murmured,  "  what  is  that  1 
What  memory  is  it  that  wakes  in  me  ?  Ah, 
I  know  now — this  white  form  on  the  green 
ground — yes — now  " 

At  that  instant  the  invalid  awoke,  and  as  if 
gazing  from  the  depth  of  a  dream,  the  soft  dark 
violet  eyes  looked  questioning — praying,  on  the 
friend.  "  Of  what  were  you  thinking  just  now, 
Maximilian?"  she  said,  with  that  terrible,  soft  voice, 
such  as  is  heard  from  those  who  suffer  from 
lung  complaint,  and  in  which  we  seem  to  hear 
the  prattle  of  a  child,  the  chirping  of  a  bird,  and 
the  death-rattle.  "  Of  what  were  you  thinking  ? " 
she  repeated,  and  raised  her  head  so  hastily  that 
the  long  locks  curled  about  it  like  gold  serpents 
frightened  up. 


FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  3 

"  For  Grod's  sake,"  cried  Maxiniilian,  as  he 
softly  pressed  her  down  again  on  the  sofa, 
"remain  quiet,  say  nothing;  I  will  tell  you 
all  that  I  think  or  feel — yes,  even  what  I 
don't  know. 

"  In  fact,"  he  continued,  "  I  do  not  know  ex- 
actly what  I  just  now  thought  and  felt.  Pictures 
from  childhood  swept  like  twilight  dreams  through 
my  souL  I  thought  of  my  mother's  chateau  ^ — 
of  its  garden  run  wild,  of  the  beautiful  marble 
statue  which  lay  in  the  green  grass.  I  called  it 
my  mother's  chateau,  but  I  beg  you,  of  my  life, 
do  not  understand  by  that  anything  magnificent 
or  grand.  I  have  always  been  accustomed  to  hear 
it  so  called.  My  father  laid  a  curious  emphasis 
on  '  the  castle,'  and  smiled  oddly  as  he  said  it. 
It  was  not  tUl  a  later  time  that  I  learned  the 
meaning  of  this  smile — when  I,  a  boy  of  twelve, 
went  with  my  mother  to  the  chateau.  It  was  my 
first  journey.  We  drove  all  day  through  a  thick 
forest,  whose  dark  thrills  I  shall  never  forget,  and 
it  was  not  till  twilight  that  we  first  paused  at  a 
long  cross-bar  which  separated  us  from  a  great 
meadow.  We  were  obliged  to  wait  almost  half- 
an-hour  before  a  '  boy '  came  from  a  mud  hut  hard 
by,  who  pushed  away  the  impediment  and  let  us 
in.      I   say   '  boy,'   because   old  Martha  always 

^  Sehloig — castle,  chateau,  a  country  yilla  of  a  superior  kind. 
Generally  a  castle,  but  not  invariably. 


'■fy'^-^^-fy-f 


4  FLORENTINE  NIGHTS. 

called  her  forty-year-old  nephew  by  this  term. 
This  youth,  in  order  to  receive  '  the  gracious 
quality,'  *  had  donned  the  old  livery  of  his  late 
uncle,  and  we  had  been  obliged  to  wait  until  he 
had  brushed  it  clean.  Could  he  have  had  more 
time  he  would  have  also  put  on  his  stockings ;  but, 
as  it  was,  his  long  bare  legs  were  in  good  keeping 
with  his  scarlet  coat.  Whether  he  wore  breeches 
under  it  I  do  not  know.  Our  servant  John,  who, 
like  me,  had  often  heard  of  '  the  chateau,'  made  a 
very  strange  face  when  the  *  boy '  led  us  to  the 
little  broken  building  where  the  late  Herr  had 
dwelt  But  he  was  startled  indeed  when  my 
mother  bade  him  bring  in  the  beds.  How  could 
he  suppose  there  were  no  beds  at  '  the  chateau '  ? 
And  the  order  of  my  mother  to  provide  sleeping 
comforts  he  had  either  never  heard  or  neglected 
it  as  superfluous  trouble. 

"  The  little  dwelling,  just  one  storey  high, 
which  had  not  boasted  in  its  best  days  more  than 
five  inhabitable  rooms,  was  now  a  pitiful  picture 
of  the  passed  away.  Wrecked  furniture,  ragged 
hangings  and  carpets,  not  one  window-pane  un- 
broken, the  floor  torn  up  here  and  there,  and 
everywhere  ugly  traces  of  the  most  outrageous 
acts  of  the  soldiery. 

*  Die  gnddige  Merrsehaft.  "  Quality"  is  still  used  by  D^roes 
in  America,  as  it  was  in  the  time  of  Queen  Anne,  to  signify 
aristocracy. 


/nw3?ti-  ^'.^-  rie/  \^*w '  '^  '^ 


FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  j 

"'Those  who  were  quartered  on  us  amused 
themselves  very  much  at  our  expense/  said  the 
'  boy/  with  a  stupid  smile.  My  mother  made  a 
aign  to  him  that  we  would  gladly  be  alone,  and 
while  he  busied  himself  with  John,  I  went  to  see 
the  garden,  which  also  wore  the  most  inconsol- 
able air  of  ruin.  The  great  trees  were  partly 
hacked  away,  partly  felled,  and  spiteful,  sneering 
parasites  rose  over  the  fallen  trunks.  Here  and 
there  one  could  recognise  the  way  amid  the  box- 
bushes  growing  wildly  out  of  trim.  Here  and 
there  too  stood  statues,  the  most  of  which  had  lost 
their  heads  or  at  least  their  noses.  I  remember 
a  Diana  whose  nether  limbs  were  overgrown 
with  dark  ivy  in  a  comical  fashion,  and  also  of 
a  goddess  of  plenty  from  whose  cornucopia 
flowed  rank,  poisonous  weeds.  One  statue  only 
had  been  spared — God  knows  how — from  the 
mischief  of  man  and  Time.  It  had  indeed  been 
hurled  from  its  pedestal  into  the  high  giass,  but 
it  lay  there  uninjured — a  marble  goddess,  with 
the  most  exquisitely  pure  features,  and  with  a 
finely  chiselled  noble  breast  which  gleamed  up 
from  the  high  grass  like  a  Greek  Apocalypse.  I 
was  almost  terrified  at  the  sight;  this  statue 
inspired  in  me  a  strange,  close,  feverish  terror, 
and  a  secret  bashfulness  kept  me  from  gazing 
long  at  its  lovely  mien. 

"  When  I  returned  to  my  mother  she  stood  by 


V 


-  '  -  ."I^"'.''.  T^'Wlfl '5v9W*T-' 


6  FLORENTINE  NIGHTS. 

I    ■ 

the  window,  lost  in  thought,  her  head  resting  on 
her  right  hand,  while  tears  ran  without  ceasing 
down  her  cheeks,  I  had  never  seen  her  weep 
like  this.  She  embraced  me  hastily  and  ten- 
derly, and  made  excuse  that  owing  to  John's 
neglect  I  could  not  have  a  proper  bed.  '  Old 
Martha,'  she  said,  '  is  very  ill,  and  cannot  give 
up  her  bed  for  you,  my  dear  child.  But  John 
can  arrange  the  cushions  from  the  coach  so  that 
you  can  sleep  on  them,  and  you  may  take  his 
cloak  for  covering.  I  will  sleep  here  on  straw ; 
this  was  the  bedroom  of  my  late  ^  father — it 
looked  far  better  once  than  it  now  does.  Leave 
me  alone.'  And  the  tears  ran  more  irrepressibly 
from  her  eyes. 

"  Whether  it  was  the  not  being  used  to  such 
a  bed,  or  to  my  excited  feelings,  I  could  not 
sleep.  The  moon  shone  so  directly  at  me 
through  the  broken  panes,  that  it  seemed  as  if  it 
would  lure  me  out  into  the  clear  summer  night. 
Whether  I  turned  to  the  right  side  or  the  left, 
whether  I  opened  or  impatiently  shut  my  eyes, 
I  could  think  of  nothing  but  the  beautiful 
marble  statue  which  I  had  seen  in  the  grass. 
I  could  not  understand  the  bashfulness  which 
seized  me  when   I  first  saw  it;  I  felt  vexed 

'  Sdig,  blessed,  is  used  for  late  or  deceased.  Hence,  as  Long> 
fellow  observed,  a  German  widow  always  speaks  of  ber  departed 
husband  as  "her  blessed  man." 


'tv-iW*^Jr!f!y^P^-: 


FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  f 

at  this  childish  feeling,  and  said  to  myself, 
'  To-morrow  I  will  kiss  thee,  thou  beautiful 
marble  face;  kiss  thee  on  the  lovely  comer  of 
the  mouth  where  the  lips  melt  into  such  a  charm- 
ing dimple  ! '  And  then  an  impatience  such  as  I 
had  never  before  felt  rippled  through  all  my  limbs, 
I  could  not  resist  the  strange  impulse,  and  at  last 
I  jumped  up  boldly  and  said:  'What  does  it 
matter  if  I  kiss  thee  even  now,  beautiful  form ! ' 
"  I  stole  softly  from  the  house,  lest  my  mother 
should  hear,  which  was  aU  the  easier  because 
the  entrance,  though  it  bore  a  great  coat-of- 
arms,  had  no  door,  and  hastily  wound  my  way 
through  the  shrubbery  of  the  wasted  garden. 
There  was  not  a  sound — all  rested  silently  and 
solemnly  in  the  calm  moonshine.  The  shadows 
of  the  trees  seemed  to  be  nailed  to  the  ground. 
There  in  the  green  grass  lay  the  beautiful  god- 
dess, as  immovable  as  all  around ;  but  her  lovely 
limbs  seemed  to  be  fettered,  not  by  petrifying 
death,  but  by  quiet  slumber,  and  as  I  drew  near 
I  almost  feared  lest  she  might  be  wakened  by 
the  lightest  sound.  I  held  my  breath  as  I  bent 
over  to  behold  her  beautiful  face ;  a  shuddering, 
troubled  fear  seemed  to  repel  me  from,  and  a 
youthful  lustyhood  to  attract  me  to  her;  my 
heart  beat  as  if  I  were  about  to  commit  a  murder, 
and  at  last  I  kissed  the  beautiful  goddess  with  a 
passion,  a  tendemesSj  and  a  desperation  such  as  I 


t-. 


8  FLORENTINE  NIGHTS. 

never  felt  in  my  life  from  any  kiss.  Nor  can  I 
ever  forget  the  grimly  sweet  emotion  which  ran 
through  all  my  soul  as  the  comforting,  blessing 
coldness  of  those  marble  lips  touched  mine.  .  .  . 
And  so,  Maria,  as  I  just  now  stood  before  you, 
and  I  saw  you  lying  in  your  white  muslin  dress 
on  the  green  sofa,  your  appearance  reminded  me 
of  the  white  marble  image  in  the  green  grass- 
Had  you  slept  longer  my  lips  could  not  have 
resisted  " 

"  Max  !  Max  ! "  cried  the  woman  from  the 
depths  of  her  soul.  "  Terrible !  You  know 
that  a  kiss  from  your  mouth  " 

"  Ah — only  be  silent ;  I  know  that  would  be 
something  terrible  to  you !  Do  not  look  at  me 
so  imploringly !  I  do  not  doubt  your  feelings, 
although  their  deepest  ground  lies  hidden  from 
me.  I  have  never  dared  to  press  my  lips  to 
yours  " 

But  Maria  did  not  allow  him  to  conclude. 
She  had  grasped  his  hand,  covered  it  with  earnest 
kisses,  and  said,  smiling :  "  Pardon  !  pardon  !  But 
go  on  and  tell  me  more  of  your  amour.  How 
long  did  you  love  the  marble  beauty  whom  you 
kissed  in  the  garden  of  your  mother's  chateau  ? " 

"  We  left  the  next  day,"  replied  Maximilian, 
"and  I  never  saw  its  beautiful  form  again. 
But  a  strange  passion  for  marble  statues  ever 
afterwards  inspired  me,  and  I  felt  even  to-day 


^'WT^r?^^^''^7^^vT  ■^^'i^^r^^^- 


FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  9 

its  irresistible  power.  I  came  from  the  Lorenzo, 
the  library  of  the  Medici,  and  found  myself,  I 
know  not  how,  in  the  chapel  where  that  most 
magnificent  of  the  races  of  Italy  has  built  itself 
a  sleeping-place  of  gems,  and  rests  in  peace.  A 
full  hour  I  remained  absorbed  in  gazing  at 
the  marble  image  of  a  woman  whose  powerful 
frame  attests  the  bold  skill  of  Michael  Angelo, 
while  the  whole  form  is  inspired  with  an  ethereal 
sweetness  such  as  we  are  not  accustomed  to 
expect  in  that  master.  All  the  realm  of  dreams, 
with  all  its  silent  blisses,  is  enchanted  into  this 
marble ;  a  tender  repose  dwells  in  the  beautiful 
limbs,  a  soothing  moonlight  courses  through  its 
veins :  it  is  the  Night  of  Mifchael  Angelo  Buona- 
rotti.  Oh  !  how  gladly  would  I  sleep  in  the 
arms  of  this  Night !  ^ 

*  A  strange  book  might  be  written  on  this  subject  of  men 
who  have  literally  loved  statues,  and  Bonifacius  has  in  his 
Bittoria  Ludiera,  or  Strange  Stories,  collected  a  number  of 
instances  from  antiquity  of  men  thus  inspired.  There  is  a 
story  current  in  Florence  of  an  Englishman  who  was  enamoured 
of  the  Venus  di  Medicis.  Most  remarkable  of  all  the  literature 
on  this  subject,  which  Heine  seems  to  have  studied  thoroughly, 
is  a  chapter  on  Gli  Amort  SacriUgi,  in  a  book  entitled  DdU  Biz- 
tarerie  Aeademiehe  di  Gio,  Francesco  Loredano,  Venice,  1667. 
This  monograph,  which  certainly  inspired  Heine  in  these  pas- 
sages, is  supposed  to  be  a  speech  by  Amides  of  Athens,  defend- 
ing, or  rather  vindicating,  himself  from  the  accusation  of  having 
made  love  to  a  statue  of  Venus.  It  is  a  masterpiece  of  aesthetic 
cynicism.  There  are  indications  in  other  works  by  Heine  that 
he  had  read  this  book.     A  reduetio  ad  ahturdum  of  this  freak  of 


v>? 


10  FLORENTINE  NIGHTS. 

"  The  painted  forms  of  women,"  continued 
Maximilian,  after  a  pause,  "have  never  inter- 
ested me  so  deeply  as  statues.  I  was  only  once 
in  love  with  a  picture.  It  was  a  wonderfully 
beautiful  Madonna  in  a  church  in  Cologne.  I 
was  at  that  time  a  zealous  church-goer,  and  all 
my  soul  was  sunk  in  the  mysticism  of  Catholicism. 
I  would  then,  like  the  Spanish  cavalier,  have 
gladly  fought  every  day  for  the  Immaculate 
Conception  of  Mary,  the  Queen  of  the  Angels, 
the  fairest  lady  of  heaven  and  of  earth.  I  inter- 
ested myself  in  the  whole  Holy  Family,  and  took 
oflf  my  hat  with  special  friendliness  before  any 
image  of  Saint  Joseph.  But  this  state  did  not 
last  long,  and  I  left  the  Virgin  almost  without 
ceremony  as  soon  as  I  became  acquainted  in  a 
gallery  of  antiquities  with  a  Greek  nymph  who 
kept  me  long  a  captive  in  her  marble  fetters." 

"  And  you  always  loved  only  chiselled  or 
painted  women  ? "  tittered  Maria. 

"  No !  I  have  loved  dead  women  too,"  replied 
Maximilian,  as  a  very  grave  expression  came  over 
his  features.  He  did  not  observe  that  as  he  said 
this  Maria  seemed  to  shrink  as  if  terrified,  and 
he  continued  in  a  calm  voice — 

love  is  furnished  in  Mr.  F.  Anstey's  witty  novelette,  The  Tinted 
Venus,  where,  instead  of  a  man  being  enamoured  of  a  statue,  a 
statue,  vivified,  becomes  enamoured  of  a  man.  The  story  of 
Pygmalion  and  Galatea  is  thus  reversed  with  the  happiest  effect 
— Trandaior. 


'.?-,:     =fT5      y"^^~S!f^  -'^ 


FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  1 1 

"  Yes,  it  is  very  strange  how  I  once  fell  in 
love  with  a  girl  after  she  had  been  dead  for 
seven  years.  When  I  first  became  acquainted 
with  little  Very,  I  was  extremely  pleased  with 
her.  For  three  days  I  was  deeply  interested  in 
her,  and  took  the  greatest  pleasure  in  all  that 
she  did  and  said,  and  in  every  expression  of  her 
piquant,  exquisite  self,  without  being  in  the 
least  sentimentally  inclined.  Nor  was  I  indeed 
moved  to  any  extravagant  grief  when  I  learned, 
some  months  later,  that  she  had  suddenly  died 
in  consequence  of  a  nervous  fever.  I  forgot  her 
entirely,  and  I  am  sure  that  for  years  I  never 
thought  once  about  her. 

"  Seven  years  had  passed  away,  and  I  found 
myself  in  Potsdam,  determined  to  enjoy  the  whole 
beautiful  summer  in  undisturbed  solitude.  I  did 
not  associate  with  any  one ;  my  only  company 
was  the  statues  which  are  in  the  garden  of  Sans 
SoucL 

"  It  happened  one  day  that  certain  features, 
and  a  strangely  winsome  voice  and  gesture,  sud- 
denly recurred  to  me,  without  my  being  able  to 
identify  the  person  whom  they  characterised. 
Nothing  is  more  annoying  than  such  stumbling 
about  among  old  memories,  and  I  was  therefore 
surprised  as  with  joy  when  I,  after  a  few  days, 
all  at  once  recalled  little  Very,  and  found  that  it 
was  her  charming  and  forgotten  form  which  had 


la  FLORENTINE  NIGHTS. 

80  strangely  moved  ma  Indeed  I  rejoiced  over 
this  discovery  like  one  who  has  quite  unex- 
pectedly found  again  his  most  intimate  friend. 
The  faded  lines  gradually  took  colour,  and  at 
last  the  sweet  little  one  seemed  to  be  again 
before  me — smiling,  pouting,  witty,  and  more 
beautiful  than  ever.  From  this  time  the  darling 
image  would  not  leave  me,  it  filled  all  my  soul ; 
wherever  I  went  or  staid,  staid  or  went,  it 
was  by  my  side — spoke  with  me,  laughed  with 
me,  always  pleasantly  and  gently,  yet  without 
any  special  tenderness.  But  I  was  every  day 
more  and  more  enchanted  by  this  form,  which 
ever  became  more  and  more  real  to  ma  It  is 
easy  to  call  spirits,  but  hard  to  send  them  again 
to  their  dark  Nothing — they  look  at  us  then  so 
pitifully  and  imploringly  that  our  hearts  cannot 
resist  such  earnest  prayers.  And  as  I  could  not 
tear  myself  away,  the  end  was  that  I  fell  in 
love  with  little  Very,  after  she  had  been  dead 
for  seven  years.  I 

"  So  I  lived  for  six  months  in  Potsdam,  com- 
pletely absorbed  in  this  love.  I  avoided  more 
carefully  than  ever  any  touch  with  the  outer 
world,  so  that  even  if  any  one  in  the  street  came 
too  near  me  I  felt  a  most  uncomfortable  sen- 
sation. I  had,  as  regards  any  rencontre  with 
people,  such  a  repulsion  as  night- wandering  spirits 
feel,  for  it  is  said  that  when  they  meet  a  living 


."«■<'•,■*'•**•» 


r -T  •  .<-^3-'~  •'■''H^.''rwT>»^xiir^^  v?:?^^;???^"'?.  ■;■■■:  ■•-•'     ■•.-   r.-''^-^' 


FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  13 

human  being  they  are  as  much  terrified  as  the 
one  who  sees  them.  By  chance  there  came 
through  Potsdam  a  traveller  whom  I  could  not 
avoid — my  brother.  At  seeing  him,  and  hearing 
from  him  the  last  news  of  the  day,  I  awoke  as 
from  a  deep  dream,  and,  as  if  shrinking  with 
alarm,  I  suddenly  felt  in  what  a  horrible  soli- 
tude I  had  so  long  been  living.  I  had  during 
this  time  not  even  remarked  the  course  of  the 
seasons,  and  I  regarded  with  amazement  the  trees, 
which,  having  long  lost  their  leaves,  were  now- 
covered  with  autumnal  hoar-frost.  I  soon  left 
Potsdam  and  little  Very,  and  in  another  city, 
where  important  business  awaited  me,  I  was,  by 
means  of  sharp  pressure  and  urgent  circumstance, 
soon  driven  into  harsh  reality. 

"  Ah,  heaven  ! "  continued  Maximilian,  while 
a  painful  smile  moved  his  upper  lip,  "  how  the 
living  women  with  whom  I  then  came  into  un- 
avoidable contact  tormented  me — delicately  tor- 
mented me — with  their  pouting,  jealousing,  and 
gasping !  In  how  many  balls  was  I  obliged  to 
trot  around  with  them,  in  how  much  gossiping 
scandal  must  I  be  mingled  ?  What  restless 
variety,  what  joy  in  lying,  what  kissing-treachery 
and  poisoned  flowers !  Those  ladies  knew  ho\r 
to  utterly  spoil  for  me  all  joy  and  happiness  and 
love,  so  that  for  a  time  I  became  a  woman-hater, 
who  damned  the  whole  sex.     It  was  with  me 


"V.  WV-T^ 


•  ^-"f ""!■  "TBVf'Vv'  ^  .7f 


14  FLORENTINE  NIGHTS. 

something  as  it  was  with  the  French  officer  who, 
during  the  Eussian  campaign,  was  rescued  with 
trouble  from  the  icy  trenches  of  the  Beresina, 
but  who  from  that  time  had  such  an  antipathy 
for  everything  frozen  that  he  repelled  with  horror 
even  the  sweetest  and  most  delicious  ices  at  Tor- 
toni's.  Yes,  the  memory  of  the  Beresina  of  love 
which  I  then  passed  made  for  a  time  detestable 
the  daintiest  dames — women  like  angels,  girls 
like  vanilla-sherbet " 

"  I  beg  you,"  cried  Maria,  "  do  not  abuse 
women  !  That  is  the  thrashed-out  way  of  speak- 
ing among  men — mere  chaff  and  cant.  After  all. 
to  be  happy  you  must  have  women." 

"  Oh  ! "  sighed  Maximilian,  "  that  is  true,  of 
course.  But  women  have  but  one  way  to  make 
men  happy,  and  thirty  thousand  to  torment 
them." 

"Dear  friend,"  replied  Maria,  while  she  sup- 
pressed a  smile,  "  I  speak  of  the  harmony  of  two 
souls  in  tune.  Have  you  never  felt  this  happi- 
ness ?  But  I  see  a  strange  blush  on  your  cheeks 
— speak,  Max  ! " 

"  It  is  true,  Maria ;  I  feel  Hke  a  boy  at  con- 
fessing to  you  the  fortunate  love  which  once 
made  me  infinitely  happy.  Its  memory  is  not 
lost  to  me,  and  my  soul  often  retreats  to  its  cool 
shade  when  the  burning  dust  and  noonday  heat 
of  life  become  intolerabla      But  I  am   not  in 


.•-veB?>?v;^'^  *  .  >' '^  ■  "^ '    ''^'^r^^^j'^^7 > "  i*'~ 'X  ..s' '■  ■  T^.,  ■  ■'    :      .  - " ■  "r  .^-,  '^^rs»^ 


FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  15 

condition  to  give  you  a  clear  idea  of  this  loved 
one.  She  was  of  such  ethereal  nature  that  she 
could  only  appear  to  me  in  dreams.  I  think, 
Maria,  that  you  have  no  commonplace  prejudice 
against  dreams,  for  these  nightly  phenomena  have 
as  much  reality  as  those  rougher  images  of  the 
day  which  we  can  handle,  and  with  which  we 
are  often  defiled.  Yes,  it  was  in  dreams  that  I 
saw  that  dear  and  lovely  being,  who,  above  all 
others,  helped  to  make  life  happy.  I  can  tell 
you  little  as  to  her  appearance.  I  really  cannot 
accurately  describe  her  features.  Her  face  was 
unlike  anything  which  I  ever  saw  before  or  since. 
So  far  as  I  can  remember  it  was  not  white  and 
rosy,  but  all  of  one  tone — a  softly  crimsoned  pale 
brunette,  and  transparent  as  crystal  The  charm 
of  this  face  consisted  neither  in  absolutely  perfect 
symmetry  nor  in  interesting  liveliness ;  its  char- 
acter lay  far  more  in  an  enchanting  yet  terrible 
truthfulness.  It  was  a  face  full  of  conscious 
love  and  graceful  goodness ;  it  was  more  a  soul 
than  a  face,  and  therefore  I  have  never  been 
quite  able  to  present  it.^  The  eyes  were  soft  as 
flowers ;  the  lips  somewhat  pale,  but  winsomely 
curved.  She  wore  a  silk  dressing-gown  of  corn- 
flower blue — this  was  aU  her  dress.  The  neck 
and  feet  were  bare,  and  the  delicate  tenderness 

^  Vergegenwdrtigen — "  To  bring  it  before  (me)."     Oegenwart 
is,  however,  "  the  present."     To  recall  or  realise  it. 


1 6  FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  ■ 

of  the  limbs  often  peeped  as  if  stealthily  through 
the  slight,  soft  garment.  Nor  can  I  clearly  set 
forth  the  words  which  we  spoke;  I  can  only 
remember  that  we  boimd  ourselves  to  one  an- 
other, and  that  we  caressed  and  comforted  one 
another,  joyfully  and  happily,  frankly  and  con- 
fidingly, like  bridegroom  and  bride,  or  almost 
like  brother  and  sister.  And  we  often  did  not 
talk  at  all,  but  gazed  into  each  other's  eyes,  and 
in  this  blissful  beholding  we  remained  for  eter- 
nities. How  I  aiwke  I  know  not,  but  I  long 
revelled  in  the  after-feelings  of  this  happy  love. 
I  was  long  intoxicated  with  unheard-of  delight ; 
the  yearning  depth  of  my  heart  was  full  of  hap- 
piness ;  a  joy  before  unknown  seemed  to  spread 
over  all  my  feelings,  and  I  remained  glad  and 
gay,  though  I  never  again  saw  the  loved  one  of 
my  dreams.  But  had  I  not  enjoyed  whole  eter- 
nities in  her  glance  ?  And  she  indeed  knew  me  too 
well  not  to  know  also  that  I  love  no  repetitions." 

"  Truly,"  cried  Maria,  "  you  are  un  homme  d 
bonne  fortune.  But  tell  me,  was  Mademoiselle 
Laurence  a  marble  statue  or  a  picture,  a  dear 
girl,  or  a  dream  ? " 

"  Perhaps  all  together,"  replied  Maximilian, 
very  seriously. 

"  I  can  well  believe,  dear  friend,  that  this  love 
was  of  a  rather  doubtful  substance.  And  when 
will  you  tell  me  this  story  ? "  ! 


^fv"-vr  ■ 


FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  «1 

"  To-morrow.  It  is  long,  and  I  am  tired  to- 
day. I  have  been  in  the  opera,  and  have  too 
much  music  in  my  ears." 

"  You  go  a  great  deal  to  the  opera,  Max,  and 
1 1  believe  that  it  is  more  to  see  than  to  hear." 

"  You  are  quite  right,  Maria ;  I  really  go  to 
the  opera  to  see  the  faces  of  the  beautiful  Italian 
women.  True,  they  are  pretty  enough  even  out- 
side the  theatre,  and  an  investigator  into  history 
could,  from  the  ideality  of  their  features,  easily 
trace  the  influence  of  the  formative  ^  arts  on  the 
forms  of  the  Italian  people.  Here  Nature  has 
taken  back  from  the  artists  the  capital  which 
she  once  lent ;  and  lo  !  it  has,  in  the  most  enrap- 
turing manner,  paid  compound  interest.  The 
sense  of  the  Beautiful  has  penetrated  all  the 
people ;  and  as  the  flesh  once  acted  on  the  spirit, 
so  the  spirit  now  works  upon  the  flesh.  And 
the  devotions  before  those  beautiful  Madonnas, 
those  lovely  altar-pieces,  which  as  Madonnas  sink 
into  the  soul  of  the  bridegroom  while  the  bride  is 
sensuously  impressed  by  a  handsome  saint,  are  not 
in  vain.  From  such  elective  affinities  a  race  of 
human  beings  has  sprung  which  is  even  more 
beautiful  than  the  charming  soil  on  which  it 
springs,  or  the  sunny  heaven  which  flashes  round 

^  Der  Einjluss  der  hildenden  Kiinste.  The  fine  or  cultured 
arts  which  shape  material  and  thereby  mind.  Plastic  arts  la 
the  usual  but  less  truthful  equivalent. 


l8  FLORENTINE  NIGHTS. 

i 

it  like  a  golden  frame.^  The  men  do  not  interest 
me  much  unless  they  are  painted  or  sculptured, 
and  I  leave  to  you,  Maria,  aU  possible  enthusiasm 
for  those  handsome,  supple  Italians  who  have 
such  wild  black  beards  and  noble  aquiline  noses, 
and  such  soft,  crafty  eyes.  They  say  the  Lom- 
bards are  the  finest  men.  I  have  never  investi- 
gated them  very  closely ;  I  have  only  earnestly 
studied  the  Lombard  women,  and  these  I  declare 
are  really  as  beautiful  as  they  are  famed  to  be. 
But  they  must  even  in  the  Middle  Ages  have 
been  fairly  fair.  It  is  said  that  the  beauty  of 
the  ladies  of  Milan  was  the  reason  of  the  secret 
impulse  which  sent  Francis  the  First  on  his  ItaUan 
campaign.  The  knightly  king  was  doubtless 
desirous  of  knowing  whether  his  spiritual  little 
cousins,  the  kinsfolk  of  his  godmothers,  were 
as  beautiful  as  he  had  heard  boasted.  Poor 
rogue  !  he  paid  dearly  at  Pavia  for  his  curiosity. 
"  But  the  full  beauty  of  these  Italian  women 
is  first  seen  when  their  faces  are  lighted  up  by 
music.  I  say  lighted  up,  because  the  effect  of 
music,  as  I  have  seen  it  in  the  opera,  on  the  faces 

*  This  is  very  beautiful,  but  of  doubtful  truth.  While  there 
is  much  beauty  and  refinement  among  the  more  prosperous  classes 
in  Italy,  it  is  unquestionably  true  that  a  majority  of  the  Italian 
emigrants  who  come  to  the  United  States  are  altogether  the 
worst  and  most  degraded-looking  foreigners  in  the  country,  being 
rivalled  in  this  respect  only  by  those  from  the  Slavonian  slums  of 
Hungary  and  Austria.  I  have  seen  thousands  of  these  emigrants, 
who  come  almost  entirely  from  Southern  Italy. — Trantlator. 


/cr 


FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  If 

of  beautiful  women,  is  quite  like  those  effects  of 
light  and  shadow  which  astonish  us  when  we  see 
statues  in  the  night  by  torchlight.  Such  marble 
images  then  reveal  in  the  terrifying  truth  their 
indwelling  spirit  and  awful  silent  secrets.  In  like 
manner  the  whole  life  of  the  beautiful  Italians 
shows  itself  to  us  when  we  see  them  in  the  opera ; 
the  varying  melodies  then  waken  in  their  souls 
an  array  of  feelings,  memories,  wishes,  and  woes, 
which  at  once  speak  out  in  the  movements  of  their 
features,  in  their  blushing,  their  paleness,  and 
even  in  their  eyes.  He  who  can  read  may  then 
read  in  their  beautiful  faces  many  sweet  and  in- 
teresting things,  stories  as  strange  as  the  novels 
of  Boccaccio,  feelings  as  tender  as  the  sonnets  of 
Petrarch,  whims  as  odd  as  the  Ottaverime  of 
Ariosto — often  enough,  too,  frightful  treachery  and 
sublime  evil  as  poetic  as  the  Hell  of  Dante.  Yes, 
it  is  worth  while  to  look  up  at  the  boxes.  If  the 
men  would  only  not  meanwhile  express  their  in- 
spiration with  such  frightful  noise.  This  insane 
applause  in  an  Italian  theatre  becomes  annoying. 
But  music  is  the  soul  of  these  people,  their  life, 
their  national  cause.  In  other  countries  there 
are  certainly  musicians  who  equal  the  greatest 
Italian  celebrities,  but  there  is  no  musical  multi- 
tude like  this.  Music  is  represented  here  in 
Italy,  not  by  individuals,  but  reveals  itself  in  the 
whole  population ;  it  has  become  the  people  itseli 


20  FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  i 

Among  us  in  the  North  it  is  quite  otherwise; 
there  music  has  become  individual,  and  is  called 
Mozart  or  Meyerbeer.  And,  more  than  that, 
when  we  closely  examine  the  best  which  such 
Northern  musicians  offer  us,  we  find  in  it  Italian 
sunshine  and  orange  perfume  which  belong  much 
more  to  beautiful  Italy,  the  home  of  music,  than 
to  our  Germany.  Yes,  Italy  will  ever  be  the 
home  of  music,  even  if  its  great  Maestri  sink 
into  the  grave  or  grow  silent,  even  though  Bellini 
die  and  Eossini  is  mute."  -  ! 

"  True,"  said  Maria,  "  Rossini  has  long  been 
still ;  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  for  ten  years." 

"  That  is  perhaps  a  jest  of  his,"  replied  Maxi- 
milian. "  He  wishes  to  show  that  the  name  of 
the  *  Swan  of  Pesaro,'  which  has  been  given  him, 
is  utterly  inappropriate.  Swans  sing  at  the  end 
of  their  lives,  but  Eossini  has  become  silent  in 
the  middle  of  his.  And  I  think  that  there  he 
did  well,  and  proved  himself  to  be  a  genius.  An 
artist  who  has  only  talent  feels  to  the  end  of  his 
life  the  impulse  to  work  it  out ;  he  is  goaded  by 
ambition ;  he  feels  that  he  is  always  short  of  per- 
fection, and  he  is  impelled  to  attain  to  the  highest. 
But  genius  has  already  given  us  his  highest  pos- 
sible work ;  he  is  content ;  he  scorns  the  world 
and  petty  ambition,  and  goes  home  as  Shakespeare 
did,  or  promenades,  smiling  and  jesting,  on  the 
Boulevard    des   Italiens  in  Paris,  like  Joachim 


FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  si 

KossinL  If  the  genius  enjoys  fair  physical 
health  he  may  live  in  this  fashion  a  long  time 
after  he  has  completed  his  masterpieces,  or,  as 
people  say,  has  fulfilled  his  mission.  It  is  a  mere 
prejudice  or  fancy  for  men  to  imagine  that  genius 
must  die  young.  I  think  that  from  thirty  to 
forty  years  is  believed  to  be  the  fatal  limit  of  such 
lives.  How  often  I  have  teased  poor  Bellini  with 
this,  and  prophesied  that  he  in  his  quality  as 
genius  must  die  as  soon  as  he  should  attain  the 
dangerous  age.  Strange,  in  spite  of  my  jesting 
tone,  he  tormented  himself  over  this  prophecy ;  he 
called  me  his  jettatore^  and  always  made  the  sign 
of  the  jettaUira.  He  wished  so  much  to  live ; 
he  had  such  a  passionate  antipathy  to  death  that 
he  would  not  hear  it  mentioned.  He  was  afraid 
of  it  as  a  child  who  fears  to  sleep  in  the  dark. 
He  was  a  good,  dear  child  himself,  sometimes 
rather  naughty ;  but  one  only  need  threaten  him 
with  his  early  death,  and  he  became  at  once  whim- 
pering and  praying,  and  made  the  jettaiura  with 
his  two  uplifted  fingers.  .  .  .  Poor  BeUini ! " 

"  Then  you  knew  him  personally  ?     Was  he 
handsome  ? " 

^  Jettatore.  One  who  has  the  evil  eye,  and  casts  {j'etta)  its  in- 
fluence on  others.  The  sign  to  avert  it  is  made  in  Southern 
Italy  by  grasping  the  middle  and  ring  finger  with  the  thumb 
and  throwing  out  the  fore  and  little  finger  to  resemble  horns. 
In  Tuscany  it  is  more  commonly  lafiea,  or  cattagna,  that  is,  clos* 
ing  the  fist,  so  that  the  thumb  protrudes  between  the  third 
and  middle  finger. 


1 


aa  FLORENTINE  NIGHTS. 

"  He  was  not  plain.  You  see  that  we  men 
also  cannot  answer  affirmatively  when  such  a 
question  is  put  to  us  regarding  one  of  our  own 
sex.  He  was  of  tall,  slender  form,  as  one  who 
had  suddenly  shot  up,  who  moved  and  gestured 
daintily,  I  might  say  coquettishly,  always  d  quatre 
4pingles ;  ^  regular  features,  rather  long  and  pale ; 
light  blonde,  almost  golden  hair,  frisid  in 
little  locks ;  a  very  high  and  noble  forehead,  a 
straight  nose,  very  light  blue  eyes,  a  beautifully 
proportioned  mouth,  and  round  chin.  His  traits 
had  in  them  something  vague,  devoid  of  character 
or  milk-like,  and  in  this  milk-face  there  often 
curled  sweet-sourly  an  expression  of  pain.  This 
anguished  look  supplied  in  Bellini's  face  the  want 
of  wit  and  spirit,^  but  it  was  a  pain  without  depth; 
it  shone  dimly  and  without  poetry  in  his  eyes, 
and  quivered  without  passion  on  his  lips.  This 
flat,  insipid  suffering  seemed  to  be  affected  by  the 
young  maestro  after  a  bygone  fashion.  His  hair 
was  curled  in  such  a  dreamy-visionary,  melan- 
choly manner,  his  clothes  fitted  his  dainty  form 
so  yearningly  and  sentimentally,  he  carried  his 
little  bamboo  cane  so  idyllically,  that  he  always 
reminded  me  of  those  young,  old-fashioned  lovers 
whom  we  see  in  rococo-shepherd  plays  acting 
affectedly    with    ribboned    crooks    and    light- 

^  Tiri  d  quatre  epingles.     Said  of  one  who  has  taken  extreme 
pains  to  be  well  or  showily  dressed. 
^  Oeitt,  etprit.  I 


FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  23 

coloured  jackets  and  beautiful  little  breeches! 
And  his  gait  was  so  maidenly,  so  elegant,  so 
ethereal !  The  whole  man  looked  like  a  sighing 
swain  en  escarpins.  The  ladies  doated  on  him, 
but  I  doubt  whether  he  ever  inspired  a  great 
passion.  To  me  his  personal  appearance  always 
had  in  it  something  drolly  unpleasant,  the  real 
reasOTi  for  which  was  perhaps  his  manner  of 
speaking  French.  For  though  he  had  lived 
several  years  in  France,  he  spoke  its  language  so 
badly  that  its  like  was  not  to  be  heard  even  in 
England.  I  will  not  say  that  he  spoke  it  ladly, 
for  the  word  had  would  here  be  entirely  too  good. 
One  must  say  outrageously,  incestuously,  world- 
destroyingly — as  a  cataclysm.  Yes,  when  one 
was  in  society  with  him,  and  he  like  a  public 
executioner  broke  the  poor  French  words  on 
the  wheel,  and  without  sign  or  trembling  dealt 
out  a  tremendous  coq  d  Vdrie,  one  felt  as  if  the 
very  world  must  split  as  with  a  thunder-crack. 
A  deathly  stillness  then  spread  over  the  entire 
hall,  for  death  himself  seemed  to  be  painting 
terror  on  every  face  with  chalk  and  cinnabar; 
ladies  knew  not  whether  they  should  faint  or 
fly;  men  looked  in  sudden  amazement  at  their 
breeches  to  realise  that  they  really  wore  such 
things ;  and,  what  was  worst  of  all,  this  horror 
awoke  at  the  same  time  a  convulsive,  maddening 
desire  to  laugh  which  could  hardly  be  repressed. 


t4  FLORENTINE  NIGHTS. 

Therefore  if  any  one  sat  by  Bellini  in  society,  his 
neighbourhood  inspired  a  certain  anxious  appre- 
hension which  was  sure  to  excite  a  horrible 
interest  at  once  attractive  and  repulsive.  Very 
often  his  unconscious  puns  were  simply  amusing, 
and  in  their  monkey-like  unmeaningness  re- 
minded one  of  the  castle  of  his  fellow-country- 
man, the  Prince  of  Pallagonia,  which  is  described 
by  Goethe  in  his  Italian  journey  as  a  museum 
of  baroque  eccentricities  and  rubbishy  mon- 
strosities, huddled  together  without  rhyme  or 
reason.  As  Bellini  always  believed  on  such 
occasions  that  he  had  said  something  quite 
harmless  and  serious,  his  face  formed  the  drollest 
contrast  with  his  words.  Then  it  was  that  that 
which  was  unpleasing  in  his  expression  came  out 
most  cuttingly.  Yet  what  I  did  not  like  in  it 
was  not,  however,  of  such  a  kind  that  it  could  be 
described  as  a  defect,  and  it  certainly  was  not 
unpleasing  to  ladies.  BeUini's  face,  like  his 
whole  physique,  had  that  physical  freshness,  that 
blooming  sensuousness,  that  rose-colour  which 
makes  on  me  a  disagreeable  impression — on  me,  I 
say,  because  I  like  much  better  that  which  is 
death-like  and  of  marble.^     It  was  not   till  a 

^  Heine  here  speaks  very  sincerely.  This  was  the  tone,  and 
indeed  the  cant,  of  the  Romanticists  in  the  Thirties.  "Oh,  I 
like  to  look  gloomy  and  melancholy  ! "  said  in  those  days  in  my 
hearing  a  young  man  who  had  been  told  that  his  dressing  in 
black  gave  him  a  sombre  appearance.  i 


FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  2$ 

later  time,  when  I  began  to  know  Bellini,  that  I 
felt  a  liking  for  him.  This  came  from  observing 
that  his  character  was  perfectly  noble  and  good. 
His  soul  is  certainly  pure,  and  has  remained  un- 
spotted by  contact  with  vile  things.  Nor  was 
there  wanting  in  him  that  harmless  good-nature, 
or  the  childlike,  such  as  is  never  wanting  in  genial 
men,  even  if  they  do  not  show  it  to  every  one. 

"  Yes,  I  remember,"  continued  Maximilian,  as 
he  sank  on  the  seat  by  which  he  had  so  far 
stood  upright,  leaning  on  the  arm.  "  I  re- 
member a  single  instant  during  which  Bellini 
appeared  to  me  in  such  a  charming  light  that  I 
regarded  him  with  pleasure,  and  determined  to 
learn  to  know  him  more  intimatelv.  But  it 
was  unfortunately  the  last  time  I  was  destined 
to  see  him  in  this  life.  This  was  one  evening 
after  supper  in  the  house  of  a  great  lady,  who 
had  the  smallest  foot  in  Paris,  and  when  he 
had  become  merry,  and  the  sweetest  melodies 
rang  from  the  pianoforte.  I  can  see  him  now, 
the  good  Bellini,  when,  exhausted  by  the  many 
mad  Bellinisms  which  he  had  chattered,  he  sat 
on  a  seat — it  was  very  low,  almost  like  a  foot- 
stool, so  that  he  found  himself  at  the  feet  of  a 
fair  lady  who  had  reclined  opposite  him  on  a 
sofa,  and  with  sweet  mischievousness  looked 
down  on  him,  while  he  toiled  away  to  entertain 
her  with   a   few  French  phrases,  getting  ever 


96  FLORENTINE  NIGHTS. 

deeper  into  difficulties,  commenting  in  his 
Sicilian  jargon  in  order  to  prove  that  what  he 
said  was  not  foolish,  but,  on  the  contrary,  the 
most  refined  flattery.  I  do  not  think  that  the 
beautiful  lady  paid  much  attention  to  Bellini's 
phrases.  She  had  taken  his  little  cane,  where- 
with he  often  helped  himself  out  of  weak  places 
in  rhetoric,  and  calmly  used  it  to  disarrange 
the  elaborate  arrangement  of  the  hair  on  both 
temples  of  the  young  maestro.  This  caprice 
well  became  the  smile  which  gave  her  features 
an  expression  such  as  I  have  never  seen  on  a 
living  human  face.  It  was  one  of  those  which 
belong  far  more  to  the  dream-realm  of  poetry 
than  to  the  rough  reality  of  life — contours  re- 
calling Da  Vinci,  that  noble  soul ! — with  the 
naive  dimples  in  the  chin,  and  the  sentimental 
pointed-out  bending  chin  of  the  Lombard  school. 
The  colour  was  rather  of  a  Roman  softness,  a 
mother-of-pearl  gleam,  aristocratic  paleness — 
morbidezza.  In  short,  it  was  such  a  face  as  can 
only  be  found  in  old  Italian  portraits,  in  which 
the  masters  of  the  sixteenth  century  depicted  as  a 
master-work  the  portraits  of  great  ladies  whom 
they  loved — such  as  poets  sang  when  they  sang 
for  immortality,  and  such  as  German  and  French 
heroes  yearned  for  when  they  girded  on  their 
Bwords,  and  seeking  great  deeds  rushed  over  the 
Alps.     Yes,  yes,  it  was  such  a  face,  in  which  there 


FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  «7 

played  a  smile  of  sweetest  mischief  and  of  aris- 
tocratic waywardness,  while  she,  the  fair  lady, 
disarranged  the  blonde  locks  of  good  Bellini 
with  the  bamboo  cane.  At  that  instant  Bellini 
seemed  to  be  transfigured  to  some  utterly  strange 
apparition,  and  aU  at  once  he  became  allied  to 
my  heart.  His  face  shone  in  the  reflected 
light  of  that  smile ;  it  was  perhaps  the  goldenest 
moment  of  his  life.  I  shall  never  forget  him. 
Fourteen  days  after  I  read  in  the  newspapers  that 
Italy  had  lost  one  of  her  most  famous  sons. 

"  Strangely  enough  the  death  of  Paganini  was 
announced  at  the  same  time.  I  did  not  doubt 
this  in  the  least,  because  the  old  faded  Paganini 
always  looked  like  a  dying  man,  but  the  death  of 
the  young  and  rosy  Bellini  seemed  incredible. 
And  yet  the  announcement  of  the  death  of  the 
first  was  simply  an  error  of  the  press.  Paganini 
is  alive  and  well  at  Genoa,  and  Bellini  lies  in  his 
grave  in  Paris." 

"  Do  you  like  Paganini  ? "  asked  Maria. 

"  This  man,"  exclaimed  Maximilian,  "  is  a  glory 
to  his  country,  and  certainly  deserves  the  most 
distinguished  mention  if  one  will  speak  of  the 
musical  notabilities  of  Italy." 

"  I  have  never  seen  him,"  said  Maria,  "  but 
according  to  report  his  exterior  does  not  perfectly 

set  forth  the  beautiful I  have  seen  portraits 

of  him" 


.."'*'^V.*'?  I..*' 


28  FLORENTINE  NIGHTS. 

"  None  of  which  were  like  him,"  said  Maximilian. 
"  They  all  make  him  too  ugly,  or  else  flatter  him, 
and  do  not  give  his  true  character.  I  think  that 
only  one  man  ever  succeeded  in  putting  the  true 
physiognomy  of  Paganini  on  paper.  He  who  did 
it  is  a  deaf  painter  named  Leyser,  who,  in  his  in- 
spired frolicking,  hit  off  with  a  few  pencil  strokes 
the  head  of  Paganini  so  well  that  one  laughs  and 
is  frightened  at  the  truth  of  the  portrait.  '  The 
devil  guided  my  hand,'  said  the  artist  to  me, 
mysteriously  laughing  low,  and  nodding  his  head 
with  good-natured  irony  as  he  was  wont  to  do  in 
his  Owlglass  reflections.  This  painter  was  always 
a  queer  owL  In  spite  of  his  deafness  he  loved 
music  enthusiastically,  and  he  really  understood 
it  when  he  was  near  enough  to  the  orchestra  to 
read  the  music  in  the  faces  of  the  musicians,  and 
judge  of  the  more  or  less  successfvil  execution 
by  the  fingering ;  and,  in  fact,  he  wrote  criticisms 
of  the  operas  for  a  distinguished  journal  in  Ham- 
burg. What  is  there  wonderful  in  that  ?  The 
deaf  painter  could,  in  the  visible  signature  of  the 
playing,  see  the  tones.  Are  there  not  men  to  whom 
tones  themselves  are  only  invisible  signatures  in 
which  they  hear  colours  and  forms  ?  "  ^ 

^  Heine  was  the  first  to  make  known  in  French  this  style  of 
using  aesthetic  correspondences  or  signatures — to  borrow  a  term 
from  Swedenborg.  It  was  carried  to  a  ridiculous  excess  by  hia 
imitators,  one  of  whom,  in  speaking  of  a  ballet-girl,  said :  "  The 
colour  of  her  dancing  is  pyramidaL"  But  Heine  bimMlf  in 
occasionally  extravagant  in  its  use. 


FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  29 

*'  Such  a  man  are  you  !  "  cried  Maria. 

"  I  am  sorry  that  I  no  longer  possess  the  little 
drawing  by  Leyser ;  it  would  perhaps  give  you  an 
idea  of  Paganini's  appearance.  It  was  only  in 
harsh,  black,  fleeting  strokes  that  one  could  set 
forth  those  unearthly  traits  which  seemed  to  be- 
long rather  to  the  sulphurous  realm  of  shadows 
than  to  the  sunny  world  of  Hfa  '  Truly  the 
devil  guided  my  hand,'  asserted  the  deaf  painter, 
as  we  stood  by  Alster  pavilion  in  Hamburg  on 
the  day  when  Paganini  gave  his  first  concert 
there.  'Yes,  my  friend,  it  is  true,  what  the 
whole  world  declares,  that  he  has  given  himself 
over  to  the  devil,  body  and  soul,  in  order  to  be- 
come the  best  violinist  in  the  world,  and  fiddle 
millions  of  money,  and  finally  to  get  away  from 
the  damned  galleys  where  he  had  suffered  many 
years.^  For,  you  see,  friend,  when  he  was  leader 
of  the  orchestra  in  Lucca,  he  fell  in  love  with  a 
theatrical  princess,  became  jealous  of  a  little  abb^, 

^  It  seems  incredible  that  within  my  recollection  Paganini  (or 
his  impresario)  could  have  excited  an  extraordinary  interest  in 
the  public  by  circulating  such  reports.  Many  laughed  at  them, 
but  far  more  were  moved  or  affected.  "  Who  knows ;  there 
might  be  something  in  it."  It  was  commonly  said  that  Paga- 
nini bad  imprisoned  the  soul  of  his  mother  in  his  violin.  This 
made  a  great  impression  on  me,  being  at  the  time  a  small  boy, 
and  I  can  remember  being  detected  by  my  mother  in  company 
with  a  younger  brother  engaged  in  killing  a  fly  or  bee  in  a  toy 
violin — our  intention  being  that  its  sool  should  eternally  buzz 
in  the  instrument. — Trandator, 


FLORENTINE  NIGHTS. 


was  perhaps  made  cocu,  stabbed  his  untrue  Amata 
in  good  Italian  fashion,  went  for  that  to  the  gal- 
leys in  Grenoa,  and  at  last  sold  himself  to  the  devil 
to  be  delivered  and  to  become  the  greatest  violin- 
player,  and  be  able  to  get  out  of  us  a  tribute — 
of  two  thalers.  .  .  .  But,  look !  "  All  good  spirits 
praise  God ! "  ^  there  he  comes  in  the  Avenue  with 
his  a.mbigvioua  famulus  / '  ! 

"  In  fact  it  was  Paganini  himself  whom  I  be- 
held. He  wore  a  dark-grey  overcoat,  which  came 
to  his  feet,  making  him  appear  extremely  talL 
His  long  black  hair  fell  in  tangled  locks  on  his 
shoulders,  forming  a  dark  frame  for  the  pale, 
corpse-like  countenance,  in  which  care,  genius, 
and  hell  combined  had  graved  their  inefifaceable 
signs.  By  him  capered  along  a  short,  comfort- 
able-looking figure,  commonplace,  showy  in  dress, 
with  a  rosy  wrinkled  face,  light-grey  short  coat 
with  steel  buttons,  greeting  right  and  left  with 
irresistible  amiability,  but  all  the  time  squinting 
sideways  with  anxious  apprehension  at  the  dark 
form  which,  serious  and  reflecting,  walked  by  his 
side.  It  recalled  the  picture  by  Eetzsch,  in  which 
Faust  is  walking  with  Wagner  before  the  gate 
of  Leipzig.  The  deaf  artist  commented  on  both 
figures  in  his  wild  fashion,  and  bade  me  observe 
carefully  the  measured  long  step  of  Paganini 
'  Is  it  not,'  he  said,  *  as  if  he  stiU  had  the  iron 

'  An  old  German  invocation  against  dreaded  spirits,  spectres,  &c. 


FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  31 

cross  rod  between  his  legs  ?  He  has  got  the 
convict  step  and  can  never  lose  it  See  how 
contemptuously  and  ironically  he  often  looks 
down  at  his  companion  when  he  bores  him  with 
his  commonplace  questions ; — and  yet  he  cannot 
get  rid  of  him — a  bloody  contract  binds  him  to 
that  servant,  who  is  Satan  himself.  Ignorant 
people  think,  of  course,  that  this  companion  is 
the  writer  of  comedies  and  anecdotes,  Harrys  of 
Hanover,  whom  Paganini  takes  with  him  as  busi- 
ness-manager for  his  concerts ;  but  the  multitude 
does  not  know  that  the  devil  took  the  form  of 
Mr.  George  Harrys,  the  soul  he  keeps  locked  up 
with  other  rubbish  in  a  chest  in  Hanover,  where 
it  will  remain  till  the  devil  restores  its  proper 
fleshly  envelope,  when  he  wiU  probably  accom- 
pany his  master,  Paganini,  through  the  world  in 
the  more  befitting  form  of  a  black  poodle.' 

"  But  if  Paganini  seemed  to  me  sufficiently 
incredible  and  wonderful  as  I  saw  him  walking 
under  the  green  leaves  of  the  Hamburg  Jung- 
fernsteig,  what  were  my  impressions  of  his  fear- 
fully eccentric  apparition  that  evening  in  the 
concert !  This  was  given  in  the  Comedy  Theatre 
of  Hamburg,  and  the  art-loving  pubHc  had  assem- 
bled so  early  and  in  such  numbers  that  it  was 
with  difficulty  that  I  conquered  a  place  by  the 
orchestra.  Though  it  was  post-day  I  saw  in  the 
balcony-boxes  the  whole  refined  and   cultured 


3a  FLORENTINE  NIGHTS. 

I 

business  world* — a  whole  Olympus  of  bankers 
and  similar  millionaires,  the  gods  of  coffee  and 
sugar,  with  their  plump  wife-goddesses,  Junos  of 
the  Wandrahm  and  Aphrodites  of  DreckwaU. 
There  was  a  holy  quiet  in  all  the  halL  Every 
eye  was  turned  to  the  stage,  every  ear  prepared 
to  hear.  My  neighbour,  an  old  huckster  in  furs, 
took  the  cotton  from  his  ears,  the  better  to  take 
in  the  expensive  tones,  which  cost  two  dollars 
entrance-money.  At  last  there  appeared  on  the 
stage  a  dark  figure,  which  seemed  to  have  risen 
from  the  under- world.  It  was  Paganini,  in  his 
black  dress  suit;^  the  black  evening  coat  and 
black  waistcoat,  of  an  appalling  cut,  were  pro- 
bably such  as  are  prescribed  by  infernal  etiquette 
at  the  court  of  Proserpine,  while  the  loose  trou- 
sers flapped  vexatiously  on  the  thin  legs  of  the 
maestro.  His  long  arms  seemed  to  grow  yet 
longer,  as  he  held  the  violin  in  one  hand,  the 
bow  down  in  the  other,  and  almost  bowed  to  the 
ground  as  he  bestowed  on  the  public  his  unheard- 
of  reverence.  In  the  angular  bending  of  his 
body  there  was  a  fearful  woodenness,  and  at  the 
same  time  something  foolishly  brute-Uke,  which 
would  have  caused  laughter  at  his  salutation  ;  but 

1  Die  game  gebildete  Handelswelt. 

^  At  the  time  here  in  question  an  entire  suit  of  black  for  any 
one  not  in  mourning  was  unusual  enough  to  attract  attention. 
Dumas  mentions  it  as  something  distingue  in  the  Count  of  Monte 
Christo. 


FLORENTINE  NIOHTS,  '        J| 

his  face,  which,  in  the  strong  orchestral  illumina- 
tion, seemed  more  corpse-like  than  ever,  had  in 
it  something  so  bashfully  modest  that  a  shudder- 
ing pity  suppressed  our  desire  to  laugh.  Had 
he  learned  those  bows  from  an  automaton  or  a 
dog?  Was  that  imploring  look  that  of  one  in 
deathly  illness,  or  was  there  lurking  behind  it  the 
mockery  of  a  crafty  money-grubber  ?  Was  that  a 
living  man,  who  knows  that  he  is  about  to  perish 
and  who  will  delight  the  public  in  the  arena  of 
art,  like  a  dying  gladiator  with  his  convulsions 
or  a  dead  man  risen  from  the  grave,  a  vampire 
with  a  violin,  who,  if  he  does  not  suck  blood 
from  our  hearts,  will,  come  what  may,  draw  the 
money  from  our  pockets  ? 

"Such  questions  crossed  one  another  flitting 
in  our  heads  while  Paganini  made  his  unceasing 
compliments  in  gesture,  but  all  such  thoughts 
flitted  afar  when  the  wondrous  master  set  his 
violin  to  his  chin  and  began  to  play.  As  for 
me,  you  know  well  my  musical  second  sight — my 
gift  of  seeing  with  every  note  which  I  hear  its 
corresponding  figure  of  sound;  and  so  it  came 
that  Paganini,  with  every  stroke  of  his  bow, 
brought  visible  forms  and  facts  before  my  eyes ; 
that  he  told  me  in  a  musical  picture-writing  all 
kinds  of  startling  stories ;  that  he  juggled  before 
me  at  the  same  time  a  show  of  coloured  Chinese 
shadows,  in  all  of  which  he  with  his  violin  was 


34  FLORENTINE  NIGHTS. 

chief  actor.  Even  with  the  first  note  from  his 
bow  the  scene  changed;  he  stood  all  at  once 
with  his  music-desk  in  a  cheerful  hall,  which 
was  gaily  and  irregularly  decorated  with  curved 
and  twining  furniture  in  the  Pompadour  style, 
everywhere  little  mirrors,  gilt  cupids,  Chinese  por- 
celaia,  an  exquisitely  charming  chaos  of  ribbons, 
flower  garlands,  white  gloves,  torn  laces,  false 
pearls,  diadems  of  gilt  sheet  metal,  and  similar 
celestial  theatrical  properties,  such  as  one  sees  in 
the  sanctum  of  a  prima  donna.  Paganini's  exter- 
nal appearance  had  also  changed,  very  much 
indeed  to  his  advantage ;  *  he  wore  knee-breeches 
of  lilac  satin,  a  silver  embroidered  white  waist- 
coat, a  coat  of  light-blue  satin  with  buttons  wound 
with  gold ;  and  Uttle  locks  of  carefully  curled  hair 
played  round  his  face,  which  bloomed  with  the 
roses  of  youth  and  gleamed  with  sweetest  ten- 
derness, when  he  eyed  the  pretty  little  dames 
who  stood  round  his  music-desk  while  he  played 
his  violin.  i 

"Indeed  I  saw  by  his  side  a  pretty  young 
creature,  in  old-fashioned  dress  of  white  satin 
puffed  out  on  the  hips,  the  waist  seeming  for 
that  aU  the  more  piquantly  narrow,  the  powdered 
hair  frisked  aloft,  the  pretty  round  face  flashing 

^  Heine  called  himself  a  romanticist,  but  as  regards  the 
practical  art  of  life  and  its  associations,  his  heart  was  really  in 
the  later  Renaissance,  or  Baroque  period  of  the  Regency.— 
Translator. 


FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  jf 

.'t 

out  all  the  more  freely  with  its  dazzling  eyes,  its 
rouged  cheeks,  court  plaster  beauty-patches,  and 
impertinent  sweet  little  nose.  She  held  in  her 
hand  a  white  scroll  of  paper,  and  by  the  move- 
ments of  her  lips,  and  the  coquettish  movements 
of  her  form,  seemed  to  be  singing,  but  I  could  not 
hear  one  of  her  tiills,  and  it  was  only  by  the 
playing  of  the  violin  with  which  the  youthful 
Paganini  accompanied  the  charming  child  that  I 
coidd  imagine  what  she  sang,  and  what  he  him- 
self felt  in  his  soul  while  she  sang.  Ah  !  those 
were  melodies  such  as  the  nightingale  flutes  in 
the  twilight,  when  the  perfume  of  the  rose  intoxi- 
cates her  sympathetic  heart,  inspired  by  Spring 
with  deepest  longing.  Ah !  that  was  a  melting, 
voluptuous,  deep-desiring  happiness !  There  were 
tones  which  kissed,  and  then,  pouting,  turned 
away,  and  again  laughing,  embraced  and  melted 
together,  and  then  lost,  enraptured,  intoxicated, 
died  away  in  one.  Yes,  the  tones  mingled  in  gay 
sport,  like  butterflies  when  one  in  jest  flies  from 
another,  hides  itself  behind  a  flower,  is  found  and 
hunted  out,  and  finally,  hght-hearted  and  trifling, 
flutters  up  with  the  other — up  into  the  golden 
sunlight.  But  a  spider — a  vile  spider — can  bring 
about  a  dire  tragedy  for  such  enamoured  butter- 
flies. Did  the  young  heart  divine  aught  like 
that  ?  A  long  melancholy  sighing  tone,  like  the 
premonition  of  a  coming  evil,  slid  slowly  through 


$i  FLORENTINE  NIOHTS.  ! 

the  most  enrapturing  melodies  which  flashed 
from  Paganini's  playing ;  his  eyes  became  moist ; 
worshipping  he  knelt  before  his  Amata — but  oh  I 
as  he  bowed  to  kiss  her  feet  he  saw  beneath  the 
bed — a  little  abb^  !  I  do  not  know  what  he  had 
against  the  poor  man,  but  the  Genoese  became 
pale  as  death ;  he  grappled  in  rsige  the  little  fellow, 
gave  him  boxes  on  the  ear  and  not  a  few  kicks, 
hurled  him  headlong  out  of  doors,  and  then, 
drawing  a  stiletto  from  his  pocket,  plunged  it 
into  the  breast  of  the  young  beauty. 

"  At  that  instant  cries  of  '  Bravo  I  Bravo  !  * 
rang  from  every  side.  Hamburg's  inspired  men 
and  women  paid  their  tribute  of  the  most  roaring 
applause  to  the  great  artist,  who  had  ended  the 
first  part  of  his  concert,  and  who  with  more 
angles  and  contortions  than  before  bowed  before 
them.  It  seemed  to  me  that  in  his  face  was  a 
more  imploring  humility  than  ever,  but  in  his 
eyes  flickered  a  tormenting  fear  like  a  wretched 
sinner's. 

"'Divine!'  cried  my  neighbour,  the  fur- 
dealer  ;  *  that  piece  alone  was  well  worth  two 
thalers.'  I 

"  When  Paganini  began  to  play  again  it  seemed 
to  be  dark  before  my  eyes.  The  tones  did  not 
change  as  before  into  bright  shapes  and  hues; 
the  form  of  the  Master  wrapped  itself  in  gloomy 
shadows,  from  whose  depth  his  music  came  wail- 


••■■^- 


FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  37 

ing  in  the  most  cutting  accjents  of  sorrow.  Only 
from  time  to  time,  as  a  little  lamp  which  hung 
over  him  cast  a  feeble  light  on  his  features,  could 
I  see  his  paUid  countenance,  which  still  retained 
traces  of  youtL  His  garb  was  strange  indeed — 
divided  in  two  parts,  one  red,  one  yellow.  Heavy 
fetters  hung  to  his  feet.  Behind  him  grimaced  a 
f  eice  whose  physiognomy  indicated  a  jovial,  he-goat 
nature ;  and  I  saw  long,  hairy  hands  which  seemed 
to  belong  to .  it,  moving  now  and  then  on  the 
strings  of  the  violin  which  Paganini  played,  often 
guiding  his  hand,  whUe  a  floatmg,  applauding 
laugh  accompanied  the  tones  which  welled  forth 
more  painfully,  and  as  if  bleeding,  from  the  violin. 
They  were  tones  like  the  song  of  the  fallen  angels 
who  had  wooed  and  wantoned  with  the  daughters 
of  Earth,  and  been  banished  from  the  kingdom  of 
the  blest,  and  fallen,  with  cheeks  burning  with 
shame,  into  the  under-world :  tones  in  whose 
bottomless  abyss  there  was  neither  comfort  nor 
hope.  Should  the  holy  in  heaven  hear  such 
music  the  praise  of  God  would  be  mute  on  their 
pale  lips,  and  they,  weeping,  would  hide  their 
pious  heads.  Ever  and  anon,  when  in  the  melo- 
dious torments  of  this  piece  the  oUigato  goat- 
laughter  came  bleating  in,  I  saw  in  the  back- 
ground a  multitude  of  little  female  figures,  who, 
spitefully-merry,  nodded  their  horrible  heads 
and  rubbed  their  breasts  in  mocking  mischief. 


3S  FLORENTINE  NIGHTS. 

Then  there  came  in  hurried  crowds  from  the  violin 
sounds  of  pain,  and  a  terrible  sighing  and  gasping, 
such  as  no  one  ever  heard  on  earth  before,  and 
perhaps  will  never  hear  again,  unless  it  shall  be 
in  the  Vale  of  Jehoshaphat,  when  the  tremen- 
dous trumpets  of  the  Last  Judgment  ring  out, 
and  the  naked  corpses  creep  from  their  graves 
to  await  their  doom.  But  the  tormented  vio- 
linist suddenly  drew  his  bow  so  madly  and 
desperately  that  his  rattling  fetters  burst,  and 
the  diabolical  ally  with  the  mocking  demons 
disappeared. 

"  At  that  instant  my  neighbour,  the  fur-dealer, 
said,  *  Pity  !  pity  !  he  has  burst  a  string.  That 
comes  of  his  constant  pizzicato  ! '  ^ 

"  Had  a  string  really  burst  on  the  violin  ?  I 
do  not  know.  I  only  observed  the  transfigura- 
tion of  the  tones,  and  then  it  seemed  to  me  as  if 
Paganini  and  all  his  surroundings  were  again 
suddenly  changed.  I  could  hardly  recognise 
him  in  the  brown  monk's  dress,  which  rather 
disguised  than  clothed  him.  His  wild  and 
wasted  face  half-hidden  by  the  hood,  a  rope 
round  his  waist,  Paganini  stood  on  a  chff  over- 
hanging the  sea,  and  played  his  violin.     It  seemed 

to  me  to  be  twilight  tide ;  evening-flame  flowed 

! 

*  Said  to  have  been  a  trick  of  Paganini's,  who  could  play 
admirably  on  three  or  two  strings,  or  even  one,  as  no  one  ever 
did  before  or  since. 


■'*'»•»«-*., 


■mjtm 


FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  39 

over  the  broad  sea,  which  grew  redder  and  redder, 
and  rustled  and  roared  more  gaily  and  wildly  in 
mysterious  and  perfect  harmony  with  the  violin. 
But  the  redder  the  sea  became  so  much  the  more 
pallid  grew  the  heaven,  and  when  at  last  the 
waving  water  looked  like  bright  scarlet  blood,  then 
the  sky  overhead  became  ghostly  clear,  aU  corpse- 
white,  and  out  came  the  stars — and  these  stars 
were  black,  black  as  shining  anthracite.  But 
the  tones  of  the  violin  grew  more  stormy  and 
bolder,  and  in  the  eyes  of  the  terrible  player 
there  sparkled  such  a  mocking  delight  in  destroy- 
ing, and  his  thin  lips  moved  with  such  appalling 
rapidity,  that  it  was  clear  he  was  murmuring 
ancient  forbidden  witch-spells  with  which  storms 
are  called  up  and  those  evil  spirits  evoked  who 
lie  imprisoned  in  the  sea's  abyss.  Many  a  time 
did  he,  when  stretching  forth  his  long,  lean,  bare 
arm,  and  sweeping  the  bow  in  the  air,  seem  to  be 
in  sooth  and  truth  a  wizard  who,  with  a  magic 
staff,  commanded  the  elements,  for  then  there 
was  a  mad,  delirious  howling  in  the  depths  of 
the  sea,  and  the  furious  waves  of  blood  leaped 
up  so  furiously  on  high  that  they  almost  be- 
sprinkled the  pale  heaven  and  its  black  stars 
with  their  red  foam.^ 

*  In  1832-33  there  was  to  be  seen  in  every  music-shop  window 
5  picture  representing  Paganini  as  a  sorcerer  fiddling  among 
witches  and  imps. — Translator. 


40  FLORENTINE  NJOHTS. 

There  was  howling,  crashing,  cracking,  as  if 
the  whole  world  was  breaking  to  fragments,  while 
the  monk  played  more  madly  on  his  violin,  as  if 
he  would,  by  the  power  of  his  raging  will,  burst 
the  seven  seals  wherewith  Solomon  closed  the 
iron  jar  in  which  he  imprisoned  the  demons 
whom  he  had  subdued.  That  jar  the  wise  king 
cast  into  the  sea,  and  it  seemed  as  if  I  heard 
the  voices  of  the  demons  when  Paganini's  vioHn 
growled  out  its  angriest  basso  notes.  But  after 
a  while  I  thought  I  heard  the  joyous  cry  of  those 
set  free,  and  I  saw  rising  one  by  one  out  of  the 
red  waves  of  blood  the  heads  of  the  unchained 
demons,  monsters  of  incredible  hideousness, 
crocodiles  with  bat's  wings,  serpents  with  stag's 
horns,  monkeys  capped  with  conch  shells,  seals 
with  patriarchal  long  beards,  women's  faces  with 
breasts  instead  of  cheeks,  green  camels'  heads, 
wild  hybrids  of  inconceivable  composition,^  all 
glaring  greedily  with  cold  crafty  eyes,  and  grasp- 
ing, with  long  webbed  feet  and  fingers,  at  the 
fiddling  monk.  Then  in  the  raging  zeal  of  in- 
vocation his  capote  fell  back,  and  the  ringlets 
flying  in  the  wind  curled  round  his  head  like 
black  serpents. 

"  It  was  all  so  maddening,  that  not  to  utterly 

^  All  of  these  monaters,  excepting  perhaps  the  green  camels' 
beads,  which  I  do  not  remember,  are  to  be  found  in  pictures  by 
Qollen-Breughel  and  Callot. — Ttxmdator. 


*■■■,,■■!' 


''^**  ♦•***•  ifi^ 


FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  41 

lose  my  mind  I  stopped  my  ears  and  closed  my 
eyes.  Then  the  enchantment  disappeared,  and 
when  I  looked  again  I  saw  the  poor  Genoese  in 
his  wonted  form  making  his  usual  bows,  while 
the  public  applauded  rapturously. 

' "  That  is  the  celebrated  performance  on  the  G 
string,'  remarked  my  neighbour,  *  I  play  the 
violin  myself,  and  know  what  it  is  to  have  such 
mastery  over  the  instrument!' 

"  Fortunately  the  interval  was  not  long,  else  my 
musical  fur-dealer  had  certainly  involved  me  in 
a  tiresome  talk  on  art.  Paganini  set  his  violin 
leisurely  to  his  chin,  and  with  the  first  touch  of 
his  bow,  there  began  again  the  wondrous  trans- 
figuration of  tones.  But  now  they  were  neither 
so  startling  in  colour  or  so  marked  in  form. 
They  came  forth  calmly,  majestically,  waving  and 
rising  like  those  of  an  organ  choral  in  a  cathedral ; 
and  all  the  surroundings  seemed  to  have  expanded 
to  a  colossal  space,  such  as  no  bodily  vision  but 
only  the  eye  of  the  spirit  can  grasp.  In  the 
midst  of  this  space  swept  a  burning  ball,  on  which 
stood  a  man  of  giant  stature  and  grand  in  pride, 
who  played  the  violin.  Was  this  sphere  of  light 
the  sun  ?  I  know  not.  But  in  the  features  of 
the  man  I  recognised  Paganini,  ideally  beautified, 
celestially  refined,  atoned  for  divinely,  and  smiling. 
This  body  was  fresh  and  fair  in  vigorous  manli- 
ness ;  a  light-blue  garment  was  about  his  now  far 


42 


FLORENTINE  NIGHTS, 


nobler  limbs,  the  black  hair  flowed  in  shining 
locks  on  his  shoulders,  and  as  he  stood  there, 
firm  and  confidently,  like  the  sublime  statue  of  a 
god,  and  played  the  violin,  it  seemed  as  if  all 
creation  obeyed  his  tones.  He  was  the  man- 
planet  round  whom  the  universe  moved,  ringing 
with  measured  joy  and  in  happy  rhythm.  "Were 
those  great  lights  which  swept  so  calmly  gleaming 
round  him  stars  of  heaven  ?  "Were  those  sweet- 
sounding  harmonies  which  were  caused  by  their 
motion,  the  music  of  the  spheres,  of  which  poets 
and  seers  have  told  so  much  that  is  bewildering 
and  strange  ?  Sometimes  when  with  an  effort  I 
looked  forth  and  far  into  the  dim  distance,  I 
seemed  to  see  white  waving  garments,  in  which 
colossal  pilgrims  wandered  in  disguise,  with 
staves  in  their  hands ;  and,  strange !  the  gold 
heads  of  their  staves  were  those  same  great  lights 
which  I  had  taken  for  stars.  These  pilgrims 
went  in  a  vast  procession  around  the  great  player ; 
the  heads  of  their  staves  fiashed  reflected  light 
from  the  tones  of  his  violin ;  and  the  chorals  which 
rang  from  their  lips,  and  which  I  had  taken  for 
the  noise  of  the  spheres,  were  really  only  the  re- 
bounding echoes  of  his  violin.  An  ineffable, 
nameless  passion  dwelt  in  these  sounds,  which 
often  quivered  almost  inaudibly,  like  mysterious 
whispering  on  water,  then  again  swelled  up 
sweetly-terrible,  like  the  tones  of  hunters'  horns 


vw>,-. 


,■.!<"•  ,>,.-. 


/(•'•<•> 


FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  43 

by  moonlight,-^  and  then  burst  out  into  unbridled 
rejoicing,  as  though  a  thousand  bards  were  sweep- 
ing the  strings  and  raising  their  voices  in  a  song 
of  victory.  That  was  the  music  which  no  ear  has 
heard,  only  the  heart  can  dream  it  when  by  night 
it  rests  against  the  heart  of  the  beloved.  But  it 
may  be  that  the  heart  comprehends  it  even  in  the 
clear,  bright  daylight,  when  it  rejoicing  loses  itself 
in  the  Hnes  of  beauty  and  ovals  of  a  Greek  work 
of  art." 

"  Or  when  a  man  had  had  a  bottle  too  much  of 
champagne,"  cried  a  laughing  voice,  which  woke 
our  narrator  as  if  from  a  dream.  As  he  turned 
he  saw  the  doctor,  who,  with  black  Deborah,  had 
softly  entered  the  room  to  learn  what  eJBfect  his 
medicine  had  had  on  the  invalid. 

"  I  do  not  like  this  sleep,"  said  the  doctor,  as 
he  pointed  to  the  sofa. 

Maximilian,  who,  sunk  in  the  fantasies  of  his 
own  speech,  had  not  observed  that  Maria  had 
long  been  asleep,  bit  his  Ups  as  if  vexed. 

"This  sleep,"  continued  the  doctor,  "gives 
the  face  an  appearance  which  has  all  the  char- 
acter of  death.     Does  it  not  look  like  one  of 

^  This  seems  to  have  been  suggested   by  a  very  wild  and 
beantiful  German  song  and  melody : — 

"  There  is  a  hunter  who  blows  his  horn, 
And  ever  by  the  night ! 
He  blows  the  deer  from  out  the  com, 
And  ever  by  the  night ! " 


'!!|,/P*,  <•< 


44  FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  ] 

1 

those  white  masks,  or  plaster  casts,  in  which  we 
try  to  preserve  the  traits  of  the  departed  ?  " 

"And  I  would  like,"  whispered  Maximilian, 
"  to  have  such  a  cast  of  our  friend.  She  will  be 
very  beautiful,  even  in  death." 

"  I  advise  you  not  to  have  it,"  replied  the 
doctor.  "  Such  masks  lead  astray  our  memories 
of  the  loved  ones.  We  feel  as  if  there  was  in 
them  something  of  their  Hves  still  kept,  while 
that  which  is  really  retained  is  actually  death 
itself.  Features  which  are  regular  and  beautiful 
then  become  hard  and  frozen,  satirical,  or  repul- 
sive,^ by  which  they  terrify  us  more  than  they 
please.  But  casts  become  complete  caricatures 
when  they  are  from  faces  whose  charm  was  of  a 
spiritual,  refined  nature,  and  whose  features  were 
less  regular  than  interesting,  for  as  soon  as  the 
graces  of  life  are  extinguished  in  them  the  actual 
departures  from  the  ideal  lines  of  beauty  are  no 
longer  balanced  by  mental  charms.  One  thing 
also  is  common  to  all  these  casts — it  is  a  certain 
enigmatic  expression  which,  the  more  we  study 
them,  the  more  it  runs  shivering  like  frost 
through  the  soul :  they  all  look  like  people  who 
intend  to  take  a  long  journey." 

"  And  whither  ? "  asked  Maximilian,  as  the 
doctor  took  his  arm  and  led  him  forth. 

'  PataUt.     Absolutely  advene  or  destruotive. 


* 


...•r^^£s:j 


FLORENTINE  NIGHTS. 


SECOND  NIGHT, 

"  And  why  will  you  torment  me  with  this 
horrible  medicine,  since  I  must  die  so  soon  ?  " 

Maria  had  just  said  this,  as  Maximilian  had 
entered  the  roonL  The  physician  stood  before 
her  holding  in  one  hand  a  vial  of  medicine,  in 
the  other  a  little  cup,  in  which  foamed  a  very 
unpleasant-looking  brownish  liquid. 

"My  dearest  friend,"  he  said  to  Maxumliein, 
"  your  presence  is  very  much  needed  just  now. 
I  beg  you  try  to  induce  Signora  to  swallow  these 
few  drops.     I  am  in  a  great  hurry." 

"  I  beg  you,  Maria ! "  said  Maximilian,  in  the 
soft  voice  which  was  not  often  heard  from  him, 
and  which  seemed  to  come  from  a  pained  heart, 
so  that  the  patient,  deeply  moved,  almost  forget- 
ting her  own  suffering,  took  the  cup.  But  ere 
she  put  it  to  her  mouth  she  said,  smiling :  "  To 
reward  me  you  will  tell  the  story  of  Laurence  ?  " 

"  All  that  you  desire  shall  be  done,"  assented 
Maximilian. 

The  pale  lady  drank  the  contents  of  the  cup, 
half  smiling,  half  shuddering. 

"  I  am  in  a  hurry,"  said  the  doctor,  as  he  drew 
on  his  black  gloves.     "  Lie  down  calmly,  Signora 


46  FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  ' 

and  move  as  little  as  possible.  I  am  in  a 
hurry." 

He  left  the  room  accompanied  by  black 
Deborah,  who  lighted  him  fortL  When  the 
two  friends  were  alone  they  looked  at  one 
another  for  a  long  time  in  silence.  There  were 
thoughts  in  the  souls  of  both  which  neither 
would  express.  Then  the  woman  suddenly 
grasped  the  man's  hand  and  covered  it  with 
burning  kisses. 

**  For  God's  sake  ! "  said  Maximilian,  "  do  not 
exert  yourself  so  much,  and  lie  calmly  on  the 
sofa." 

As  Maria  obeyed  him,  he  very  carefully 
covered  her  feet  with  the  shawl,  which  he 
first  kissed.  She  must  have  seen  this,  for  her 
eyes  twinkled  like  those  of  a  happy  child 

"Was  Mademoiselle  Laurence  very  beauti- 
ful?" 

"If  you  will  not  interrupt  me,  dear  friend, 
and  promise  to  be  calm  and  quiet,  I  will  teU 
you  circumstantially  all  that  you  wish  to  hear." 

Smiling  at  the  assenting  glance  of  Maria, 
Maximilian  sat  on  the  chair  before  the  sofa, 
and  thus  began  his  story : — 

"  It  is  now  eight  years  since  I  went  to  London 
to  learn  the  language  and  people  there.  The 
devil  take  the  people  with  their  language  !  They 
take  a  dozer  monosyllables  in  mouth,  chew  them, 


FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  47 

crush  them,  and  spit  them  out,  and  call  that 
talking.  But  by  good  luck  they  are  naturally 
tolerably  taciturn,  and  though  they  always  stare 
at  us  open-mouthed  they  at  least  spare  us  long 
conversations.  But  woe  to  him  who  meets  a  son 
of  Albion  who  has  made  the  grand  tour,  and 
learned  to  speak  FrencL  He  will  avail  himself 
of  the  opportunity  to  practise  the  language,  and 
overwhelm  us  with  questions  as  to  all  subjects 
conceivable,  and  hardly  is  one  answered  before  he 
begins  with  another  either  as  to  our  age  or  home 
or  how  long  we  intend  to  remain  where  we  are, 
and  he  believes  that  this  incessant  questioning 
is  the  best  method  to  entertain  us.^  One  of  my 
friends  in  Paris  is  perhaps  right  when  he  declares 
that  the  English  learn  to  converse  in  French  at 
the  Bureau  des  passeports.  Their  conversation 
is  most  edifying  at  table  when  they  carve  their 
colossal  roast  beef,  and  with  the  most  serious  air 
ask  us  what  part  we  prefer,  rare  or  well  done, 
from  the  middle  or  the  brown  outside,  fat  or  lean  ? 
But  roast  beef  and  mutton  are  all  they  have 

^  There  are  many  extraordinary  conceptions  in  this  work — 
that  of  comparing  Paganini  to  Jehovah  is  not  bad  in  its  way — 
but  for  a  tremendous  perversion  of  truth  this  accusation  of  the 
English  as  impertinent  questioners  is  unsurpassed.  I  have  tra- 
velled much  in  my  life  and  know  the  English  fairly  well,  and 
consider  that  of  all  people  on  the  face  of  the  earth  they  mind 
their  own  business  most,  and  are  least  given  to  such  queries.— 
Translator, 


48  FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  1 

which  is  good.^  Heaven  keep  every  Christian 
from  their  gravies,  which  are  made  of  one-third 
meal  and  two-thirds  butter,  or  when  a  change  is 
needed,  one-third  butter  and  two-thirds  meal: 
And  Heaven  guard  every  one  from  their  naive 
vegetables  which,  boiled  away  in  water,  are 
brought  to  the  tables  just  as  God  made  them ! 
But  more  terrible  than  the  cookery  of  the  Eng- 
lish are  their  toasts,  with  the  obligatory  standing 
speeches  when  the  table-cloth  is  removed  and 
the  ladies  departed,  and  so  many  bottles  of  port 
are  in  their  place,  which  are  supposed  to  be  the 
best  substitute  for  the  fair  sex;  but  I  may  weU 
say  the  fair  sex,  for  English  women  deserve  this 
name.  They  are  beautiful,  white,  tall  creatures, 
only  the  too  great  space  between  the  mouth  and 
nose,  which  is  as  common  among  them  as  with 
the  men,  often  spoiled  for  me,  in  England,  the 
most  beautiful  faces.  This  departure  from  the 
type  of  the  beautiful  impresses  me  more  horribly 
when  I  see  English  people  here  in  Italy,  where 
their  sparingly  measured  noses,  and  the  broad 
space  between  them  and  the  mouth,  make  a  more 
startling  contrast  with  the  faces  of  the  Italians, 

^  "  Maximilian,"  it  wonid  appear,  while  in  London,  had  access 
only  to  the  plainest  City  ordinaries.  But  in  this  style  of  descrip- 
tion be  is  far  outdone  by  a  noble  French  tonrist,  who  declaret^ 
in  a  recently  published  book  of  travels,  that  in  aU  the  United 
States  he  fonnd  nothing  fit  to  eat.  This  is  worse  even  than 
plain  roasts. — TfxmtUUor. 


:./.- 


FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  49 

whose  traits  are  of  a  more  antique  regularity,  and 
whose  noses,  either  aquiline  like  the  Koman  or 
straight  like  the  Greek,  often  go  into  e;xcess  of 
length.  It  was  very  well  remarked  by  a  German 
that  the  English,  when  among  Italians,  look  Hke 
statues  with  the  noses  knocked  off. 

"Yes,  when  we  meet  English  people  in  a 
J^Mneign  country  their  defects  first  become  striking 
by  comparison.  They  are  the  gods  of  ennui, 
who,  in  shining,  varnished  coaches,  drive  extra- 
post  through  every  country,  and  leave  everywhere 
a  grey  dust-cloud  of  sadness  behind  them.^  Hence 
comes  their  curiosity  without  interest,  their  bedi- 
zened, over-dressed  coarseness,'^  their  insolent  bash- 
fulness,  their  angular  egotism,  and  their  dismal 
delight  in  all  melancholy  things.  For  three 
weeks  we  have  seen  every  day  on  the  Piazza  del 
gran  Duca  an  Englishman  who  stands  for  hours 
gaping  at  the  charlatan  who,  while  seated  on  a 
horse,  draws  teeth.  This  spectacle  is  perhaps 
for  the  noble  son  of  Albion  an  equivalent  for  the 
executions  which  he  neglected  to  attend  in  his 

*  It  is  very  characteristic  of  nervous,  frivolous  natures  that 
they  cannot  conceive  of  gravity  or  calmness  except  as  associated 
with  dulness  and  suffering.  The  North  American  Indians  are 
the  most  imperturbable  of  mortals,  but  they  certainly  suffer  less 
from  ennui  than  any  others.  But  Heine  had  in  reality  only  a 
very  second-hand  stage-knowledge  of  the  English. 

'  Geputzte  Plumpheit.  This  implies  rather  a  burly  bluffness, 
not  very  much  given  to  consider  refined  feelings.  It  is  a  little 
less  than  literal  coarseness. 

D 


50  FLORENTINE  NIGHTS. 

I 

dear  native  land.  For  after  boxing  and  cock- 
fighting  there  is  no  sight  so  delightful  to  a  Briton 
as  the  agony  of  a  poor  devil  who  has  stolen  a 
sheep  or  imitated  a  signature,  and  who  is  ex- 
hibited for  an  hour  before  the  fagade  of  the  Old 
Bailey  with  a  rope  round  his  neck  before  he  is 
hurled  into  eternity.  It  is  no  exaggeration  to 
say  that  sheep-stealing  and  forgery  in  that  abomi- 
nably cruel  country  are  punished  not  less  severely 
than  the  most  revolting  crimes,  such  as  parricide 
and  incest.  I  myself  happening  to  come  that 
way  by  mere  chance,  saw  a  man  hung  in  London 
for  stealing  a  sheep,  and  from  that  time  forth 
lost  all  relish  for  roast  mutton — the  fat  always 
put  me  in  mind  of  the  white  cap  of  the  poor 
sinner/  With  him  was  hanged  an  Irishman, 
who  had  imitated  the  writing  of  a  rich  banker, 
and  I  think  I  can  still  see  the  naive  deathly 
agony  of  poor  Paddy,  who  before  the  assizes  could 
not  understand  why  he  was  so  severely  punished 

^  Heine  appears  to  be  oblivious  here  to  the  fact  that  within 
his  own  lifetime  criminals  were  publicly  broken  on  the  wheel 
in  Germany.  His  sympathy  for  the  Irishman  who  swindled  "  a 
rich  banker  "  is  but  natural,  if  we  may  believe  what  is  told  in 
hia  Lives,  that  he  himself,  when  in  England,  having  been  in- 
trusted by  his  uncle  with  a  letter  of  credit,  on  the  express  con- 
dition that  be  should  only  use  a  part  of  it,  drew  the  whole. 
When  his  uncle  found  fault  with  him  for  this,  the  nephew  asked 
him,  with  an  audacious  insolence  that  staggered  the  great 
banker,  "  My  dear  uncle,  did  you  really  expect  not  to  have  to 
pay  for  the  honour  of  bearing  my  name  7  " — Translator. 


FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  $t 

for  imitating  other  men's  signatures,  when  he 
was  quite  willing  to  let  any  mortal  man  imitate 
his  own !  And  these  people  talk  always  about 
Christianity,  and  go  to  church  every  Sunday,  and 
flood  the  world  with  Bibles  !  ^ 

"  I  must  own,  Maria,  that  if  nothing  was  to 
my  taste  in  England,  neither  men  nor  meat,  the 
fault  lay  partly  in  myself.  I  had  brought  a  good 
stock  of  ill-temper  and  discontent  with  me  from 
home,  and  I  sought  to  be  cheered  up  by  a  race 
which  can  only  subdue  its  own  ennui  in  the 
whirlpool  of  pohtical  and  mercantile  action.  The 
perfection  of  machinery,  which  is  there  every- 
where applied  to  some  purpose,  and  which 
executes  so  many  human  tasks,  had  for  me 
something  mysterious  and  terrible ;  the  artificial 
headlong  action  of  wheels,  shafts,  cylinders,  with 
a  thousand  small  hooks,  cogs,  and  teeth,  which 
whirl  so  madly,  filled  me  with  dread.  The  de- 
finiteness,  the  exactness,  the  meted  out  and  mea- 
suied  punctuality  of  life,  tormented  me  quite  as 
much,  for  as  the  machines  in  England  seem  like 
men,  so  the  men  seem  to  me  like  mere  machines. 
Yes,  wood,  iron,  and  brass,  these  seem  to  have 
usurped  the  spirit  of  humanity,  and  often  to  be 
raging  with  fulness   of  intelligence,  while  Man, 

^  Hardly  to  be  cited  as  inconsistent.  Ananias  and  Sapphira 
were  struck  dead — very  deservedly — for  cheating  the  Christian 
community  out  of  a  small  sum  and  lying. — Trandator. 


^ 


52  FLORENTINE  NIGHTS. 

with  his  soul  gone,  attends  like  a  machine  to  hia 
business  and  affairs ;  eats  at  the  appointed  minute 
his  beefsteak,  delivers  parliamentary  speeches, 
brushes  his  naUs,  mounts  the  stage-coach,  or — 
hangs  himself. 

"  How  my  displeasure  and  discontent  increased 
every  day  in  this  land,  /ou  may  well  imagine. 
But  nothing  could  surpass  the  gloomy  mood 
which  once  came  over  me  as  I,  towards  evening, 
stood  on  Waterloo  Bridge  and  looked  down  into 
the  Thames.  It  seemed  to  me  as  if  my  soul, 
with  all  its  scars,  was  mirrored  there,  and  looked 
up  at  me  from  the  water.  Then  the  most  dis- 
tressing memories  vexed  my  mind.  I  thought 
of  the  rose  daily  sprinkled  with  vinegar,  which 
thereby  paid  penance  with  its  sweetest  perfume, 
and  prematurely  died;  of  the  stray  butterfly, 
whom  a  naturalist  who  once  climbed  Mont  Blanc 
saw  fluttering  in  solitude  among  blocks  of  ice; 
of  the  tame  she-monkey,  who  was  so  familiar 
with  men  that  she  played  and  ate  with  them; 
but  one  day  she  recognised  in  the  roast  on  the 
table  her  own  little  one,  and,  catching  it  up, 
rushed  into  the  forest,  and  never  came  among 
mankind  again.  Ah !  I  was  so  wretched  and 
sad  that  the  hot  tears  leapt  from  my  eyes ;  they 
fell  into  the  Thames,  and  swam  forth  into  the 
great  ocean,  which  has  already  swallowed  so 
many  without  observing  them. 


FLORENTINE  NIGHTS,  53 

"It  happened  at  this  instant  that  a  strange 
music  woke  me  from  my  dark  dreams,  and, 
looking  round,  I  saw  a  group  of  people  who 
seemed  to  form  a  ring  roimd  some  entertaining 
show.  I  drew  near,  and  saw  a  family  of  artists 
consisting  of  these  four  persons. 

"Firstly,  a  little  dumpy  woman,  dressed  in 
black,  who  had  a  very  little  head,  and  before  her 
a  very  big  drum,  on  which  she  hammered  away 
without  mercy. 

"  Secondly,  a  dwarf,  who  wore  an  embroidered 
coat  like  that  of  an  old  French  marquis,  and  had 
a  great,  powdered  head,  but  very  slender  limbs, 
and  who,  while  skipping,  beat  a  triangle. 

"  Thirdly,  a  girl  of  perhaps  fifteen  years,  who 
wore  a  short,  close-fitting  jacket  of  blue-striped 
silk,  with  fuU,  wide  trousers  to  match.  It  was  an 
aerial  and  charming  figure,  the  face  of  a  perfectly 
beautiful  Greek  type.  She  had  a  noble,  straight 
nose,  beautifully  curled  lips,  a  dreamy,  softly- 
rounded  chin,  her  complexion  sunny  brown,  with 
the  shining  black  hair  wound  over  the  temples. 
Thus  she  stood,  tall  and  serious,  as  it  seemed  out 
of  tune  or  in  Hi-temper,  and  looked  at  the  fourth 
member  of  the  troupe,  who  was  engaged  in  an 
artistic  performance. 

"  This  fourth  person  was  a  learned  dog — a  very 
promising  poodle — who  had,  to  the  great  delight 
of  the  English  public,  put  together,  from  the 


•— :-*  **«r 


\r.¥"' 


■*"i   -*:.*•  -— ,*  ^^-«:«    Y^  «  ,.-...;,w*  ,-•»... W:^*,-^  . 


54  FLORENTINE  NIGHTS. 

I   ■ 

wooden  letters  laid  before  him,  the  name  of  Lord 
Wellington,  and  added  to  it  the  very  flattering 
word  Hero.  And  as  the  dog,  as  one  could  easily 
see  by  his  intelligent  appearance,  was  no  English 
bnite,  but  had  come  with  the  other  three  per- 
formers from  France,  the  sons  of  Albion  rejoiced 
that  their  great  general  had,  at  least  from  the 
dogs  of  France,  that  recognition  of  his  greatness 
which  was  so  meanly  denied  to  him  by  the  other 
creatures  of  that  country.  t 

"This  company  was  in  fact  French,  and  the 
dwarf,  who  announced  himself  as  Monsieur  Tur- 
lutu,  began  to  bluster  and  boast  in  French  with 
such  passionate  gestures  that  the  poor  English 
gaped  with  their  mouths,  and  lifted  their  noses 
higher  than  ever.  He  often,  after  a  long  sen- 
tence, crowed  like  a  cock,  and  these  cock-a-doodle- 
doos,  and  the  names  of  many  emperors,  kings,  and 
princes  which  he  scattered  here  and  there,  were 
all  that  the  poor  spectators  understood.  He 
boasted  that  these  emperors,  kings,  and  princes 
had  been  his  patrons  and  friends.  Even  when 
only  eight  years  of  age  he  had,  as  he  declared, 
held  a  long  conversation  with  his  late  majesty 
Louis  XVL,  who  subsequently  frequently  con- 
sulted him  in  most  important  affairs.  He  had,  like 
many  others,  escaped  the  storms  of  the  Revolution, 
nor  was  it  till  the  Empire  that  he  returned  to 
his  dear  native  land  to  take  part  in  the  glory 


FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  55 

of  la  grande  nation.  Kapoleon,  he  declared,  had 
never  liked  him,  but  he  had  been  almost  idolised 
by  His  Holiness  Pope  Pius  the  Seventh.  The 
Emperor  Alexander  had  given  him  bon-bons,  and 
the  Princess  Wilhelm  von  Kyritz  always  took 
him  on  her  lap.  His  Serene  Highness,  Duke 
Karl  of  Brunswick,  had  let  him  ride  many  a  time 
on  his  dog,  and  His  Majesty  King  Louis  of 
Bavaria  had  read  to  him  his  sublime  poems. 
The  princes  of  Reuss  Schleiz-Kreuz  and  of 
Schwarzburg-Sondershausen  loved  him  like  a 
brother,  and  always  smoked  from  the  same  pipe 
with  him.  Yes,  from  childhood,  he  declared,  he 
had  always  lived  only  among  sovereigns ;  the 
contemporary  monarchs  had  grown  up  familiar 
with  him,  he  regarded  them  as  his  equals,  and 
always  wore  mourning  when  one  of  them  passed 
away.  After  these  words  of  weight  he  crowed 
again  like  a  cock. 

"  Monsieur  Turlutu  was  really  one  of  the 
most  curious  dwarfs  whom  I  had  ever  seen,  for 
his  wrinkled,  ancient  face  formed  such  a  comical 
contrast  to  his  little,  childlike  body,  and  his  whole 
person  contrasted  yet  more  funnily  with  his  feats. 
For  he  next  assumed  the  most  defiant  positions, 
and  with  an  inhumanly  long  rapier  stabbed  the 
air  right  and  left,  while  he  incessantly  swore  on 
his  honour  that  this  carte  or  that  tierce  could 
not  be  parried  by  any  one,  that  his  parade  was 


'**iffi?r'*:**'— v:"", "*■•■■■'■'— — ^-- —  r  t 


*»•.,. .^ ... —  _  ^..,  -...'.« ..*v.  „^, 


56  FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  \ 

i 
unassailable,  and   that  he   challenged  any  one 

present  to  compete  with  him  in  the  noble  art 

of  fencing. 

"  After  the  dwarf  had  for  some  time  amused 
the  multitude  in  this  manner,  and  found  that  no 
one  would  fight  in  public  a  duel  with  him,  he 
bowed  with  old  French  grace,  thanked  his  audi- 
ence for  the  favour  with  which  they  had  received 
him,  and  took  the  freedom  to  announce  to  the 
highly  honourable  public  the  most  extraordinary 
exhibition  which  had  ever  been  admired  on 
English  ground.  *  You  see  this  person,'  he  cried, 
as  he  drew  on  a  dirty  kid  glove,  and  led  the 
young  girl  of  the  troupe  with  respectful  gallantry 
to  the  midst  of  the  ring ;  '  this  lady  is  Mademoi- 
selle Laurence,  the  only  daughter  of  the  noble 
and  Christian  lady  whom  you  see  there  with  the 
drum,  and  who  now  wears  mourning  on  account 
of  the  recent  death  of  her  deeply-loved  husband, 
who  was  the  greatest  ventriloquist  in  Europe. 
Mademoiselle  Laurence  will  now  dance !  Ladies 
and  gentlemen  will  please  to  admire  the  dance  of 
Mademoiselle  Laurence  1 '  After  which  he  again 
crowed. 

"The  young  girl  did  not  seem  to  pay  the 
slightest  attention  to  this  speech,  nor  to  the  gaze 
of  those  around.  As  if  lost  in  troubled  thought 
she  waited  till  the  dwarf  had  spread  a  carpet 
before   her   and   began  to  play  his   triangle   in 


_«.-—•   '■*      ■■•       ••    -  '-If    -*'3      i«     ,...^i*.«»^  ^vt/*  -v-^   ^ 


FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  57 

accompaniment  with  the  great  drum.  It  was 
strange  music,  a  mixture  of  awkward  ill-temper 
and  voluptuous  tickling,  and  I  noted  in  it  a 
pathetic,  fantastic,  mournfully  bold  and  bizarre 
melody,  which  was,  however,  of  the  strangest 
simplicity.  But  I  forgot  the  music  as  soon  as 
the  young  girl  began  to  danca 

"  Both  dancer  and  dance  attracted  my  whole 
attention.  It  was  not  the  classic  dancing  such 
as  we  still  see  in  great  ballets,  where,  as  in  classic 
tragedy,  only  sprawling  unities  and  artificial 
effects  flourish.  It  was  not  those  footed  Alex- 
andrines, those  declamatory  leaps,  those  anti- 
thetic entrechats,  that  noble  passion  which  whirls 
in  pirouettes  so  distractingly  down  on  one  foot 
that  one  sees  nothing  but  heaven  and  stockinette 
— nothing  but  ideality  and  lies  !  There  is  really 
nothing  so  repulsive  to  me  as  the  ballet  in  the 
great  opera  in  Paris,  where  the  traditions  of 
'  classic '  dancing  have  been  most  perfectly  pre- 
served, while  the  French  have  overthrown  the 
classic  system  in  all  other  arts,  poetry,  music, 
and  painting.  But  it  will  be  hard  for  them  to 
bring  about  a  similar  revolution  in  the  art  of 
dancing,  unless  it  be  that  here,  as  in  their  poli- 
tical revolution,  they  fly  to  terrorism,  and  guillo- 
tine the  legs  of  the  obstinate  male  and  female 
dancers  of  the  old  regime. 

"  Mademoiselle  Laurence  was  no  great  dansetise. 


*ff  **•%.-*  ^-'  ^  ' 


58  FLORENTINE  NIGHTS. 

her  toes  were  not  very  supple,  her  legs  were  not 
practised  in  all  possible  contortions ;  she  under- 
stood nothing  of  the  art  of  dancing  as  Vestris 
teaches  it,  but  she  danced  as  Nature  teaches ;  her 
whole  soul  was  in  time  with  her  steps ;  not  only 
did  her  feet  dance,  but  her  whole  form  and  face. 
She  often  became  pale,  almost  deadly  pale ;  her 
eyes  opened  spectrally  wide,  yearning  and  pain 
convulsed  her  lips,  while  her  black  hair,  which  in 
smooth  ovals  inclosed  her  temples,  moved  like 
two  flapping  ravens'  wings.  It  was  indeed  no 
classic  dance,  but  neither  was  it  romantic  in  the 
sense  in  which  a  young  Frenchman  of  the  school 
of  Eugene  Kenduel  would  explain  the  word.  It 
had  neither  anything  Mediaeval  nor  Venetian, 
nor  distorted  and  deformed,  nor  Macabre — there 
was  in  it  neither  moonshine  nor  incest.  It  was 
a  dance  which  did  not  attempt  to  amuse  by  out- 
ward phases  of  motion,  but  by  phases  which 
seemed  to  be  words  of  a  strange  language  which 
would  say  strange  things.  But  what  did  the 
dance  say  ?  I  could  not  understand  it,  however 
passionately  it  pleaded.  I  only  felt  that  here 
and  there  something  terribly,  shudderingly  pain- 
ful was  meant.  I  who  in  other  things  grasp  so 
readily  the  key  of  a  mystery,  could  not  solve  this 
danced  enigma,  and  that  I  sought  in  vain  to  find 
the  sense  was  the  fault  of  the  music,  which  cer- 
tainly sought  to  lead  me  astray,  which  cunningly 


^^Xa^.yidt^4»Uf;M 


FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  59 

tried  to  bewilder  me  and  set  me  wrong.  The 
triangle  of  Monsieur  Turlutu  tittered  many  a 
time  mockingly,  while  Madame  the  mother  beat 
so  angrily  on  her  great  drum  that  her  face 
beamed  out  of  the  cloud  of  black  hood  round  her 
face  like  a  blood-red  Northern  light. 

"Long  after  the  troupe  had  departed,  I  re- 
mained standing  in  the  same  place  wondering 
what  this  dance  could  mean.  Was  it  some 
national  dance  of  the  South  of  France  or  of  Spain  ? 
These  were  recalled  by  the  irrepressible  energy 
with  which  the  dancer  threw  her  body  to  and 
fro,  and  the  wildness  with  which  she  often  threw 
her  head  backwards  in  the  mad  manner  of  the 
bold  Bacchantae  whom  we  see  with  amazement 
on  the  reliefs  of  antique  vasea  Her  dance  had 
in  it  something  of  intoxicated  unwilfulness, 
something  gloomily  inevitable  or  fatalistic,  for 
she  danced  like  destiny  itself.  Or  was  it  a 
fragment  of  some  primaevally  ancient,  forgotten 
pantomime  ?  Or  a  secret  tale  of  life,  set  to 
motion  ?  Very  often  the  girl  bent  to  the  earth, 
with  listening  ear,  as  if  she  heard  a  voice  calling 
up  to  her.  Then  she  trembled  like  an  aspen  leaf, 
Bprang  quickly  to  the  other  side,  and  there  in- 
dulged in  her  maddest  gambols.  Then  she 
inclined  her  ear  again  to  the  earth,  listened 
more  anxiously  than  before,  nodded  with  her 
head,  grew  sad  and  pale,  shuddered,  stood  awhile 


■•?:^.-., 


6o  FLORENTINE  NIGHTS. 

straight  as  a  taper,  as  if  frozen,  and  finally  made 
a  motion  as  if  washing  her  hands  !  "Was  it  blood 
which  she  so  carefully,  with  such  terrible  anxiety, 
washed  away  ?  While  doing  this  she  cast 
to  one  side  a  glance  so  pitifully  imploring,  so 
soul-melting — and  this  glance  fell  by  chance  on 
ma^ 

"  I  thought  all  night  long  on  this  glance,  on  the 
dance,  on  the  wild  accompaniment,  and  as  I,  on 
the  morrow,  roamed  as  usual  about  the  streets,  I 
felt  a  deep  longing  to  meet  the  beautiful  dancer 
again,  and  I  pricked  up  my  ears  to  perceive  if 
I  could  the  sound  of  drum  and  triangle  music. 
I  had  at  last  found  in  London  something  which 
interested  me,  and  I  no  longer  wandered  aimlessly 
about  in  its  gaping  streets. 

"  I  had  just  quitted  the  Tower,  where  I  had 
carefully  looked  at  the  axe  with  which  Anne 
Bullen  was  beheaded,  the  diamonds  of  the  British 
crown,  and  the  Hens,  when  I  beheld  again 
Madame  the  mother  with  the  great  drum,  and 
heard  Monsieur  Turlutu  crowing  like  a  cock. 
The  learned  dog  again  raked  together  the  heroism 
of  Lord  "Wellington,  the  dwarf  displayed  his  in- 

^  Making  due  allowance  for  the  manner  of  description,  and 
the  hand-washing  fragment  borrowed  from  the  ballet  of  Macbeth, 
it  would  appear  that  Heine  had  seen  somewhere  a  dance  by 
some  Hungarian  or  Russian  gypsy  girl,  without  knowing  what 
it  meant  The  listening  to  the  speech  of  the  Pchuw*  or  earth- 
spirit  proves  this. 


.♦:„,      0-  -^    ■-..        .  -~  ...-•-  ^.    .-•.-   »     •»»-    .v/'.^-    »'•  ^,-»,~*  ..    T---'  •-- 


FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.     .  6i 

vincible  carte  and  tierce,  and  Mademoiselle 
Laurence  began  once  more  her  wonderful  dance. 
And  there  were  again  the  same  enigmatical 
movements,  the  same  language  speaking  what 
I  could  not  understand,  the  same  impetuous 
casting  back  of  the  beautiful  head,  the  same 
listening  at  the  ground,  the  terror  which  relieved 
itself  by  mad  leaps,  again  the  listening  to  the 
voice  below,  the  trembling,  the  growing  pale,  the 
frozen  silence,  the  frightfully  mysterious  washing 
of  hands,  and  at  last  the  side  glance,  imploring 
and  beseeching,  which  she  cast  at  me,  lasting 
this  time  longer  than  before. 

"  Yes,  women,  girls  as  well  as  matrons,  know 
at  once  when  they  have  attracted  the  attention 
of  a  man.  Although  Mademoiselle  Laurence, 
when  not  performing,  always  stood  motionless 
and  sad,  and  while  she  danced  hardly  looked  at 
the  public,  from  this  time  it  was  no  longer  by 
chance  that  her  glance  ever  fell  on  me,  and  the 
oftener  I  saw  her  dance  the  more  significantly 
she  looked,  but  stUl  more  incomprehensible  was 
her  expression.  I  was  as  if  bewitched  by  this 
glance,  and  for  three  weeks  from  morning  till 
evening  did  I  walk  the  streets  of  London,  stop- 
ping wherever  Mademoiselle  Laurence  danced. 
In  spite  of  the  great  noise  of  the  multitude  I 
could  catch  at  the  greatest  distance  the  sound 
of  the  drum  and  triangle,  and  Monsieur  Turlutu. 


«a  FLORENTINE  NIGHTS. 

as  soon  as  he  saw  me  coming,  raised  his  most 
friendly  crow.  And  without  ever  speaking  a 
word  to  him  or  with  Mademoiselle  Laurence,  with 
Madame  M^re,  or  with  the  learned  dog,  I  seemed 
in  the  end  to  belong  entirely  to  the  troupe. 
When  Monsieur  Turlutu  took  up  his  collections, 
he  always  behaved  with  the  most  refined  tact,  as 
soon  as  he  drew  near  me,  and  always  looked 
away  when  I  threw  into  the  three-cornered  hat 
a  small  coin.  He  had  really  an  aristocratic 
manner ;  he  recalled  the  exquisite  politeness  of 
the  past.  One  could  see  in  the  little  man  that  he 
had  grown  up  among  monarchs,  and  so  much 
the  stranger  did  it  seem  and  quite  below  his 
dignity  when  he  crowed  Hke  a  cock. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  how  sad  I  felt  when  for 
three  days  I  sought  in  vain  for  the  little  troupe 
in  all  the  streets,  and  at  last  was  certain  they 
had  left  London.  The  blue  devils  held  me  once 
more  in  their  leaden  arms,  and  squeezed  my 
heart  together.  At  last  I  could  endure  it  no 
longer,  and  bade  adieu  to  the  mob,  the  black- 
guards, the  gentlemen,  and  the  fashionables  of 
England — the  Four  Estates  of  the  realm — and 
travelled  back  to  the  civilised  world,  where  I  knelt 
down,  devoutly  praying,  before  the  white  apron 
of  the  first  cook  whom  I  met.  Eor  here  I  could 
once  more  dine  like  an  intelligent  human  being, 
and  refresh  my  soul  by   the   contemplation  of 


FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  63 

unselfish  faces.  But  I  could  never  forget  Made- 
moiselle Laurence.  She  danced  a  long  time  in 
my  memory,  and  in  idle  hours  I  often  reflected 
on  the  enigmatic  pantomime  of  the  beautiful 
child,  especially  on  the  listening  at  the  earth 
with  inclined  eai*.  It  was  long  ere  the  imcanny 
triangle  and  drum  melody  faded  away  from  my 
mind. 

"  And  that  is  the  whole  story  ? "  cried  Maria, 
as  she  rose  passionately  excited- 

But  Maximilian  gently  pressed  her  back,  laid 
his  forefinger  significantly  on  his  mouth,  and 
whispered,  "  Still — be  stiU — speak  not  a  word. 
Be  good  and  calm,  and  I  will  tell  you  the  tail 
of  the  story;  but,  for  life,  do  not  interrupt 
me!" 

Then  as  he  loUed  back  somewhat  more  com- 
fortably in  his  chair,  he  thus  continued : — 

"  Five  years  after  aU  this  I  came  for  the  first 
time  to  Paris,  and  that  at  a  very  remarkable 
time.  The  French  had  put  their  Eevolution  of 
July  on  the  stage,  and  the  whole  world  applauded. 
This  drama  was  not  so  terrible  as  the  previous 
tragedies  of  the  Eepublic  and  the  Empire.  Only 
a  few  thousand  corpses  remained  on  the  show- 
ground, with  which  the  political  romanticists  were 
not  very  weU  satisfied,  and  they  announced  a 
new  piece  in  which  more  blood  was  to  flow,  and 
the  executioner  be  much  busier. 


64  FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  ' 

"  Paris  delighted  me  by  the  gaiety  which  is 
there  manifested  in  everything,  and  which  sheds 
its  influence  even  on  darkened  souls.  Strange, 
Paris  is  the  stage  where  the  greatest  tragedies  of 
the  world's  history  are  acted — tragedies  of  which 
the  memory,  even  in  most  distant  lands,  makes 
hearts  tremble  and  eyes  weep — but  to  him  who 
sees  them  here  in  Paris  itself,  it  is  as  it  once  was 
with  me  when  I  saw  the  Tour  de  Nesle  played  at 
the  Porte  Saint  Martin.  For  I  was  seated  behind 
a  lady  who  wore  a  hat  of  rose-red  gauze,  and 
this  hat  was  so  broad  that  it  completely  covered 
for  me  the  whole  stage- view,  so  that  I  only  saw 
all  that  was  being  tragedied  through  the  red  gauze, 
and  all  the  horrors  of  the  Tour  de  Nesle  appeared 
consequently  in  the  gayest  couleur  de  rose.  Yes, 
there  is  such  a  roselight  in  Paris,  which  softens 
all  tragedies  for  him  who  is  close  by,  so  that  his 
enjoyment  of  life  shall  not  be  diminished.  Even 
the  terrors  or  troubles  which  one  has  brought  to 
Paris  in  his  own  heart  lose  their  power  to  tor- 
ment. There  all  sufferings  are  soothed.  In  the 
air  of  Paris  all  wounds  heal  more  rapidly  than 
elsewhere;  there  is  something  in  it  as  grandly 
elevating,  as  soothing,  as  charming  as  in  the 
people  themselvea 

"  What  pleased  me  best  in  the  Paris  people  was 
its  polite  manners  and  aristocratic  mien.  Sweet 
pine-apple  perfume  of  politeness,  how  beneficently 


FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  H 

didst  thou  refresh  my  sick  and  weary  soul,  which 
had  imbibed  in  Germany  so  much  tobacco  nausea, 
smell  of  sauer-kraut,  and  vulgarity  !  The  delight- 
ful and  apt  excuses  of  a  Frenchman  who,  on  the 
day  of  my  arrival,  had  by  accident  nm  against 
me  in  the  street,  sounded  to  me  Hke  the  melodies 
of  Rossini  I  was  almost  frightened  at  such 
sweet  politeness,  I  who  was  accustomed  to  German 
boorish  knocks  in  the  ribs  without  a  word  of 
apology.  During  my  first  week  in  Paris  I  sought 
intentionally  to  be  run  against  by  people,  that  I 
might  enjoy  this  apologetic  music.  But  it  is 
not  merely  from  politeness,  but  owing  to  their 
language  itself,  the  French  people  have  a  peculiar 
coating  of  eminent  refinement.  For,  as  you  know, 
by  us  in  the  North  the  French  language  is 
an  attribute  of  the  higher  nobiUty,  and  from 
childhood  the  idea  of  aristocracy  was  always 
associated  in  my  mind  with  French.  And  so 
a  French  market-woman  ^  spoke  better  French 
than  a  German  comtesse  of  sixty-four  quarter- 
ings. 

"  On  account  of  their  language,  which  gives 
them  an  aristocratic  air,  the  French  people  have 
to  me   something    delightfully   romantic  in   all 

^  Dame  de  la  Halle.  Women  noted  for  their  Paris  patoit,  or 
slang  and  vulgarity.  A  comparison  recalling  the  remark  of  the 
English  or  American  lady,  who,  in  commenting  on  the  superi- 
ority of  the  Gallic  race  to  all  others,  remarked  that  in  Paris 
even  the  lowest  stable-boys  wore  French  boots. 

»--■■■.: 


66  FLORENTINE  NIGHTS. 

their  ways  and  words.  This  came  from  another 
reminiscence  of  mj  childhood.  For  the  first 
book  in  which  I  learned  to  read  French  was 
the  Fables  of  Lafontaine,  in  which  the  naively 
sensible  phrases  made  such  an  ineffaceable  im- 
pression on  my  memory  that,  when  I  came  to 
Paris  and  heard  French  spoken  everywhere,  I 
continually  recalled  the  old  stories.  It  seemed 
to  me  that  I  heard  the  well-known  voices  of 
the  animals ;  now  the  lion  spoke,  then  the  wolf, 
then  the  lamb,  or  the  stork,  or  the  dove — ever 
and  anon  master  fox,  and  in  memory  many  a 
time  I  heard — 

•  Eh  !  bonjour,  Monsieur  du  Corbeau  I 
Que  voua  Stes  joli  !  que  vous  me  semblez  beau  I ' 

"Such  reminiscences  of  fables  awoke  in  my 
soul  much  oftener  when  I  in  Paris  frequented 
the  higher  regions,  which  men  called  the  world. 
For  this  was  specially  the  world  which  supplied 
Lafontaine  with  the  types  of  his  animal  char- 
acters. The  winter  season  began  soon  after  my 
arrival  in  Paris,  and  I  took  part  in  the  salon 
life  in  which  that  world  moves  more  or  less 
merrily.  What  struck  me  aa  most  interesting 
in  this  world  was  not  the  equality  as  regards 
refined  politeness  which  prevails  in  it,  so  much 
as  the  difference  in  its  elements.  Very  often, 
when  I  in  a  grand  salon  looked  round  on  the 


FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  6f 

people  assembled  there  on  the  most  friendly 
footing,  it  seemed  as  if  I  were  in  a  curiosity- 
shop,  where  the  relics  of  aU  ages  are  huddled 
higgledy-piggledy  all  together,  a  Greek  Apollo 
by  a  Chinese  pagoda,  a  Mexican  VilzliputzU 
by  a  Grothic  Ecce  Homo,  Egyptian  idols  with 
dogs'  heads,  holy  horrors  of  wood,  ivory,  and 
metal,  and  so  on.  There  I  saw  old  mousquetaires 
who  had  once  danced  with  Marie  Antoinette, 
Eepublicans  of  nuld  observance  who  were  re- 
garded as  gods  in  the  Assembl^e  Nationale, 
Montagnards  without  money  and  without  re- 
proach, former  members  of  the  Directory  who 
had  been  enthroned  in  the  Luxembourg,  bearers 
of  great  dignities  under  the  Empire  before  whom 
all  Europe  had  trembled,  ruling  Jesuits  of  the 
Kestoration — in  short,  actual  faded  and  mutilated 
divinities  of  all  eras,  in  whom  no  one  any  longer 
believed.  The  names  howl  on  coming  into  con- 
tact, but  the  men  looked  peaceably  and  stood 
together  in  peace,  Kke  the  antiquities  of  which 
I  have  spoken  in  the  bric-k-brac  shops  of  the 
Quai  Voltaire.  In  Grermanic  lands,  where  pas- 
sions are  less  amenable  to  discipline,  such  a 
social  assemblage  of  such  heterogeneous  persons 
would  be  simply  impossible.  Neither  is  the 
need  of  conversation  so  great  with  us  in  the 
cold  North,  as  in  warmer  France,  where  the 
bitterest  enemies,  when  they  meet  in  a  salon, 


68  FLORENTINE  NIGHTS. 

cannot  long  maintain  a  gloomy  silence.  And 
the  desire  to  please  is  there  carried  so  far,  that 
people  strive  earnestly  to  be  agreeable  not  only  to 
their  friends  but  even  their  enemies.  Hence  a 
constant  disguise  and  display  of  graces,  so  that 
women  have  their  own  time  of  it  to  surpass 
men  in  their  coquetry — but  succeed  in  it  aU 
the  same. 

"  I  mean  indeed  nothing  wrong  by  this  com- 
parison— and,  on  my  life !  nothing  in  detraction 
of  French  women,  and  least  of  all  the  Parisiennea 
For  I  am  their  greatest  adorer,  and  honour  and 
admire  them  more  for  their  defects  than  for  their 
virtues,  I  know  nothing  so  exquisitely  to  the 
point  as  a  legend  that  the  French  women  came 
into  the  world  with  all  possible  faults,  but  that  a 
beneficent  fairy  took  pity,  and  gave  to  every  fault 
a  magic  by  which  it  appeared  as  a  fresh  charm. 
This  enchanting  fairy  is  grace.  Are  all  French 
women  beautiful  ?  Who  can  tell  ?  Who  hath 
seen  through  all  the  intrigues  of  the  toilet,  into 
whose  heart  hath  it  entered  to  decipher  if  that 
is  real  which  the  tulle  betrays,  or  is  that  false 
which  puffed-out  silk  parades  ?  And  if  it  be 
given  to  the  eye  to  penetrate  the  shell  even 
as  we  are  intent  to  examine  the  kernel,  lo  it 
covers  itself  in  a  new  hull,  and  yet  again  in 
another,  and  by  means  of  this  incessant  meta- 
morphosis of  modes  they  mock  mankind.     Are 


FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  69 

their  faces  beautiful?  Even  this  is  hard  to 
determine.  For  all  their  features  are  in  con- 
stant motion ;  every  Parisienne  has  a  thousand 
faces,  every  one  more  laughing,  more  spirituelU, 
more  charming  than  the  other,  and  he  would  be 
well  bewildered  who  under  it  all  could  detect  the 
fairest,  or  the  real  face  at  alL  Or  are  their  eyes 
large  ?  What  do  I  know  ?  We  do  not  long 
examine  the  calibre  of  a  cannon  when  its  ball 
decapitates  us.  And  even  if  they  miss — these 
eyes — at  least  they  dazzle  us  by  their  fire,  and 
he  is  glad  enough  who  can  get  out  of  shot-range. 
Is  the  space  between  the  nose  and  mouth  broad 
or  narrow  ?  Very  often  broad,  when  they  turn 
up  the  nose ;  very  often  small,  when  they  scorn- 
fully curl  their  upper  Ups.  Is  her  mouth  great 
or  small  ?  Who  can  tell  where  the  lips  leave 
off  and  laughing  begins  ?  To  form  a  correct 
judgment,  the  one  judging  and  the  object  judged 
must  be  in  a  condition  of  repose.  But  who  can 
rest  by  a  Parisienne,  and  what  Parisienne  ever 
rests,  herself  ?  There  are  people  who  believe 
they  can  see  a  butterfly  quite  accurately  when 
they  have  fastened  it  with  a  pin  on  paper,  which 
is  as  foolish  as  it  is  cruel,  for  a  fixed  and  qidet 
insect  is  a  butterfly  no  longer.  It  must  be  seen 
while  it  flutters  among  the  flowers,  and  the  Pari- 
sienne must  not  be  studied  in  her  domestic  life, 
where  she  is   pinned  down,  but  in   the   salon. 


TO  FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  i 

at  soirees .  and  balls,  where  she  flies  freely 
■with  the  wings  of  embroidered  gauze  and  silk 
among  the  flashing  crystal  crowns  of  delight 
and  gaiety!  Then  is  revealed  in  her  an  eager 
rapture  in  life,  a  longing  for  sweet  sensuous 
oblivion,  a  yearning  for  intoxication,  by  which 
she  is  made  almost  terribly  beautiful,  and  gains 
a  charm  which  at  once  enraptures  and  shocks 
our  souL 

"  This  thirst  to  enjoy  life,  as  if  in  another  hour 
death  would  snatch  them  away  from  the  spark- 
ling fountain  of  enjoyment,  or  as  if  this  fountain 
would  be  in  another  hour  sealed  for  ever — this 
haste,  this  rage,  this  madness  of  the  Parisiennes, 
especially  as  shown  in  balls,  always  reminds  me 
of  the  legend  of  the  dead  dancing-girls  who  are 
called  by  us  the  Willis.^  These  are  yoimg 
brides  who  died  before  the  wee' ding-day,  but 
who  still  have  the  unsatisfied  mania  for  dancing 
so  deeply  in  their  hearts,  that  they  rise  by  night 
from  their  graves  and  meet  in  crowds  on  the 
highways,  where  they  at  midnight  abandon  them- 
selves to  the  wildest  dances.  In  their  bridal 
dresses,  with  wreaths  of  flowers  on  their  heads, 
sparkling  rings  on  their  pale  white  hands,  laugh- 

'  Not  exactly  by  "u«,"  bnt  by  the  Slavonian  races,  among 
whom  the  VUa  is  a  sylvan  spirit  who  assumes  many  forms. 
There  is  a  rather  old  French  ballet  on  this  theme  called  Le$ 
WtUit. 


*T?'?'r*?r'. 


FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  ft 

ing  fearfully,  irresistibly  beautiful,  the  "Willis 
dfuice  in  the  moonshine,  and  they  dance  the 
more  impetuously  and  wildly  the  more  they 
feel  that  the  hour  allowed  them  for  dancing  is 
drawing  to  an  end,  and  they  must  again  descend 
to  the  icy  cold  of  the  grave. 

"It  was  at  a  soiree  in  the  Chauss^e  d'Antin 
where  this  thought  went  deep  into  my  souL  It 
was  a  briUiant  reception,  and  nothing  was  want 
ing  in  all  available  ingredients  of  social  enjoy- 
ment— enough  lights  to  be  seen  by,  enough 
mirrors  to  see  one's  seK,  enough  people  to  squeeze 
among  till  one  was  warm,  enough  eau  sucrd  and 
ices  to  cool  one.  It  began  with  music.  Franz 
Liszt  had  allowed  himself  to  be  forced  to  the 
pianoforte,  threw  his  hair  up  above  his  genial 
brow,  and  played  one  of  his  most  brilliant  battle- 
pieces.  The  keys  seemed  to  bleed.  If  I  am 
not  mistaken,  he  played  a  passage  from  the 
Palingenesia  of  Ballanche,  whose  ideas  he  trans- 
lated into  music,  which  was  a  great  advantage 
for  those  who  do  not  know  the  works  of  this 
celebrated  author  in  the  original.  After  this 
he  played  the  March  to  the  Gallows^ — la 
marche  au  supplice — that  glorious  composition  of 
Berlioz  which  this  young  artist,  if  I  do  not  err, 
composed  on  the  morning  of  his  wedding-day, 

"  There  were  in  the  entire  hall  faces  growing 

1  Der  Oang  naeh  der  Hinriehtung. 


7a  FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  \ 

pale,  heaving  bosoms,  panting  breaths  during  the 
pauses,  and  at  last  roaring  applause.  Women 
always  seem  intoxicated  when  liszt  plays.  With 
wild  joy  these  Willis  of  the  salon  threw  them- 
selves into  the  dance,  and  I  had  trouble  to  escape 
from  the  crowd  into  a  side-room.  Here  play 
was  going  on,  and  a  few  ladies,  reclining  on 
great  easy-chairs,  took,  or  feigned  to  take,  an 
interest  in  the  game.  As  I  passed  by  one  of 
these  dames,  and  her  dress  touched  my  arm,  I 
felt  a  thrill  pass  from  my  hand  to  my  shoulder 
like  a  slight  electric  shock.  And  such  a  shock, 
but  with  full  strength,  shook  my  heart  when  I 
saw  the  lady's  countenance.  Was  it  she — or 
not  ?  There  was  the  same  countenance  which 
in  form  and  sunny  hue  was  like  an  antique ; 
only  it  was  not  so  marbly-pure  and  marble 
smooth  as  before.  A  closely  observant  eye 
could  detect  on  brow  and  cheeks  faint  traces 
as  of  small-pox,  which  exactly  resembled  the 
weather-marks  which  one  sees  on  statues  which 
have  been  for  some  time  exposed  to  the  rain. 
There  were  the  same  black  locks  which  in 
smooth  ovals  covered  the  temples  Mke  raven's 
wings.  But  as  her  eye  met  mine,  and  that 
with  the  well-known  side  glance  whose  quick 
lightning  shot  so  enigmatically  through  my  soul, 
I  doubted  no  longer — ^it  was  Mademoiselle  Laur- 
ence. 


FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  73 

"Leaning  aristocratically,  a  bouquet  in  one 
hand,  the  other  on  the  chair  arm.  Mademoiselle 
Laurence  sat  near  a  table,  and  seemed  to  give 
her  whole  attention  to  the  cards.  Her  dress  of 
white  satin  was  becoming  and  graceful,  yet  quite 
simple.  With  the  exception  of  bracelets  and 
a  brooch  of  pearls,  she  wore  no  omamenta  A 
chemisette  of  lace  covered  her  young  bosom  almost 
puritanically  to  the  neck,  and  in  this  simplicity 
and  modesty  of  dress  she  formed  a  touching, 
charming  contrast  with  several  older  ladies,  who, 
gaily  ornamented  and  flashing  diamonds,  sat  by 
her,  and  exposed  the  ruins  of  their  former  glory, 
the  place  where  Troy  once  stood,  in  melancholy 
wasted  nakedness.  She  stUl  seemed  wondrously 
lovely  and  charmingly  sorrowful,  and  I  felt  irre- 
sistibly attracted  to  her,  and  finally  stood  behind 
her  chair,  burning  with  impatience  to  speak  to 
her,  but  restrained  by  aggravating  scruples  of 
delicacy. 

'*  I  had  stood  a  little  while  behind  her  when 
she  suddenly  plucked  a  flower  from  her  bouquet, 
and,  without  looking  around,  presented  it  to  me 
over  Jier  shoulder.  Strange  was  its  perfume,  and 
it  exerted  in  me  a  strange  enchantment.  I  felt 
myself  freed  from  all  social  formalities;  I  was 
as  if  in  a  dream,  where  one  acts  and  speaks 
and  wonders  at  one's  self,  and  where  our  words 
have  a  childlike,  confiding,  and  simple  character. 


74  FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  i 

Calmly,  indifferently,  carelessly,  as  one  speaks  to 
an  old  friend,  I  inclined  over  the  arm  of  the 
chair  and  softly  said  in  her  ear — 

" '  Mademoiselle  Laurence,  where  is  your 
mother  with  the  drum  ? ' 

" '  She  is  dead,'  she  replied,  in  the  same  calm, 
indifferent  tone. 

After  a  little  pause  I  again  bent  over  the 
arm  of  the  chair  and  whispered —  1 

" '  Mademoiselle  Laurence,  where  is  the  learned 
dog?'  I 

" '  He  has  run  away  out  into  the  wide  world,* 
she  answered,  in  the  same  calm  tone. 

"And  again  after  a  pause  I  leaned  over  the 
arm  of  the  chair  and  whispered  in  her  ear — 

" '  Mademoiselle  Laurence,  where  is  Monsieur 
Turlutu,  the  dwarf  ? ' 

" '  He  is  with  the  giants  on  the  Boulevard  du 
Temple.'  These  words  were  just  uttered — in 
the  same  easy,  indifferent  tone — when  a  serious, 
elderly  man  of  commanding  military  appearance 
approached  her,  and  announced  that  the  carriage 
was  waiting.  Slowly  rising  from  her  seat  she 
took  his  arm,  and,  without  casting  a  look  at  me, 
left  the  company. 

"When  I  asked  our  hostess,  who  had  stood 
during  the  whole  evening  at  the  door  presenting 
her  smiles  to  the  coming  and  parting  guests,  for 
the  name  of  the  young  lady  who  had  just  left 


FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  75 

with  the  elderly  gentleman,  she  laughed  gaily 
and  said — 

"  *  Mon  Dieu  !  who  can  know  everybody.  I 
know  as  little  who  he  is  as' 

"  She  silenced  suddenly,  for  she  certainly  was 
about  to  say  *  You ' — for  she  saw  me  that  even- 
ing for  the  first  time. 

"'Perhaps  your  husband,'  I  suggested,  'can 
give  me  some  information.  Where  shall  I  look 
for  him?' 

"'Hunting  at  St.  Germain,'  replied  Madame, 
with  heartier  laughter.  'He  left  this  morning 
early,  and  will  return  to-morrow  evening.  But 
— ^wait — I  know  some  one  who  has  frequently 
conversed  with  the  lady  of  whom  you  speak.  I 
forget  his  name,  but  you  can  easily  learn  it  if 
you  will  only  inquire  for  the  young  gentleman 
who  was  kicked  by  M.  Casimir  Perier — I  forget 
where.' 

"  Hard  as  it  is  to  find  a  man  who  has  been 
kicked  out  by  a  minister,  I  soon  discovered  mine, 
and  begged  him  for  some  explanation  of  the  mar- 
vellous being  who  so  much  interested  me,  and 
whom  I  depicted  to  him  distinctly  enough. 

" '  Yes,'  said  the  young  man ;  '  I  know  her 
well.  I  have  conversed  with  her  at  several 
soirees.' 

"  And  he  repeated  a  lot  of  rubbish  with  which 
he  had  entertained  the  lady.    What  he  had  parti- 


76  FLORENTINE  NIGHTS. 

I 

cularly  remarked  was  her  earnest  look  whenever 
he  had  said  anything  agreeable.  And  he  mar- 
velled not  a  little  that  she  always  declined  his 
invitation  to  take  place  in  a  quadrille,  assuring 
him  that  she  did  not  know  how  to  dance.  He 
knew  nothing  of  her  name  or  family.  Nor  could 
anybody,  so  far  as  I  could  ascertain,  give  me 
any  closer  information  in  this  respect.  I  ran 
in  vain  through  all  possible  soirees  seeking  for 
information ;  I  could  nowhere  find  Mademoiselle 
Laurence." 

"  And  that  is  the  whole  story  ? "  cried  Maria, 
as  she  slowly  turned  and  yawned  as  if  sleepy. 
"  That  is  your  whole  remarkable  story !  And 
you  never  saw  again  either  Mademoiselle  Laur- 
ence, nor  the  mother  with  the  drum,  nor  the 
dwarf  Turlutu,  nor  the  learned  dog  ? "  ' 

"  Lie  calm  and  still,"  replied  Maximilian.  "  I 
saw  them  all  again — even  the  learned  dog.  But 
he  was  in  a  sad  case,  the  poor  rogue,  when  I  met 
him  in  Paris.  It  was  in  the  Latin  Quarter.  I 
came  by  the  Sorbonne  as  a  dog  rushed  from  its 
gate,  and  after  him  a  dozen  students  with  sticks, 
who  were  soon  joined  by  two  dozen  old  women,  who 
all  screamed  in  chorus, '  Mad  dog ! '  The  wretched 
animal  looked  almost  human  in  his  agony  of  death ; 
tears  ran  like  a  stream  from  his  eyes,  and  as  he 
yelping  rushed  by  me  and  his  dimmed  gaze  fell 
on  me,  I  recognised  my  old  friend,  the  learned 


FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  77 

dog,  the  eulogist  of  Lord  "Wellington,  who  once 
caused  the  English  people  to  wonder  at  his  wis- 
dom. Was  he  really  mad,  though  ?  Had  he 
overtaxed  his  intellect  with  sheer  learning  while 
pursuing  his  studies  in  the  Latin  Quarter  ?  Or 
had  he  in  the  Sorbonne  offended  by  his  scraping 
and  growling  dissent  at  the  puffy-cheeked  char- 
latanery  of  some  professor,  who  had  got  rid  of 
his  disapproving  auditor  by  declaring  that  he 
was  mad  ?  Alas !  youth  does  not  investigate 
carefully  whether  it  is  irritated  pedantry  or 
professional  envy  ^  which  inspires  the  cry,  *  The 
dog  is  mad !  *  but  breaks  away  with  thoughtless 
sticks — and  of  course  all  the  old  women  are 
ready  with  their  yells  and  howls,  and  they  out- 
scream  the  voice  of  innocence  and  of  reason. 
My  poor  friend  had  to  succumb — before  my  eyes 
he  was  pitiably  struck  dead  amid  jeers  and  curses, 
and  at  last  cast  on  a  dunghill — a  wretched  martyr 
toleammg! 

"  Nor  was  the  condition  of  the  dwarf.  Mon- 
sieur Turlutu,  very  much  better  when  I  re-dis- 
covered him  on  the  Boulevard  du  Temple.  Made- 
moiselle Laurence  had  indeed  said  that  he  had 
gone  thither,  but  whether  I  did  not  seriously 
attempt  to  seek  him  there,  or  the  crowd  of 
people  was  so  great,  it  happened  that  some  time 
passed  before  I  observed  the  show  place  where 

^  Brotneid.    Rivalry  of  bread. 


78  FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  ' 

•    ( 

the  giants  were  found.  Two  tall  knaves  lay  at 
ease  on  a  bench,  who  jumped  up  and  assumed 
the  attitude  of  giants  when  I  appeared.  They 
were  really  not  so  large  as  their  sign  boasted, 
but  only  two  overgrown  rascals,  clad  in  rose- 
coloured  tricot,  who  had  very  black,  and  perhaps 
false,  side-whiskers,  and  who  swung  immense 
but  hollow  wooden  clubs  over  their  heads.  When 
I  asked  after  the  dwarf,  who  was  also  set  forth 
on  the  sign,  they  replied  that  for  four  weeks  he 
had  been  unable  on  account  of  increasing  illness 
to  appear  in  public,  but  that  I  might  see  him 
if  I  would  pay  an  extra  price  of  admission.  How 
willingly  one  pays  double  to  see  an  old  friend ! 
Alas  !  it  was  a  friend  whom  I  found  on  his  death- 
bed !  This  deathbed  was  really  a  child's  cradle, 
and  in  it  lay  the  poor  dwarf,  with  his  sallow, 
wrinkled  old  man's  face.  A  little  girl  of  perhaps 
four  years  sat  by  him,  rocking  the  cradle  with  her 
foot,  and  singing  in  a  comical  babbling  tone — 

"♦Sleep,  Turlututy— sleep  1» 

"As  the  little  man  saw  me  he  opened  his 
glazed  blue  eyes  as  wide  as  possible,  and  a 
melancholy  smile  twitched  about  his  white  lips ; 
he  seemed  to  recognise  me  at  once,  for  he  reached 
out  his  dried,  withered  little  hand,  and  gasped 
softly, '  Old  friend  1 ' 


FLORENTINE  NIOHTS.  79 

"  It  was  indeed  in  sad,  troublous  case  that  I 
found  the  man  who,  when  eight  years  of  age, 
had  had  a  long  conversation  with  Louis  XVI., 
whom  the  Czar  Alexander  had  fed  with  bonbons, 
whom  the  Princess  of  Kyritz  had  held  on  her 
lap,  to  whom  the  King  of  Bavaria  had  read  his 
poems,  who  had  smoked  from  the  same  pipe  with 
German  princes,  whom  the  Pope  had  apotheo- 
sised,  and  whom  Napoleon  had  never  loved ! 
This  last  fact  troubled  the  wretched  man  even 
on  his  deathbed — I  should  say  in  his  death- 
cradle — and  he  wept  over  the  tragic  destiny  of 
the  great  Emperor  who  had  never  loved  him, 
but  who  had  ended  his  life  in  such  lamentable 
circumstances  at  St.  Helena — 'Even  as  I  now 
die,'  he  added, '  rejected,  neglected  by  aU  kings 
and  princes,  a  mere  mockery  of  former  glory.' 

"Though  I  could  not  quite  understand  how 
a  dwarf  who  dies  among  giants  could  compare 
himself  with  a  giant  who  dies  among  dwarfs,  still 
the  words  of  poor  Turlutu  and  his  neglected  state 
in  his  dying  hour  moved  me.  I  could  not  refrain 
from  expressing  my  amazement  that  Mademoiselle 
Laurence,  who  had  now  become  so  grand,  did  not 
trouble  herself  about  him.  I  had  hardly  men- 
tioned her  name  when  the  dwarf  was  seized  with 
agonising  cramps,  and  wailed  with  white  Ups, 
'Ungrateful  child!  She  whom  I  brought  up, 
and  would  have  even  made  my  wife,  whom  I 


9o  FLORENTINE  NIGHTS. 

taught  how  one  should  move  and  conduct  one's 
self  among  the  great  people  of  this  world — how 
one  should  smile  and  bow  at  court  and  act  with 
elegance — thou  hast  turned  my  teaching  to  good 
account;  now  thou  art  a  great  lady,  and  hast 
a  carriage  and  lackeys,  and  much  money,  and  no 
heart !  Thou  leavest  me  to  die  here  alone  and 
miserable,  like  Napoleon  at  St.  Helena.  Oh, 
Napoleon,  thou  didst  never  love  me ! '  What 
he  then  said  I  could  not  understand  He  raised 
his  head,  made  passes  with  his  hand,  as  if  fencing 
with  some  one,  and  defending  himself  against 
some  one,  it  may  have  been  Death.  But  the 
scythe  of  this  adversary  can  be  resisted  by  none, 
be  he  Napoleon  or  a  Turlutu,  for  with  him  no 
parade  or  guard  avails !  Exhausted,  as  if  over- 
come, the  dwarf  let  his  head  sink,  gazed  at  me 
with  an  indescribable  spectral  glare,  crowed  sud- 
denly like  a  cock,  and  died ! 

"  I  confess  that  this  death  troubled  me  all  the 
more  because  the  sufferer  had  given  me  no  more 
accurate  information  as  to  Mademoiselle  Laurence. 
I  was  not  in  love  with  her,  nor  did  I  feel  any 
specially  great  inclination  towards  her,  and  yet 
I  was  spurred  by  a  mysterious,  irresistible  desire 
to  seek  her  everywhere,  and  if  I  entered  a  salon 
and  looked  over  those  present  and  did  not  find 
her  familiar  face,  then  I  became  quite  restless 
and  felt  impelled  to  depart. 


FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  8l 

"Beflecting  on  this  feeling  I  stood  once  at 
midnight  in  a  side  entrance  of  the  Grand  Opera, 
waiting  wearily  for  a  coach,  for  it  rained  hard. 
But  no  coach  came,  or  rather  coaches  only  which 
belonged  to  other  people,  who  got  in  gaily  enough 
and  departed,  until  little  by  little  I  was  left  alone. 

"  *  Well,  then,  you  must  ride  with  me  ! '  said  a 
lady  who,  closely  wrapped  in  a  black  mantilla, 
had  also  stood  waiting  by  me  for  some  time,  and 
who  was  now  about  to  enter  a  carriage.  The 
voice  thrilled  through  my  heart ;  the  well-known 
side-glance  exerted  once  more  its  charm ;  and  I 
seemed  to  be  in  a  dream,  when  I  found  myself 
in  a  softly-padded  warm  carriage  by  Made- 
moiselle Laurence.  We  spoke  no  word  to  one 
another,  perhaps  we  could  not  have  understood 
if  we  had  spoken,  since  that  vehicle  rattled  with 
a  fearful  droning  noise  through  the  streets  of 
Paris  for  a  long  time,  till  it  at  last  stopped  before 
a  vast  gateway. 

"  Servants  in  brilliant  livery  lighted  us  up 
the  steps  through  a  suite  of  apartments.  A 
lady's  maid  who  with  sleepy  face  approached  us, 
stammered  with  many  excuses, that  the  red  room 
was  the  only  one  with  a  fire  lighted.  As  she 
gave  the  maid  a  sign  to  leave  us,  Laurence  said 
laughing,  '  Chance  or  luck  has  brought  you  far 
indeed  to-day;  my  bedroom  is  the  only  one 
whidi  is  warmed  * 


82  FLORENTINE  NIGHTS. 

"  la  this  bedroom,  where  we  were  soon  alone, 
blazed  a  beautiful  fire,  which  was  the  more 
agreeable  because  the  apartment  was  immensely 
large  and  high.  This  great  chamber,  which 
might  better  be  called  a  great  hall,  had  in  it 
something  strangely  desolate  or  empty.  Its 
fumitare  and  decoration  and  architecture  bore 
the  impress  of  an  age  whose  splendour  is  now 
so  dusty,  and  whose  dignity  seems  so  sober 
and  sad,  that  its  relics  awaken  a  feeling  of 
discomfort,  if  not  a  subdued  smile.  I  speak  of 
the  time  of  the  Empire,  of  the  days  of  golden 
eagles,  high-flying  plumes,  Greek  coiffures,  the 
glory  of  grand  drum-majors,  military  masses, 
ofl&cial  immortality  decreed  by  the  Mbniteur, 
Continental  coffee  made  from  chicory,  bad  sugar 
from  beetroot,  and  princes  and  dukes  manufac- 
tured out  of  nothing  at  alL  Yet  it  had  its 
charm,  this  age  of  pathetic  materialism.  Talma 
declaimed,  Gros  painted,  Bigottini  danced, 
Grassini  sang,  Maury  preached,  Eovigo  had  the 
police,  the  Emperor  read  Ossian,  and  Pauline 
Borghese  had  herself  modelled  as  Venus,  and 
stark  naked  at  that,  for  the  room  was  quite 
warm,  like  that  in  which  I  found  myself  with 
Mademoiselle  Laurence. 

"  We  sat  by  the  fire  conversing  confidentially, 
and  she  told  me  sighing  how  she  was  married 
to  a  Buonaparte  hero,  who  every  evening  before 


FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  $3 

retiring  entertained  her  with  the  history  of  his 
adventures.  A  few  days  before  his  late  depar- 
ture he  had  given  her  in  full  the  battle  of  Jena ; 
but  he  was  in  very  bad  health,  and  would  hardly 
survive  the  Eussian  campaign.  When  I  asked 
how  long  it  was  since  her  father  had  departed 
this  life,  she  laughed,  and  said  she  had  never 
known  one,  and  that  her  so-called  mother  had 
never  been  married. 

" '  Not  married  ! '  I  cried ;  '  why,  I  myself  saw 
her  in  London  in  deep  mourning  for  her  hus- 
band's death ! ' 

"  *  Oh ! '  replied  Laurence,  '  she  wore  mourning 
all  the  time  for  twelve  years,  to  awaken  compas- 
sion as  a  poor  widow,  and  also  to  take  in  some 
simpleton  who  wanted  a  wife.  She  hoped  that 
she  would  sail  the  sooner  under  the  black  flag 
into  the  port  of  matrimony.  But  death  had  pity 
on  her,  and  she  perished  suddenly  by  bursting  a 
vein.  I  never  loved  her,  for  she  gave  me  many 
a  beating  and  little  food.  I  shoidd  have  starved 
if  Monsieur  Turlutu  had  not  many  a  time  given 
me  a  piece  of  bread  on  the  sly  j  but  for  that  the 
dwarf  wanted  me  to  marry  him,  and  when  his 
hopes  were  wrecked  he  allied  himself  to  my 
mother — I  say  mother  only  from  habit — and  both 
tormented  me  cruelly.  She  was  always  saying 
I  was  a  useless  creature,  and  that  the  dog  was 
worth  a  thousand  times  more  than  I  with  my 


$4  FLORENTINE  NIGHTS. 

wretched  dancing.  Then  they  praised  the  dog 
at  my  expense,  fed  him  with  cakes,  and  threw 
me  the  crumbs.  "  The  dog,"  she  said,  "  was  her 
best  support ;  he  pleased  the  public,  which  did 
not  take  the  least  interest  in  me ;  that  the  dog 
must  maintain  me  by  his  work,  and  that  I  lived 
on  the  charity  and  refuse  of  the  dog.  Damn  the 
dog!' 

" '  Oh  !  you  need  not  curse  him  again,'  I  inter- 
rupted the  angry  beauty.  '  He  is  dead ;  I  saw 
him  die' 

" '  Is  the  beast  done  for  at  last  ? '  cried  Laur- 
ence, as  she  sprang  up  with  delight  beaming  in 
every  feature.  I 

"  *  The  dwarf  also  is  dead,'  I  added. 

" '  Monsieur  Turlutu  ? '  cried  Laurence,  also 
joyfully.  But  the  expression  faded  from  her 
face  gradually,  and  with  a  milder,  almost  melan- 
choly tone,  she  sighed,  *  Poor  Turlutu ! ' 

"As  I  did  not  conceal  from  her  that  the 
dwarf  in  his  dying  moments  had  complained  of 
her  bitterly,  she  burst  into  passionate  protesta- 
tion that  she  had  the  fullest  intention  and  desire 
to  provide  for  the  dwarf  in  the  best  manner,  and 
that  she  had  offered  him  an  annual  pension  if  he 
would  live  quietly  and  modestly,  anywhere  in  the 
country.  'But  with  his  habitual  vanity  and 
desire  of  distinction,'  continued  Laurence,  'he 
desired  to  remain  in  Paris  and  dwell  in  my 


FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  •$ 

hotel,  for  thus  he  thought  he  could  through  me 
again  resume  his  former  acquaintance  in  the 
Faubourg  Saint  Germain,  and  his  old  brilliant 
place  in  society.  And  when  I  flatly  refused  this 
he  called  me  a  cursed  goblin-ghost,  a  vampire, 
and  a  child  of  death ' 

"  Laurence  suddenly  stopped  and  shuddering 
said,  as  she  heaved  a  sigh  from  her  very  heart — 

" '  Ah !  I  wish  he  had  left  me  lying  with  my 
mother  in  the  grave  !  * 

"When  I  prayed  her  to  explain  these  mys- 
terious words,  a  flood  of  tears  burst  from  her 
eyes,  and  trembling  and  sobbing  she  confessed 
that  the  drummer  woman  in  mourning  whom  she 
called  '  mother  *  had  once  told  her  that  a  strange 
rumour  current  as  to  her  birth  was  not  a  mere 
fable.  'For  in  the  town  where  we  dwelt,' 
continued  Laurence,  '  I  was  always  called  the 
Death  Child.  Old  women  said  I  was  really 
the  daughter  of  a  Count  of  that  place,  who  mal- 
treated his  wife  terribly,  and  when  she  died 
gave  her  a  magnificent  funeraL  But  she  was 
far  gone  with  child,  and  not  really  dead.  Cer- 
tain thieves,  tempted  by  the  richness  of  her 
funeral  attire,  burst  open  the  tomb  and  took  out 
the  Countess,  whom  they  found  in  the  pangs 
of  parturition.  She  died  while  giving  birth  to 
Laurence.  The  thieves  laid  her  body  again  in 
the  tomb,  closed  it,  and  carried  the  babe  to  the 


:j€'i.- 


86  FLORENTINE  NIGHTS. 

receiver  of  their  stolen  goods,  who  was  the  wife 
of  the  great  ventriloquist. 

" '  This  poor  child,  who  was  buried  before  she 
was  born,^  was  everywhere  called  the  Death- 
Child.  Ah  !  you  cannot  know  how  much  misery 
I  had  even  as  a  little  girl,  when  people  called  me 
by  this  name.  While  the  great  ventriloquist 
was  alive,  and  when  he  was  discontented  with 
me  —  as  often  happened  —  he  always  cried  : 
*'  Cursed  Death-Child,  I  wish  I  had  never  taken 
you  from  the  grave."  As  he  was  of  great  skill 
in  his  calling,  he  could  so  modulate  his  voice  as 
to  make  any  one  think  that  it  came  from  the 
ground,  and  so  he  would  make  me  believe  that 
it  was  the  voice  of  my  dead  mother  who  related 
her  story.  He  knew  the  terrible  tale  well 
enough,  for  he  had  once  been  a  servant  of  the 
Count  my  father.  It  was  his  greatest  pleasure 
to  torture  me  with  the  awful  terror  which  I,  a 
mere  infant,  felt  at  hearing  this.  The  words 
which  came  in  spectral  tones  from  the  ground 
told  things  so  dreadful  that  I  could  not  alto- 

^  Heine  here  very  oddly,  and  certainly  quite  nnconsciorisly, 
repeats  a  line  from  an  old  English  riddle  on  Eve — 

"  In  the  garden  there  strayed 

A  beautiful  maid, 
Ab  fair  aa  the  flowers  of  the  mom  ; 

The  first  hour  of  her  life 

She  was  made  a  wife, 
And  vxu  buried  hefort  the  vat  bom." 


i)  ;.  ••--.-_  L ■ .  ■': ''^  :.. 1  :.*'.<■■  ••-!. ..•>-*.  tt-'.^M 


FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  87 

♦  ■ 

getter  understand  them,  but  all  of  which,  when 
I  danced  in  after  years,  came  vividly  back  into 
my  mind.^  At  such  a  time  strange  memories 
seemed  to  possess  me.  I  forgot  myself,  and 
was  another  person  tormented  with  all  terrors 
and  mysteries,  but  so  soon  as  I  ceased  to  dance 
all  vanished  from  my  mind.' 

"  While  Mademoiselle  Laurence  spoke,  slowly 
and  as  if  questioning,  she  stood  before  me  by 
the  fireplace,  where  the  fire  gleamed  ever  more 
and  more  agreeably,  and  I  sat  in  the  great  arm- 
chair, which  was  probably  the  seat  of  her  husband 
when  he  of  evenings  related  his  battles  before 
going  to  bed.  Laurence  looked  at  me  with  her 
great  eyes,  as  if  asking  me  for  counsel,  nodding 
her  head  in  so  mournfully  reflective  a  manner  that 
she  inspired  in  me  a  deep  sympathy.  She  was 
so  delicate,  so  young,  so  beautiful,  this  slender 
lily   sprung  from  the   grave,   this    daughter  of 

'  Should  this  seem  incredible  to  any  reader,  I  wonld  state 
that  when  I  was  a  child  not  three  years  old,  still  suffering 
terribly  from  the  results  of  a  nervous  fever,  a  very  piona  old 
lady  was  in  the  habit  of  frightening  me  in  a  manner  every  whit 
as  cruel  as  that  described  by  Laurence,  and  very  much  like  it. 
Having  made  me  believe  that  a  "  bugaboo  "  lived  in  a  certain 
closet,  she  would  dress  herself  up  in  a  horrible  fashion,  come  out 
of  the  closet,  and  approach  me  growling.  I  have  often  wondered 
that  I  survived  the  awful  terrors  of  this  d'acipline,  which,  by 
the  way,  was  common  enough  in  nurseries  at  that  time.  Heine 
forgets  to  mention  that  such  torturing  children  was  usual  when 
the  ■upematural  was  in  fashion. 


J-    ....Mil. 

1    ti.u 


88  FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  j 

death,  this  ghost  with  the  face  of  an  angel  and 
the  body  of  a  bayadere  !  | 

"I  know  not  how  it  happened — perhaps  it 
was  the  influence  of  the  arm-chair  in  which  I 
sat ;  but  all  at  once  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  I  were 
the  old  general  who  the  day  before  had  been 
narrating  the  battle  of  Jena,  and  must  continue 
my  story,  so  I  said — 

"'After  the  battle  of  Jena,  within  a  few 
weeks,  all  the  Prussian  fortresses  surrendered 
almost  without  a  blow.  First  of  these  was 
Magdeburg,*  the  strongest  of  all,  and  it  had  three 
hundred  cannons.     Was  not  that  disgraceful  ? ' 

"Mademoiselle  Laurence  let  me  proceed  no 
further.  All  melancholy  had  fled  from  her 
beautiful  face.  She  laughed  like  a  child  and 
said,  '  Yes ;  that  was  disgraceful,  and  more  than 
disgraceful.  If  /  were  a  fortress,  and  had  three 
hundred  cannon,  I  would  never  surrender.'      I 

"But  as  Mademoiselle  Laurence  was  no  for- 
tress, and  had  no  three  hundred  cannons" 

Here  Maximilian  suddenly  paused,  and  after  a 
short  pause  asked  softly — 

"  Maria,  are  you  asleep  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  sleep,"  replied  Maria. 

**  I  would  say,"  added  Maximilian,  "  that  I  sat 
by  the  Are  in  a  red  light,  and  it  seemed  to  me  as 

*  Magdeburg  meana  the  virgin  fortress. — Trandatar. 


FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  89 

if  I  were  the  god  Pluto  amid  the  glowing  flames  of 
hell,  holding  the  sleeping  Proserpine  in  his  arms. 
She  slept,  and  I  studied  her  charming  face,  and 
sought  in  its  traits  some  explanation  of  that 
sympathy  which  my  soul  felt  for  her.  What 
was  the  meaning  of  this  woman  ?  What  signifi- 
cance lurked  under  the  symbolism  of  this  beauti- 
ful form  ?  I  held  this  winsome  riddle  now  as 
my  possession  in  my  arms,  yet  could  not  discover 
its  solution. 

"  Yet,  is  it  not  folly  to  endeavour  to  penetrate 
the  inner  meaning  of  a  strange  appearance  or 
phenomenon  when  we  cannot  as  much  as  solve 
the  problems  of  our  own  souls  ?  Why,  we  are 
not  even  certain  that  these  outer  apparitions  really 
exist.  Many  a  time  we  cannot  distinguish  reality 
from  faces  seen  in  our  dreams.  Was  it  an  image 
of  my  imagination,  or  was  it  a  terrible  reality, 
which  I  that  night  heard  and  saw  ?  I  do  not 
know.  I  can  only  remember  that  while  the 
wildest  thoughts  streamed  through  my  heart,  a 
rustling,  ringing  noise  sounded  in  my  ears. 
It  was  a  crazy  melody,  singularly  slow.  It 
seemed  to  be  very  familiar,  and  at  last  I  recog- 
nised in  it  the  sound  of  a  triangle  and  a  drum. 
This  music,  tinkling  and  buzzing,  seemed  to 
approach  from  afar,  and  at  last  when  I  looked  up 
I  saw  near  me,  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  a  well- 
known  show,  for  it  was  Monsieur  Turluto,  the 


m^-m,,  A..:,  .V  . 


90  FLORENTINE  NIGHTS. 

dwarf,  who  played  the  triangle,  and  Madame 
Mhe,  who  beat  the  great  drum,  while  the  learned 
dog  scratched  round  on  the  ground  as  if  seeking 
for  his  wooden  letters.  The  dog  seemed  to  move 
with  pain,  and  his  hair  was  spotted  with  blood. 
Madame  M^re  still  wore  her  black  mourning,  but 
she  had  no  longer  her  old  plump,  comical  figure, 
and  her  face  was  not  now  red  but  pale.  The 
dwarf,  who  still  wore  the  embroidered  coat  of  an 
old  French  marquis,  with  a  powdered  wig,  seemed 
to  be  somewhat  taller,  probably  because  he  had 
become  so  fearfully  thin.  He  displayed  as  be- 
fore his  skill  in  fencing,  and  seemed  to  be  wheez- 
ing out  his  old  boasts,  but  spoke  so  softly  that  I 
could  not  catch  a  word,  and  it  was  only  by  the 
movements  of  his  lips  that  I  could  often  observe 
that  he  was  crowing  like  a  cock. 

"While  these  laughably  horrible  distorted 
images  moved  before  my  eyes  with  unseeming 
haste,  I  perceived  that  Laurence  breathed  more 
restlessly.  A  cold  shudder  ran  like  frost  through 
all  her  body,  and  her  beautiful  limbs  twitched 
convulsively,  as  if  with  intolerable  pain.  But 
at  last,  supple  as  an  eel,  she  slid  and  slipped 
from  my  arms,  stood  in  a  second  in  the  centre 
of  the  room,  and  began  to  dance,  while  the 
mother  with  the  drum  and  the  dwarf  with  the 
triangle  again  raised  their  softly  muffled  music. 
She  danced  as  she  had  done  on  the  Waterloo 


FLORENTINE  NIGHTS.  91 

Bridge  and  on  the  crossings  of  London.  There 
was  the  same  mysterious  pantomime,  the  same 
passionate  leaps,  the  same  Bacchic  casting 
back  of  the  head,  many  times  the  same  bending 
down  to  the  earth,  as  if  listening  to  what  was 
being  said  below,  then  the  old  trembling,  the 
growing  pale,  the  frozen  stillness,  and  yet  again 
the  listening  with  the  ear  inclined.  And  she 
also  rubbed  her  hands  as  if  washing  them.  At 
last  she  seemed  to  again  cast  her  deep,  painful, 
imploring  glance  at  me,  but  it  was  only  in  the 
features  of  her  deathly  pale  face  that  I  recog- 
nised the  glance,  not  in  her  eyes,  for  they  were 
closed.  The  music  sounded  ever  softer,  the 
drum-mother  and  the  dwarf  growing  paler,  dim- 
mer, and  whirling  away  like  mist,  at  last  dis- 
appeared altogether,  but  Laurence  remained  as 
before,  dancing  with  closed  eyes.  This  dancing, 
as  if  blind,  in  the  silent  room  by  night,  gave 
the  beautiful  creature  such  a  ghostly  air  that  I 
often  shuddered,  and  was  heartily  glad  when  she 
ceased  to  dance,  and  glided  and  slipped,  as  softly 
as  she  had  flown  away,  back  into  my  arms. 

"  Certainly  the  sight  of  this  scene  was  not 
agreeable.  But  man  accustoms  himself  to  every- 
thing, and  it  is  possible  that  the  unearthly  mys- 
tery of  this  woman  gave  her  a  peculiar  charm, 
which  mingled  with  my  feelings  a  terrible  tender- 
ness— enough  that  in  a  few  weeks  I  was  no 


fS  FLORENTINE  NIGHTS. 

( 
I 

longer  amazed  in  the  least  when  by  night  I 
heard  the  ring  of  the  drum  and  triangle,  and  my 
dear  Laurence  suddenly  leaped  up  and  danced 
a  solo  with  closed  eyes.  Her  husband,  the  old 
Buonapartist,  commanded  near  Paris,  and  his 
duties  allowed  him  to  pass  only  his  days  in  the 
city.  As  a  matter  of  course  he  became  my  most 
intimate  friend,  and  he  wept  bright  tears  when 
the  day  came  for  him  to  bid  me  for  a  long  time 
adieu.  He  travelled  with  his  wife  to  Sicily,  and 
I  have  never  seen  either  of  them  since."  I 

As  Maximilian  finished  this  story  he  quickly 
took  his  hat  and  slipped  out  of  the  room. 


FROM  THE  MEMOIRS  OF  HERR  VON 
SCHNABELEWOPSKL 


-M- 


CHAPTER  I. 

My  father  was  named  Schnabelewopski,  my 
mother  Schnabelewopska.  I  was  born  as  legiti- 
mate son  of  both,  the  1st  of  April  1795,  in 
Schnabelewops.  My  great  aunt,  the  old  lady 
von  Pipitzka,  nursed  me  as  a  child,  and  told  me 
pretty  tales,  and  often  sang  me  to  sleep  with  a 
song  of  which  I  have  forgotten  both  the  words 
and  tune;  but  I  can  never  forget  the  strange, 
mysterious  way  in  which  she  nodded  as  she 
sang,  and  how  mournfully  her  only  tooth,  the 
solitary  hermit  of  her  mouth,  peeped  out.  And 
I  can  remember,  too,  much  about  the  parrot, 
whose  death  she  so  bitterly  bewailed.  My  old 
great  aunt  is  dead  now  herself,  and  I  am  the 
only  one  in  the  world  who  still  thinks  of  her 
parrot.     Our  cat  was  called  Mimi,  and  our  dog 

Joli      He  had  a   great   knowledge  of   human 

93     - 


M  FROM  THE  MEMOIRS  OP 

nature,  and  always  got  out  of  the  way  when  I 
took  down  my  whip.  One  morning  our  servant 
said  that  the  dog  kept  his  tail  rather  close  be- 
tween his  legs  and  let  his  tongue  hang  out  much 
more  than  usual,  for  which  reason  poor  Joli  was 
thrown,  with  some  stones  which  were  tied  to  his 
neck,  into  the  water ;  on  which  occasion  he  was 
drowned.  Our  footman  was  called  Prrschtz- 
ztwitsch.  To  pronounce  this  name  properly  one 
must  sneeze  at  the  same  time.  Our  maid  was 
called  Swurtszska,  which  indeed  sounds  rather 
roughly  in  German,  but  which  is  musical  to  the 
last  degree  in  Polish.  She  was  a  stout,  low- 
built  person,  with  white  hair  and  blonde  teeth. 
Besides  these  there  was  a  pair  of  beautiful  black 
eyes  running  about  the  house,  which  were  called 
Seraphina.  This  was  my  beautiful,  beloved 
cousin,  and  we  played  together  in  the  garden, 
and  watched  the  housekeeping  of  the  ants,  and 
caught  butterflies  and  planted  flowers.  She 
laughed  once  like  mad  when  I  planted  my  little 
stockings  in  the  earth,  believing  that  they  would 
grow  up  into  a  great  pair  of  breeches  for  papa. 

My  father  was  the  best  soul  in  the  world,  and 
was  long  regarded  as  a  very  handsome  man.  He 
wore  powdered  hair,  and  behind  a  neatly  braided 
little  queue,  which  did  not  hang  down,  but  was 
fastened  with  a  little  tortoise-shell  comb  to  one 
side.     His  hands  were  of  a  dazzling  whiteness. 


HERR  VON  SCHNABELEWOPSKI.  95 

and  I  often  kissed  them.  It  seems  as  if  I  could 
still  smell  their  sweet  perfume,  which  made  my 
eyes  tingle.  I  loved  my  father  dearly,  and  it 
never  came  into  my  mind  that  he  could  ever  die. 

My  paternal  grandfather  was  the  old  Herr  von 
Schnabelewopski,  and  all  I  know  of  him  is  that 
he  was  a  man,  and  my  father  was  his  son.  My 
maternal  grandfather  was  the  old  Herr  von 
Wlrssrnski  (sneeze  again  to  pronounce  this  name 
correctly),  and  he  is  painted  in  a  scarlet  velvet 
coat,  with  a  long  sword,  and  my  mother  often 
told  me  that  he  had  a  friend  who  wore  a  green 
silk  coat,  rose-silk  breeches,  and  white  silk  stock- 
ings, who  swung  his  little  chapeau-bas  here  and 
there  in  a  rage  when  he  spoke  of  the  King  of 
Prussia. 

My  mother,  Lady  von  Schnabelewopska,  gave 
me  as  I  grew  up  a  good  education.  She  had 
read  much :  before  my  birth  she  read  Plutarch 
almost  exclusively,  and  was  probably  deeply  im- 
pressed by  one  of  his  great  men,  perhaps  one  of 
the  Gracchi.  Hence  my  mystical  yearning  to 
realise  the  agrarian  law  in  a  modern  form.  My 
deep  sympathy  for  freedom  and  equality  is  pro- 
bably due  to  these  maternal  pre-lectures.  Had 
she  read  the  life  of  Cartouche  I  had  possibly  be- 
come a  great  banker.^     How  often  as  a  boy  did 

^  Cartouche.      A  famous  French  thief  whose  life  has  long 
been  a  popular  chap-book. 


96  PROM  THE  MEMOIRS  OF  , 

I  play  truant  from  school  to  reflect  on  the  beauti- 
ful meadows  of  Schnabelewopska  how  to  benefit 
all  mankind.  For  this  I  was  often  well  scolded 
and  punished  as  an  idler,  and  so  had  to  suffer  with 
grief  and  pain  for  my  schemes  for  benefiting  the 
world.  The  neighbourhood  of  Schnabelewops 
is,  I  may  mention,  very  beautiful.  There  is  a 
little  river  running  there  in  which  one  can  bathe 
in  the  summer-time  very  agreeably,  and  there  are 
the  most  delightful  birds'  nests  in  the  copses 
along  the  banks.  Old  Gnesen,  the  former 
capital  of  Poland,  is  only  three  miles  distant. 
There,  in  the  cathedral,  Saint  Adalbert  is  buried. 
There  is  his  silver  sarcophagus,  on  which  lies  his 
very  image,  the  size  of  life,  with  bishop's  mitre 
and  crosier,  the  hands  piously  folded — and  all  of 
molten  silver !  How  often  have  I  thought  of 
thee,  thou  silver  saint !  Ah,  how  often  my 
thoughts  go  back  to  Poland,  and  I  stand  once 
more  in  the  cathedral  of  Gnesen,  leaning  on  the 
column  by  the  grave  of  Adalbert!  Then  the 
organ  peals  once  more,  as  if  the  organist  were 
trying  a  piece  from  AUegri's  Miserere ;  a  mass 
is  being  murmured  in  a  distant  chapel,  the  last 
rays  of  the  sun  shine  through  the  many-coloured 
glass  windows,  the  church  is  empty,  only  there 
lies  before  the  silver  shrine  a  praying  figure — a 
woman  of  wondrous  beauty — who  casts  at  me  a 
sudden  side  glance,  which  she  turns  as  suddenly 


HERR  VON  SCHNABELBWOPSKL  97 

again  towards  the  saint,  and  murmurs  with 
yearning,  cunning  lips,  "  I  pray  to  thee  !  " 

In  the  instant  in  which  I  heard  those  words, 
the  sacristan  rang  his  bell  in  the  distance,  the 
organ  pealed  as  with  extreme  haste  like  a  rising 
tide,  the  beautiful  woman  rose  from  the  steps 
of  the  altar,  cast  her  veil  over  her  blushing  face, 
and  left  the  cathedral.  v? 

"  I  pray  to  thee ! "  Were  these  words  ad- 
dressed to  me  or  to  the  silver  Adalbert  ?  Truly 
she  had  turned  to  him,  but  only  her  face.  What 
was  the  meaning  of  that  side-glance  which  she 
first  threw  at  Tne,  whose  rays  flashed  over  my 
soul  like  a  loug  ray  of  light  which  the  moon 
pours  over  a  midnight  sea  when  it  breaks  from 
a  dark  cloud,  and  in  an  instant  is  seen  no  more  ? 
In  my  soul,  which  was  dark  as  such  a  sea,  that 
gleam  of  light  woke  all  the  wild  forms  which 
lurk  in  the  abyss,  and  the  maddest  sharks  and 
sword-fish  of  passion  darted  upward  and  tumbled 
together,  and  bit  one  another  in  the  tails  for 
ecstasy,  and  over  it  all  the  organ  roared  and 
stormed  more  terribly,  like  a  great  tempest  on 
the  Northern  Sea. 

The  next  day  I  left  Poland. 


0 


98  FROM  THE  MEMOIRS  OF 


CHAPTER  II. 

Mt  mother  packed  my  trunk  herself.  With  every 
shirt  she  put  in  a  bit  of  moral  advica  In  after 
times  the  washerwomen  got  away  with  all  my 
shirts,  and  morals  too.  My  father  was  deeply 
moved,  and  gave  me  a  long  slip  of  paper,  on 
which  he  had  written  out,  precept  by  precept, 
how  I  was  to  behave  in  the  world.  The  first 
article  announced  that  I  was  to  turn  every  ducat 
ten  times  before  I  spent  it.  I  followed  this 
advice  at  first ;  after  a  while  the  constant  turning 
became  tiresome.  With  every  item  of  advice 
I  received  a  ducat.  Then  he  took  scissors,  cut 
the  queue  from  his  dear  head,  and  gave  it  to 
me  for  a  souvenir.  I  have  it  yet,  and  never 
fail  to  weep  when  I  see  the  powdered  delicate 
hair. 

The  night  before  I  left  I  had  the  following 
dream : — 

I  wandered  alone  in  a  cheerful,  beautiful 
place  by  the  sea-side.  It  was  noon,  and  the  sun 
shone  on  the  water,  which  sparkled  like  diamonds. 
Here  and  there  on  the  beach  grew  a  great  aloe, 
which  lifted  its  green  arms,  as  if  imploring,  to 
the  sunny  heaven.  There  stood  a  weeping 
willow  with  its  long  hanging  tresses,  which  rose 
and  fell  as  the  waves  came  playing  up,  so  that 


HERR  VON  SCHNABELEWOPSKI.  99 

it  looked  like  a  young  water-spirit  letting  down 
her  green  locks,  or  raising  them  to  hear  the 
better  what  the  wooing  sprites  of  the  air  were 
whispering  to  her.  And,  indeed,  it  often  sounded 
like  sighs  and  tender  murmurs.  The  sea  gleamed 
more  beautifully  and  tenderly,  the  waves  rang 
more  musically,  and  on  the  rustling,  glittering 
waves  rose  the  holy  Adalbert,  as  I  had  seen  him 
in  the  Gnesen  Cathedral,  with  the  silver  crosier 
in  his  silver  hand,  the  silver  mitre  on  his  silver 
head,  and  he  beckoned  to  me  with  his  hand, 
and  nodded  to  me  with  his  head,  and  at  last, 
as  he  stood  before  me,  he  cried  with  an  unearthly 

silver  voice 

Yes ;  but  I  could  not  hear  the  words  for  the 
rustling  of  the  waves.  I  believe,  however,  that 
my  silver  rival  mocked  me,  for  I  stood  a  long 
time  on  the  strand,  and  wept  till  the  twilight  - 
came,  and  heaven  and  earth  became  sad  and 
pale,  and  mournful  beyond  all  measure.  Then 
the  flood  rose — aloe  and  willow  cracked  and  were 
wafted  away  by  the  waves,  which  ran  back 
many  times  in  haste,  and  came  bursting  up  ever 
more  wildly,  rolling  and  embracing  terribly  in 
snow-white  half  rings.  But  then  I  began  to 
perceive  a  noise  in  measured  time,  like  the  beat 
of  oars,  and  there  came  a  boat  driven  along  by 
the  waves.  In  it  sat  four  white  forms,  with 
sallow,  corpse  faces,  wrapped  in  shrouds,  rowing 


100  FROM  THE  MEMOIRS  OF 

with  energy.  In  the  midst  stood  a  pale  but 
infinitely  beautiful  woman,  infinitely  lovely  and 
delicate,  as  if  made  from  lily-perfume,  and  she 
sprang  ashore.  The  boat  with  its  spectral  row- 
men  shot  like  an  arrow  back  into  the  rising 
sea,  and  in  my  arms  lay  Panna  Jadviga,  who 
wept  and  laughed,  "  I  pray  to  thee  I "  * 


CHAPTER  III. 

My  first  flight  after  leaving  Schnabelewops  was 
towards  Germany,  and,  indeed,  to  Hamburg, 
where  I  remained  six  months,  instead  of  going 
directly  to  Leyden  and  applying  myself,  as  my 
parents  wished,  to  the  study  of  theology.  I  must 
confess  that  during  that  half-year  I  was  much 
more  occupied  with  worldly  than  with  heavenly 
affairs. 

Hamburg  is  a  good  city,  all  of  solid,  respectable 
houses.  It  is  not  the  infamous  Macbeth  who 
governs  here,  but  Banko.*  The  spirit  of  Banko 
rules  and  pervades  this  little   free  city,  whose 

^  The  unexpected  ending  of  this  chapter  referring  to  a  beauti- 
ful woman  and  death,  in  a  mysterious,  uncanny  manner,  is  a  tour 
de  force  which  Heine  employs  several  times  in  the  Reisebilder. — 
2'ran»lator,  , 

^  Of  course  Banquo.     Fun  on  bank.  ' 


HERR  VON  SCHNABBLBWOPSKI.  loi 

visible  head  is  a  high  and  well-wise  Senate.*  In 
fact  it  is  a  free  state,  and  we  find  in  it  the 
greatest  political  freedom.  The  citizens  can  do 
what  they  please,  and  the  high  and  well-wise 
Senate  acts  as  it  likes.  Every  one  is  lord  of  his 
own  deeds — it  is  a  true  republic.  If  Lafayette 
had  not  been  so  fortunate  as  to  find  Louis 
Philippe  he  would  certainly  have  recommended 
the  Senate  and  supervisors  of  Hamburg  to  his 
French  fellow-citizens.  Hamburg  is  the  best 
republic.  Its  manners  are  English,  and  its 
cookery  is  heavenly.^  There  are,  in  sober  truth, 
between  the  Wandrahmen  and  the  Dreckwall, 
dishes  to  be  found  of  which  our  philosophers  have 
no  conception.  The  Hamburgers  are  good  people 
who  enjoy  good  eating.  They  are  much  divided 
as  regards  religion,  politics,  and  science,  but  they 
are  all  beautifully  agreed  as  to  cooking.  Their 
theologians  may  quarrel  as  much  as  they  like  over 
the  Lord's  Supper,8  but  there  is  no  difference  as 
to  the  daily  dinner.  Though  there  be  among  the 
Jews  there  one  division  who  give  grace  or  the 
prayer  at  table  in  German,  while  others  chant  it 

^  Ein  hock  und  wohttoeiter  Senat.  A  formal  expression  often 
applied  officially  to  such  bodies. 

*  Seine  Sitten  sind  Englisch,  und  tein  Esten  iat  himndiieh. 
Engliich  has  the  doable  meaning  of  English  and  angelic.  Non 
Angli  ted  Angdi. 

*  AhendmaJd.  Literally  evening  or  eve-meal;  from  Pass- 
over eve. 


.fc*:... 


^._^.  ■^.^.>  V:^'^iMiakdiiSi« 


I02  FROM  THE  MEMOIRS  OF 

in  Hebrew,  they  both  eat  heartily  and  agree 
heartily  as  to  what  is  on  the  table,  and  judge  its 
merits  with  unfailing  wisdom.  The  lawyers,  the 
turnspits  of  the  law,  who  turn  and  twist  it  till  at 
last  they  get  a  roast  for  themselves,  may  dispute 
as  to  whether  feeing  and  pleading  shall  be  publicly 
conducted  or  not,  but  they  are  all  one  as  to  the 
merits  of  feeding,  and  every  one  of  them  has  his 
own  favourite  dish.  The  army  is  naturally  of  Spar- 
tan bravery,  but  it  will  not  hear  of  black  broth. 
The  physicians  vary  much  in  treating  disorders, 
and  cure  the  national  illness — indigestion — as 
Brownists,  by  giving  still  greater  helpings  of  dried 
beef ;  or,  as  homeopathists,  by  administering 
lo^^th  of  a  drop  of  absinthe  in  a  great  tureen  of 
mock-turtle  soup— but  all  practise  alike  when  it 
comes  to  discussing  the  soup  and  the  smoked 
beef  themselves.  Of  this  last  dish  Hamburg  is 
the  paternal  city,  and  boasts  of  it  as  Mainz 
boasts  of  John  Faust,  or  Eisleben  of  Martin 
Luther.  But  what  is  the  art  of  printing  or  the 
Reformation  compared  to  smoked  beef!  There 
are  two  parties  in  Germany  who  are  at  variance 
as  to  whether  the  latter  have  done  good  or  harm, 
but  the  most  zealous  Jesuits  are  united  in  de- 
claring that  smoked  beef  is  a  good  invention, 
wholesome  for  humanity.^  ! 

^  Rauc^fieiach,  i,e.,   smoked  meat,  generally  or    always  the 
bun     beef  known  in  the  United  States  aa  smoked,  or,  more 


HERR  VON  SCHNABELEWOPSKI.  103 

Hamburg  was  founded  by  Charles  the  Great, 
and  is  inhabited  by  eighty  thousand  small  people, 
none  of  whom  would  change  with  the  great  man 
who  now  lies  buried  in  Aix  la  Chapelle.  The  popu- 
lation of  the  city  may  amount  to  one  hundred 
thousand,  I  am  not  quite  sure,  though  I  walked 
whole  days  in  its  streets  to  look  at  the  people. 
It  is  very  possible  that  many  men  escaped  my 
attention,  as  I  was  particularly  occupied  with 
looking  at  the  women.  The  latter  I  found  were 
by  no  means  lean ;  on  the  contrary,  they  were 
generally  corpulent,  and  now  and  then  charmingly 
beautiful — on  the  whole,  of  a  flourishing,  sensuous 
quality,  which,  by  Venus !  did  not  displease  me. 
If  they  do  not  manifest  much  wild  and  dreamy 
idealism  in  romantic  love,  and  have  little  con- 
ception of  the  grand  passion  of  the  heart,  it  is 
not  so  much  their  fault  as  that  of  Cupid,  who 
often  aims  at  them  his  sharpest  arrows,  but  from 
mischief  or  unskilfulness  shoots  too  low,  and  in- 
stead of  the  heart  hits  them  in  the  stomach. 
As  for  the  men,  I  saw  among  them  mostly  short 
figures,  calmly  reasoning  cold  glances,  low  fore- 
heads, carelessly  heavy  hanging  red  cheeks,  the 
eating  apparatus  being  remarkably  well  devel- 
oped, the  hat  as  if  nailed  to  the  head,  and  the 
hands  in  both  breeches'  pockets,  as  though  their 

commonly,  dried  beef ;  in  Cuba  as  tasajo  ;  in  Mexico,  charq^ui. 
It  ia  also  a  standing  dish  at  all  suppers  in  Holland. 


^t^t^t^tim. 


I04  FROM  THE  MEMOIRS  OF 

owner  would   say,   "How    much   must   I    pay, 
then  ?  " 

Among  the  lions  of  Hamburg  we  find — 

1 .  The  old  Council  House,  or  Town  Hall,  where 
the  great  Hamburg  bankers  are  chiselled  out  of 
stone,  and  stand  counterfeited  with  sceptres  and 
globes  of  empire  in  their  hands.  i 

2.  The  Exchange,  where  the  sons  of  Hammonia 
assemble  every  day,  as  did  the  Eomans  of  old  in 
the  Forum,  and  where  there  hangs  overhead  a 
black  tablet  of  honour,  with  the  names  of  distin- 
guished fellow-citizens.* 

3.  The  Beautiful  Marianne,  an  extremely 
handsome  woman,  on  whom  the  tooth  of  Time 
has  gnawed  for  twenty  years.  By  the  way,  "  tooth 
of  time  "  is  a  bad  metaphor,  for  Time  is  so  old 
that  by  this  time  he  cannot  have  a  tooth  left, 
while  Marianne  has  all  of  hers,  and  hair  on 
them  at  that. 

4.  That  which  was  once  the  Central 
Treasury. 

5.  Altona. 

6.  The  original  manuscripts  of  Marr's 
Tragedies. 

7.  The  owner  of  the  Roding  Museum.        ' 

8.  The  Borsenhalle  or  Stock  Exchange. 

^  A  satirical  reference  to  a  black-board  bung  in  the  Exchange, 
bearing  the  tUHoea  uf  fraodolent  or  abaoonding  memben  of  the 

association.  I 


■  1,^.   .         • ."  >    .•  .A  ■  J  aJj^  k  -  "         '-•■  ' —         .  ,  ^  .  .'.  -J  '-^V 


/>;?,--'1»I . 


HERR  VON  SCHNABELEWOPSKI.  105 

9.  The  Bacchus  Hall. 
10.  And,  finally,  the  City  Theatre. 

This  last  deserves  to  be  specially  praised.  Its 
members  are  all  good  citizens,  honourable  fathers 
of  families,  who  never  let  themselves  be  substi- 
tuted or  disguised,'^  and  never  act  so  as  to  deceive 
anybody  for  an  instant — men  who  make  of  the 
theatre  a  church,  since  they  convince  the  un- 
happy man  who  has  lost  faith  in  humanity,  in 
the  most  actual  manner  possible,  that  all  things 
in  this  world  are  not  delusion  and  a  counterfeit.^ 
In  enumerating  the  remarkable  things  in  Ham- 
burg, I  cannot  refrain  from  mentioning  that  in 
my  time  the  Hall  of  Apollo,  on  the  Drehbahn, 
was  a  very  brilliant  place.  Now  it  has  very 
much  come  down,  and  philharmonic  concerts, 
and  shows  by  professors  of  legerdemain,  are 
there  given,  and  professors  of  natural  history 
are  fed.  Once  it  was  different.  The  trumpets 
pealed,  the  drums  rattled  and  rolled  loudly, 
ostrich  feathers  fluttered,  and  Heloise  and  Minka 
ran  the  races  of  the  Oginski  polonaise,  and 
everything  was  so  perfectly  respectable  I  Sweet 
time  it  was  for  me  when  fortune  smiled.  And 
this  fortuTie  was  called  Heloise.  She  was  a 
charming,  loving,  pleasure-giving  treasure,  with 

^  VerttdUn.    To  misplaoe,  sham,  disguise. 
'  By  all  this  Heine  simply  means  that  nobody  is  "  taken  in  *'* 
by  the  acting  in  question. 


io6  FROM  THE  MEMOIRS  OP 

rosy  lips,  a  little  lily  nose,  warm,  perfumed 
carnation  lips,  and  eyes  like  blue  mountain 
lakes,  albeit  there  was  something  of  stupidity 
on  her  brow,  which  hung  there  like  a  gloomy 
cloud  over  a  brilliant  spring  landscape.  She  was 
slender  as  a  poplar,  lively  as  a  dove,  with  a  skin 
delicate  as  an  infant's.  Sweet  time  when  Fortune 
ever  smiled  on  me !  Minka  did  not  laugh  so 
much,  not  having  such  beautiful  teeth ;  but  her 
tears  were  all  the  lovelier  when  she  wept,  which 
she  did  on  all  occasions  for  suffering  humanity ; 
and  she  was  benevolent  beyond  belief.  She  gave 
the  poor  her  last  penny — yes,  for  charity's  sake, 
I  have  known  her  to  be  reduced  to  the  last  shift. 
She  was  so  good  that  she  refused  nothing  to  any- 
body, save  that  which  was  indeed  beyond  her 
gift.  This  soft  and  yielding  character  contrasted 
charmingly  with  her  personal  appearance,  which 
was  that  of  a  brave  Juno — a  bold,  white  neck, 
shaded  by  wild  black  ringlets,  like  voluptuous 
snakes ;  eyes  which  flashed  forth  as  if  ruling  the 
world  from  under  glooming  arches  of  victory ; 
purple,  proud,  high-curving  lips ;  marble  white 
commanding  hands,  somewhat  freckled ;  and  she 
had  on  her  right  side  a  mother-mark  in  the  form 
of  a  small  dagger. 

If  I  have  brought  you  into  so-called  bad 
company,  dear  reader,  console  yourself  with  the 
reflection  that  it  does  not  cost  you  so  much  as  it 


HERR  VON  SCHNABELEWOPSKI.  107 

did  me.  However,  there  will  be  no  want,  further 
on  in  this  book,  of  ideal  women — and  just  here  I 
will  give  you  a  specimen,  just  to  cheer  you  up, 
of  two  highly  decent  dames,  whom  I  learned  in 
those  days  to  know  and  honour.  These  were 
Mrs.  Pieper  and  Mrs.  Schnieper.  The  first  was 
a  handsome  woman  in  full  maturity,  with  great 
blackish  eyes,  a  great  white  forehead,  false  black 
hair,  a  bold,  old  Eoman  nose,  and  a  mouth  which 
was  a  guillotine  for  every  good  name.  Indeed 
there  could  be  no  contrivance  equal  to  that  mouth 
for  the  speedy  execution  and  death  of  a  reputa- 
tion. There  was  no  prolonged  struggle,  no  long- 
delayed  preparation,  if  the  best  of  characters 
once  got  between  her  teeth  she  smiled,  but 
that  smile  was  the  fall  of  the  axe,  and  honour 
was  decapitated  and  the  head  rolled  into  the 
bag.  She  was  always  a  pattern  of  propriety, 
honour,  piety,  and  virtue.  The  same  may  be 
said  in  celebration  of  Mrs.  Schnieper.  She 
was  a  tender  woman,  with  a  little  anxious 
bosom,  generally  curtained  with  a  mournful  thin 
gauze  or  crape,  light  blonde  hair,  and  clear 
blue  eyes,  which  gleamed  in  a  frightfully  crafty 
manner  out  of  her  white  face.  People  said 
you  could  never  hear  her  footfall,  and  indeed 
ere  you  knew  it  she  often  stood  close  by,  and 
then  vanished  as  silently  as  she  came.  Her 
smile,  too,  was  death  to  any  decent  reputation, 


■  r**if*f--^,:        (.'■■  '■•■  .  .;,      .   .'    ■  ",'•■,,        ,.,,'■'.': 


I08  FROM  THE  MEMOIRS  OF 

but  less  like  the  fall  of  an  axe  than  the  poison 
wind  of  Africa,  before  whose  breath  all  flowers 
perish;  so  in  the  breath  of  this  woman's  voice 
every  good  name  perished  miserably  as  she  smiled. 
Also  a  pattern  of  piety,  propriety,  honour,  and 
virtue. 

I  shall  not  fail  to  exalt  many  of  the  sons  of 
Hammonia,nor  to  praise  in  the  highest  certain  men 
who  are  grandly  esteemed — videlicet,  those  who 
are  rated  at  several  million  marks  banco — but 
just  at  present  I  will  subdue  my  enthusiasm, 
that  it  may  after  a  time  flame  up  all  the  higher. 
For  I  have  nothing  less  in  my  mind  than  to  raise 
a  temple  of  honour  to  Hamburg,  according  to  the 
same  plan  which  was  sketched  out  some  ten 
years  ago  by  a  celebrated  man  of  letters,  who 
with  this  intention  requested  every  Hamburger 
to  send  him  a  specified  inventory  of  his  virtues 
and  talents — with  one  dollar,  specie — as  soon  as 
possible.  I  have  never  exactly  understood  why 
this  temple  of  honour  never  appeared.^     Some 

^  This  kind  of  miserable  swindle  is  still  common  in  the  United 
States.  I  have  more  than  once  received  letters  from  unknown 
men,  who  informed  me  that  they  were  preparing  a  volume  of 
Sketches,  or  Lives  of  Distinguished  Americans,  asking  me  to 
■end  a  memoir  of  myself,  and  especially  my  photograph,  and 
fifty  dollars  to  pay  for  engraving  it.  An  examination  of  the 
list  of  those  who  were  to  appear  in  the  work  convinced  me  that 
"  a  distinguished  American  "  meant  any  man  living  who  was 
possessed  of  fifty  dollars,  and  was  willing  to  pay  it  to  the  pub* 
Usher. — Tramlator. 


HERR  VON  SCHNABELBWOPSKI.  109 

say  that  the  undertaker,  or  the  man  of  honour 
who  kept  the  temple,  had  hardly  printed  from  A 
— Aaaron  to  Abendroth — and  only  got  in  his  first 
quoins,  before  he  broke  down  under  the  weight 
of  copy  or  biography  sent  in ;  others  say  that  the 
high  and  well-wise  Senate,  moved  by  excess  of 
modesty,  prevented  the  project  altogether,  since 
they  requested  this  architect  of  his  own  temple  of 
honour  to  be  out  of  Hamburg  with  all  his  virtues 
within  four-and-twenty  hours.  Anyhow,  from 
some  cause  or  other,  the  work  was  never  com- 
pleted ;  and  as  I  have  an  inborn  yearning  to  do 
something  great  in  this  world,  and  have  ever  striven 
after  the  impossible,  therefore  I  have  revived  this 
vast  project,  and  will  myself  manufacture  a  great 
temple  of  honour  to  Hamburg,  an  immortal  and 
colossal  hook,  in  which  I  will  describe  with- 
out exception  all  its  inhabitants — wherein  shall 
appear  noble  traits  of  secret  charity  which  were 
never  mentioned  in  a  newspaper,  traits  of  such 
grandeur  that  nobody  will  believe  a  word  of 
them,  to  be  preceded  by  a  magnificent  portrait 
of  myself,  as  I  appear  when  I  sit  in  the  Jung- 
fernstieg  before  the  Swiss  Pavilion,  and  muse  over 
the  magnificence  of  Hamburg.  This  will  be  the 
vignette  of  my  immortal  work. 


110  FROM  THE  MEMOIRS  OP 


CHAPTER  IV. 

For  readers  who  do  not  know  Hamburg — there 
are  such,  I  suppose,  in  China  or  Upper  Bavaria — 
I  must  remark  that  the  most  beautiful  promenade 
of  the  sons  and  daughters  of  Hammonia  bears  the 
appropriate  name  of  Jungfemstieg,^  and  that  it 
consists  of  an  avenue  of  lime-trees,  which  is 
bounded  on  one  side  by  a  row  of  houses,  and  on 
the  other  by  the  Alster  Basin,  and  that  before  the 
latter,  and  built  out  into  the  water,  are  two  tent- 
like pleasant  caf^s,  called  pavilions.  It  is  nice  to 
sit,  especially  before  one  called  the  Swiss  Pavilion, 
of  a  summer  day,  when  the  afternoon  sun  is  not 
too  hot,  but  only  smiles  gaily  and  pours  its  rays  as 
in  a  fairy  dream  over  the  lindens,  the  houses,  the 
people,  the  Alster,  and  the  swans,  who  cradle 
themselves  in  it.  Yes,  it  is  nice  to  sit  there ; 
and  even  so  I  sat  on  many  a  summer  afternoon 
and  thought,  as  a  young  man  generally  does, 
that  is  to  say,  about  nothing  at  all,  and  looked 
at  what  a  young  man  generally  looks  at,  that  is, 
the  girls — ^yes,  there  they  fluttered  along,  the 
charming  things,  with  their  winged  caps,  and 
covered  baskets,  containing  nothing ;  there  they 
tripped,  the  gay  Vierlander  maids,  who  provide  all 

*  Jungfemttieg.    The  Maidens'  or  Virgins'  Walk. 


HERR  VON  SCHNABELEWOPSKI.  iii 

Hamburg  with  strawberries  and  their  own  milk, 
and  whose  petticoats  are  still  much  too  long; 
there  swept  proudly  along  the  beautiful  mer- 
chants' daughters,  with  whose  love  one  gets  just 
so  much  ready  money ;  there  skipped  a  nurse 
bearing  on  her  arm  a  rosy  boy,  whom  she  con- 
stantly kissed  while  thinking  of  her  lover ;  there 
wandered  too  the  priestesses  of  Venus  Aphrodite, 
Hanseatic  vestals,  Dianas  on  the  hunt.  Naiads, 
Dryads,  Hamydryads,  and  similar  clergymen's 
daughters ;  and  ah !  there  with  them  Minka  and 
Heloise !  How  oft  I  sat  in  that  pavilion  fair  and 
saw  her  wandering  past  in  rose-striped  gown — 
it  cost  four  shillings  and  threepence  a  yard,  and 
Mr.  Seligmann  gave  me  his  word  that  even 
though  washed,  and  that  full  many  times,  the 
colour  would  not  fade.  "  What  glorious  girls ! " 
exclaimed  the  virtuous  youths  who  sat  by  me. 
I  remember  how  a  great  insurance  agent,  who 
was  always  bedecked  like  a  carnival  ox,  said, 
"  I'd  like  to  have  one  of  them  for  breakfast,  and 
the  other  for  supper,  just  at  will,  and  I  don't 
think  I  should  want  any  dinner  that  day."  "  She 
is  an  angel ! "  cried  a  sea-captain,  so  loudly  that 
both  the  damsels  at  a  glance  looked  jealously  at 
one  another.  I  myself  said  nothing,  and  thought 
my  sweetest  nothings,  and  looked  at  the  girls  and 
the  pleasant  gentle  sky,  and  the  taU  Petri  tower 
with  its  slender  waist,  and  the  calm  blue  Alster, 


113  FROM  THE  MEMOIRS  OF 

on  which  the  swans  swam  so  proud,  and  beautiful, 
and  secure.  IThe  swans !  I  could  look  at  them 
for  hours — the  lovely  creatures,  with  their  soft, 
long  necks,  as  they  so  voluptuously  cradled  them- 
selves on  the  soft  flood,  diving  ever  and  anon, 
and  proudly  splashing  till  the  heaven  grew  dark 
and  the  golden  stars  came  forth  yearning,  hope- 
giving,  wondrously  and  beautifully  tender  and 
transformed.  The  stars!  Are  they  golden 
flowers  on  the  bridal  bosom  of  heaven  ?  Are 
they  the  eyes  of  enamoured  angels,  who  with 
yearning  mirror  themselves  in  the  blue  streams 
of  earth  below  and  rival  with  the  swans  ? 

Ah !  that  is  all  long,  long  ago.  Then  I  was 
young  and  foolish.  Now  I  am  old  and  foolish. 
Many  a  flower  has  withered  since  that  time, 
and  many  too  been  trodden  into  earth ;  even 
the  rose-striped  stuff  of  Seligmann  has  lost  the 
colour  warranted  to  wash.  He  has  faded  him- 
self ;  the  firm  is  now  Seligmann's  late  widow.^ 
And  Heloise,  the  gentle  creature  who  seemed  to 
be  made  to  walk  only  on  soft  Indian  flowered 
carpets  and  be  fanned  with  peacock's  feathers, 
went  down  among  roaring  sailors,  punch,  tobacco- 
smoke,  and  bad  music.  When  I  again  saw 
Minka  she  had  changed  her  name  to  Katinka, 
and  dwelt  between  Hamburg  and  Altona ;  she 

^  Sdigmann's  selige  Witttoe.    Seligmann,  "  happy  man,"  means 
also  a  deceased  husband.     Also  a  common  Jewish  name. 


HERR  VON  SCHNABELEWOPSKI.  113 

looked  like  the  temple  of  Solomon  after  it  had 
been  destroyed  by  Nebuchadnezzar,  and  smelt  of 
Assyrian  Kanaster ;  and  as  she  told  of  Heloise's 
death,  she  wept  bitterly  and  tore  her  hair  in  de- 
spair, and  fainted  quite  away  ;  nor  did  she  recover 
till  she  had  swallowed  a  great  glass  of  spirits. 

And  how  the  town  itself  was  changed  !  And 
the  Jungf ernstieg !  Snow  lay  on  the  roofs,  and 
it  seemed  as  if  the  houses  had  grown  old  and  had 
white  hair.  The  lime  trees  of  the  Jungfemstieg 
were  dead  trees  and  dry  boughs,  which  waved 
ghost-like  in  the  cold  wind.  The  sky  was  cut- 
ting blue,  and  soon  grew  dark.  It  was  five 
o'clock  on  Sunday — the  general  hour  for  fodder- 
ing— and  the  carriages  rolled  along.  Gentlemen 
and  ladies  descended  from  them  with  frozen 
smiles  upon  their  hungry  lips.  How  horrible ! 
At  that  instant  I  was  thrilled  with  the  awful 
thought  that  an  unfathomable  idiocy  appeared  in 
all  these  faces,  and  that  all  persons  who  passed 
by  seemed  bewildered  in  a  strange  delirium. 
Twelve  years  before,  at  the  same  hour,  I  had 
seen  them  with  the  same  faces,  like  the  puppets 
of  a  town-hall  clock,  with  the  same  gestures  ;  and 
since  then  they  had  gone  on  in  the  same  old  way, 
reckoning  and  going  on  'Change  and  assisting  one 
another,  and  moving  their  jawbones,  and  paying 
their  pourhoires,  and  counting  up  tigain :  twice 
two  is  four.     Horrible !  I  cried.     Suppose  that 


114  FROM  THE  MEMOIRS  OP 

I 

it  should  suddenly  occur  to  one  of  these  people 
while  he  sat  on  the  office  stool  that  twice  two  %» 
jwtt  and  that  he  consequently  has  been  mul- 
tiplying wrongly  all  his  life,  and  so  wasted  that 
life  in  an  awful  error.  All  at  once  a  foolish 
delirium  seized  me,  and,  as  I  regarded  the  passers- 
by  more  nearly,  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  they  were 
themselves  nothing  but  ciphers  or  Arabic  numer- 
als. There  went  a  crook-footed  Two  by  a  fatal 
Three,  his  full-bosomed,  enceinte  spouse ;  behind 
them  came  Mr.  Four  on  crutches,  waddling  along 
came  a  fatal  Five,  then  with  round  belly  and  a 
little  hood  a  well-known  little  Six,  and  the  still 
better  known  Evil  Seven ;  but  as  I  looked  more 
closely  at  the  wretched  Eight  as  it  tottered  past  I 
recognised  in  it  the  insurance  agent  who  once  went 
adorned  like  a  carnival  ox,  but  who  now  looked 
like  the  leanest  of  Pharoah's  lean  kine — pale, 
hoUow  cheeks,  like  an  empty  soup-plate ;  a  cold, 
red  nose,  like  a  winter  rose ;  a  shabby  black  coat, 
which  had  a  pitiful  white  shine ;  a  hat  into  which 
Saturn  with  the  scythe  had  cut  air-holes ;  but  his 
boots  polished  like  looking-glasses,  and  he  no 
longer  seemed  to  think  about  devouring  Heloise 
and  Minka  for  breakfast  and  supper,  but  to  be 
longing  very  much  more  for  a  good  dinner  of 
common  beef.  And  I  recognised  many  an  old 
friend  among  the  mere  ciphers  who  rolled  along.* 

'  This  conceit  of  representing  a  procession  of  haman  beings 
M  nomerals  had  been  previously  more  fnlly  worked  oat,  if  I  am 


HBRR  VON  SCHNABELSWOPSKl.  iij 

So  these  and  the  rest  of  the  numerical  folk  drove 
by  hurried  and  hungry,  while  more  grimly  droll  a 
funeral  passed  not  far  off,  past  the  houses  of  the 
Jungfernstieg.  As  a  melancholy,  masquerading 
show  there  walked  on  after  the  hearse,  stilted  on 
their  little,  thin,  black  silk  legs,  the  well-known 
council-servants,  the  privileged  civic  mourners,  in 
a  parodied  old  Burgundian  costume,  short  black 
cloaks  and  black  plumped  breeches,  white  wigs, 
and  cravats,  out  of  which  the  red  mercenary  faces 
stared  comically,  short  steel  rapiers  on  their  hips, 
with  green  umbrellas  on  their  arms. 

But  more  uncanny  and  bewildering  than  these 
figures  which  went  silently  by  were  the  sounds 
which  rang  in  my  ears  from  the  other  side.  They 
were  shrill,  harsh,  creaking,  metallic  tones,  a 
crazy  screeching,  a  painful  splashing  and  despair- 
ing gulping,  a  gasping  and  tumbling,  and  groan- 
ing and  wailing  bitterly — an  indescribable  ice- 
cold  cry  of  pain.  The  basin  of  the  Alster  was 
frozen  up,  only  that  near  the  shore  was  a  large 
square  cut  in  the  ice,  and  the  terrible  tones  which 
I  had  heard  came  from  the  windpipes  of  the  poor 
white  creatures  which  swam  round  in  it,  and 
screeched  in  horrible  agony ;  and  oh,  they  were 
the  same  swans  who  once  had  cheered  my  heart 
80  softly  and  merrilyj    Ah !  the  beautiful  white 

not  mistaken,  in  Oaekd  und  Oaekdeia,  whose  author  had  prob- 
ably taken  it  from  a  common  groteaqae  design. — Trtmdator. 


I 
)  ! 

i 
Ii6  FROM  THE  MEMOIRS  OP  1 

swans !  Their  wings  had  been  broken  to  prevent 
them  from  flying  in  the  autumn  to  the  warm 
South,  and  now  the  North  held  them  fast  bound, 
fast  banned  in  its  dark,  icy  grave,  and  the  waiter 
of  the  Pavilion  said  they  were  all  right,  in  there, 
and  that  the  cold  was  good  for  them.  But  it  was 
not  true ;  it  is  not  good  for  anybody  to  be  im- 
prisoned, powerless,  in  a  cold  pool  almost  frozen, 
with  the  wings  broken  so  that  one  cannot  fly 
away  to  the  beautiful  South,  with  its  beautiful 
flowers,  golden  sunlight,  and  blue  mountain  lakes. 
Ah !  with  me  it  was  little  better,  and  I  under- 
stood the  suffering  of  these  poor  swans,  and  as  it 
ever  grew  darker  and  the  stars  came  out  bright 
above,  the  same  stars  who  once  so  warm  with 
love  wooed  the  swans  on  fair  summer  nights,  but 
who  now  looked  down  with  frosty  brilliancy,  and 
almost  scornfully,  on  them.  Ah !  I  now  perceive 
that  the  stars  are  no  living,  sympathetic  beings, 
but  only  gleaming  phantasms  of  night,  eternal 
delusions  in  a  dreamed  heaven — mere  golden  lies 
in  dark  blue  Nothingness.  I 


CHAPTER  V. 

While  writing  the  foregoing  chapter  I  waa 
thinking  all  the  time  on  something  else.  An 
old  song  was  humming  in  my  memory,  and  forms 


.    N. 


HERR  VON  SCHNABBLEWOPSKI.  iiy 

and  thoughts  confused  themselves  most  intoler- 
ably, and,  willy  nilly,  I  must  speak  of  it.  Per- 
haps it  really  belongs  here,  and  is  right  in  forcing 
itself  into  my  scribbling.  Ah,  yes  !  now  I  begin 
to  understand  it,  and  also  to  understand  the 
mysterious  tone  in  which  Xlas  Hinrichson  sang 
it.  He  was  a  Jutlander,  and  served  as  our 
groom.  He  sang  it  the  very  evening  before  he 
hung  himself  in  our  stable.     At  the  refrain — 

Sir  Vonved,  look  about  thee ! 

he  often  laughed  bitterly,  the  horses  neighed  in 
alarm,  and  the  great  dog  in  the  courtyard  howled 
as  though  some  one  were  dying.  It  is  the  old 
Danish  song  of  Sir  Vonved,  who  rides  out  into 
the  world,  and  adventures  about  till  all  his  riddles 
are  answered,  and  he  in  vexed  mood  returns 
home.  The  harp  sings  in  it  as  refrain  from 
beginning  to  end.  But  what  did  he  sing  first 
and  last  ?  I  have  often  thought  thereon.  Klas 
Hinrichson's  voice  was  many  a  time  subdued  by 
tears  when  he  began  the  ballad,  and  then  became 
gradually  as  rough  and  growling  as  the  sea  when 
a  storm  is  rising.     It  begins : 

Sir  Yonved  sits  in  his  room  alway, 
Well  on  his  gold  harp  he  can  play  ; 
He  hides  the  gold  harp  beneath  his  cloak. 
His  mother  entered,  and  thus  she  spoke  : 
"  Sir  Vonved,  look  about  thee  I* 


llS  PROM  THE  MEMOIRS  OF  ^ 

That  was  his  mother  Adeline  the  Queen.     She 

said  to  him,  "  My  young  son,  let  others  play  the 

harp.     Gird  on  thy  sword,  mount  thy  horse,  try 

thy  courage,  strive  and  strain,  see  the  world  ere 

thou  turn  again !    Sir  Yonved,  look  ahout  thee  ! ' 

I 
Sir  Vonved  binds  Ms  sword  to  his  side, 
To  battle  with  warriors  he  will  ride  j 
Strange  was  his  jonmey  and  intent, 
For  no  man  knew  the  way  he  went. 
Sir  Yonved,  look  about  thee  ! 

His  helmet  was  blinking, 
His  spurs  were  clinkin;^. 
His  horse  was  springing, 
In  saddle  bow  swinging  ! 

Sir  Yonved,  look  about  thee  I  * 

He  rode  one  day  and  then  dajs  three, 
Yet  never  a  city  could  he  see. 
"  Ha  ! "  said  the  youth,  "  on  either  hand. 
Is  there  no  city  in  this  land  t" 
Sir  Yonved,  look  about  thee ! 

And  as  he  went  the  road  along. 
There  came  to  him  Sir  ThGle  Ying, 
Sir  Thtile  Yang,  with  many  a  son ; 
They  were  good  warriors  every  one. 

Sir  Yonved,  look  about  thee  I  , 

**  My  youngest  son,  hear  what  I  say ! 
Our  armour  we  must  change  to-day  ; 
My  harness  must  be  worn  by  thee, 
Before  we  fight  this  hero  free." 
Sir  Yonved,  look  about  thee  t 

^  The  metm  obanges  in  tbb  vene  as  in  the  Danish  origindL 


HERR  VON  SCHNABELBWOPSKI.  119 

Sir  Vonved  draws  his  sword  from  his  side, 
Against  the  warriors  he  will  ride ; 
Lord  Thule  first  of  all  he  slew, 
Then  all  of  his  twelve  sons  thereto. 
Sir  Vonved,  look  about  thee  1 

Sir  Vonved  binds  his  sword  to  his  side,  and 
rides  on.  Then  he  meets  a  hunter,  and  will 
have  half  his  game.  But  the  man  refuses,  and 
must  fight,  and  is  slain.  ^     And 

Sir  Vonved  binds  his  Bword  to  his  side, 
And  onward  ever  he  will  ride  ; 
O'er  mountain  high,  and  river  deep, 
To  where  a  shepherd  guards  his  sheep. 
Sir  Vonved,  look  about  thee  I 

And  to  the  herd  as  he  drew  near, 
Said,  ''  Whose  the  flock  thou  drivest  heret 
And  what  is  rounder  than  a  wheel  ? 
And  where  is  the  merriest  Christmas  meal  t* 
Sir  Vonved,  look  about  thee  I 

"  Say  where  the  fish  rests  in  the  flood  t 
And  where  is  the  red  bird  so  good  t 
Where  is  the  best  wine  made  or  sold  f 
Where  does  Vidrich  drink  with  his  warriors  bold  t* 
Sir  Vonved,  look  about  thee  1 

The  herd  was  silent  as  could  be. 
Of  all  of  this  no  word  knew  he  ; 
Then  at  a  stroke  the  herd  he  slew, 
Liver  and  lung  he  cleft  in  two. 
Sir  Vonved,  look  about  thee  ! 

^  This  man  bad  murdered  his  father.    Omitted  by  Heine. — 
Traniiator. 


ia»  PROM  THE  MEMOIRS  OF  i 

Then  he  came  to  another  flock,  and  there  sat 
another  shepherd,  whom  he  also  questioned. 
This  one  answers  wisely,  and  Sir  Vonved  takes 
a  gold  ring  and  puts  it  on  the  shepherd's  arm. 
Then  he  rides  further,  and  comes  to  Tyge  Nold, 
and  slays  him  with  his  twelve  sons.  And, 
further — 

With  his  hoTse  he  rode  and  ran. 
Sir  Vonved,  the  young  nobleman, 
Oer  rocks  can  ride  and  rivers  swim. 
But  found  no  man  to  talk  with  him. 
Sir  Vonved,  look  about  thee  1 

He  came  unto  the  third,  and  there 
Sat  an  old  man  with  silver  hair  : 
"  List  thou,  good  shepherd,  with  thy  herd, 
I  deem  thou'lt  wisely  speak  a  word." 
Sir  Vonved,  look  about  thee  ! 

"  Oh,  what  is  rounder  than  a  wheel  1  | 

Where  is  the  merriest  Christmas  meal  1  | 

Where  goes  the  sun  across  the  sky  ?  >     ■ 

And  where  do  the  feet  of  a  dead  man  lie  1"  I 
Sir  Vonved,  look  about  thee  ! 

"  What  fiUeth  up  the  valleys  all  1 
What  garb  is  best  in  royal  hall  ? 
What  crieth  louder  than  the  crane  ? 
And  what  is  whiter  than  the  swan  1 " 
Sir  Vonved,  look  about  thee  t 

^  Who  wears  his  beard  on  the  back,  or  in  I 
Who  bears  his  nose  beneath  his  chin  1 
And  what  is  blacker  than  a  bolt  t 
Or  Caster  than  a  frightened  coltl " 
Sir  Vonved,  look  about  thee  t 


HERR  VON  SCHNABBLEWOPSKL  izt 

*  Say  where  the  broadest  bridge  may  be^ 
And  what  do  men  most  hate  to  see  ; 
Where  is  the  highest  road  alone  ? 
And  where  the  coldest  drink  that* s  known  ?  " 
Sir  Vonved,  look  about  thee  I 

"  The  snn  is  rounder  than  a  wheel, 
In  heaven  the  merriest  Christmas  meal ; 
The  sua  forever  seeks  the  west, 
Towards  east  the  feet  of  a  dead  man  rest" 
Sir  Vonved,  look  about  thee  ! 

"  The  snow  fills  up  the  valleys  all, 
CJourage  beseems  a  royal  hall ; 
Thuuder  is  louder  than  the  crane, 
And  angels  whiter  than  the  swan.* 
Sir  Vonved,  look  about  thee  1 

"  The  plover's  beard  on  his  neck  hath  grown. 
The  bear  hath  his  nose  'neath  his  chin,  alone  ;    ^ 
Sin  is  blacker  than  a  bolt, 
And  thought  flies  faster  than  a  colt." 
Sir  Vonved,  look  about  thee  ! 

•*  No  broader  bridge  than  ice  can  be. 
The  toad  is  what  man  most  hates  to  see  ; 
To  heaven's  the  highest  road  I  think. 
And  in  hell  they  brew  the  coldest  drink." 
Sir  Vonved,  look  about  thee ! 

«  Thy  answers  are  as  shrewd,  I  see, 
As  the  questions  which  I  put  to  thee ; 
I  trust  ^ee  well,  and  will  be  bound 
Thou  knowest  where  heroes  may  be  found." 
Sir  Vonved,  look  about  thee  ! 


laa  FROM  THB  MEMOIRS  OF 

**  The  Sonderbnrg  is  over  there, 
Where  knights  drink  mead  withouten  fear  ; 
There  are  many  kemp^  and  warriors  known, 
Who  well  in  little  can  hold  their  own." 
Sir  Yonyed,  look  about  thee  1 

A  golden  armlet  he  unwound, 
It  weighed,  I  ween,  full  tifteen  pound ; 
He  placed  it  in  the  shepherd's  belt, 
For  showing  him  where  the  warriors  dwelt 
Sir  Yonyed,  look  about  thee ! 

Then  he  rode  unto  the  castle,  and  slew  first 
Bandulf  and  next  Strandoll 

He  slew  strong  Ege  Under,  another. 
He  slew  the  Ege  Earl  his  brother ; 
So  right  and  left  his  sword  blows  fall. 
To  right  and  left  he  slew  them  all. 

Sir  Yonved,  look  about  thee  i 

i 
Sir  Yonved  puts  his  sword  in  the  sheath. 
He  rides  afar  o'er  the  gloomy  heath ; 
In  the  wild  mark  he  found,  ere  long, 
A  warrior,  and  he  was  strong. 

Sir  Yonved,  look  about  thee  I 

"  Tell  me,  thou  noble  rider  good, 
Where  does  the  fish  stay  in  the  flood  t 
Where  is  the  noblest  wine  of  all  t 
Where  does  Yidrich  drink  with  his  lords  in  hall  t ' 
Sir  Yonved,  look  about  thee  i 

**  In  the  east  the  fish  stays  in  the  flood. 
In  the  north  they  drink  the  wine  so  good ; 


HERR  VON  SCHNABBLBWOPSKI.  las 

In  Holland  thon  findest  Yidrich  alone, 
With  knights  and  warriors  many  a  one.* 
Sir  Vonved,  look  about  thee  ! 

From  his  breast  he  took  an  armlet  bright, 
And  gave  it  to  the  other  knight : 
"  Saj  that  thou  wert  the  very  last  man. 
Who  ever  gold  from  Sir  Vonved  wan.* 
Sir  Vonved,  look  about  thee  1 

Herr  Vonved  did  to  a  castle  ride, 
And  bid  the  porter  open  wide ; 
He  shut  the  gate,  the  bolt  he  drew, 
Over  the  wall  Sir  Vonved  flew.  - 

Sir  Vonved,  look  about  thee  I 

His  good  horse  with  a  rope  he  bound. 
His  waj  to  the  castle-hall  he  found ; 
He  sat  him  at  the  table  free ; 
Never  a  word  to  man  spake  he. 
Sir  Vonved,  look  about  thee  1 

He  ate,  he  drank,  he  broke  his  bread, 
Unto  the  king  no  word  he  said : 
**  Never  I  heaxd  before  a  king, 
So  much  accursM  chattering  1 " 
Sir  Vonved,  look  about  thee ! 

The  king  said  to  his  knights  all  round, 
**  The  crazy  fellow  must  be  bound ; 
Unless  ye  bind  the  stranger  tight, 
I  ween  your  service  is  but  slight* 
Sir  Vonved,  look  about  thee  ! 

"Take  fire,  take  twenty,  knights,  I  «iy, 
Come  thou  thyself  into  the  f^y ; 


iJi^:- 


124  FROM  THE  MEMOIRS  OF 

A  whoreson  name  I  give  to  thee,  I 

Unless  by  force  thou  bindest  me."  ' 

Sir  Vonved,  look  about  thee  I 

I 

**  King  Earner,  the  father  mine, 
And  my  mother,  proud  Adeline^ 
Unto  me  have  often  told, 
With  a  knave  eat  not  thy  gold.* 
Sir  Yonved,  look  about  thee  1 

"  Was  Esmer  father  then  of  thine, 
And  thy  mother  proud  Adeline, 
Then  thou'rt  Vonved,  the  knight  well  known. 
Also  my  own  dear  sister's  son."  [ 

Sir  Vonved,  look  about  thee  ! 

•'  Sir  Vonved,  wilt  thou  stay  with  me  t 
Much  honour  shall  be  given  thee  ; 
But  if  away  thou  will'st  to  ride, 
Many  a  knight  shall  go  beside." 
Sir  Vonved,  look  about  thee  I 

**  All  my  gold  to  thee  I  give, 
If  thou  here  with  me  wilt  live." 
Sir  Vonved  would  not  have  it  so, 
Back  to  his  mother  he  will  go. 
Sir  Vonved,  look  about  thee  1 

Sir  Vonved  rode  along  his  way, 
Qrim  he  was  in  his  soul  that  day  ; 
Ere  he  to  the  castle  rode. 
Witches  twelve  before  him  stood.  j 

Sir  Vonved,  look  about  thee ! 

With  their  rock  and  reel  they  came  befor% 
And  imote  him  on  the  knee  full  sore ; 


HERE  VON  SCHNABELEWOPSKI.  125 

He  made  his  charger  leap  and  spring, 
He  slew  the  twelve  all  in  a  ring. 
Sir  Vonved,  look  about  thee  1 

He  slew  the  witches  as  they  stood, 
From  him  they  got  right  little  good; 
He  slew  his  mother  with  them  all. 
Cut  her  in  thousand  pieces  smalL 
Sir  Vonved,  look  about  thee  ! 

In  his  hall  sits  Vonved  bold, 
He  drinks  the  wine  so  clear  and  cold ; 
He  played  on  his  gold  harp  so  long, 
That  all  the  strings  asunder  sprang. 
Sir  Vonved,  look  about  thee  !  ^ 


CHAPTER  VI. 

It  was  a  charming  spring  day  when  I  first  left 
Hamburg.  I  can  still  see  how  in  the  harbour 
the  golden  sunrays  gleamed  on  the  tarry  bellies 
of  the  ships,  and  think  I  still  hear  the  joyous, 
long-drawn  Ho-i-hA) !  of  the  sailors.  Such  a  port 
in  spring-time  has  a  pleasant  similarity  with  the 
feelings  of  a  youth  who  goes  for  the  first  time  out 
into  the  world  on  the  great  ocean  of  life.  All  his 
thoughts  are  gaily  variegated,  pride  swells  every 

1  The  Sphynx  story  appears  to  have  been  strangely  repro- 
duced in  many  forms  among  the  Northern  races.  In  the  Edda 
there  is  a  game  of  questions  and  answers,  ending  in  the  petrifao- 
tioD  of  a  defeated  trolL  In  the  Hervor's  Saga,  King  Heidrek 
pats  riddles  to  Odin  in  disgoise,  and  loses  his  life  in  conse- 
■eqoence  of  breaking  the  conditions  of  the  game.     Several  of 


It6  FROM  THE  MEMOIRS  OF 

sail  of  his  desires — ho-i-Ju) !  But  soon  a  storm 
rises,  the  horizon  grows  dark,  the  wind's  bride  * 
howls,  the  planks  crack,  the  waves  break  the 
rudder,  and  the  poor  ship  is  wrecked  on  romantic 
rocks,  or  stranded  on  damp,  prosaic  sandbanks ;  or 
perhaps,  brittle  and  broken,  with  its  masts  gone, 
and  without  an  anchor  of  hope,  it  returns  to  its 
old  harbour,  and  there  moulders  away,  wretchedly 
unrigged,  as  a  miserable  wreck.  i 

the  verses  of  Sir  Vonved  r«oall  an  old  English  b»U»d,  whioh  ia 
probably  of  Danish  origin : — 

"  Oh,  what  is  longer  than  the  way  T 
And  what  is  deeper  than  the  sea ! 
And  what  is  louder  than  the  horn  T 
And  what  is  sharper  than  the  thorn  T 
And  what  is  greener  than  the  grass  f 
And  what  is  worse  than  a  woman  was  t  ** 

AlTSWEB. 

"  Oh,  Love  is  longer  than  the  way, 
And  hell  is  deeper  than  the  sea, 
And  thunder  is  louder  than  the  horn. 
And  hunger  sharper  than  the  thorn, 
And  poison  is  greener  than  the  grass, 
And  the  devil  is  worse  than  a  woman  was." 

When  she  these  questions  answered  had. 
The  knight  became  exceeding  glad. 

Vonved's  mother  (a  witch)  had  sent  him  forth  to  revenge  hia 
father's  death.  The  last  verse,  which  Heine  omits,  states  that  he 
was  son  of  Siegfried  the  dragon-killer.  This  ballad  made  a  great 
impression  on  George  Borrow,  who  alludes  to  it  in  "Lavengro." 

'  Wind's  bride.  The  breeze  which  precedes  a  tempest.  This 
passage  recalls  one  in  Shakespeare,  "  How  like  a  yonnker  or  a 
prodigaL" 


HERR  VON  SCHNABELBWOPSKl.  m; 

But  there  are  men  who  cannot  be  compared  to 
common  ships,  because  they  are  like  steamboats. 
They  cany  a  gloomy  fire  within,  and  sail  against 
wind  and  weather ;  their  smoky  banner  streams 
behind,  like  the  black  plume  of  the  Wild  Hunts- 
man; their  zigzagged  wheels  remind  one  of  weighty 
spurs  with  which  they  prick  the  ribs  of  the 
waves,  and  the  obstinate,  resistant  element  must 
obey  their  will  like  a  steed ;  but  sometimes  the 
boiler  bursts,  and  the  internal  fire  burns  us  up ! 

But  now  I  will  escape  from  metaphor,  and  get 
on  board  a  real  ship  bound  from  Hamburg  to 
Amsterdam.  It  was  a  Swedish  vessel,  and  be- 
sides the  hero  of  these  pages,  was  also  loaded 
with  iron,  being  destined  probably  to  bring  as  a 
return  freight  a  cargo  of  cod-fish  to  the  aristoc- 
racy of  Hamburg,  or  owls  to  Athens.* 

The  banks  of  the  Elbe  are  charming,  especially 
so  behind  Altona,  near  Eainville.  There  Klop- 
stock  lies  buried.  I  know  of  no  place  where  a 
dead  poet  could  more  fitly  rest  To  exist  there 
as  a  living  poet  is,  of  course,  a  much  more  difficult 
matter.  How  often  have  I  sought  thy  grave, 
oh  Singer  of  the  Messiah,  thou  who  hast  sung 
with  such  touching  truthfulness  the  sufiFerings  of 
Jesus.     But  thou  didst  dwell  long  enough  on 

^  StoekfiseJie.  Dried  ood-fish ;  also  meaning  stupid  people. 
The  American  term,  "a  member  of  the  cod-fish  aristocracj," 
applies  very  well  here  to  Hamburgers,  as  previously  described 
by  Heine. 


128  FROM  THE  MEMOIRS  OP 

the    Kdnigstrasse    behind  the    Jungfernstieg  to 
know  how  prophets  are  crucified. 

On  the  second  day  we  came  to  Cuxhaven, 
which  is  a  colony  from  Hamburg.  The  inhabi- 
tants are  subjects  of  the  Bepublic,  and  have  a 
good  time  of  it.^  When  they  freeze  in  winter 
woollen  blankets  are  sent  to  them,  and  when  the 
summer  is  all  too  hot  they  are  supplied  with 
lemonade.  A  high  or  well-wise  senator  resides 
there  as  pro-consul.  He  has  an  income  of  twenty 
thousand  marks,  and  rules  over  five  thousand 
subjects.  There  is  also  a  sea-bath,  which  has 
the  great  advantage  over  all  others,  that  it  is  at 
the  same  time  an  Elbe-bath.  A  great  dam,  on 
which  one  can  walk,  leads  to  Eitzebuttel,  which 
also  belongs  to  Cuxhaven.  The  term  is  derived 
from  the  Phoenician,  as  Sitze  and  Bwttd  signify 
in  it  the  mouth  of  the  Elbe.  Many  historians 
maintain  that  Charlemagne  only  enlarged  Ham- 
burg, but  that  the  Phoenicians  founded  it  about 
the  time  that  Sodom  and  Gomorrah  were  de- 
stroyed, and  it  is  not  unlikely  that  fugitives 
from  these  cities  fled  to  the  mouth  of  the  Elbe. 
Between  the  Fuhlentwiete  and  the  coffee  factory 
men  have  found  old  money,  coined  during  the 
reign  of  Bera  XVL  and  Byrsa  X.  I  believe 
that  Hamburg  is  the  old  Tarsus  whence  Solomon 
received  whole  shiploads  of  gold,  silver,  ivory, 

*  Haien  a  uhr  gvX.  I 


HERR  VON  SCHNABELEWOPSKI.  129 

peacocks,  and  monkeys.  Solomon,  that  is,  the 
king  of  Judah  and  Israel,  always  had  a  special 
fancy  for  gold  and  monkeys. 

This  my  first  voyage  can  never  be  forgotten. 
My  old  grand-aunt  had  told  me  many  tales  of  the 
sea,  which  now  rose  to  new  life  in  my  memory. 
I  could  sit  for  hours  on  the  deck  recalling  the 
old  stories,  and  when  the  waves  murmured  it 
seemed  as  if  I  heard  my  grand-aunt's  voice. 
And  when  I  closed  my  eyes  I  could  see  her 
before  me,  as  she  twitched  her  lips  and  told  the 
legend  of  the  Flying  Dutchman. 

I  should  have  been  glad  to  see  some  mermaids, 
such  as  sit  on  white  rocks  and  comb  their  sea- 
green  hair ;  but  I  only  heard  them  singing. 

However  earnestly  I  gazed  many  a  time  down 
into  the  transparent  water,  I  could  not  behold 
the  sunken  cities,  in  which  mortals  enchanted 
into  fishy  forms  lead  a  deep,  a  marvellous  deep, 
and  hidden  ocean  life.  They  say  that  salmon 
and  old  rays^  sit  there,  dressed  like  ladies,  at 
their  windows,  and,  fanning  themselves,  look 
down  into  the  street,  where  cod-fish  glide  by  in 
trim  councillors'  costume,  and  dandy  young  her- 
rings look  up  at  them  through  eye-glasses,  and 
crabs,  lobsters,  and  all  kinds  of  such  common 
crustaceans,  swarm  swimming  about  .  I  could 
never  see  so  deep ;  I  only  heard  the  faint  bells 

*  Roche,  the  raj  or  roach. 

I 


I  JO  FROM  THE  MEMOIRS  OP 

i 

of  the  sunken  cities  peal  once  more  their  old 
melodious  chime.  i 

Once  by  night  I  saw  a  great  ship  with  out- 
spread blood-red  sails  go  by,  so  that  it  seemed 
like  a  dark  giant  in  a  scarlet  cloak.  Was  that 
the  Flying  Dutchman  ? 

But  in  Amsterdam,  where  I  soon  arrived,  I  saw 
the  grim  Mynheer  bodily,  and  that  on  the  stage. 
On  this  occasion,  in  the  theatre  of  that  city,  I 
also  had  an  opportunity  to  make  the  acquaint- 
ance of  one  of  those  fairies  whom  I  had  sought  in 
vain  in  the  sea.  And  to  her,  as  she  was  par- 
ticularly charming,  I  will  devote  a  special  chapter. 


CHAPTER  VIL 

You  certainly  know  the  fable  of  the  Flying 
Dutchman.  It  is  the  story  of  an  enchanted 
ship  which  can  never  arrive  in  port,  and  which 
since  time  immemorial  has  been  sailing  about  at 
sea.  When  it  meets  a  vessel,  some  of  the  un- 
earthly sailors  come  in  a  boat  and  beg  the  others 
to  take  a  packet  of  letters  home  for  them.  These 
letters  must  be  nailed  to  the  mast,  else  some  mis- 
fortune will  happen  to  the  ship — above  all  if  no 
Bible  be  on  board,  and  no  horse-shoe  nailed  to 
the  foremast  The  letters  are  always  addressed 
to  people  whom  no  one  knows,  and  who  have  long 


HERR  VON  SCHNABELEWOPSKI.  131 

been  dead,  so  that  some  late  descendant  gets  a  letter 
addressed  to  a  far  away  great-great-grandmother, 
who  has  slept  for  centuries  in  her  grave.  That 
timber  spectre,  that  grim  grey  ship,  is  so  called 
from  the  captain,  a  Hollander,  who  once  swore 
by  all  the  devils  that  he  would  get  round  a 
certain  mountain,  whose  name  has  escaped  me,* 
in  spite  of  a  fearful  storm,  though  he  should  sail 
tni  the  Day  of  Judgement.  The  devil  took  him 
at  his  word,  therefore  he  must  sail  for  ever,  until 
set  free  by  a  woman's  truth.  The  devil  in  his 
stupidity  has  no  faith  in  female  truth,  and  allowed 
the  enchanted  captain  to  laud  once  in  seven  years 
and  get  married,  and  so  find  opportunities  to 
save  his  soul.  Poor  Dutchman !  He  is  often 
only  too  glad  to  be  saved  from  his  marriage  and 
his  wife-saviour,  and  get  again  on  board. 

The  play  which  I  saw  in  Amsterdam  was 
based  on  this  legend.  Another  seven  years  have 
passed ;  the  poor  Hollander  is  more  weary  than 
ever  of  his  endless  wandering ;  he  lands,  becomes 
intimate  with  a  Scottish  nobleman,  to  whom  he 
sells  diamonds  for  a  mere  song,  and  when  he 
hears  that  his  customer  has  a  beautiful  daughter, 
he  asks  that  he  may  wed  her.  This  bargain  also 
is  agreed  to.    Next  we  see  the  Scottish  home ;  the 

^  Ab  I  have  heard  the  story,  Vanderdecken,  the  captain, 
swore  that  he  would  "  make  the  Cape  "  of  Grood  Hope  by  a  oer- 
tain  time,  or  beat  round  it  to  all  eternity.    Vide  Marryatt's  novel 


13* 


FROM  THE  MEMOIRS  OP 


maiden  with  anxious  heart  awaits  the  bridegroom. 
She  often  looks  with  strange  sorrow  at  a  great, 
time-worn  picture  which  hangs  in  the  hall,  and 
represents  a  handsome  man  in  the  Netherlandish- 
Spanish  garb.  It  is  an  old  heirloom,  and 
according  to  a  legend  of  her  grandmother,  is  a 
true  portrait  of  the  Flying  Dutchman  as  he 
was  seen  in  Scotland  a  hundred  years  before,  in 
the  time  of  William  of  Orange.  And  with  this 
has  come  down  a  warning  that  the  women  of  the 
family  must  beware  of  the  original.  This  has 
naturally  enough  had  the  result  of  deeply  im- 
pressing the  features  of  the  picture  on  the  heart 
of  the  romantic  girl.  Therefore,  when  the  man 
himself  makes  his  appearance,  she  is  startled, 
but  not  with  fear.  He  too  is  moved  at  behold- 
ing the  portrait.  But  when  he  is  informed 
whose  likeness  it  is,  he  with  tact  and  easy  con- 
versation turns  aside  all  suspicion,  jests  at  the 
legend,  laughs  at  the  Flying  Dutchman,  the 
"Wandering  Jew  of  the  Ocean,  and  yet,  as  if 
moved  by  the  thought,  passed  into  a  pathetic 
mood,  depicting  how  terrible  the  life  must  be  of 
one  condemned  to  endure  unheard-of  tortures  on 
a  wild  waste  of  waters — how  his  body  itself  is 
his  living  coffin,  wherein  his  soul  is  terribly  im- 
prisoned— how  life  and  death  alike  reject  him, 
like  an  empty  cask  scornfully  thrown  by  the  sea 
on  the  shore,  and  as  contemptuously  repulsed 


IVILUAM   OF  ORAXGF: 
1-:  ;r-  ,1  l\ntmii  Etigraved  by  W.  Holi 


HERR  VON  SCHNABELEWOPSKI.  133 

again  into  the  sea — how  his  agony  is  as  deep  as 
the  sea  on  which  he  sails — his  ship  without 
anchor,  and  his  heart  without  hope. 

I  believe  that  these  were  nearly  the  words 
with  which  the  bridegroom  ends.  The  bride  re- 
gards him  with  deep  earnestness,  casting  glances 
meanwhUe  at  his  portrait.  It  seems  as  if  she 
had  penetrated  his  secret;  and  when  he  after- 
wards asks,  "Katherine,  wilt  thou  be  true  to 
me  ? "  she  answers,  "  True  to  death." 

I  remember  that  just  then  I  heard  a  laugh, 
and  that  it  came  not  from  the  pit  but  from  the 
gallery  of  the  gods  above.  As  I  glanced  up  I 
saw  a  wondrous  lovely  Eve  in  Paradise,  who 
looked  seductively  at  me,  with  great  blue  eyes. 
Her  arm  hung  over  the  gallery,  and  in  her  hand 
she  held  an  apple,  or  rather  an  orange.^  But  in- 
stead of  symbolically  dividing  it  with  me,  she  only 
metaphorically  cast  the  peel  on  my  head.  Was  it 
done  intentionally  or  by  accident  ?  That  I  would 
know  !  But  when  I  entered  the  Paradise  to  culti- 
vate the  acquaintance,  I  was  not  a  little  startled  to 
find  a  white  soft  creature,  a  wonderfully  womanly 
tender  being,  not  languishing,  yet  delicately 
clear  as  crystal,  a  form  of  home-like  propriety' 

^  Apfdsine. 

'  Ein  BUd  hdudicher  Zwsht. 

"  A  creature  not  too  good 
For  human  nature's  daily  food." 


•jii,«»^",»  ,„^ ',  r-'--'ii,\  .4%'  ^  ,«%;^*.-  ••.'■•■■;  :JU;*H>»^r***  ii»r"  **«  »i»i<»<nt  ,«.-•■.  tvV' 


'*'  r^J^\^ 


134  FROM  THE  MEMOIRS  OF  1 

and  fascinating  amiability.  Only  that  there  was 
something  on  the  left  upper  lip  which  curved  or 
twined  like  the  tail  of  a  slippery  gliding  lizard. 
It  was  a  mysterious  trait,  something  such  as  is 
not  found  in  pure  angels,  and  just  as  little  in 
mere  devils.  This  expression  comes  not  from  evil, 
but  from  the  knowledge  of  good  and  evil — it  is 
a  smile  which  has  been  poisoned  or  flavoured 
by  tasting  the  Apple  of  Eden.  When  I  see  this 
expression  on  soft,  full,  rosy,  ladies'  lips,  then  I  feel 
in  my  own  a  cramp-like  twitching — a  convulsive 
yearning — to  kiss  those  lips :  it  is  our  AflBnity.* 
I  whispered  into  the  ear  of  the  beauty  : — 
"  Yuffrou^  I  will  kiss  thy  mouth." 
"  Bei  Gott,  Mynheer  !  that  is  a  good  idea,"  was 
the  hasty  answer,  which  rang  with  bewitching 
sound  from  her  heart.  I 

But — no.  I  will  here  draw  a  veil  over,  and 
end  the  story  or  picture  of  which  the  Flying 
Dutchman  was  the  frame.  Thereby  will  I  re- 
venge myself  on  the  prurient  prudes  who  devour 
such  narratives  with  delight,  and  are  enraptured 
with  them  to  their  heart  of  hearts,  et  plus  ultra,  and 
then  abuse  the  narrator,  and  turn  up  their  noses  at 
him  in  society,  and  decry  him  as  immoral  It  is 
a  nice  story,  too,  delicious  as  preserved  pine-apple 

*  Wahlvenoandtichaft.    Here  better  translated  by  "pasBiooal 
affinity." 
'  Yuffrou.    Miss,  young  lady. 


»»,.;-,.      ,,M^ 


HERR  VON  SCHNABELEWOPSKI.  135 

or  fresh  caviare  or  truffles  in  Burgundy,  and  would 
be  pleasant  reading  after  prayers ;  but  out  of  spite, 
and  to  punish  old  offences,  I  will  suppress  it. 
Here  I  make  a  long  dash  . 

Which  may  be  supposed  to  be  a  black  sofa  on 
which  we  sat  as  I  wooed.  But  the  innocent  must 
suffer  with  the  guilty,  and  I  dare  say  that  many  a 
good  soul  looks  bitterly  and  reproachfully  at  me. 
However,  unto  these  of  the  better  kind  I  will 
admit  that  I  was  never  so  wildly  kissed  as  by 
this  Dutch  blonde,  and  that  she  most  triumphantly 
destroyed  the  prejudice  which  I  had  hitherto  held 
against  blue  eyes  and  fair  hair.  How  I  under- 
stand why  an  English  poet  has  compared  such 
women  to  frozen  champagne.  In  the  icy  crust  lies 
hidden  the  strongest  extract.  There  is  nothing 
more  piquant  than  the  contrast  between  external 
cold  and  the  inner  fire  which,  Bacchante-like, 
flames  up  and  irresistibly  intoxicates  the  happy 
carouser.  Ay,  far  more  than  in  brunettes  does 
the  fire  of  passion  burn  in  many  a  sham-calm  holy 
image  with  golden-glory  hair,  and  blue  angel's 
eyes,  and  pious  lily  hands.  I  knew  a  blonde 
of  one  of  the  best  families  in  Holland  who  at  times 
left  her  beautiful  chateau  on  the  Zuyder-Zee  and 
went  incognito  to  Amsterdam,  and  there  in  the 
theatre  threw  orange-peel  on  the  head  of  any  one 
who  pleased  her,  and  gave  herself  up  to  the  wildest 
debauchery,  like  a  Dutch  Messalina !  .  .  . 


"t'x*'* 


'•  <!>-»'-  '^'"'■'■f^-t.'Cviii 'J' t--*-*.^  "  '  *♦•»'>;'•*"*»■**'■  ■■'^r 


X3« 


FROM  THE  MEMOIRS  OF 


When  I  re-entered  the  theatre,  I  came  in  time 
to  see  the  last  scene  of  the  play,  where  the  wife 
of  the  Flying  Dutchman  on  a  high  cliff  wrings 
her  hands  in  despair,  while  her  unhappy  husband 
is  seen  on  the  deck  of  his  unearthly  ship,  tossing 
on  the  waves.  He  loves  her,  and  will  leave  her 
lest  she  be  lost  with  him,  and  he  tells  her  all  his 
dreadful  destiny,  and  the  cruel  curse  which  hangs 
above  his  head.  But  she  cries  aloud,  "  I  was 
ever  true  to  thee,  and  I  know  how  to  be  ever 
true  unto  death !  " 

Saying  this  she  throws  herself  into  the  waves, 
and  then  the  enchantment  is  ended.  The  Flying 
Dutchman  is  saved,  and  we  see  the  ghostly  ship 
slowly  sink  into  the  abyss  of  the  sea.  i 

The  moral  of  the  play  is  that  women  should 
never  marry  a  Flying  Dutchmen,  while  we  men 
may  learn  from  it  that  one  can  through  women 
go  down  and  perish — under  favourable  circum- 
stances I 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


It  was  not  in  Amsterdam  alone  that  the  gods 
were  so  kind  as  to  take  pains  to  remove  my 
prejudice  against  blondes.  I  had  opportunities 
all  over  Holland  to  correct  my  errors  in  this 
respect     By  my  life  !  I  will  not  exalt  the  ladies 


,.,.,  f. 


.  ,tT  .  *  ■.   •  »**l^*..^ 


rS  "i^'4.^-  ■ 


HERR  VON  SCHNABELBWOPSKI.  137 

of  Holland  at  the  expense  of  those  of  other  coun- 
tries— heaven  keep  me  from  such  injustice! — 
which  would  be  in  me  rank  ingratitude.  Every 
country  has  its  own  kind  of  women  and  its  own 
cookery,  and  in  both  it  is  all  a  matter  of  taste. 
One  man  likes  roast  chicken,  another  roast  duck ; 
as  for  me,  I  love  both,  and  roast  goose  too. 

Kegarded  from  the  high  idealistic  standard, 
women  the  world  over  have  a  wonderful  affinity 
with  the  cuisine  or  cookery  of  their  country, 
wherever  it  be.  Are  not  British  beauties  now 
— candidly  confessed — ^just  so  wholesome,  nour- 
ishing, solid,  substantial,  inartistic,  and  yet  so 
admirable  as  old  England's  good  and  simple  food  : 
roast  beef,  roast  mutton,  pudding  in  flaming 
cognac,  vegetables  boiled  once  in  water,  with  only 
two  kinds  of  gravy,  of  which  one  is  melted  butter.* 
There  smiles  no  fricassee,  there  we  are  softly  de- 
ceived by  no  flattering  vol-au-vent,  there  sighs  no 
refined  ragout,  there  we  are  not  flirted  with  and 
flattered  by  &  thousand  kinds  of  stuffed,  boiled, 
puffed,  roasted,  sugared,  piquant,  sentimental,  de- 
clamatory, declaratory  dishes  such  as  w.e  find  in  a 
French  restaurant,  and  which  have  a  startling 

^  I  think  it  was  Voltaire  who  first  remarked  that  England 
had  one  hundred  religions  and  only  one  sauoe,  i.e.,  one  gravy. 
Even  to-day,  while  there  is  very  commonly  in  the  United  States 
a  different  gravy  for  every  roast,  there  is  the  same  "  made  " 
article  in  England  at  many  very  respectable  tables  for  alL  But 
the  meat  is  good. 


"'***t-rr"*''«  .-  *  V-  •*'^r  ••>■<'••."■ -"'•-••-'i:  4-.  ..:»■-•-:«  ..■.•.i»  v. ■»►♦»•»/-- 


■'■T^^jr'  -* 


138  FROM  THE  MEMOIRS  OF 

likeness  to  all  beautiful  Frenchwomen.  Still  we 
might  often  observe  that  by  all  these  the  real 
thing  itself  is  only  regarded  as  a  secondary  affair, 
that  the  roast  is  not  worth  so  much  as  the  gravy, 
and  that  here  taste,  grace,  and  elegance  are  the 
principal  and  principle.  I 

Does  not  the  yellow  fat,  passionately  spiced 
and  flavoured,  humorously  garnished  and  yet 
yearning  ideal  cookery  of  Italy,  express  to  the 
life  the  whole  character  of  Italian  beauties  ?  Oh, 
how  I  often  long  for  the  Lombard  stuffados  and 
zampettis,  for  the  fegatellis,  iagliarinis,  and  broc- 
colis  of  blessed  Tuscany.  All  swims  in  oil, 
delicate  and  tender,  and  trills  the  sweet  melodies 
of  Eossini,  and  weeps  from  onion  perfume  and 
desire.  But  macaroni  must  thou  eat  with  thy 
fingers,  and  then  it  is  called — Beatrice  !  ^ 

I  often  think  of  Italy,  and  oftenest  by  night. 
The  day  before  yesterday  I  dreamed  that  I  was 
there — a  checquered  harlequin,  and  lay  all  lazy 
under  a  weeping  willow.     The  hanging  sprays  of 

^  Stvffado  (correctly  ttufdto),  stewed  meat  or  ragout ;  tarn- 
p^ti  di  castrato,  or  di  porco,  sheeps'  feet  or  pettitoes  ;  fegatello,  a 
bit  of  liver  rolled  ap  in  its  caul ;  tagliarini,  hashes  or  miDces, 
also  a  kind  of  khibab;  brocoli,  same  as  in  English.  Xone  of 
these,  however,  are  first-class  dishes  or  delicacies,  and  they  indi- 
cate that  Heine  had  very  little  knowledge  of  Italian  cookery  of 
the  better  class.  But  of  all  this  one  may  say,  Nous  avouM  ehamgi 
tout  eda.  Now  there  is  hardly  a  first-class  hotel  in  Italy  where 
there  ia  more  than  a  very  occasional  Italian  dish  ever  served. 
The  cuitine  was  much  changed  even  in  the  Forties. — Trandator. 


r-,*r. .»«.«,.« ;-;,'•»-' -.,y,.,,^.       .      ,   V  -••/";   ._.  k '-—■•■  •'r  ■•-■'•.--►»?;    .vi  I,. <»:^^...i.'»—>-^-»»»- 


HERR  VON  SCHNABELEWOPSKI. 


139 


the  tree  were  of  macaroni,  which  fell,  long  and 
lovely,  into  my  mouth,  and  in  between,  instead  of 
sunrays,  flowed  sweet  streams  of  golden  butter,  and 
at  last  a  fair  white  rain  of  powdered  Parmesan. 

But  from  the  macaroni  of  which  one  dreams 
no  one  grows  fat — Beatrice  I 

Not  a  word  about  German  cookery.  It  has 
every  virtue  and  only  one  fault ;  and  what  that 
is  I  shall  not  telL  It  has  deeply  feeling,  sus- 
ceptible pastry  without  decision,  enamoured  egg- 
dishes,  admirable  steamed  dumplings,^  soul  soup 
with  barley,'  pancakes  with  apples  and  pork, 
virtuous  home-forced  meat  balls,  and  sour  cabbage 
— lucky  he  who  can  digest  it ! 

As  for  the  Dutch  cookery,  it  differs  from  the 
last,  firstly  in  neatness,  secondly  by  its  peculiar 
relish.  The  preparation  of  fish  is  there  inde- 
scribably delightful.  A  perfume  of  celery,  which 
moves  one  to  the  very  heart,  and  is  yet  deeply 
intellectual     A  self-conscious  naivete  and  garlic* 

But  when  I  arrived  in  Leyden  I  found  the 
food  frightfully  bad.  The  Republic  of  Hamburg 
had  spoiled  me — I  must  again  extol  the  cookery 
there,  and  avail  myself  of  the  opportunity  to 
praise  the  pretty  girls  and  dames  of  that  dear 

^  Tiichtige  Dampfnudeln.    In  Pennsylvania  known  as  Noodles. 

'  GemiltJittv^e,  Oemuth  is  rather  one's  peculiar  disposition  or 
habitual  temperament.    Pun  on  Oemute,  soft  or  green  vegetables. 

*  Perhaps  it  is  hardly  worth  while  to  remind  the  reader  that 
as  in  the  case  of  Italy,  all  of  this  peculiar  cookery  has  almost 
disappeared  from  the  hotels  of  Holland. 


•».;■'■ 


:*'  -    » '^-.  *">**'v 


I40  FROM  THE  MEMOIRS  OF  ' 

town.  Oh,  ye  divinities !  how  for  the  first  four 
weeks  did  I  wish  myself  back  among  the  smoked- 
meating  houses,  the  butchers'  flesh-world,  and  the 
deviltries  and  the  mock  turtle-doves  of  Ham- 
monia !  ^  I  yearned  heart  and  stomach.  If  the 
landlady  of  the  Red  Cow  had  not  at  last  fallen 
in  love  with  me,  I  should  have  died  of  longing. 

Hail  to  thee,  landlady  of  that  Eed  Cow ! 

She  was  a  little  woman,  very  plump,  with  a 
very  little  round  head.  Eed  little  cheeks,  little 
blue  eyes,  roses  and  violets.  Many  an  hour  we 
sat  side  by  side  in  the  garden,  and  drank  tea  out 
of  real  Chinese  porcelain  cups.  It  was  a  beauti- 
ful garden,  with  three  and  four  cornered  beds 
symmetrically  strewed  with  gold  sand,  cinnabar, 
and  little  shining  shells.  The  trunks  of  the 
trees  were  prettily  painted  red  and  blue.  Copper 
cages  full  of  canary  birds.  The  most  expensive 
bulbous  flowers  in  variegated  and  glazed  pots. 
Yew  trees  charmingly  cut  into  various  obelisks, 
pyramids,  vases,  and  animal  forms.  Yes,  there 
was  a  green  ox  cut  from  yew,  who  looked  at 
me  jealously  when  I  embraced  the  lovely  land- 
lady of  the  Red  Cow  I 

Hail  to  thee,  landlady  of  the  Red  Cow ! 

When  my  frow  had  covered  the  upper  part  of 
her  head  with  Frisian  gold-plates,  defended  her 
person  with  an  armour  of  many-coloured  stiff, 

1  JS^acK  den  Rauekfleiichlichkeit&n  umd  naeh  den  MoekturUl- 
lauben  JIammoniai.  , 


.-»    J-^  ■►..■»■»      f-    .         J.'      .     "-V      ^Y         »•    J.     !•"--'      ,...,•-'  '     "        ,»•»**' 


HERR  VON  SCHNABELEWOPSKI.  141 

hard,  damask  silk,  aud  loaded  her  arms  with 
the  white  abundance  of  her  Brabant  lace,  she 
looked  like  a  fabulous  Chinese  puppet  —  say 
the  goddess  of  porcelain.  And  when  I,  enrap- 
tured and  inspired,  kissed  her  with  a  loving  smack 
on  both  cheeks,  she  sat  in  porcelain  stillness  and 
sighed  porce-languishly,^  "  Mynheer !  " — then  all 
the  tulips  in  the  garden  seemed  to  feel  and  wave 
and  sigh  in  sympathy,  "  Mynheer ! " 

This  delicate  liaison  procured  me  many  deli- 
cacies. For  every  love-scene  of  the  kind  had  an 
influence  on  the  market-basket,  which  brought 
provisions  to  the  house  and  to  me.  My  table 
companions,  six  other  students,  could  judge  to  a 
nicety  by  the  roast  veal  or  JUet-d&-h(Buf  how 
much  I  was  loved  by  the  landlady  of  the  Red 
Cow.  When  the  dinner  was  bad,  then  the  word 
was,  "Just  see  how  miserably  Schnabelewopski 
looks  !  how  yellow  and  wrinkled  his  face  is ;  what 
a  cat's  melancholy  look  there  is  in  his  eyes,  as  if 
they  were  coming  out  of  his  head ;  why,  it's  no 
wonder  that  our  landlady  is  vexed  with  him  and 
gives  us  poor  food  ! "  Or  else,  "  Lord  help  us  ! 
Schnabelewopski  is  growing  weaker  and  feebler 
every  day,  and  by  and  by  the  landlady  will  love 
him  no  more,  and  then  we  shall  have  short  com- 
mons every  day  like  this ;  we  must  feed  him  up 
well,  so  as  to  make  him  look  nice  and  plump  and 
1  Oanz  porcdUmtg. 


M 


i^, . 


142  FROM  THE  MEMOIRS  OP 

rosy."  And  then  they  forced  all  the  worst  of 
everything  there  was  on  me,  and  compelled  me 
to  eat  a  great  deal  of  celery.^  But  when  we 
had  poor  fare  for  several  days  in  succession,  then 
I  was  besieged  with  the  most  passionate  prayers 
for  better  provender ;  to  inflame  anew  the  heart 
of  our  landlady,  to  show  greater  tenderness  to- 
wards her — in  short,  to  sacrifice  myself  for  the 
general  welfare.  It  was  set  before  me  in  long 
speeches  how  noble  and  glorious  it  was  when 
any  one  gave  himself  up  heroically  for  the  good  of 
his  fellow-citizens,  like  Eegulus,  who  let  himself 
be  put  into  a  spiked  barrel,  or  Theseus,  who  volun- 
tarily entered  the  cave  of  the  Minotaur,  and  then 
Livy  and  Plutarch  were  cited  to  give  examples. 

Yes,  and  I  was  also  pictorially  exhorted  to  rival 
these  examples,  by  drawing  these  deeds  on  the 
wall,  with  grotesque  variations,  for  the  Minotaur 
was  made  to  look  like  the  Eed  Cow  on  the  tavern 
sign,  and  the  Carthaginian  spiked  tun  like  the 
landlady  herself.  And  those  ungrateful  youths 
selected  the  personal  appearance  of  that  excellent 
woman  as  a  constant  butt  for  their  wit.  They 
imitated  her  round  figure  with  apples,  and  rolled 
it  up  and  kneaded  its  likeness  from  bread-crumb. 
They  took  a  large  apple  for  the  body,  put  a  little 
rosy  crab-apple  on  this  for  the  head,  and  into  the 
former  stuck  two  toothpicks  for  feet.    Or,  as  I  said, 

^  Supposed  to  be  an  aphrodisiac. 


HBRR  VON  SCHNABELEWOPSKI.  143 

they  made  her  from  bread-crumb,  and  then  a  very 
little  mannikin  of  the  same,  which  they  put  on  her 
lap,  making  the  most  scandalous  remarks.  Thus, 
one  said  that  the  smaller  figure  looked  like  Han- 
nibal climbing  the  Alps,  while  another  declared 
it  was  more  like  Marius  sitting  on  the  ruins  of 
Carthage.  All  the  same,  if  I  had  not  climbed 
those  Alps,  or  seated  myself  amid  those  ruins  of 
Carthage,  my  table  companions  would  have  had 
but  sorry  fare. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

When  the  food  became  very  bad  indeed,  then  we 
disputed  as  to  the  existence  of  God.  But  the 
beneficent  Deity  always  had  the  majority.  Only 
three  of  the  table  society  were  atheistically  in- 
clined, and  even  they  gave  way  if  we  had  at 
least  good  cheese  for  dessert.  The  most  zealous 
Theist  was  one  little  Simson,*  and  when  he  dis- 
puted with  tall  Van  Fitter  as  to  whether  there 
was  a  personal  God,  he  became  at  times  wildly 
excited,  and  ran  up  and  down  the  hall  crying 
constantly,  "  B&i  Gott !  that  isn't  fair ! "  ^  Tall 
Van  Fitter,  a  lean  Frisian,  whose  soul  was  as 
calm  as  the  water  in  a  Dutch  canal,  and  whoso 

^  Simson,  id,  est  Samson. 

'  Bei  Oott,  dot  itt  nieht  eriaubt. 


144  FROM  THE  MEMOIRS  OF 

words  followed  one  another  as  leisurely  as  one 
canal  boat  after  another,  drew  his  arguments  from 
the  German  philosophy  which  was  at  that  time 
very  much  studied  in  Leyden.  He  ridiculed  the 
narrow-minded  men  who  attribute  to  God  a  par- 
ticular private  existence ;  lie  even  accused  them 
of  blasphemy,  because  they  gifted  God  with  wis- 
dom, justice,  love,  and  other  human  qualities, 
which  are  utterly  inappropriate,  because  these  are 
relatively  the  negations  or  antitheses  of  human 
errors,  such  as  stupidity,  injustice,  and  hate.  But 
when  Van  Fitter  thus  developed  his  own  pan- 
theistic views,  there  came  forth  against  him  the 
fat  Fichtean,  Dricksen  of  Utrecht,  who  stoutly 
confuted  his  vague  conception  of  a  God  spread 
forth  through  all  Nature — that  is  to  say,  existing 
only  in  space.  Yes,  he  even  declared  it  was 
blasphemy  to  so  much  as  speak  of  the  existence 
of  God,  since  the  very  idea  of  existence  involved 
that  of  space — in  short,  something  substantial. 
Yes,  it  was  blasphemy  even  to  say  of  God  £[e  is, 
because  the  purest  or  most  abstract  Being  ^  could 
not  be  conceived  without  limitations  of  sense, 
whereas,  if  man  would  think  of  God,  he  must  ab- 
stract Him  from  all  substance,  and  not  think  of  Him 
as  a  form  of  extension,  but  as  a  series  or  order  of 
developments,  God  not  being  an  action  per  se,  but 
only  the  principle  of  a  cosmos  beyond  conception, 

^  J)at  rtimU  Sein. 


HERR  VON  SCHNABBLEWOPSKL  145 

Hearing  this  Kttle  Samson  fairly  raved,  and 
ran  up  and  down  the  hall,  and  cried  ever  more 
loudly,  "  0  God,  0  God !  By  God,  that  is  not 
fair,  0  God!"  I  believe  that  he  would,  in 
honour  of  God,  have  beaten  the  fat  Fichtean, 
had  not  his  arms  been  too  weak ;  but  as  it  was 
he  often  attacked  him,  when  the  big  and  burly 
one  would  grasp  him  by  his  little  arms,  hold  him 
fast,  and  without  taking  the  pipe  from  his  mouth, 
blow  his  airy  arguments,  mixed  with  tobacco 
smoke,  into  Samson's  face,  so  that  the  little  man 
was  almost  stifled  with  fume  and  fret,  and  wailed 
more  and  more  pitifully,  "  O  God  !  0  God ! " 
but  it  availed  him  naught,  though  he  defended 
His  cause  so  valiantly. 

Despite  this  divine  indifference,  despite  this 
almost  human  unthankfulness,  little  Samson  re- 
mained a  staunch  champion  of  Theism,  as  I  believe 
from  inborn  inclination ;  for  his  father  belonged 
to  God's  choseA  folk,  a  race  which  God  once  very 
Bpecially  protected,  and  which,  in  consequence, 
has  maintained  till  this  day  a  great  dependence 
on  him.  Jews  are  ever  the  most  devoted  of 
Deists,  especially  those  who,  like  little  Samson, 
were  bom  in  the  vicinity  of  Frankfort.  These 
may  be  as  republican  as  they  please  in  political 
questions — yes,  they  may  roll  in  the  very  mud  of 
Mns  cidottdism — but  the  instant  that  religious  ideas 
are  involved  they  become  the  humblest  servants  of 


:i^:i 


■«er: 


1  ' 


146  FROM  THE  MEMOIRS  OF  ; 

their  Jehovah,  the  old  fetish,  who,  however,  will 
know  nothing  of  the  entire  company,  and  who  has 
newly  baptized  himself  to  a  divinely  pure  spirit. 
I  believe  that  this  divinely  pure  spirit,  this 
new  ruler  of  heaven,  who  is  now  conceived  as  so 
moral,  so  cosmopolite  and  universal,  takes  it 
ill  at  heart  that  the  poor  Jews,  who  knew  Him 
in  his  rude  first  form,  remind  him  every  day 
in  their  synagogues  of  his  early  and  obscure 
national  relations.  Perhaps  the  ancient  Lord 
would  fain  forget  that  he  was  of  Palestine  origin, 
and  once  the  God  of  Abraham,  Isaac,  and  Jacob, 
and  was  in  those  times  called  Jehovah. 


CHAPTER  X.  i 

While  I  lived  at  Leyden  I  saw  a  great  deal  of  little 
Samson,  and  he  will  be  often  mentioned  in  these 
memoirs.  Next  to  him  I  met  most  frequently 
another  of  my  table  friends,  young  Van  Moeulen. 
I  could  look  for  hours  at  his  perfectly  symmetric 
face,  thinking  what  his  sister,  whom  I  had  never 
seen,  must  be  like.  All  that  I  knew  of  her  was 
that  she  was  said  to  be  the  most  beautiful  woman 
in  Waterland.  Van  Moeulen  was  also  a  beautiful 
human  being,  an  Apollo,  not  of  marble,  but  rather 
of  cheese.  He  was  a  strange  mixture  of  mind 
and  matter,  soul  and  solid  rest.     Once  in  a  caf^ 


HERR  VON  SCHNABELEWOPSKI.  147 

he  SO  enraged  an  Irish  gentleman  that  the  latter 
drew  his  pistol  and  fired  at  him.  The  ball,  how- 
ever, only  knocked  the  pipe  from  his  mouth ;  but 
Van  Moeulen's  features  were  as  immovable  as 
any  Dutchman's  head  could  be,  and  in  the  calmest, 
most  indifferent  tone,  he  said,  "  Jan,  e  nuepiep  I " 
"  John,  a  fresh  pipe ! "  But  his  smile  was  in- 
tolerable to  me,  for  then  he  showed  a  row  of 
very  small  white  teeth,  which  looked  like  a  fish 
spine.  Nor  did  I  like  it  that  he  wore  great  gold 
ear-rings.'^  He  had  the  strange  habit  of  rearrang- 
ing every  day  the  furniture  in  his  rooms,  and  when 
a  visitor  came  he  was  generally  found  putting 
his  bureau  where  the  bed  had  been,  or  making 
the  study  table  change  places  with  the  sofa. 

Little  Samson  was  in  this  respect  his  most 
painfully  earnest  antithesis.  He  could  not  en- 
dure that  any  one  should  disturb  the  least  thing 
in  his  room ;  he  even  became  restless  and  dis- 
turbed if  one  so  much  as  picked  up  the  snuffers. 
Everything  must  lay  just  as  it  was,  for  his  goods 
and  chattels  served  him  as  aids  by  means  of  which, 
according  to  the  principles  of  mnemonics,  he  fixed 
all  kinds  of  historical  dates  or  philosophic  prin- 
ciples in  his  memory.    Once  when  the  housemaid 

^  A  generation  ago  many  men  wore  gold  ear-rings,  especially 
in  Holland,  under  the  belief  that  they  were  good  for  weak  eyes, 
or  that  they  in  some  way  benefited  the  sight.  Sailors  were  the 
last  to  follow  this  custom. 


148  FROM  THE  MEMOIRS  OF 

carried  away  from  his  room  an  old  chest,  and 
removed  his  shirts  and  stockings  from  the  bureau 
for  the  laundress,  he  was  inconsolable  when  he 
returned,  declaring  that  he  had  lost  his  whole 
Assyrian  History,  and  that  all  his  proofs  of  the 
immortality  of  the  soul,  which  he  had  arranged 
so  systematically  in  the  drawers,  were  gone  to 
the  wash !  ^ 

Among  the  originals  whom  I  learned  to  know 
in  Leyden  belongs  Mynheer  van  Bissen,  a  cousin 
of  Van  Moeulen,  who  introduced  him  to  me.  He 
was  professor  of  theology  at  the  university,  and 
I  attended  his  lectures  on  the  Canticles  of  Solo- 
mon and  the  Apocalypse  of  St.  John.  He  was 
a  fine,  flourishing,  florid  man,  perhaps  of  fifty-five, 
and  in  his  chair  was  very  staid  and  serious.  But 
once  when  I  called  on  him  and  found  no  one  in 
his  study,  I  saw  through  the  half-opened  door  of 
a  side-room  a  very  strange  sight.  This  cabinet 
was  furnished  in  a  half-Chinese,  half-Pompadour 
style,  with  shot-gold  ^  damask  hangings  on  the 
wall,  on  the  ground  the  most  costly  Persian  carpet, 

^  Few  things  which  were  in  the  list  of  scholastic  absurdities 
escaped  Heine,  and  it  is  not  remarkable  that  be  should  here 
satirise  the  Mnemonic  system,  which  teaches  us  to  remember 
anything  by  first  remembering  tomething  else,  instead  of  directly 
caltivating  memory  itself. 

*  Goldig-tchillemde  Damasttapeten.  Schillem  is  to  shine  while 
changing  colour.  Schiller  the  poet  is  said  to  derive  bis  name 
from  a  wine  so  called  from  its  gleam. 


HERR  VON  SCHNABELEWOPSKI.  149 

and  everywhere  marvellous  Indian  idols,  bric-a- 
brac  of  mother-of-pearl,  flowers,  peacock's  feathers, 
and  gems,  the  sofa  of  red  velvet  with  gold  tassels ; 
and  among  it  all  a  raised  seat,  which  looked  like 
a  throne,  on  which  sat  a  little  girl,  perhaps  three 
years  old,  clad  in  a  blue  satin  silver  embroidered 
dress  of  very  antiquated  fashion.  She  held  in 
one  hand,  like  a  sceptre,  a  many-coloured  pea- 
cock duster,  and  in  the  other  a  faded  wreath  of 
laurel.  Before  her  Mynheer  van  Bissen  was  with 
his  little  negro  page,  his  poodle,  and  liis  monkey, 
rolling  over  and  over  on  the  ground.  They 
grappled  with,  tugged  and  bit  one  another,  while 
the  little  girl  and  a  green  parrot  sitting  on  its 
perch  cried  "  Bravo  ! "  At  last  Mynheer  rose 
from  the  ground,  kneeled  before  the  child,  and 
expressing  in  a  long  Latin  speech  the  bravery 
with  which  he  had  fought  and  conquered  his 
foes,  let  the  little  girl  crown  him  with  the  laurel 
wreath,  while  she  and  the  parrot  cried  "  Bravo  !  " 
in  which  I  joined  as  I  entered  the  room. 

Mynheer  appeared  to  be  somewhat  taken  aback 
as  I  surprised  him  in  his  performance.  This,  I 
was  assured,  was  his  daily  amusement ;  every  day 
he  fought  and  defeated  the  little  negro,  the  poodle, 
and  the  monkey,  and  was  then  crowned  by  the 
little  girl,  who  was  not,  however,  his  own  child, 
but  a  foundling  from  the  Orphans'  Asylum  of 
Amsterdam. 


«i  ^,^  -f*^  ^^^  ' 


i^m:m^.,*j^fk^^^,^-^Yp^-^:^^  ,  •  .^ -*  .-»*-^:W ;  ^* -  *  ^ 


150  FROM  THE  MEMOIRS  OP 


CHAPTER  XL 

The  house  in  which  I  lodged  in  Leyden  was 
once  the  dwelling  of  Jan  Steen,  the  great  Jan 
Steen,  whom  I  regard  as  being  as  great  as  Raphael.^ 
And  he  was  even  his  equal  as  a  relig-ums  painter. 
That  will  be  clearly  seen  when  the  religion  of 
pain  and  suflfering  shall  have  ended,  and  the 
religion  of  joy  tear  the  mournful  veil  from  the 
rose-bushes  of  this  earth,  and  the  nightingales  at 

'    "  Und  dns  exglaim  der  Breitmann 
In  wonder-solemn  shdrain, 
De  cratest  men  vera  Branwer, 
Van  Ostad^  und  Jan  Stsbn. 
Der  Ra£Faer  vas  vel  enof, 
Dot  is,  in  his  small  way ; 
Boot,  Gott  in  Himmel !  vot  vos  he 
Compared  mit  soosh  as  dey  I 

"  De  more  ve  digs  indo  de  dirt,  I 

Or  less  ve  seeks  a  star, 
De  nearer  ve  to  Natur'  coom, 
More  pantheistisch  far. 
To  bim  who  reads  dis  mystery  right, 
Mit  inspiradion  gifen, 
Der  Baffael's  rollin'  in  de  dirt. 
While  Branwer  soars  to  heaven." 

— The  Breitmann  BaUadt. 

I  do  not  know  whether  this  is  an  instance  of  precoincidenoe, 
or  of  the  mind's  nnconsoioasly  retaining  and  reproducing  an 
image.  I  suppose  it  is  the  latter ;  but  when  I  wrote  these  verses 
I  absolately  believed  the  conception  to  be  original. — Note  by 
Trandator. 


HERR  VON  SCHNABELEIVOPSKI.  151 

last  dare  pour  forth  in  rapture  their  long-sup- 
pressed notes  of  pleasure. 

But  really  no  nightingale  wUl  ever  sing  so 
gaily  and  rejoicingly  as  Jan  Steen  has  painted. 
No  one  ever  felt  so  deeply  that,  on  this  earth, 
life  ought  to  be  one  endless  Kirmes.^  He  knew 
that  our  life  is  only  a  coloured  kiss  of  God, 
and  that  the  Holy  Ghost  reveals  Himself  most 
gloriously  in  light  and  laughter. 

His  eyes  looked  out  into  Hght,  and  the  light 
mirrored  itself  in  his  laughing  eyes. 

And  Jan  was  always  a  dear  good  fellow.  When 
the  harsh  old  preacher  of  Leyden  sat  down  on  the 
other  side  of  the  fireplace  opposite  to  him,  and 
gave  him  a  long  exhortation  as  to  his  jovial  life, 
his  laughing,  un-Christian  ways,  his  drunkenness 
and  ill-regulated  domestic  life  and  reprobate 
merriment,  Jan  listened  to  him  two  long  hours 
without  betraying  the  least  impatience  at  this 
preaching  of  punishment,  until  he  at  last  inter- 
rupted him  with  the  words,  "  Yes,  Domine,  but 
the  light  would  be  much  better — ^yes — I  beg 
you,  Domine,  just  turn  your  stool  a  little  round 
to  the  fire,  so  that  your  face  may  get  a  redder 
tone,  while  the  rest  of  the  body  is  in  the  shadow !  " 

^  Kirmeu,  or  Kermets,  church  mass.  An  annual  festival 
which,  as  kept  in  Heine's  time  in  the  great  cities  of  Holland, 
was  of  such  general,  roaring  debauchery  as  would  seem  incredible 
to  people  of  the  present  day.  These  extravagant  Eerme$ta 
died  out  about  the  same  time  as  the  Italian  carnivals. 


■  in  *»> )  <>■  >.  ^,,*«>-»— ^>._ -_■,. 


-:»•..»-.♦" 


,.^',  »»■«:■  —  ■' 


152  FROM  THE  MEMOIRS  OF  [ 

The  Domine  rose  in  a  roaring  rage  and  departed, 
but  Jan  caught  up  his  palette  and  painted  the 
stern  old  gentleman,  just  as  he  had  sat  in  that 
punishment-sermon  position  for  model  without 
knowing  it  The  picture  is  admirable,  and  it 
hung  in  my  bedroom  in  Leyden/  i 

After  having  seen  so  many  pictures  of  Jan 
Steen  in  Holland  it  seems  to  me  as  if  I  knew  the 
man's  whole  life.  Yes,  I  knew  his  whole  kith 
and  kin  and  acquaintance,  wife  and  children, 
mother  and  cousins  all,  domestic  foes,  and  other 
hangers  on,  absolutely  face  by  faca  They  salute 
like  friends  from  all  his  pictures,  and  a  collection 
of  them  would  be  a  biography  of  the  painter. 
He  has  often  set  forth  the  deepest  secrets  of  his 
soul  with  a  few  touches  of  his  brush.  I  am  very 
sure  that  his  wife  often  scolded  him  for  drinking, 
for  in  his  picture  of  the  Bean  Feast,  where  Jan 
sits  with  his  whole  family  at  table,  there  we  see 
his  wife  with  a  great  wine  jug  in  her  hand,  her 
eyes  gleaming  like  those  of  a  Bacchante.  I 
am  sure,  however,  that  the  good  woman  really 
drank  very  little,  and  the  rogue  wished  to  hum- 
bug us  with  the  idea  that  it  was  his  wife  and  not 
he  who  was  given  to  toping.  For  this  cause  he 
himself  laughs  all  the  more  joyfully  from  the 

1  This  anecdote  and  others  indicate  that  eye  memory  or 
"visional  representation "  was  much  more  cultivated  by  the 
older  artists  than  by  those  of  the  present  day. 


HBRR  VON  SCHNABELBWOPSKI.  153 

painting.  There  he  sits,  perfectly  happy;  his 
son  is  the  Bean-King,  and  stands  on  a  stool 
wearing  a  gilt  crown ;  his  old  mother,  with  the 
happiest  wrinkled  face,  holds  the  youngest  scion 
in  her  arms ;  the  musicians  play  their  maddest, 
merriest  dancing  melodies,  while  the  ever  econo- 
mical thinking,  economically  grumbling  good  wife 
is  set  forth  to  all  futurity  £is  if  she  were  tipsy ! 

How  often  in  my  lodgings  in  Leyden  have  I 
thought  over  the  domestic  life  which  this  glorious 
Jan  Steen  must  have  experienced  and  endured. 
Many  a  time  it  seemed  that  I  saw  him  in  the 
body,  sitting  at  his  easel,  now  and  then  grasping 
the  great  pitcher,  "  reflecting  and  drinking,  and 
drinking  yet  again  without  reflection."  It  is  not 
a  dreary  Catholic  spectre,  but  a  modern  bright 
and  merry  spirit  of  joyousness,  which,  now 
that  he  is  gone,  haunts  his  studio,  to  paint  jolly 
pictures  and  drink.  Such  will  be  the  ghosts 
whom  our  descendants  will  see  at  times  by  bright 
daylight,  while  the  sun  shines  through  the  clear 
white  panes ;  while  it  is  not  a  black  and  doleful 
bell,  but  scarlet-swelling  tones  of  trumpets,  which, 
pealing  from  the  tower,  will  announce  the  pleasant 
dinner-hour ! 

The  memory  of  Jan  Steen  is,  however,  the 
best,  or  rather  the  only  pleasant  souvenir  of  my 
dwelling  in  Leyden.  Had  it  not  been  for  that, 
I  should  never  have  held  out  for  eight  days  in 


154  FROM  THE  MEMOIRS  OF  \ 

that  house.  Its  exterior  was  wretched,  melancholj, 
and  morbid,  or  altogether  un-Dutch.  The  dark, 
mouldy  building  stood  close  by  the  canal,  and 
when  one  went  to  the  other  side  it  reminded  one 
of  an  old  witch  looking  at  herself  in  a  gleaming 
magic  mirror.  As  on  all  Dutch  roofs,  there 
always  stood  on  ours  a  couple  of  storks.  Close 
by  me  lodged  the  cow  whose  milk  I  drank  every 
morning,  and  there  was  a  poultry-roost  under  my 
window.  My  lady-poultry  neighbours  laid  good 
eggs,  but  as  they  always,  previous  to  publishing 
their  works,  preceded  them  by  a  long  and  weari- 
some prospectus  of  cackling,  my  enjoyment  of 
their  products  was  materially  diminished.^  Among 
special  annoyances  was  my  landlord's  playing  the 
violin  all  day,  and  my  landlady's  playing  the  devil 
with  him  out  of  jealousy  all  night. 

He  who  would  know  all  about  the  mutual  rela- 
tions of  this  pair  needed  only  to  listen  to  them 
in  a  duet.  The  man  performed  on  the  violoncello 
and  his  wife  on  the  violin  d'amour,  but  they  did 
not  play  in  time,  so  that  he  was  always  a  note 
behind,  and  there  came  withal  such  cutting  cruel 
tones  that  when  the  'cello  growled  and  the  violin 
gave  grinding  groans,  one  seemed  to  hear  a  matri- 

1  There  is  »  fable  by  Claudius  in  which  a  ben  is  remonstrated 
with  for  maldng  a  great  noise  t{fter  laying  her  eggs.  To  which 
the  hen  replies  that — 

"  I  publish  first  my  work 
And  then — review  it." 


HERR  VON  SCHNABELEWOPSKI.  155 

monial  row  without  words.  And  after  the  hus- 
band stopped  playing,  the  wife  always  kept  on, 
as  if  determined  to  have  the  last  word.  She  was 
a  large  but  very  thin  woman,  nothing  but  skin 
and  bones,  a  mouth  in  which  false  teeth  chattered, 
a  low  forehead,  almost  no  chin,  but  a  nose  which 
made  up  for  the  deficiency,  the  tip  of  which 
curved  like  a  beak,  and  with  which  she  seemed, 
when  playing,  to  muffle  the  sound  of  a  string. 

My  landlord  was  about  fifty  years  of  age,  and 
had  slender  legs,  a  worn  away  pale  face,  little 
green  eyes,  always  blinking  like  those  of  a  sentinel 
who  has  the  sun  shining  in  his  face.  He  was  by 
trade  a  bandage  maker,  and  in  religion  an  Ana- 
baptist. He  read  the  Bible  so  assiduously  that  it 
p{issed  into  his  nightly  dreams,  and  while  his 
eyes  kept  winking  he  told  his  wife  over  their 
coffee  how  he  had  again  been  honoured  by 
converse  with  holiest  dignitaries,  how  he  had 
even  met  the  highest  Holy  Jehovah,  and  how 
all  the  ladies  of  the  Old  Testament  treated  him 
in  the  friendliest  and  tenderest  manner.  This 
last  occurrence  was  not  at  all  to  the  liking  of  my 
landlady,  and  she  not  unfrequently  manifested  a 
jealous  mood  as  to  these  meetings  with  the  blessed 
damsels  of  the  early  days.  "  If  he  had  only  con- 
fined his  acquaintance,  now,"  she  said, "  to  the  pure 
mother  Mary,  or  old  Martha,  or,  for  all  I  care,  even 
Mary  Magdalen,  who  reformed  ;  but  to  be  meeting 


156 


FROM  THE  MEMOIRS  OP 


night  after  night  those  drinking  hussies  of  Lot's 
daughters,  and  that  precious  Mrs.  Judith  and  the 
vagabond  Queen  of  Sheba,  and  similar  dubious 
dames,  could  not  be  endured."  But  nothing 
could  equal  her  rage  when  one  morning  her  hus- 
band gave  her  an  inspired  account  of  how  he  had 
enjoyed  an  interview  with  the  beautiful  Esther, 
who  had  begged  him  to  help  in  her  toilet  when 
enhancing  her  charms  to  fascinate  Ahasuerus.  In 
vain  did  the  poor  man  protest  that  Mordecai  him- 
self had  introduced  him  to  his  fair  ward,  that  she 
was  quite  half-clad,  and  that  his  attentions  had 
been  confined  to  combing  out  her  long  black  hair 
— the  enraged  wife  beat  the  poor  man  with  his 
own  bandages,  poured  hot  coffee  into  his  face, 
and  would  certainly  have  made  away  with  him 
if  he  had  not  sworn,  in  the  most  solemn  manner, 
in  future  to  avoid  all  Old  Testamental  inter- 
course with  ladies,  and  keep  company  in  future 
only  with  the  patriarchs  and  prophets. 

The  results  of  this  ill-treatment  were  that  from 
that  time  Mynheer  said  nothing  about  his  nightly 
adventures ;  he  became  a  religious  rou^,  and  con- 
fessed to  me  that  he  had  not  only  become  ultra- 
intimate  with  the  chaste  Susanna,  but  that  he 
had  dreamed  his  way  into  Solomon's  harem,  and 
taken  tea  with  his  thousand  wives. 


#  -    -  ■  -     w        **       ,* 


HERR  VON  SCHNABELEWOPSKI.  157 


CHAPTER  XII. 

Wbetched  jealousy !  Owing  to  it  one  of  my 
sweetest  dreams — and  perhaps  the  life  of  little 
Samson — were  brought  to  a  mournful  end ! 

What  is  dreaming  ?  What  is  death  ?  Is  it 
only  an  interruption  of  life  or  its  full  cessation  ? 
Yes,  for  people  who  only  know  the  Past  and  the 
Future,  and  do  not  live  an  eternity  in  every 
moment  of  the  Present,  death  must  be  terrible  ! 
When  their  two  crutches.  Space  and  Time,  fall 
away,  then  they  sink  into  the  eternal  Nothing. 

And  dreams  ?  Why  are  we  not  more  afraid 
before  going  to  sleep  than  to  be  buried  ?  Is  it 
not  terrible  that  the  body  can  be  as  if  dead  all 
night,  while  the  spirit  in  us  leads  the  wildest 
life — a  life  full  of  all  those  terrors  of  that  parting 
which  we  have  established  between  life  and  soul ! 
When  in  the  future  both  shall  be  again  united  in 
our  consciousness,  then  there  will  be  perhaps  no 
more  dreams,  or  else  only  invalids,  those  whose 
harmony  has  been  disturbed,  will  dream.  The 
ancients  dreamed  only  softly  and  seldom ;  a  strong 
and  powerfully  impressive  dream  was  for  them  an 
event,  and  it  was  recorded  in  their  histories. 

Eeal  dreaming  began  with  the  Jews,  the 
people  of  the  Spirit,  and  attained  its  highest 
development    among    the    Christians,    or     the 


IS8  FROM  THE  MEMOIRS  OF 

spiritual  people.  Our  descendants  will  shudder 
when  they  read  what  a  ghostly  life  we  led,  how 
Humanity  was  cloven  in  us  and  only  one  half 
had  a  real  lifa  Our  time — and  it  begins  with 
the  crucifixion  of  Christ — will  be  regarded  as  the 
great  period  of  illness  of  Humanity. 

And  yet,  what  beautiful  sweet  dreams  we 
have  been  able  to  dream !  Our  healthy  de- 
scendants will  hardly  be  able  to  understand 
them !  All  the  splendours  of  the  world  dis- 
appeared from  around  us,  and  we  found  them 
again  in  our  ovm  souls ;  yes,  there  the  perfume 
of  the  trampled  roses,  and  the  sweetest  songs  of 
the  frightened  nightingales  took  refuge. 

Thus  I  feel,  and  die  of  the  unnatural  anxieties 
and  horrible  dainties  and  sweet  pains  of  our 
time.  When  I  at  night  undress  and  lay  me  in 
bed,  and  stretch  myself  out  at  full  length,  and 
cover  myself  with  the  white  sheets,  I  often 
shudder  involuntarily,  it  seems  so  like  being  a 
corpse  and  burying  myself.  Then  I  close  my  eyes 
as  quickly  as  I  can  to  escape  this  fearful  thought, 
and  to  save  myself  in  the  Land  of  Dreams. 

It  was  a  sweet,  kind,  sunshiny  dream.  The 
heaven  was  heavenly  blue  and  cloudless,  the  sea 
sea-green  and  stilL  A  boundless  horizon;  and 
on  the  water  sailed  a  gaily-pennoned  skiff,  and 
on  its  deck  I  sat  caressingly  at  the  feet  of 
Jadviga.      I   read    to  her  strange  and  dreamy 


HBRR  VON  SCHNABELBWOPSKI.  159 

love  songs,  which  I  had  written  on  strips  of 
rose-coloured  paper,  sighing  yet  joyful,  and 
she  listened  with  incredulous  yet  inclined  ear 
and  deeply-loving  smiles,  and  now  and  then 
hastily  snatched  the  leaves  from  my  hand  and 
threw  them  in  the  sea.  But  the  beautiful  water 
fairies,  with  snow-white  breasts  and  arms,  rose 
from  the  water  and  caught  the  fluttering  love- 
lays  as  they  fell.  As  I  bent  overboard  I  could 
see  clearly  far  down  into  the  depths  of  the  sea, 
and  there  sat,  as  in  a  social  circle,  the  beautiful 
water-maids,  and  among  them  was  a  yeung  sprite 
who,  with  deeply  sympathetic  expression,  de- 
claimed my  love-songs.  Wild  enraptured  ap- 
plause rang  out  at  every  verse ;  the  green-locked 
beauties  applauded  so  passionately  that  necks  and 
bosoms  grew  rosy  red,  and  they  praised  cordially 
yet  compassionately  what  they  heard.  "What 
strange  beings  these  mortals  are  !  How  wonderful 
their  lives,  how  dire  their  destinies !  They  love, 
and  seldom  dare  express  that  love;  and  when 
they  give  it  utterance  at  last,  they  rarely  under- 
stand one  another !  And  withal  they  do  not  lead 
eternal  lives  like  ours ;  they  are  mortal.  Only 
a  little  time  is  granted  them  to  seek  for  happi- 
ness, they  must  grasp  it  quickly  and  press  it 
hastily  unto  their  hearts,  ere  it  is  gone ;  there- 
fore their  songs  of  love  are  so  deeply  tender,  so 
sweetly  painful  and  anxious,  so  despairingly  gay. 


i6o  FROM  THE  MEMOIRS  OP  ' 

sucli  strange  blendings  of  joy  and  pain.  The 
melancholy  shadow  of  death  falls  on  their  happiest 
hours,  and  consoles  them  lovingly  in  adversity. 
They  can  weep.  What  poetry  there  is  in  mortal 
tears ! " 

"Dost  thou  hear,"  I  said  to  Jadviga,  "how 
they  judge  of  us  ?  Let  us  embrace,  so  that  they 
may  pity  us  no  longer,  and  may  envy  us ! " 
But  she  the  beloved  looked  at  me  with  infinite 
love,  and  without  speaking  a  word.  I  had  kissed 
her  into  silence.  She  grew  pale,  and  a  cold 
shiver  thrilled  her  lovely  form.  She  lay  stifiF  as 
white  marble  in  my  arms,  and  I  had  deemed  her 
dead  if  streams  of  tears  had  not  poured  from  her 
eyes,  and  these  tears  flooded  me  while  I  held  the 
loved  image  ever  more  firmly  in  my  arms. 

All  at  once  I  heard  the  keen  shrill  voice  of 
my  landlady,  who  wakened  me  from  my  dream. 
She  stood  before  my  bed  with  a  dark  lantern  in 
her  hand,  and  bade  me  rise  quickly  and  follow 
her.  She  absolutely  never  looked  so  ugly  before  I 
Without  knowing  what  she  wanted,  and  still  half 
asleep,  I  went  after  to  where  her  husband  lay, 
poor  man,  with  night-cap  over  his  eyes,  apparently 
dreaming.  He  moved  his  limbs  and  his  lips 
smiled  as  if  with  inefiable  happiness,  while  he 
rattled  and  stammered,  "  Vashti !  Queen  Vashti ! 
Your  Majesty — fear  not  Ahasuerus — beloved 
Vashti!"  ! 


HERR  VON  SCHNABELEWOPSKI.  i6i 

With  eyes  glowing  with  wrath  the  wife  bent 
over  her  sleeping  spouse,  laid  her  ear  to  his  head 
as  if  listening  to  his  thoughts,  and  whispered  to 
me,  "Are  you  now  convinced,  Mynheer  Schna- 
belewopski  ?  He  has  now  a  love  afifair  with  Queen 
Esther — the  scandalous  wretch !  I  found  out 
this  horrid  intrigue  last  night.  Yes,  he  has 
preferred  even  a  heathen  to  me/  But  I  am 
wife  and  a  Christian,  and  you  shall  see  how  I 
will  revenge  myself!" 

Saying  this  she  tore  away  the  bedclothes,  and 
grasping  a  bandage  of  tough  stag  leather,  laid  it 
on  horribly  to  the  poor  sinner.  He,  awakened 
80  unpleasantly  from  his  Biblical  dream,  screamed 
out  as  loudly  as  if  the  capital  city  of  Susa  were 
on  fire  and  all  Holland  under  water,  and  with 
his  shrieks  alarmed  the  whole  neighbourhood. 

The  next  day  it  was  all  over  Leyden  that  my 
landlord  had  raised  this  cry  because  he  had  caught 
me  by  night  in  company  with  his  wife.  This 
latter  had  been  seen  half-undressed  through  the 
window,  and  our  housemaid,  who  was  angry  at 
me,  and  who  had  been  questioned  by  the  land- 
lady of  the  Ked  Lion  as  to  the  occurrence,  told 
how  she  herself  had  seen  Myfrow  make  a  noc- 
turnal visit  to  my  room. 

Truly  I  cannot  think  of  this  affair  without  great 
pain,  and  what  horrible  results  there  were! 


,'r^l' 


l6a  FROM  THE  MEMOIRS  OP 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

If  the  landlady  of  the  Eed  Cow  had  been  an 
Italian  she  would  have  poisoned  my  victuals,  but 
as  she  was  a  Dutchwoman  she  only  cooked  them 
as  badly  as  possible.  In  fact,  we  experienced 
the  very  next  day  the  result  of  her  feminine 
revenge.  The  first  dish  was  no  soup.  That  was 
awful,  especially  for  a  man  brought  up  decently 
as  I  was,  who  from  youth  upwards  had  had  soup 
every  day,  and  who  had  hitherto  never  imagined 
that  there  was  a  world  where  the  sun  never  shone 
and  man  soup  never  knew.  The  second  course 
was  beef,  as  cold  and  hard  as  Myron's  cow.  Then 
followed  fish,  which  had  indeed  an  ancient  and 
fish-like  smell,  and  which  went  untouched  in 
silence  as  it  came.  Then  came  a  great,  old 
spectre  of  a  hen,  which,  far  from  satisfying  our 
hunger,  looked  so  wretchedly  lean  and  hungry 
that  we,  out  of  sympathetic  pity,  could  not 
touch  it. 

"  And  now,  little  Samson,"  cried  the  burly 
Dricksen,  "  dost  thou  still  believe  in  God  ?  Is 
this  just  ?  The  Bandage-baggage  visits  Schnabe- 
lewopski  in  the  dark  watches  of  the  night,  and 
on  that  account  we  must  starve  by  daylight ! " 

"O  God,  God!"  sighed  the  little  fellow, 
vilely  vexed   by  such   atheistic   outbreak,  and 


HERR  VON  SCHNABELEWOPSKI.  163 

perhaps  by  such  a  miserable  meal.  And  his 
irritability  increased  as  the  tall  Van  Fitter  let 
fly  his  arrows  of  wit  against  Anthropomorphists 
and  praised  the  Egyptians  who  of  yore  wor- 
shipped oxen  and  onions ;  the  first  because  they 
tasted  so  well  when  roasted,  and  the  latter  when 
stuffed. 

But  little  Samson  under  such  mockery  became 
furious,  and  at  last  he  shot  forth  his  defence  of 
Deism. 

"God  is  for  man  what  the  sun  is  for  the 
flowers.  When  the  rays  of  his  heavenly  coun- 
tenance fall  on  the  flowers,  then  they  grow  and 
open  out  their  calyxes,  and  unfold  their  most 
varied  colours.  By  night,  when  the  sun  is  gone, 
they  stand  sorrowful  with  closed  petals,  and 
sleep  or  dream  of  the  kisses  of  the  golden  r^ys 
of  the  past.  Those  which  are  ever  in  the  shadow 
lose  colour  and  growth,  shrink  and  grow  pale, 
and  wilt  away  miserable  and  unfortunate.  But 
those  which  grow  entirely  in  the  dark,  in  old  castle 
vaults,  under  ruined  cloisters,  become  ugly  and 
poisonous;  they  twine  like  snakes;  their  very 
smell  is  unhealthy,  evilly  benumbing,  deadly." 

"Oh,  you  need  not  spin  out  your  Biblical 
parable  any  further,"  said  burly  Dricksen,  as  he 
poured  unto  himself  a  great  glass  of  Schiedam 
gin.  "Thou,  little  Samson,  art  a  pious  blossom 
who  inhales  in  the  sunshine  of   God  the  holy 


l64  FROM  THE  MEMOIRS  OF  I 

i 

rays  of  virtue  and  love  to  such  inspiration  that 
thy  soul  blooms  like  a  rainbow,  while  oure, 
turned  away  from  God,  fade  colourless  and 
hideous,  if  we  don't  indeed  spread  forth  a 
poisonous  stink." 

"  I  once  saw  in  Frankfort,"  said  little  Samson, 
"  a  watch  which  did  not  believe  there  was  any 
watchmaker.  It  was  of  pinchbeck  and  went 
very  badly."  ^ 

"  I'll  show  you  anyhow  that  such  a  repeater 
knows  how  to  strike,"  *  replied  Dricksen,  who  sud- 
denly became  silent  and  teased  Samson  no  more. 

As  the  latter,  notwithstanding  his  weak  little 
arms,  was  an  admirable  fencer,  it  was  determined 
that  the  two  should  duel  that  day  with  rapiers. 
They  went  at  it  with  great  bitterness.  The 
black  eyes  of  little  Samson  gleamed  as  if  of  fire 
and  greatly  magnified,  and  contrasted  the  more 
strangely  with  his  little  arms,  which  came  forth 
so  pitifully  from  his  rolled-up  shirt-sleeves.  He 
became  more  and  more  excited;  he  fought  for 
the  existence  of  God,  the  old  Jehovah,  the  King 
of  kings.  But  He  aided  not  in  the  least  His 
champion,  and  in  the  sixth  round  the  little  man 
got  a  thrust  in  the  lungs. 

"  O  God  ! "  he  cried,  and  fell  to  the  ground. 

'  The  famous  simile  of  the  watch  taken  by  Paley  from  Sif 
Eenelm  Digby.     Uhr  in  German  means  both  watch  and  clock. 
'  Schlagen,  to  strike,  also  means  to  fence. 


HBRR  VON  SCHNABELEWOPSKI.  165 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

This  scene  excited  me  terribly.  But  all  the  fury 
of  my  feelings  turned  against  the  woman  who  hsA 
directly  caused  such  disaster,  and  with  a  heart 
full  of  wrath  and  pain  I  stormed  into  the  Red 
Cow. 

"  Monster,  why  did  you  not  serve  us  soup  ? " 
These  were  the  words  with  which  I  addressed 
the  landlady,  who  became  deadly  pale  as  I  entered 
the  kitchen.  The  porcelain  on  the  chimney- 
piece  trembled  at  the  tone  of  my  voice.  I  was 
as  desperate  as  only  that  man  can  be  who  has 
had  no  soup,  and  whose  best  friend  has  just  had 
a  rapier  through  his  lungs. 

"  Monster,  why  did  you  not  serve  us  soup  ? " 
I  repeated  these  words,  while  the  consciously 
guilty  woman  stood  as  if  frozen  and  speechless 
before  me.  But  at  last,  as  if  from  opened  sluices, 
the  tears  poured  from  her  eyes.  They  flooded 
her  whole  face,  and  ran  down  into  the  canal  of 
her  bosom.  But  this  sight  did  not  soften  me, 
and  with  still  greater  bitterness  I  cried,  "  0  ye 
women,  I  know  that  ye  can  weep,  but  are  tears 
soupf  Ye  are  created  for  our  misery.  Your 
looks  are  lies,  and  your  breath  is  treason  and 
deceit.  Who  first  ate  the  apple  of  sin  ?  Greese 
saved  the  Capitol,  but  a  woman  ruined  Troy. 


^  JtW  iii»-»;  '.  *».,-«.-..  »r>—"v»->,    tr^    .•    ■    ,"■  ♦— "■■  \,4..^    ,  :.   ■•  •   •  J-f' 


i66  FROM  THE  MEMOIRS  OF 

0  Troy,  Troy !  thou  holy  fortress  of  Priam, 
thou  didst  fall  by  a  woman!  Who  cast  Marcus 
Aurelius  into  destruction  ?  By  whom  was  Mar- 
cus Tullius  Cicero  murdered  ?  Who  demanded 
the  head  of  John  the  Baptist  ?  Who  was  the 
cause  of  Abelard's  mutilation  ?  A  woman. 
History  is  replete,  yea  unto  repletion,  with  the 
terrible  examples  of  man's  ruin  caused  by  you. 
All  your  deeds  are  folly,  and  all  your  thoughts 
are  ingratitude.  We  give  you  the  highest,  the 
holiest  flame  of  our  hearts,  our  love — and  what 
do  we  get  for  it  ?  Beef  that  the  devil  would  not 
eat,  and  worse  poultry.  Wretch  and  monster, 
why  did  you  serve  no  soup  ?  " 

Myfrow  began  to  stammer  a  series  of  excuses, 
and  conjured  me,  by  all  the  sweet  memories  of 
our  love,  to  forgive  her.  She  promised  to  pro- 
vide better  provender  than  before,  and  only  charge 
six  florins  per  head,  though  the  Groote  Dohlen 
landlord  asked  eight  for  his  ordinary.  She  went 
so  far  as  to  promise  oyster  patties  for  the  next 
day — yes,  in  the  soft  tone  of  her  voice  there  was 
even  a  perfume  as  of  truflQes.  But  I  remained 
firm.  I  was  determined  to  break  with  her  for 
ever,  and  left  the  kitchen  with  the  tragic  words, 
"  Farewell ;  between  us  two  all  is  cooked  out  for- 
ever ! " 

In  leaving  I  heard  something  falL  Was  it  a 
pot  for  cooking  or  Myfrow  herself  ?     I  did  not 


HERR  VON  SCHNABELEWOPSKI.  167 

take  the  pains  to  look,  and  went  straight  to  the 
Groote  Dohlen  to  order  six  covers  for  the  next  day. 

After  this  important  business  I  hurried  to  little 
Samson's  house  and  found  him  in  evil  case.  He 
lay  in  an  immense  old-fashioned  bed  which  had 
no  curtains,  and  at  the  corners  of  which  were 
great  marbled  wooden  pillars  which  bore  above  a 
richly  gilt  canopy.  The  face  of  the  little  fellow 
was  pale  from  pain,  and  in  the  glance  which  he 
cast  at  me  was  so  much  grief,  kindness,  and 
wretchedness,  that  I  was  touched  to  the  heart 
The  doctor  had  just  left  him,  saying  that  his 
wound  was  serious.  Van  Moeulen,  who  alone 
had  remained  to  watch  all  night,  sat  before  his 
bed,  and  was  reading  to  him  from  the  Bible. 

"  Schnabelewopski,"  sighed  the  sufferer,  "  it  is 
good  that  you  came.  You  may  listen,  and  'twill 
do  you  good.  That  is  a  dear,  good  book.  My 
ancestors  bore  it  all  over  the  world  with  them, 
and  much  pain,  misfortune,  cursing  and  hatred, 
yes,  death  itself,  did  they  endure  for  it.  Every 
leaf  in  it  cost  tears  and  blood :  it  is  the  written 
fatherland  of  the  children  of  God ;  it  is  the  holy 
inheritance  of  Jehovah," 

"  Don't  talk  so  much ;  it's  bad  for  you/'  said 
Van  Moeulen. 

"  And  indeed,"  I  added,  "  don't  talk  of  Jehovah, 
the  most  ungrateful  of  gods,  for  whose  existence 
you  have  fought  to-day." 


"""■ '■':v<  •  *■  ^f'K'-*''^^-'^  -irr".'  ' 


i68  FROM  THE  MEMOIRS  OP 

'*  0  God ! "  sighed  the  little  man,  and  tears  fell 
from  his  eyes,  "  Thou  help'st  our  enemies." 

"Don't  talk  so  much,"  said  Van  Moeulen 
again.  "And  thou,  Schnabelewopski,"  he  whis- 
pered to  me,  "  excuse  me  if  I  bore  thee ;  the  little 
man  would  have  it  that  I  should  read  to  him  the 
history  of  his  namesake  Samson.  We  are  at  the 
fourteenth  chapter — listen  !  i 

"'Samson  went  down  to  Timnath,  and  saw 
a  woman  in  Timnath  of  the  daughters  of  the 
Philistines.' " 

"Ko,"  said  the  patient  with  closed  eyes,  "we 
are  at  the  sixteenth  chapter.  It  is  to  me  as  if 
I  were  living  in  all  that  which  you  read  me,  as 
if  I  heard  the  sheep  bleating  as  they  feed  by 
Jordan,  as  if  I  myself  had  set  fire  to  the  tails 
of  the  foxes  and  chased  them  through  the  fields 
of  the  Philistines,  and  as  if  I  had  slain  a  thousand 
Philistines  with  the  jawbone  of  an  ass.  Oh  the 
Philistines !  ^  they  enslaved  and  mocked  us,  and 
made  us  pay  toll  like  swine,  and  slung  me  out 
of  doors  from  the  ball-room  on  the  Horse,  and 
kicked  me  at  Bockenheim — kicked  me  out  of 
doors  from  the  Horse  ! — oh,  by  God,  that  was  not 
fair." 

"He  is  feverish,  and  has  wild  fancies,"  softly  said 
Van  Moeulen,  and  began  the  sixteenth  chapter. 

'  S»ni8on  here  confuses  the  Philistines  of  old  with  the  modem 
article.     All  townspeople  are  called  Philistines  by  the  students. 


f  . 


'#. 


HBRR  VON  SCHNABELEWOPSKI.  169 

"*Then  went  Samson  to  Gaza,  and  saw  there 
an  harlot,  and  went  in  unto  her. 

"  And  it  was  told  the  Gazites,  saying,  Samson 
is  come  hither.  And  they  compassed  him  in,  and 
laid  wait  for  him  all  night  in  the  gate  of  the  city, 
and  were  quiet  all  the  night,  saying,  In  the 
morning,  when  it  is  day,  we  shall  kill  him. 

" '  And  Samson  lay  till  midnight,  and  arose  at 
midnight,  and  took  the  doors  of  the  gate  of  the 
city,  and  the  two  posts,  and  went  away  with 
them,  bar  and  all,  and  put  them  upon  his  shoul- 
ders, and  carried  them  up  to  the  top  of  an  hill 
that  is  before  Hebron. 

" '  And  it  came  to  pass  afterward,  that  he  loved 
a  woman  in  the  valley  of  Sorek  whose  name  was 
Delilah. 

" '  And  the  lords  of  the  Philistines  came  up 
unto  her  and  said  unto  her,  Entice  him  and  see 
wherein  his  great  strength  lieth,  and  by  what 
means  we  may  prevail  against  him,  that  we  may 
bind  him  to  afflict  him :  and  we  will  give  thee 
every  one  of  us  eleven  hundred  pieces  of  silver. 

"  *  And  Delilah  said  to  Samson,  Tell  me,  I  pray 
thee,  wherein  thy  great  strength  lieth,  and  where- 
with thou  mightest  be  bound  to  afflict  thee. 

" '  And  Samson  said  unto  her,  If  they  bind  me 
with  seven  green  withs  that  were  never  dried, 
then  shall  I  be  weak  and  be  as  another  man. 

" '  Then  the  lords  of  the  Philistines  brought  up 


I70  FROM  THE  MEMOIRS  OF  i 

to  her  seven  green  witbs  which  had  not  been 
dried,  and  she  bound  him  with  them. 

" '  Now  there  were  men  lying  in  wait,  abiding 
with  her  in  the  chamber.  And  she  said,  The 
Philistines  be  upon  thee,  Samson.  And  he  brake 
the  withs,  as  a  thread  of  tow  is  broken  when  it 
toucheth  the  fire.  So  his  strength  was  not  known.' " 

"  Oh,  the  fools  of  Philistines ! "  cried  the  little 
man,  and  smiled  well  pleased  ;  "  and  they  wanted 
to  take  me  up  and  put  me  in  the  constable's 
guard."  I 

Van  Moeulen  read  on: — 

" '  And  Delilah  said  to  Samson,  Behold,  thou 
hast  mocked  me,  and  told  me  lies :  now  tell  me, 
I  pray  thee,  wherewith  thou  mightest  be  bound. 

" '  And  he  said  unto  her.  If  they  bind  me  fast 
with  new  ropes  that  never  were  occupied,  then 
shall  I  be  weak,  and  be  as  another  man.  | 

" '  Delilah  therefore  took  new  ropes,  and  bound 
him  therewith,  and  said  unto  him.  The  Philis- 
tines be  upon  thee,  Samson.  And  there  were 
liers  in  wait  abiding  in  the  chamber.  And  he 
brake  them  from  ofif  his  arms  like  a  thread.' " 

"  Fools  of  Philistines,"  cried  the  little  man. 

" '  And  Delilah  said  unto  Samson,  Hitherto  thou 
hast  mocked  me,  and  told  me  lies :  tell  me  where- 
with thou  mightest  be  bound  ?  And  he  said 
unto  her,  If  thou  weavest  the  seven  locks  of 
my  head  with  the  web. 


>    ,       .,,     •       .    -;','■•.■         ■    ;;■   ■-■   -■■■^■..      ^.. ■..,,■:••  -....-^-Y  J 


HERR  VON  SCHNABELEWOPSKI.  171 

" '  And  she  fastened  it  with  the  pin,  and  said 
unto  him,  The  Philistines  be  upon  thee,  Sam- 
son. And  he  awaked  out  of  his  sleep,  and  went 
away  with  the  pin  of  the  beam,  and  with  the 
web.'" 

The  little  man  laughed.  "That  was  in  the 
Eschenheimer  Lane."  But  Van  Moeulen  con- 
tinued:— 

"'And  she  said  unto  him,  How  canst  thou 
say,  I  love  thee,  when  thine  heart  is  not  with  me  ? 
thou  hast  mocked  me  these  three  times,  and  hast 
not  told  me  wherein  thy  great  strength  lieth. 

" '  And  it  came  to  pass,  when  she  pressed  him 
daily  with  her  words,  and  urged  him,  so  that  his 
soul  was  vexed  unto  death ; 

" '  That  he  told  her  all  his  heart,  and  said  unto 
her,  There  hath  not  come  a  razor  upon  mine 
head ;  for  I  have  been  a  Nazarite  unto  God  from 
my  mother's  womb;  if  I  be  shaven,  then  my 
strength  will  go  from  me,  and  I  shall  become 
weak,  and  be  like  any  other  man.' " 

"  What  folly  ! "  sighed  the  little  man.  Van 
Moeulen  kept  on  : — 

"  *  And  when  Delilah  saw  that  he  had  told  her 
all  his  heart,  she  sent  and  called  for  the  lords  of 
the  Philistines,  saying.  Come  up  this  once,  for 
he  hath  showed  me  all  his  heart.  Then  the 
lords  of  the  Philistines  came  up  unto  her  and 
brought  money  in  their  hand. 


Vf»  FROM  THE  MEMOIRS  OP 

" '  And  she  made  him  sleep  upon  her  knees,  and 
she  called  for  a  man  and  caused  him  to  shave  off 
the  seven  locks  of  his  head ;  and  she  began  to 
afflict  him,  and  his  strength  went  from  him. 

"  *  And  she  said,  The  Philistines  be  upon  thee, 
Samson.  And  he  awoke  out  of  his  sleep,  and 
said,  I  will  go  out  as  at  other  times  before,  and 
shake  myself.  And  he  wist  not  that  the  Lord 
was  departed  from  him.  | 

"  *  But  the  Philistines  took  him,  and  put  out 
his  eyes,  and  brought  him  down  to  Gaza,  and 
bound  him  with  fetters  of  brass ;  and  he  did  grind 
in  the  prison  house.'" 

"0  God!  God!"  wailed  and  wept  the  sick 
man.  "  Be  quiet ! "  said  Van  Moeulen,  and  read 
on.: — 

" '  Howbeit  the  hair  of  his  head  began  to  grow 
again  after  he  was  shaven.  i 

" '  Then  the  lords  of  the  Philistines  gathered 
them  together  for  to  offer  a  great  sacrifice  unto 
Dagon  their  god,  and  to  rejoice :  for  they  said, 
Our  God  hath  delivered  Samson  our  enemy  into 
our  hand. 

" '  And  when  the  people  saw  him,  they  praised 
their  god :  for  they  said.  Our  God  hath  delivered 
into  our  hands  our  enemy,  and  the  destroyer  of 
our  country,  which  slew  many  of  us.  i 

** '  And  it  came  to  pass,  when  their  hearts  were 
merry,  that  they  said,  Call  for  Samson,  that  he 


*    V 


HERR  VON  SCHNABELEWOPSKI.  173 

may  make  us  sport :  and  they  called  for  Samson 
out  of  the  prison  house  ;  and  he  made  them  sport : 
and  they  set  him  between  the  pillars. 

"  *  And  Samson  said  unto  the  lad  that  held  him 
by  the  hand,  Sufifer  me  that  I  may  feel  the  pillars 
whereupon  the  house  standeth,  that  I  may  lean 
upon  them. 

" '  Now  the  house  was  full  of  men  and  women ; 
and  all  the  lords  of  the  Philistines  were  there ; 
and  there  were  upon  the  roof  about  three  thousand 
men  and  women,  that  beheld  while  Samson  made 
sport. 

"  *  And  Samson  called  unto  the  Lord,  and  said, 
0  Lord  God,  remember  me,  I  pray  thee,  and 
strengthen  me,  I  pray  thee,  only  this  once,  O 
God,  that  I  may  be  at  once  avenged  of  the  Phil- 
istines for  my  two  eyes. 

" '  And  Samson  took  hold  of  the  two  middle 
pillars  upon  which  the  house  stood,  and  on  which 
it  was  borne  up,  of  the  one  with  his  right  hand, 
and  of  the  other  with  his  left. 

" '  And  Samson  said.  Let  me  die  with  the  Phil- 
istines. And  he  bowed  himself  with  all  his 
might ;  and  the  house  fell  upon  the  lords,  and 
upon  all  the  people  that  were  therein.  So  the 
dead  which  he  slew  at  his  death  were  more  than 
they  which  he  slew  in  his  life.'" 

At  this  little  Samson  opened  his  eyes  spectrally 
wide,  raised  himself  spasmodically,  seized  with 


174  HERR  VON  SCHNABELEWOPSKt. 

bis  slender  arms  the  two  pillars  at  the  foot  of 
his  bed,  and  shook  them,  crying  out  in  wrath, 
"  Let  me  die  with  the  Philistines ! "  The  strong 
columns  remained  immovable  ;  but,  exhausted  and 
smiling  sadly,  the  little  man  fell  back  on  his 
pillow,  while  from  his  wound,  the  bandage  of 
which  was  displaced,  ran  a  red  stream  of  blood. 


THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH. 

A  FRAGMENT. 

With  kindly  greeting,  the  Legend  of  the  Rabbi  of  Bacharach 

IS  Dedicated 

to  his  friend  HENsr  Laube  by  the  Authok. 


CHAPTER  I. 

On  the  Lower  Khine,  where  its  banks  begin  to 
lose  their  smiling  aspect,  where  hills  and  cliffs 
with  romantic  ruined  castles  rise  more  defiantly, 
and  a  wild  and  sterner  dignity  prevails,  there 
lies,  like  a  strange  and  fearful  tale  of  the  olden 
time,  the  gloomy  and  ancient  town  of  Bacharach. 
But  these  walls,  with  their  toothless  battlements 
and  turrets,  in  whose  nooks  and  niches  the  winds 
blew  and  the  sparrows  rest,  were  not  always  so 
decayed  and  fallen,  and  in  these  poverty-stricken, 
repulsive  muddy  lanes  which  one  sees  through 
the  ruined  tower,  there  did  not  always  reign  that 
dreary  silence  which  is  only  now  and  then  broken 
by  crying  children,  scolding  women,  and  lowing 
cows.    These  walls  were  once  proud  and  strong, 

»7$ 


r 


176  THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH.  \ 

I 

and  these  lanes  were  alive  with  a  fresh,  free  life, 
power  and  pride,  joy  and  sorrow,  much  love  and 
much  hate.  For  Bacharach  of  old  belonged  to 
those  municipalities  which  were  founded  by  the 
Komans  during  their  rule  on  the  Bhine;^  and 
its  inhabitants,  though  the  times  which  came 
after  were  sadly  stormy,  and  though  they  had 
to  submit  first  to  the  Hohenstaufen,  and  then  to 
the  Wittelsbach  authority,  managed,  after  the 
example  of  the  other  cities  on  the  Rhine,  to 
maintain  a  tolerably  free  commonwealth.  This 
consisted  of  an  alliance  of  different  social  elements, 
in  which  the  patrician  elder  citizens  and  those 
of  the  guilds  which  were  subdivided  according  to 
their  different  trades,  mutually  strove  for  power, 
so  that  while  they  were  bound  in  union  to  keep 
ward  and  guard  against  the  robber-nobles,  they 
nevertheless  were  obstinate  in  domestic  dissen- 
sions waged  for  warring  interests,  the  results  of 
which  were  constant  feuds,  little  social  inter- 
course, much  mistrust,  and  not  seldom  actual 
outbursts  of  passion.  The  lord  warden  ^  sat  on 
the  high  tower  o^  Sareck,  and  darted  downwards 
like   his  falcon,  whenever  called  for,  swooping 

'  Bacharach  is  so  called  from  Ara  Bacchi,   the   altar   of 
Baccbus,  on  accoant  of  the  wine  made  there.  ^ 

"  A  jolly  place  it  was  in  days  of  yore ; 
But  something  ails  it  now — the  spot  is  carsed." 

'  Vogt,    Governor,  warden,  prefect,  or  provost.  j 


THE  RABBI  OP  BACHARACH.  177 

also  many  a  time  uncalled.     The  clergy  ruled  in 
darkness  by  darkening  the  souls  of  others.     One 
of  the  most  distracted  and  helpless  of  bodies, 
gradually  ground  down  by  local  laws,  was  the 
little  Jewish  community.     This  was  first  formed 
in  Bacharach  in  the  days  of  the  Eomans,  and 
during  the  later  persecution  of  the  people  it  had 
taken  in  many  a  flock  of  fugitive  co-religionists. 
The  great  oppression  of  the  Jews  began  with 
the  crusades,  and  raged  most  furiously  about  the 
middle  of  the  fourteenth  century,  at  the  end  of 
the  great  pestilence,  which  was,  like   all  other 
great  public  disasters,  attributed   to   the   Jews, 
because  people  declared  they  had  drawn  down 
the  wrath  of  God,  and   with   the   help   of   the 
lepers   had   poisoned   the   wells.      The   enraged 
populace,  especially  the  hordes  of  Flagellants,  or 
half  naked  men  and  women,  who,  lashing  them- 
selves for  penance  and  singing  a  mad  hymn  to 
the  Virgin,  swept  over  South  Germany  and  the 
Rhenish  provinces,  murdered  in  those  days  many 
thousand  Jews,  torturing  others,  or  baptizing  them 
by  force.     There  was  another  accusation  which 
had  come  down  from  earlier  times,  and  which 
"^through  all  the  Middle  Ages,  even  to  the  begin- 
ning of  the  last  century,  cost  much  blood  and 
suffering.     This  was  the  ridiculous  story,  often 
repeated  in  chronicle  and  legend,  that  the  Jews 
stole  the  consecrated  wafer,  and  stabbed  it  through 
with  knives  till  blood  ran  from  it.     And  to  this 


178  THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH.  ' 

it  was  added  that  at  the  feast  of  the  Passover  the 
Jews  slew  Christian  children  to  use  their  blood 
in  the  night  sacrifice. 

Therefore  on  this  festival  the  Jews,  hated  for 
their  wealth,  their  religion,  ajid  the  debts  due  to 
them,  were  entirely  in  the  hands  of  their  enemies, 
who  could  easily  bring  about  their  destruction 
by  spreading  the  report  of  such  a  child-murder, 
and  then  secretly  putting  a  bloody  infant's  corpse 
in  the  house  of  a  Jew  thus  accused.  Then  there 
would  be  an  attack  by  night  on  the  Jews  at  their 
prayers,  where  there  was  murder,  plunder,  and 
baptism;  and  great  miracles  wrought  by  the  dead 
child  aforesaid,  whom  the  Church  eventually  can- 
onised. Saint  Werner  is  one  of  these  holy  beings, 
and  in  his  honour  the  magnificent  abbey  of  Ober- 
wesel  was  founded.  It  is  now  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  ruins  on  the  Rhine,  and  which,  with 
the  Gothic  grandeur  of  its  long  ogival  windows, 
proudly  high-shooting  pillars,  and  marvellous 
stone-carving,  so  strangely  enchants  us  when  we 
wander  by  it  on  some  gay,  green  summer's  day, 
and  do  not  know  what  was  its  origin.  In  honour 
of  this  saint  three  other  great  churches  were  built 
on  the  Rhine,  and  innumerable  Jews  murdered 
or  maltreated.  All  this  happened  in  the  year 
1287 ;  ^^^  ill  Bacharach,  where  one  of  these  Saint 
Werner's  churches  stood,  the  Jews  suffered 
much  misery  and  persecution.  However,  they  re- 
mained for  two  centuries  after,  protected  from 


THE  RABBI  OP  BACHARACH.  i|| 

such  attacks  of  popular  rage,  though  they  were 
continually  subject  to  enmity  and  threatening.^ 

Yet  the  more  hate  oppressed  them  from  with- 
out, the  more  earnestly  and  tenderly  did  the 
Jews  of  Bacharach  cherish  their  domestic  life 
within,  and  the  deeper  was  the  growth  among 
them  of  piety  and  the  fear  of  God.  The  ideed 
exemplar  of  a  life  given  to  God  was  seen  in  their 
Eabbi  Abraham,  who,  though  as  yet  a  young  man, 

*  Heine  speaks  here  of  the  Middle  Ages.  What  would  he 
have  said  could  he  have  foreseen  that  in  the  year  1889  a  book 
would  be  published  devoted  to  proving  that  Jews  do  sacrifice 
Christian  children,  and  that  this  book  would  receive  the  ap- 
probation and  sanction  of  the  Pope  t  Since  translating  the 
foregoing  passage,  I  have  met  with  the  following  remarkable 
illustration  of  it  in  the  LevarU  Herald : — 

"  A  few  days  back  two  Greeks  presented  themselves  at  the 
palace  of  the  grand  rabbi  of  Smyrna,  and  asked  to  see  him 
on  very  important  business.  The  venerable  Abraham  Falacd 
being  unwell,  they  were  asked  to  come  another  day.  Next 
day  they  called  again ;  the  rabbi  not  having  yet  recovered,  hia 
son,  a  man  of  forty-five,  learning  that  the  business  was  urgent, 
asked  if  they  could  not  explain  it  to  him.  After  some  desultory 
conversation  they  consented,  at  the  same  time  requesting  to  be 
conducted  to  some  remote  compartment  where  there  was  no 
danger  of  being  overheard.  This  being  done,  one  of  them  said 
to  him  : — '  Every  one  has  bis  particular  religion  ;  we  are  aware 
that  part  of  yours  is  to  offer  at  Easter  a  Christian  child  in  sacri- 
fice ;  now  we  are  ready,  for  the  sum  of  ;^I400,  to  furnish  yon 
with  a  fine,  plump,  and  healthy  Christian  child,  a  little  Greek 
girl  of  four  years  old,  for  your  sacrifice,  and  the  child  shall 
be  obtained  in  such  a  manner  as  to  insure  the  most  profound 
secrecy.'  The  rabbi's  son,  as  may  be  supposed,  was  thunder- 
struck at  the  proposal,  but  be  dissembled  his  feelings  and  stated 
that  before  be  could  enter  into  any  definite  arrangements  with 


l80  THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH,  \ 

i 

was  famed  far  and  wide  for  his  learning.  Bom 
in  Bacharach,  his  father,  who  had  been  the  rabbi 
there  before  him,  had  charged  him  in  his  last 
will  never  to  leave  the  place  unless  for  fear  of 
life.  This  command,  and  a  cabinet  full  of  rare 
books,  was  all  which  his  parent,  who  lived  in 
poverty  and  learning,  left  him.  However,  Eabbi 
Abraham  was  a  very  rich  man,  for  he  had  mar- 
ried the  only  daughter  of  his  paternal  uncle,  who 
had  been  a  great  dealer  in  jewellery,  and  whose 

them  it  was  necessary  he  should  consult  bis  father.  They 
having  consented  to  this,  he  withdrew  to  his  father's  room  and 
briefly  related  to  him  the  story  of  the  grim  proposaL  Speaking 
in  the  Hebrew  tongue,  for  fear  the  men  outside  should  under- 
stand, the  father  told  him  to  despatch  a  messenger  immediately 
to  the  headquarters  of  the  police,  requesting  the  chief  of  police 
to  send  immediately  an  officer  with  a  body  of  gendarmes,  and 
then  to  go  back  and  keep  the  Greeks,  under  the  pretence  of 
discussing  the  price  of  their  crime.  Emin  Effendi  speedily 
answered  the  summons,  and  on  the  arrival  of  the  zaptiefas  the 
rabbi  posted  them  behind  a  door  concealed  by  a  heavy  curtain, 
and  sent  word  to  his  son  that  the  men  had  come,  this  message, 
like  the  previous  one,  being  delivered  in  Hebrew.  One  of  these 
individuals  asking  what  the  man  had  said,  Nissim  Palaoci 
answered  that  his  father,  although  ill,  wished  to  see  them. 
Ushered  into  the  presence  of  the  rabbi,  he  began  asking  them 
in  Turkish,  so  that  the  officials  might  understand  the  affair, 
how  and  where  they  got  the  child,  how  the  sale  was  to  be 
effected,  and  many  other  particulars.  The  examination  of  the 
case  satisfactorily  concluded,  he  whistled,  the  police  came  in, 
and,  having  manacled  the  men,  led  them  off  to  prison.  As  they 
were  led  through  the  streets  some  inkling  of  the  affair  seems  to 
have  got  abroad,  and  the  police  had  to  be  strengthened  to 
repress  the  people,  who  looked  as  if  about  to  take  vengeance  on 
the  miscreants." 


THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH.  i8i 

possessions  he  had  inherited.  A  few  mischief- 
makers  ^  in  the  community  hinted  now  and  then 
that  the  rabbi  had  married  for  money.  But  the 
women  one  and  all  denied  this,  declaring  it  was 
a  well-known  story  that  the  rabbi,  long  ere  he 
went  to  Spain,  was  in  love  with  "  Beautiful 
Sara,"  and  how  she  waited  for  him  seven  years 
till  he  returned;  he  having  already  wedded  her 
against  the  will  of  her  father,  and  even  her  own 
inclination,  by  the  betrothal-ring.  For  every  Jew 
can  make  a  Jewish  girl  his  lawful  wife,  if  he  can 
put  a  ring  on  her  finger,  and  say  at  the  same 
time :  "  I  take  thee  for  my  wife,  according  to  the 
law  of  Moses  and  Israel."  And  when  Spain  was 
mentioned,  the  same  gossips  were  wont  to  smile 
in  the  same  significant  manner,  and  all  because  of 
an  obscure  rumour  that,  though  Eabbi  Abraham 
had  studied  the  holy  law  industriously  enough 
at  the  high  school  of  Toledo,  yet  that  he  had  fol- 
lowed Christian  customs  and  become  imbued  with 
habits  of  free  thinking,  like  many  Spanish  Jews 
who  had  at  that  time  attained  a  very  remarkable 
degree  of  culture. 

And  yet  in  their  hearts  the  tale-bearers  put 
no  faith  in  these  reports;  for  ever  since  his 
return  from  Spain  the  daily  life  of  the  Eabbi 
had  been  to  the  last  degree  pure,  pious,  and 
earnest.     He  carried  out  the  least  details  of  aU 

^  Fuelubdrte,    Sed-beardB,  Judasei. 


a||Wj*»^v»iy.gT»:».yi,,^^..^,,.  I   ^..^  ^  ,..;^.  .^. ...  .^-«....-*..:.=.>-.»<v«,;  j».*;*—^;^-.  '•■*^  ■ 


i8a  THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH. 

religions  castoms  and  ceremonies  with  painful 
conscientiousness;  he  fasted  every  Monday  and 
Thursday — only  on  Sabbaths  and  feast  days 
did  he  indulge  in  meat  or  wine;  his  time  was 
passed  in  prayer  and  study ;  by  day  he  taught 
the  Law  to  the  students,  whom  his  fame  had 
drawn  to  Bacharach,  and  by  night  he  gazed  on 
the  stars  in  heaven,  or  into  the  eyes  of  the  beau- 
tiful Sara.  His  married  life  was  childless,  yet 
there  was  no  lack  of  life  or  gaiety  in  the  house- 
hold. The  great  hall  in  his  home,  which  stood 
near  the  synagogue,  was  open  to  the  whole  com- 
munity, so  that  people  went  and  came  from  it 
without  ceremony,  some  offering  short  prayers, 
others  exchanging  news,  or  taking  mutual  counsel 
when  in  trouble.  Here  the  children  played  of 
Sabbath  mornings  while  the  weekly  "  section " 
was  read ;  here  many  met  for  wedding  or  funeral 
processions,  and  quarrelled  or  were  reconciled; 
here,  too,  those  who  were  cold  found  a  warm 
stove,  and  the  hungry  a  well-spread  table.  And, 
moreover,  the  Rabbi  had  a  multitude  of  relations, 
brothers  and  sisters,  with  their  wives  and  chil- 
dren, as  well  as  an  endless  array  of  uncles  and 
cousins,  in  common  with  his  wife,  all  of  whom 
looked  up  to  the  Eabbi  as  the  head  of  the  family, 
and  so  made  themselves  at  home  in  his  house, 
and  never  failed  to  dine  with  him  on  all  great 
festivals.     Special  among  these  grand  gatherings 


1 


THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH. 


183 


in  the  Eabbi's  house  was  the  annual  celebration 
of  the  Passover,  a  very  ancient  and  remarkable 
feast  which  Jews  still  hold  every  year  in  the 
month  Nissan,  in  eternal  remembrance  of  their 
deliverance  from  Egyptian  captivity. 

Which  takes  place  as  follows:  As  soon  as  it 
is  dark  the  matron  of  the  family  lights  the  lamps, 
spreads  the  table-cloth,  places  in  its  midst  three 
plates  of  unleavened  bread,  covers  them  with  a 
napkin,  and  places  on  the  pile  six  little  dishes 
containing  symbolical  food,  that  is,  an  egg,  lettuce, 
horse-radish,  the  bone  of  a  lamb,  and  a  brown 
mixture  of  raisins,  cinnamon,  and  nuts.  At 
this  table  the  father  of  the  family  sits  among 
relations  and  friends,  and  reads  to  them  from  a 
very  curious  book  called  the  Agade,  whose  con- 
tents are  a  strange  mixture  of  legends  of  their 
forefathers,  wondrous  tales  of  Egypt,  questions 
of  theology,  prayers  and  festival  songs.  During 
this  feast  there  is  a  grand  supper,  and  even 
during  the  reading  there  is  tasting  of  the  sym- 
bolical food  and  nibbling  of  Passover  bread,  while 
four  cups  of  red  wine  are  drunk.  Mournfully 
merry,  seriously  gay,  and  mysteriously  secret  as 
some  dark  old  legend  is  the  character  of  this 
nocturnal  festival,  and  the  usual  traditional  sing- 
ing intonation  with  which  the  Agade  is  read  by 
the  father,  and  now  and  then  re-echoed  in  chorus 
by  the  hearers,  at  one  time  thrills  the  inmost 


*"^.  .<».jfr  v*^  ^.fwr.- 


'■>  .f>  V-     0.    ■''*  "  *">  '*--■*      *      **  '*'-*' 


184 


THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH. 


soul  as  with  a  shudder,  anon  calms  it  as  if  it 
were  a  mother's  lullaby,  and  anon  startles  it  so 
suddenly  into  waking  that  even  those  Jews  who 
have  long  fallen  away  from  the  faith  of  their 
fathers  and  run  after  strange  joys  and  honours, 
are  moved  to  their  very  hearts  when  by  chance 
the  old  well-known  tones  of  the  Passover  songs 
ring  in  their  ears. 

And  so  Eabbi  Abraham  once  sat  in  his  great 
hall  surrounded  by  relations,  disciples,  and  many 
other  guests,  to  celebrate  the  great  feast  of  the 
Passover.  All  around  was  unusually  brilliant ; 
over  the  table  hung  the  gaily  embroidered  silk 
canopy,  whose  gold  fringes  touched  the  floor ;  the 
plate  with  the  symbolic  food  shone  in  a  com- 
fortable home-like  way,  as  did  the  tall  wine 
goblets,  adorned  with  embossed  images  of  holy 
legends.  The  men  sat  in  their  black  cloaks  and 
black  broad-brimmed  hats,  with  white  collars ; 
the  women,  in  wonderful  glittering  garments  of 
Lombard  stuffs,  wore  on  their  heads  and  necks 
ornaments  of  gold  and  pearls,  and  the  silver 
Sabbath  lamps  poured  forth  their  pleasant  light 
on  the  pleased  faces  of  parents  and  children, 
happy  in  their  piety.  On  the  purple  velvet 
cushions  of  a  chair,  higher  than  the  others,  and 
reclining  as  the  Law  enjoins,  sat  Eabbi  Abraham, 
and  read  and  sang  the  Agade,  while  the  mixed 
assembly  joined  with  him,  or  answered  in  the 


THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH.  itj 

appointed  places.  The  Eabbi  also  wore  the  ap- 
pointed black  festival  garment,  his  nobly-formed 
but  somewhat  severe  features  wore  a  milder 
expression  than  usual,  his  lips  smiled  in  the 
dark-brown  beard  as  if  they  would  fain  tell 
something  agreeable,  while  in  his  eyes  there  was 
an  expression  as  of  happy  remembrances  allied 
to  some  strange  foreboding.  The  beautiful  Sara, 
who  sat  on  the  same  high  velvet  cushion  as  her 
husband,  wore,  as  hostess,  none  of  her  ornaments — 
only  white  linen  enveloped  her  slender  form  and 
good  and  gentle  face.  This  face  was  touchingly 
beautiful,  even  as  all  Jewish  beauty  is  of  a  pecu- 
liarly moving  kind ;  for  the  consciousness  of  the 
deep  wretchedness,  the  bitter  scorn,  and  the  evil 
chances  amid  which  her  kindred  and  friends 
dwelt,  gave  to  her  lovely  features  a  depth  of 
sorrow  and  an  ever-watchful  apprehension  of 
love,  such  as  most  deeply  touches  our  hearts. 
So  on  this  evening  the  fair  Sara  sat  looking  into 
the  eyes  of  her  husband,  yet  glancing  ever  and 
anon  at  the  beautiful  parchment  book  of  the 
Agade  which  lay  before  her,  bound  in  gold  and 
velvet.  It  was  an  old  heirloom,  with  ancient 
wine  stains  on  it,  which  had  come  down  from 
the  days  of  her  grandfather,  and  in  which  were 
many  boldly  and  brightly-coloured  pictures,  which 
she  had  often  as  a  little  girl  looked  at  so  eagerly 
on  Passover  evenings,  and  which  represented  all 


'W^ 


i86  THE  RABBI  OP  BACHARACH. 

kinds  of  Bible  stories — how  Abraham  broke  asun- 
der with  a  hammer  the  idols  of  his  father,  how 
the  angels  came  to  him,  how  Moses  slew  Mizri, 
how  Pharaoh  sat  in  state  on  his  throne,  how  the 
frogs  gave  him  no  peace  even  at  table,  how  he — 
the  Lord  be  praised  ! — was  drowned,  how  the  chil- 
dren of  Israel  went  cautiously  through  the  Eed 
Sea;  how  they  stood  open-mouthed,  with  their 
sheep,  cows,  and  oxen,  before  Mount  Sinai;  how 
pious  King  David  played  the  harp ;  and,  finally, 
how  Jerusalem,  with  its  towers  and  battlements, 
shone  in  the  splendour  of  the  setting  sun. 

The  second  wine- cup  had  been  served,  the 
faces  and  voices  of  the  guests  grew  merrier,  and 
the  Kabbi,  as  he  took  a  cake  of  unleavened  bread 
and  raised  it,  greeting  gaily,  read  these  words 
from  the  Agade :  "  See !  This  is  the  food  which 
our  fathers  ate  in  Egypt !  Let  every  one  who  is 
hungry  come  and  enjoy  it !  Let  every  one  who 
is  sorrowful  come  and  share  the  joys  of  our 
Passover !  In  this  year  we  celebrate  it  here,  but 
in  years  to  come  in  the  land  of  Israel  This  year 
we  celebrate  it  in  servitude,  but  in  the  years  to 
come  as  sons  of  freedom ! " 

Then  the  hall- door  opened,  and  there  entered  two 
tall,  pale  men,  wrapped  in  very  broad  cloaks,  who 
said:  "Peace  be  with  you.  We  are  men  of  your 
faith  on  a  journey,  and  wish  to  share  the  Passover- 
feast  with  you ! "    And  the  Kabbi  replied  promptly 


1  ■    •  ■     " 


THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH.  187 

and  kindly :  "Peace  be  with  you,  sit  ye  down  near 
me ! "  The  two  strangers  sat  down  at  the  table, 
and  the  Eabbi  read  on.  While  the  company  con- 
versed, he  often  cast  a  pleasant,  petting  word  to  his 
wife ;  and  playing  on  the  old  saying  that  on  this 
evening  a  Hebrew  father  of  a  family  regards 
himself  as  a  king,  said  to  her,  "  Eejoice,  oh  my 
Queen  1 "  But  she  replied,  smiling  sadly,  "  The 
Prince  is  wanting,"  meaning  by  that  a  son,  who, 
as  a  passage  in  the  Agade  requires,  shall  ask  his 
father,  with  a  certain  formula  of  words,  what  is 
the  meaning  of  the  festival  ?  The  Eabbi  said 
nothing,  but  only  pointed  with  his  finger  to  a 
picture  on  the  opened  leaves  of  the  Agade.  It 
was  quaintly  and  touchingly  drawn,  showing  how 
the  three  angels  came  to  Abraham,  announcing 
that  he  would  have  a  son  by  his  wife  Sara,  who, 
meanwhile,  urged  by  feminine  curiosity,  is  listen- 
ing slyly  to  it  all  behind  the  tent-door.  This  little 
sign  caused  a  threefold  blush  to  rise  to  the  cheeks 
of  beautiful  'Sara,  who  looked  down,  and  then 
glanced  pleasantly  at  her  husband,  who  went  on 
chanting  the  wonderful  story  how  Rabbi  Jesua, 
Eabbi  Eliezer,  Eabbi  Asaria,  Eabbi  Akiba,  and 
Rabbi  Tarphen  sat  reclining  in  Bona-Brak,  and 
conversed  all  night  long  of  the  Exodus  from 
Egypt  till  their  disciples  came  to  tell  them  it 
was  daylight,  and  that  the  great  morning  prayer 
was  being  read  in  the  synagogue. 


iS8  THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH. 

As  Beaatiful  Sara  listened  with  devotion 
while  looking  at  her  husband,  she  saw  that  in 
an  instant  his  face  assumed  an  expression  as 
of  agony  or  despair,  his  cheeks  and  lips  were 
deadly  pale,  and  his  eyes  glanced  like  balls  of 
ice ;  but  almost  immediately  he  became  calm 
and  cheerful  as  before,  his  cheeks  and  lips  grew 
ruddy,  he  looked  about  him  gaily — nay,  it  seemed 
as  if  a  mad  and  merry  mood,  such  as  was  foreign 
to  his  nature,  had  seized  him.  Beautiful  Sara  was 
frightened  as  she  had  never  been  in  all  her  life, 
and  a  cold  shudder  came  over  her — less  from  the 
momentary  manifestation  of  dumb  despair  which 
she  had  seen  in  her  husband's  face,  than  from  the 
joyousness  which  followed  it,  and  which  passed 
into  rollicking  jollity.  The  Eabbi  cocked  his  cap 
comically,  first  on  one  ear,  then  on  the  other, 
pulled  and  twisted  his  beard  funnily,  sang  the 
Agade  texts  like  tavern-songs;  and  in  the  enu- 
meration of  the  Egyptian  plagues,  where  it  ia 
usual  to  dip  the  forefinger  in  the  full  wine-cup 
and  cast  the  drops  adhering  to  the  earth,  he 
sprinkled  the  young  girls  near  him  with  the  red 
wine,  and  there  was  great  wailing  over  spoiled 
collars,  and  ringing  laughter.  At  every  instant 
Beautiful  Sara  became  more  awed  at  this  con- 
vulsive merriment  of  her  husband,  and  oppressed 
with  nameless  fears  she  gazed  on  the  buzzing 
swarm  of  gaily  glittering  guests  who  comfortably 


k    v.,  •»•>. 


THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH.  189 

spread  or  rocked  themselves  here  and  there,  nib- 
bling the  thin  Passover  cakes,  drinking  wine, 
gossiping,  or  singing  aloud  full  of  joy. 

Then  came  the  time  for  supper.  All  rose  to 
wash,  and  beautiful  Sara  brought  the  great  silver 
basin,  richly  adorned  with  embossed  gold  figures, 
which  was  presented  to  every  guest,  that  he 
might  wash  his  hands.  As  she  held  it  to  the 
Rabbi,  he  gave  her  a  significant  look,  and  quietly 
slipped  out  of  the  door.  In  obedience  to  the  sign 
Beautiful  Sara  followed  him,  when  he  grasped  her 
hand,  and  in  the  greatest  haste  hurried  her  through 
the  dark  lanes  of  Bacharach,  out  of  the  city  gate  to 
the  highway  which  leads  toBingen  along  the  Rhine. 

It  was  one  of  the  nights  in  spring  which  are 
indeed  softly  warm  and  starry  withal,  yet  which 
inspire  the  soul  with  strange  uncanny  feelings. 
There  was  something  of  the  churchyard  in  the 
flowers,  the  birds  sang  peevishly  and  as  if  vexing 
themselves,  the  moon  cast  spiteful  yellow  stripes 
of  light  over  the  dark  stream  as  it  went  murmuring 
away,  the  lofty  masses  of  the  Rhine  cliffs  looked 
dimly  like  quivering  giants'  heads,  the  watchman 
on  the  tower  of  Castle  Strahleck  blew  a  melan- 
choly tune,  and  with  it  rang  in  jarring  rivalry  the 
funeral  bell  of  Saint  Werner's.  Beautiful  Sara 
carried  the  silver  ewer  in  her  right  hand,  while 
the  Rabbi  grasped  her  left,  and  she  felt  that  his 
fingers  were  ice-cold,  and  that  his  arm  trembled ; 


190 


THB  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH. 


but  still  she  went  on  with  him  in  silence,  per- 
haps because  she  was  accustomed  to  obey  blindly 
and  unquestioning — perhaps,  too,  because  her  lips 
were  mute  with  fear  and  anxiety. 

Below  Castle  Sonneck,  opposite  Lorch,  about 
the  place  where  the  hamlet  of  Nieder  Eheinbach 
now  stands,  there  rises  a  cliff  which  arches  out 
over  the  Ehine  bank.  The  Eabbi  ascended  it 
with  his  wife,  looked  around  on  every  side,  and 
gazed  on  the  stars.  Trembling  and  shivering,  as 
with  the  pain  of  death.  Beautiful  Sara  looked  at 
his  pale  face,  which  seemed  spectre-like  in  the 
moon-rays,  and  seemed  to  express  by  turns  pain, 
terror,  piety,  and  rage.  But  when  the  Eabbi 
suddenly  snatched  from  her  hands  the  silver  ewer 
and  threw  it  far  away  into  the  Ehine,  she  could 
no  longer  endure  her  agony  of  uncertainty,  and 
crying  out,  "  Schadai,  full  of  mercy  ! "  threw  her- 
self at  his  feet,  and  conjured  him  to  solve  the 
dark  enigma. 

Unable  at  first  to  speak  from  excitement,  the 
Eabbi  moved  his  lips  without  uttering  a  sound, 
till  at  last  he  cried,  "  Dost  thou  see  the  Angel  of 
Death  ?  There  below  he  sweeps  over  Bacharach. 
But  we  have  escaped  his  sword.  Praised  be  God ! " 
And  in  a  voice  still  trembling  with  excitement 
he  told  her  that  while  he  was  happily  and  com- 
fortably singing  the  Agade  he  glanced  by  chance 
under  the  table,  and  saw  at  his  feet  the  bloody 


THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH.  ■    ^0 

corpse  of  a  little  child.  "  Then  I  knew,"  con- 
tinued the  Eabbi,  "  that  our  two  guests  were  not 
of  the  community  of  Israel,  but  of  the  assembly 
of  the  godless,  who  had  plotted  to  bring  that 
corpse  craftily  into  the  house  so  as  to  accuse  us 
of  child-murder,  and  stir  up  the  people  to  plunder 
and  murder  us.  Had  I  given  a  sign  that  I  saw 
through  that  work  of  darkness  I  should  simply 
have  brought  destruction  on  the  instant  to  me 
and  mine,  and  only  by  craft  did  I  preserve  our 
lives.  Praised  be  God !  Grieve  not.  Beautiful 
Sara.  Our  relations  and  friends  will  also  be 
saved.  It  was  only  my  blood  which  the  wretches 
wanted.  I  have  escaped  them,  and  they  will  be 
satisfied  with  uiy  silver  and  gold.  Come  with 
me.  Beautiful  Sara,  to  another  land.  We  will 
leave  bad  luck  behind  us,  and  that  it  may  not 
follow  us  I  have  thrown  to  it  the  silver  ewer,  the 
last  of  my  possessions,  as  an  offering.  The  God 
of  our  fathers  will  not  forsake  us.  Come  down, 
thou  art  weary.  There  is  Dumb  William  stand- 
ing by  his  boat ;  he  will  this  morning  row  us  up 
the  Rhine." 

Speechless,  and  as  if  every  limb  was  broken, 
Beautiful  Sara  lay  in  the  arms  of  the  Eabbi, 
who  slowly  bore  her  to  the  bank.  There  stood 
William,  a  deaf  and  dumb  youth,  but  yet  beautiful 
as  a  picture,  who,  to  maintain  his  old  foster- 
mother,  who  was  a  neighbour  of  the  Eabbi,  was 


192  THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH. 

a  fisherman,  and  kept  his  boat  in  this  place.  It 
seemed  as  if  he  had  divined  the  intention  of 
Abraham,  and  was  waiting  for  him,  for  on  his 
silent  lips  there  was  an  expression  as  of  sweet 
sympathy  and  pity,  and  his  great  blue  eyes  rested 
as  with  deep  meaning  on  Beautiful  Sara,  while 
he  lifted  her  carefully  into  the  canoe.^ 

The  glance  of  the  silent  youth  roused  Beautiful 
Sara  from  her  lethargy,  and  she  realised  at  once 
that  all  which  her  husband  had  told  her  was  no 
mere  dream,  and  a  stream  of  bitter  tears  poured 
over  her  cheeks,  which  were  as  white  as  her  gar- 
ment. So  she  rested  in  the  canoe,  a  weeping  image 
of  white  marble,  while  by  her  sat  her  husband 
and  Silent  William,  who  was  rowing  earnestly. 

Whether  it  was  owing  to  the  measured  beat 
of  the  oars,  or  the  rocking  of  the  boat,  or  the 
fresh  perfume  from  the  Rhine  banks  whereon 
joy  grows,'^  it  ever  happens  that  even  the  most 
sorrowful  being  is  marvellously  calmed  when 
on  a  night  in  spring  he  is  lightly  borne  in 
a  light  canoe  on  the  dear,  clear  Rhine  stream. 
For  in  truth  old,  kind-hearted  Father  Rhine 
cannot  bear  that  his  children  shall  weep,  so, 
calming   their    crying,    he    rocks    them    on   his 

'  Kahn.  The  Rhine  boats  were  almost  invariably  canoe-like 
in  form,  as  many  are  at  present. 

'  Worauf  die  Frevde  wdehit.  In  allusioD  to  the  vineyarda 
of  the  Rhine. 


THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH.  g^ 

trusty  arm,  and  tells  them  his  most  beautiful 
stories,  and  promises  them  his  most  golden  trea- 
sures, perhaps  the  old,  old,  long-sunk  Nibelungen 
hoard.  Little  by  little  the  tears  of  Beautiful  Sara 
ceased  to  flow;  her  worst  sorrow  seemed  to  be 
washed  away  by  the  eddying,  whispering  waves, 
while  the  hills  about  her  home  bade  her  the 
tenderest  farewell.  Most  trustingly  of  all  did 
the  Kedrich,  her  favourite,  give  her  a  farewell 
greeting ;  and  it  seemed  as  if  far  up  in  the 
strange  moonlight,  resting  on  its  summit,  she  saw 
a  lady  with  outstretched  arms,  while  the  daring 
dwarfs  swarmed  out  of  their  caverns  in  the  rocks, 
and  a  rider  came  rushing  down  the  rocks  in  fuU 
gallop.  And  Beautiful  Sara  felt  as  if  she  were  a 
child  again,  sitting  once  more  in  the  lap  of  her 
aunt  from  Lorch,  who  was  telling  her  brave  tales 
of  the  bold  knight  who  freed  the  stolen  damsel 
from  the  dwarfs,  and  many  other  true  stories  of 
the  wonderful  Wisperthal  "  over  there,"  where 
the  birds  talk  as  sensibly  as  any  mortals,  and  of 
Gingerbread  Land,  where  good,  obedient  children 
go,  and  of  enchanted  princesses,  singing  trees, 
crystal  castles,  golden  bridges,  laughing  water- 
fairies.  .  .  .  But  all  at  once  among  these  plea- 
sant tales  which  began  to  send  forth  sounds  of 
music  and  to  gleam  with  lovely  light,  Beautiful 
Sara  heard  the  voice  of  her  father,  who  scolded 
the  poor  aunt  for  putting  such  nonsense  into  the 

N 


194  THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH. 

child's  head.  Then  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  they 
set  her  on  the  little  stool  before  her  father's 
velvet -covered  chair,  who  with  a  soft  hand 
smoothed  her  long  hair,  and  smiled  as  if  well 
pleased,  and  cradled  himself  comfortably  in  his 
full,  Sabbath  dressing-gown  of  blue  silk.  Yes, 
it  must  be  the  Sabbath,  for  the  flowered  cover 
was  spread  on  the  fable,  all  the  utensils  in  the 
room  shone  polished  like  looking-glasses,  the 
white-bearded  public  messenger^  sat  beside  her 
father,  and  ate  raisins  and  talked  in  Hebrew ; 
even  little  Abraham  came  in  with  a  very  great 
book,  and  modestly  begged  leave  of  his  uncle  to 
expound  a  portion  of  the  Holy  Scripture,  that 
he  might  prove  that  he  had  learned  much  during 
the  past  week,  and  therefore  deserved  much 
praise — and  a  corresponding  quantity  of  cakes. 
.  .  .  Then  the  lad  laid  the  book  on  the  broad 
arm  of  the  chair,  and  set  forth  the  history  of 
Jacob  and  Eachel,  and  how  Jacob  lifted  up  his 
voice  and  wept  when  he  first  saw  his  cousin 
Eachel,  how  he  talked  so  confidingly  with  her 
by  the  well,  how  he  had  to  serve  seven  years 
for  her,  and  how  speedily  they  passed  away,  and 
how  he  at  last  married  and  loved  her  for  ever 
and  ever.  .  .  .  Then  all  at  once  Beautiful  Sara 
remembered  how  her  father  cried  with  merry 
voice,  "  "Wilt  thou  not,  like  that  also,  marry  thy 

'  Gemeindediener.     Lit.,  servant  of  the  oommunitj. 


THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH.  195 

cousin  Sara?"  To  which  little  Abraham  seri- 
ously replied,  "  That  I  will,  and  she  shall  wait 
seven  years  too."  These  memories  stole  like 
twilight  shadows  through  the  soul  of  the  young 
wife,  and  she  saw  how  she  and  her  little  cousin 
— now  so  great  a  man  and  her  husband — played 
like  children  together  in  the  leafy  tabernacle ; 
how  they  were  delighted  with  the  gay  carpets, 
flowers,  mirrors,  and  gilded  apples;  how  little 
Abraham  petted  her  more  tenderly,  till  he  grew 
to  be  little  by  little  larger  and  less  amiable,  and 
at  last  of  full  growth  and  altogether  grim.  .  .  . 
And  now  she  sits  in  her  room  alone  of  a  Saturday 
evening  ;  the  moon  shines  brightly  in,  and  the 
door  flies  open,  and  cousin  Abraham,  in  travelling 
garb  and  pale  as  death,  comes  in,  and  grasps  her 
hand  and  puts  a  gold  ring  on  her  finger,  and 
says  solemnly,  "  I  hereby  take  thee  to  be  my 
wife,  according  to  the  laws  of  God  and  of  Israel" 
"  But  now,"  he  added,  with  a  trembling  voice, 
"  now  I  must  go  to  Spain.  Farewell — for  seven 
years  thou  must  wait  for  me."  So  he  hurried 
away,  and  Sara,  weeping,  told  the  tale  to  her 
father,  who  roared  and  raged.  "  Cut  ofif  thy 
hair,  for  now  thou  art  a  married  woman,"  and 
he  rode  after  Abraham  to  compel  him  to  give 
her  a  letter  of  divorcement;  but  he  was  over 
the  hills  and  far  away,  and  the  father  returned 
silently  to  his  house.     And  when  Beautiful  Sara 


196  THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH. , 

helped  to  draw  off  his  boots,  and  to  soothe  him 
said  that  Abraham  would  return  in  seven  years, 
he  cursed  and  cried,  "  Seven  years  shalt  thou  be 
a  beggar,"  and  so  he  soon  died. 

And  so  old  memories  swept  through  her  soul 
like  a  hurried  play  of  shadows,  the  images  inter- 
mixing and  blending  strangely,  while  between 
them  went  and  came  unknown  bearded  faces,  and 
great  flowers  with  marvellous  broad  spreading 
foliage.^  Then  the  Rhine  seemed  to  murmur  the 
melodies  of  the  Agade,  and  from  its  waters  the 
pictures,  large  as  life  and  in  strange  exaggerated 
guise,  came  forth  one  by  one.  There  was  the 
forefather  Abraham  painfully  and  hurriedly  break- 
ing the  idols,  who  were  hastily  running  out  of 
his  way ;  Mizri  defending  himself  fiercely  against 
the  maddened  Moses ;  Mount  Sinai  flashing  and 
flaming ;  King  Pharaoh  swimming  in  the  Eed  Sea, 
holding  his  zigzagged  gold  crown  tight  in  his 
teeth,  frogs  with  men's  faces  swimming  in  be- 
tween, and  the  waves  foaming  and  roaring,  while 
a  dark  giant-hand  rose  threatening  from  the  deep.^ 

That  was  the  Mouse  Tower  of  Bishop  Hatto, 

1  Orosse  BUimen  mit  fabdhaft  hreitem  BlaUwerh.  The  whole 
spirit  of  Gothic  decoration,  of  grotesque  figtires  and  faces,  twined 
about  with  vines  and  crochets,  or  expanded  leaves  exaggerated 
into  strange  yet  beautiful  forms,  is  given  in  this  passage. 

^  According  to  magicians  and  occultists  the  most  awful  and 
terrible  apparition  which  threatens  the  neophyte  in  his  first 
introduction  to  the  supernatural  world  is  the  giant  foot  or  hand. 
This  one  was  probably  suggested  by  the  romance  of  King  Arthur. 


THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH.  197 

and  the  canoe  shot  through  the  Binger  Eddy. 
By  this  Beautiful  Sara  was  somewhat  aroused 
from  her  dreams,  and  gazed  at  the  hills  on  the 
shore,  from  whose  summits  the  lights  gleamed, 
and  at  whose  feet  the  mist  shimmering  in  moon- 
rays  began  to  rise.  Suddenly  she  seemed  to  see 
in  it  her  friends  and  relations,  as  they,  with  corpse- 
like faces  and  flowing  shrouds,  passed  in  awful 
procession  along  the  Rhine.  .  .  .  All  grew  dark 
before  her  eyes,  an  icy  current  ran  through  her 
soul,  and,  as  if  in  sleep,  she  only  heard  the  Eabbi 
repeating  the  night-prayer  slowly  and  painfully, 
as  if  at  a  deathbed,  and  dreamily  she  stammered 
the  words,  "  Ten  thousand  to  the  right,  ten  thou- 
sand to  the  left,  to  protect  the  king  from  the 
terrors  of  the  night." 

Then  all  at  once  the  oppressive  gloom  and 
grief  passed  away,  the  dark  curtain  was  torn 
from  heaven,  and  there  appeared  far  above  the 
holy  city  Jerusalem,  with  its  towers  and  gates  j 
the  Temple  gleamed  in  golden  splendour,  and  in 
its  fore-court  Sara  saw  her  father  in  his  yellow 
Sabbath  dressing-gown,  smiling  as  if  well  pleased. 
All  her  friends  and  relations  looked  out  from  the 
round  windows  of  the  Temple,  merrily  greeting 
her;  in  the  Holy  of  Holies  knelt  pious  King 
David,  in  his  purple  mantle  and  golden  crown ; 
sweetly  rang  his  song  and  harp-tones,  and  smil- 
ing happily  Beautiful  Sara  awoke. 


198  THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH. 


CHAPTER  II.  I 

As  Beautiful  Sara  opened  her  eyes  they  were 
almost  dazzled  by  the  rays  of  the  sun.  The 
high  towers  of  a  great  city  rose  before  her,  and 
Silent  William  stood  with  his  boat-hook  upright 
in  the  canoe,  and  pushed  and  guided  it  through 
the  lively  crowding  of  many  vessels,  gay  with 
pennons  and  streamers,  whose  crews  either  looked 
leisurely  at  passers-by  or  were  in  groups  busied 
in  loading  with  chests,  bales,  and  casks  the 
lighters  which  should  bear  them  to  the  shore, 
and  with  it  all  was  a  deafening  noise,  the  constant 
halloh  cry  of  steersmen,  the  calling  of  traders  from 
the  shore,  and  the  scolding  of  the  custom-house 
officials  who,  in  their  red  coats  with  white  maces 
and  white  faces,  jumped  from  boat  to  boat.    ! 

"  Yes,  Beautiful  Sara,"  said  the  Eabbi,  cheer- 
fully smiling  to  his  wife,  "  this  is  the  famous, 
free,  imperial,  and  commercial  city  of  Frankfort- 
on-the-Main,  and  we  are  now  passing  along  that 
river.  Do  you  see  those  pleasant-looking  houses 
up  there,  surrounded  by  green  hillocks  ?  That 
is  Sachsenhausen,  from  which  our  lame  Gumpert 
brings  us  the  fine  myrrhen  for  the  Feast  of  the 
Tabernacles.  Here  thou  see'st  the  strong  Main 
Bridge,  with  thirteen  arches,  over  which  many 
men,  waggons,  and  horses  safely  pass,  and  in  the 
middle  stands  a  little  house  of  which  Aunty 


THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH. 

Taubchen  says  that  a  baptized  Jew  lives  there, 
who  pays  every  man  who  brings  him  a  dead  rat 
six  farthings,  on  account  of  the  Jewish  commu- 
nity, who  are  obliged  to  deliver  annually  to  the 
State  council  five  thousand  rats'  tails  for  tribute," 

At  the  thought  of  this  war,  which  the  Frank- 
fort Jews  were  obliged  to  keep  up  with  the  rats, 
Beautiful  Sara  burst  out  laughing.  The  bright 
sunlight,  and  the  new  gay  world  now  before  her, 
had  driven  all  the  terrors  and  horrors  of  the  past 
night  from  her  soul,  and  as  she  was  lifted  to  land 
from  the  canoe  by  Silent  William  and  her  husband, 
she  felt  inspired  as  with  a  sense  of  joyful  safety. 
But  Silent  William  looked  long  with  his  beauti- 
ful deep  blue  eyes  into  hers,  half  sadly,  half  cheer- 
fully, aaid  then  with  a  significant  glance  at  the 
Eabbi,  sprang  back  into  his  boat  and  disappeared. 

"  Silent  William  much  resembles  my  brother 
who  died,"  said  Beautiful  Sara.  "  All  the  angels 
are  alike,"  answered  the  Rabbi ;  and  taking  his 
wife  by  the  hand  he  led  her  through  the  dense 
crowd  on  the  shore,  where,  as  it  was  the  time  of 
the  Easter  Fair,  stood  a  great  number  of  newly- 
erected  wooden  booths.  Then  passing  through 
the  gloomy  Main  Gate,  they  found  themselves  in 
quite  as  noisy  a  multitude.  Here  in  a  narrow 
street  one  shop  stood  close  by  another,  every 
house,  as  was  usual  in  Frankfort,  being  specially 
adapted  to  trade.     There  were  no  windows  on 


'v<>-ir;i2^v.-.     '^■^^•■-      ■  .'_■        ■'■-,.y__jU.      '■■'■'-       ■'■.-''";    ''  '■■/'  '.:':■;"'•■'■-' 


300 


THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH. 


the  ground  floor,  but  broad  open  arches,  so  that 
the  passer-by,  looking  in,  could  see  at  a  glance 
all  there  was  for  sale.*  And  how  Beautiful  Sara 
was  astonished  at  the  mass  of  magnificent  wares, 
and  the  splendour,  such  as  she  had  never  seen 
before !  Here  stood  Venetians,^  who  offered 
cheaply  all  the  elegancies  and  luxuries  of  the 
East  and  Italy,  and  Beautiful  Sara  seemed  as 
if  enchanted  by  the  ornaments  and  jewels,  the 
gay  and  varied  caps  and  bodices,  the  gold  bangles 
and  necklaces,  and  the  whole  display  of  knick- 
knackery  which  women  look  at  so  lovingly  and 
wear  even  more  endearingly.  The  richly  embroi- 
dered stuffs  of  velvet  and  silk  seemed  to  speak  to 
Beautiful  Sara,  and  flash  and  sparkle  back  strange 
wonders  into  her  memory,  and  it  really  seemed 
to  her  as  if  she  were  again  a  little  girl,  and  that 
Aunty  Taubchen  had  kept  her  promise  and  taken 
her  to  the  Frankfort  Fair,  and  that  she  now  at 
last  stood  before  the  beautiful  garments  of  which 
she  had  heard  so  much.  With  a  secret  joy  she 
reflected  what  she  should  take  back  with  her  to 
Bacharach,  and  which  of  her  two  little  cousins, 
Flowery  and  Birdy,  would  prefer  that  blue  silk 

^  Such  houses  still  abound  in  Begensberg,  Nuremberg,  and 
the  Italian  cities.  { 

'  The  Venetians  (as  may  be  seen  in  the  Facetiae  of  Piovano 
Arlotto)  at  this  time  pushed  their  wares  into  Paris,  London, 
and  Germany  with  all  the  enterprise  of  our  modern  commercial 
travellers. 


-*Hh 


THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH.  201 

girdle,  and  whether  the  green  stockings  "would 
suit  little  Gottschalk — when  all  at  once  it  flashed 
on  her,  "  Ah,  Lord  !  they  are  all  grown  up  now, 
and  yesterday  they  were  slain ! "  She  shuddered 
and  shrank  into  herself,  and  the  shadows  of  the 
night  seemed  to  settle  again  in  her  soul ;  but  the 
gold-embroidered  cloths  glittered  once  more  with 
a  thousand  roguish  eyes,  and  drove  dark  thoughts 
from  her  mind,  and  as  she  looked  into  her  hus- 
band's face  it  was  free  from  clouds,  and  bore  its 
habitual  serious  gentleness.  "Shut  your  eyes, 
Sara ! "  said  the  Eabbi,  and  led  his  wife  away, 
still  onward  through  the  crowd. 

What  a  varied,  variegated,  struggling  multi- 
tude !  First  in  it  were  the  tradesmen,  who  loudly 
outbid  one  another  in  offering  bargains,  or  talked 
together,  summing  on  their  fingers,  or,  followed  by 
porters  bearing  high-packed  loads,  who  at  a  dog- 
trot led  the  way  to  their  lodgings.  By  the  faces  of 
others  one  could  see  that  they  came  from  curiosity. 
The  stout  councilman  was  shown  by  his  scarlet 
cloak  and  golden  chain,  while  the  black,  pros- 
perous swelling  waistcoat  betrayed  the  honourable 
and  proud  Altburger.  The  iron-peaked  helmet, 
the  yellow  leather  jerkin,  and  the  rattling  spurs, 
weighing  one  pound,  indicated  the  heavy  cavalry- 
man, or  squire.  Under  many  a  little  black  velvet 
cap,  which  bowed  in  a  point  over  the  brow,  there 
was  a  rosy  girl-face,  and  the  young  fellows  who 


joa 


THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH. 


jumped  after  it,  like  hunting-dogs  on  the  seen 
showed  they  were  finished  dandies  by  their 
saucily  feathered  caps,  their  rattling  peaked  shoes, 
and  their  silk  garments  of  separate  colours,  where 
one  side  was  green  and  the  other  red,  or  the  right 
striped  like  a  rainbow,  and  the  left  in  harlequin 
squares  of  many  colours,  so  that  the  mad  youths 
looked  as  if  they  were  split  in  two.  Freeing 
themselves  from  the  crowd,  the  Eabbi  with  his 
wife  directed  the  way  to  the  Eomer.  This  is  the 
great  market-place  of  the  city,  surrounded  by 
houses  with  high  gables,  and  takes  its  name  from 
one  immense  building,  "  the  Roman,"  which  was 
bought  by  the  magistracy  and  dedicated  as  the 
court-house  or  town-halL  In  it  the  German 
Emperor  was  elected,  and  before  it  tournaments 
were  often  held.  King  Maximilian,  who  was 
passionately  fond  of  such  sports,  was  then  in 
Frankfort,  and  in  his  honour  the  day  before  there 
had  been  great  tilting  in  the  Eomer  ground. 
Many  idle  men  still  stood  on  or  about  the  scaffold- 
ing, which  was  being  removed  by  carpenters,  and 
told  how  the  Duke  of  Brunswick  and  the  Mar- 
grave of  Brandenburg  had  charged  one  another 
amid  the  sound  of  drums  and  of  trumpets,  and 
how  Lord  Walter  the  Blackguard  had  knocked 
the  Knight  of  the  Bear  so  soundly  out  of  his 
saddle  that  the  splinters  of  the  lances  flew  high 
in  the  air,  and  the  tall  blonde  King  Max,  standing 


THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH.  203 

upon  the  balcony  among  his  courtiers,  rubbed 
his  hands  for  joy.  The  cloths  of  gold  were  still 
to  be  seen  on  the  balconies  and  in  the  Gothic 
windows  of  the  town-hall.  The  other  houses 
of  the  market-place  were  also  still  bedecked  and 
adorned  with  shields,  especially  the  Limburg 
house,  on  whose  banner  was  painted  a  maiden 
who  bore  a  sparrow-hawk  on  her  hand,  while  a 
monkey  held  out  to  her  a  mirror.  Many  knights 
and  ladies  stood  on  the  balcony  engaged  in  gay 
conversation,  while  looking  at  the  crowd  below, 
which,  in  odd  groups  and  as  odd  attire,  shifted 
here  and  there.  What  a  multitude  of  idlers  and 
loiterers  crowded  together  here  to  gratify  curiosity  ! 
There  was  laughing,  grumbling,  stealing,  naughty 
pinching,  hurrahing,  while  ever  and  anon  was 
heard  in  yelling,  braying  notes  the  trumpet  of 
the  mountebank  quack,  who,  in  a  red  cloak  with 
his  Jack  Pudding  and  monkey,  stood  on  a  high 
stand  blowing  bravely  the  horn  of  his  own  skill, 
and  sounding  the  praises  of  his  tinctures  and  mar- 
vellous salves,  ere  he  solemnly  regarded  the  glass 
of  water  brought  by  some  old  woman,  or  applied 
himself  to  pull  a  poor  peasant's  tooth.  Two 
fencing-masters,  fluttering  about  in  gay  ribbons, 
brandishing  their  rapiers,  met  as  if  by  chance, 
and  had  a  mock  duel,  with  great  apparent  anger ; 
but  after  a  long  assault-at-arms  each  declared 
that  the  other  was  invincible,  and  took  up  a 


204  THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH. 

collection.  Then  the  newly-organised  guild  of 
archers  marched  by  with  drummers  and  pipers, 
and  these  were  followed  by  the  policeman/  who 
carried  a  red  flag,  and  led  a  disorderly  mob  of 
travelling  adventuresses,  who  came  from  the 
woman's  house,  known  as  "  the  Ass,"  in  Wtirz- 
burg,  and  were  going  to  Rosendale,  where  the 
highly  honourable  municipal  authority  had  as- 
signed them  their  quarters  for  the  fair.  "  Shut 
your  eyes,  Sara,"  said  the  Rabbi.  For  indeed 
the  fantastic  crowd  of  very  lightly  clad  girls, 
among  whom  were  some  who  were  really  beauti- 
ful, behaved  in  a  most  unbecoming  manner,  bar- 
ing their  bold  white  breasts,  chaffing  those  who 
went  by  with  shameless  words,  and  swinging 
their  long  travelling  staves.  And  as  they  came 
to  the  gate  of  Saint  Katherine  they  rode  on 
them  as  children  play  at  riding  horses,  and  sang 
in  shrill  tones  the  witch-song —  i 

"  Where  ia  the  goat  ?  the  hellish  beast ; 

Where  is  the  goat  ?    Oh  bring  him  quick  I  i 

And  if  tbere  is  no  goat,  at  least  { 

We'll  ride  upon  the  stick."  ' 

This  wild  sing-song,  which  rang  afar,  was  lost 
in  the  long-drawn  solemn  tones  of  a  church  pro- 
cession. It  was  a  mournful  train  of  bare-headed 
and  bare-footed  monks,  who  carried  burning  wax 
tapers,  banners  with  pictures  of  the  saints,  and 

'  StScker.    Coastable  in  charge  of  the  stockB,  &c.      j 


-.   t" 


THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH.  205 

great  silver  crucifixes.  Before  it  ran  boys  clad 
in  red  and  white  gowns,  bearing  smoking  censers 
of  frankincense.  In  the  midst,  under  a  splendid 
canopy,  were  priests  in  white  robes,  bedecked 
with  costly  lace  or  in  many-coloured  stoles,  and 
one  of  them  held  in  his  hand  a  sun-like  golden 
vessel,  which  on  arriving  at  a  shrine  by  the 
market-corner  he  raised  on  high,  while  he  half- 
sang,  half-spoke  in  Latin — when  all  at  once  a 
little  bell  rang,  and  all  around  becoming  silent 
fell  on  their  knees  and  made  the  sign  of  th^ 
Cross.  "  Shut  your  eyes,  Sara! "  cried  the  Eabbi 
,  again,  and  hastily  drew  her  away  through  a  laby- 
•rinth  of  narrow  and  crooked  streets,  and  at  last 
over  the  desolate  empty  place  which  separated  the 
new  Jewish  quarter  from  the  rest  of  the  city. 

Before  that  time  the  Jews  dwelt  between  the 
Dom  or  Cathedral  and  the  bank  of  the  Main,  that 
is,  from  the  bridge  to  the  Lumpenbrunnen  or  Eag- 
fountain,  and  from  the  Mehlwage  as  far  as  Saint 
Bartholomew's.  But  the  Catholic  priests  obtained 
a  Papal  bull  forbidding  the  Jews  to  live  so  near 
the  high  church,  for  which  reason  the  magistrates 
assigned  them  a  place  on  the  Wollgraben,  where 
they  built  their  present  quarter.  This  was  sur- 
rounded with  high  walls,  and  had  iron  chains 
before  the  gate  to  shut  them  in  from  the  mob, 
Here  they  lived,  crowded  and  oppressed,  and  with 
far  more  vivid  memories  of  previous  suffering  than 


K^W'^':- 


206  THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH. 

at  present.  In  1240  the  raging  populace  had 
caused  an  awful  "  bath  of  blood "  among  them, 
which  was  remembered  as  the  first  Jewish  mas- 
sacre;  and  in  1349,  when  the  Flagellants,  while 
passing  through  the  town,  set  fire  to  it,  and 
accused  the  Jews  of  the  deed:  the  latter  were 
nearly  all  murdered  or  burned  alive  in  their  own 
houses.  This  was  called  the  second  Jewish  mas- 
sacre. After  this  the  Jews  were  oftener  threat- 
ened with  similar  slaughter,  and  during  the 
internal  dissensions  of  Frankfort,  especially  dur- 
ing a  dispute  of  the  council  with  the  guilds,  the 
mob  often  meant  to  attack  the  Jewish  quarter. 
This  place  had  two  doors,  which  on  Catholic  fes- 
tivals were  closed  from  without  and  on  Jewish 
celebrations  from  within,  and  before  each  gate 
was  a  watch-house  with  city  soldiers. 

As  the  Rabbi  came  with  his  wife  to  the 
entrance  to  the  Jewish  quarter,  the  soldiers  lay, 
as  one  could  see  through  the  open  windows,  on 
the  wooden  bench  of  their  guard-room,  while  out 
before  the  door  sat  the  drummer  playing  small 
caprices  on  his  great  drum.  He  was  a  power- 
fully built,  heavy  fellow,  wearing  a  jerkin  and 
hose  of  fiery  yellow,  greatly  pufifed  out  on  the 
arms  and  thighs,  and  profusely  scattered  with 
small  red  flowing  tufts  sewed  on,  which  looked 
as  if  innumerable  fiery  tongues  were  licking  him 
from  head  to  foot.     His  breast  and  back  were 


THE  RABBI  OP  BACH ARACH.  mff 

covered  with  cushions  of  black  cloth,  against 
which  hung  his  drum  ;  he  bore  on  his  head  a  flat, 
round  black  cap,  which  was  matched  by  his  face 
in  roundness  and  flatness,  and  which  was  in 
keeping  with  his  dress,  being  also  orange-yellow, 
picked  out  with  black  pimples,  and  contracted 
into  a  gaping  smile.  So  the  fellow  sat  and 
drummed  the  air  of  a  song  which  the  Flagellants 
had  sung  at  the  Jewish  massacre,  while  he  sang, 
in  a  rough,  beery  voice — 


"  Our  dear  Lady  true 
Walked  in  the  morning  dew, 
Kvrie  eleison  ' " 


Kyrie  eleison ! " 

"Hans,  that  is  a  terrible  tune,"  cried  a  voice 
from  behind  the  closed  gate  of  the  Jewish  quarter. 
"  Yes,  Hans,  and  a  bad  song  too — don't  suit  the 
drum ;  don't  suit  at  all — by  my  soul — not  the 
lair  on  Easter  morning — bad  song — dangerous, 
Jack,  Jacky,  little  drum- Jacky  boy  ^ — I'm  a 
lonely  man — and  if  thou  lovest  me,  the  Star, 
the  tall  Star,  the  tall  nose-Star — so  stop  it ! " 

These  words  were  forced  out  in  fragments  by 
the  unseen  speaker,  now  as  in  hasty  anxiety, 
anon  in  a  sighing  drawl,  with  a  tone  which 
alternated  from  softness  to  harsh  hoarseness,  such 
as  one  hears  in  consumptive  people.  The  drummer 
was  not  moved,  and  continued  his  song — 

^  Hani-Hanachen,  klein  Trommdhdntchen, 


208  THE  RABBI  OP  BACHARACH. 

"  There  came  a  little  youth, 
His  beard  had  run  away,  in  truth, 

Halleluja ! 

"  Jack,"  again  cried  the  voice  of  the  invisible 
speaker,  "  Jack,  I'm  a  lone  man,  and  it  is  a  dan- 
gerous song,  and  I  don't  like  it;  and  I  have  my 
reasons  for  it,  and  if  you  love  me  sing  something 
else,  and  to-morrow  we  will  drink  together." 

At  the  word  "  drink  "  Jack  ceased  his  drum- 
ming and  singing,  and  said  in  gentler  tone,  "  The 
devil  take  the  Jews !  but  thou,  dear  Nose-Star,* 
art  my  friend,  I  protect  thee ;  and  if  we  should 
only  drink  together  often  enough  I  will  convert 
thee.  Yea,  I  will  be  thy  godfather,  and  when 
baptized  thou  wilt  be  eternally  happy;  and  if 
thou  hast  genius  and  wilt  study  industriously 
under  me  thou  mayest  even  become  a  drummer. 
Yes,  Nose-Star,  thou  mayest  yet  become  some- 
thing great  I  will  drum  the  whole  catechism 
into  thee  when  we  drink  to-morrow  together; 
but  now  open  the  gate,  for  here  are  two  strangers 
who  wish  to  enter." 

"  Open  the  gate ! "  cried  Nose-Star,  and  his 
voice  almost  deserted  him.  "  That  can't  be  done 
in  such  a  hurry,  my  dear  Jack ;  one  can't  tell — 
don't  know,  you  know — and  I'm  a  lone  man. 
Veitel  Oxhead  has  the  key,  and  he  is  sitting 
now  in  the  corner  mumbling  his  eighteen-prayer, 

^  NoMenUem.    Stem  is  a  oommoQ  Jewish  name. 


THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH. 

and  he  must  not  be  interrupted.  And  Jakel 
the  Fool  is  here  too,  but  he  is  busy ;  I'm  a  lone 
man." 

"  The  devil  take  the  Jews ! "  cried  the  drummer, 
and  laughing  loudly  at  this,  his  own  and  only 
joke,  he  trundled  himself  to  the  guard-room  and 
laid  down  on  the  bench. 

While  the  Eabbi  waited  with  his  wife  before 
the  great  locked  gate,  there  rose  from  behind  it  a 
strangely  ringing,  nasal,  and  somewhat  mocking 
slow  voice.  "  Starry — don't  drone  and  groan  so 
long.  Take  the  keys  from  Oxheady's  coat  pockets, 
or  else  go  stick  your  nose  in  the  keyhole,  and  so 
unlock  the  gate.  The  people  have  been  standing 
and  waiting  a  long  time." 

**  People  ! "  cried  the  voice  of  Nose  Star,  as  if 
frightened.  "  I  thought  there  was  only  one ;  and 
I  beg  you.  Fool — dear  Jakel  Fool — look  out  and 
see  who  are  there." 

A  small,  well-grated  window  in  the  gate 
opened,  and  there  appeared  in  it  a  yellow  cap  with 
two  horns,  and  the  drolly,  wrinkled,  and  twisted 
jest-maker's  face  of  Jakel  the  Fool.  At  once  the 
window  was  shut,  and  he  cried  angrily,  "  Open 
the  gate — there  is  only  a  man  and  a  woman." 

*'  A  man  and  a  wo-man  ! "  groaned  Nose  Star. 
"  Yes,  and  when  the  gate's  opened  the  woman 
will  take  her  gown  off,  and  become  a  man ;  and 
there'll  be  two  men,  and  we  are  only  three  ! " 


Sio  THE  RABBI  OP  BACHARACH, 

**  Don't  be  a  hare,"  replied  Jakel  the  FooL 
"  Pick  up  your  heart  and  show  courage  !  ** 

"  Courage  ! "  cried  Nose  Star,  with  mournful 
bitterness.  "  Hare !  Hare  m  a  bad  comparison. 
The  hare  is  an  unclean  beast.  Courage  !  I 
am  not  put  here  to  be  courageous,  but  cautious. 
When  too  many  come  I  am  to  call.  But  I  alone 
cannot  keep  them  back.  My  arm  is  weak,  I 
have  an  issue-sore,  and  I'm  a  lone  man.  Should 
one  shoot  me  I  should  be  slain.  Then  that  rich 
man,  Mendel  Eeiss,  will  sit  on  the  Sabbath  at  his 
table,  and  wipe  the  raisin-sauce  from  his  mouth, 
and  rub  his  beUy,  and  perhaps  say,  "  Tall  Nose 
Star  was  a  brave  fellow  after  all ;  if  it  had  not 
been  for  him  perhaps  they  would  have  burst 
the  gate.  He  let  himself  be  shot  dead  for  us. 
He  was  a  brave  fellow ;  pity  that  he's  dead ! " 

Here  the  voice  became  tender  and  tearful,  but 
all  at  once  it  rose  to  a  hasty  and  almost  angry 
tone.  "  Courage  !  and  because  the  rich  Mendel 
Keiss  wipes  away  the  raisin-sauce  from  his  mouth, 
and  pats  his  belly,  and  calls  me  a  brave  fellow, 
I'm  to  let  myself  be  shot  dead  !  Courage  !  Be 
brave  !  Little  Strauss  was  brave,  and  yesterday 
went  to  the  Edmer  to  see  the  tilting,  and  thought 
they  would  not  know  him  because  he  wore  a 
frock  of  violet  velvet — three  florins  a  yard — 
with  fox-tails  all  embroidered  with  gold — quite 
magnificent  j    and  they  dusted  his  violet  frock 


THE  RABBI  OF  BAQHAR4CH.  an 

for  him  till  it  lost  its  colour,  and  bis  own  back 
became  violet  and  did  not  look  human.  C!ourage, 
indeed  !  The  crooked,  crippled  Leser  was  cour- 
£^eou6,  and  called  our  blackguardly  chief  magis- 
trate a  blackguard,  and  they  hung  him  up  by 
the  feet  between  two  dogs  while  Jack  drummed. 
Courage  !  Don't  be  a  hare  !  Among  many  dogs 
the  hare  is  killed.  I'm  a  lone  man,  and  I  am 
really  afraid." 

«  That  I'll  swear  to,"  cried  Jakel. 

"  Yes ;  I  have  fear,"  replied  Nose  Star,  sigh- 
ing.    "  I  know  that  it  runs  in  my  blood,  and  I 

had  it  from  my  mother  " 

"  Ay,  ay,"  interrupted  Jakel,  "  and  your 
mother  had  it  from  her  father,  and  he  from  his, 
and  so  all  thy  ancestors  one  from  the  other,  back 
to  the  forefather  who  marched  with  King  Saul 
against  the  Philistines,  and  was  the  first  to  run 
away.  But  look !  Oxheady  is  all  ready — he 
has  bowed  his  head  for  the  fourth  time ;  now  he 
is  jumping  like  a  flea  at  the  Holy,  Holy,  Holy, 
and  seeking  cautiously  in  his  pocket." 

In  fact  the  keys  rattled,  the  gate  grated  and 
creaked  as  it  opened,  and  the  Eabbi  and  his  wife 
entered  the  empty  Judengasse  or  Jews'  Lane.  The 
man  who  opened  was  a  little  fellow  with  a  good- 
natured  grim  face,  who  nodded  absently,  like  one 
who  did  not  like  to  be  disturbed  in  his  thoughts. 
and  when  he  had  carefully  closed  the   portal, 


212  THE  RABBI  OP  BACHARACH. 

slipped  without  saying  a  word  into  a  corner, 
munnuring  his  prayers.  Less  taciturn  was  Jakel 
the  Fool,  a  short  fellow  with  curved  legs,  a  full 
blooming,  red,  and  laughing  face,  and  an  enormous 
leg-of-mutton  hand,  which  he  stretched  out  of 
the  wide  sleeve  of  his  chequered  jacket  in  wel- 
come. Behind  him  a  tall,  lean  figure  showed  or 
rather  hid  itself — the  slender  neck  white  feathered 
with  a  fine  cambric  ruff,  and  the  thin  pale  face 
strangely  adorned  with  an  incredibly  long  nose, 
which  anxiously  peered  about  in  every  direction. 
"  God's  welcome  to  a  pleasant  feast-day  ! "  cried 
Jakel  the  Fool.  "Do  not  be  astonished  that  the 
lane  is  so  empty  and  silent  just  now.  All  our 
people  are  in  the  synagogue,  and  you  are  come 
just  in  the  right  time  to  hear  the  history  of  the 
sacrifice  of  Isaac.  I  know  it — 'tis  an  interesting 
tale,  and  if  I  had  not  heard  it  before,  thirty- 
three  times,  I  would  willingly  hear  it  again  this 
year.  And — mind  you ! — 'tis  an  important  his- 
tory, for  if  Abraham  had  really  killed  Isaac  and 
not  the  goat,  then  there  would  have  been  more 
goats  in  the  world  now — and  fewer  Jewa"  And 
then,  with  mad  and  merry  grimaces,  Jakel  began 
to  sing  the  following  song  from  the  Agade  :  * — 

^  This  prototype  of  "  The  House  that  Jack  Built "  is  presumed 
to  be  a  hynan  in  Seder  Hagadah,  fol.  23.  The  historical  inter- 
pretation, says  Mrs.  Valentine,  who  has  reproduced  it  in  her 
Nursery  Rhymes,  was  first  given  by  P.  N.  Leberecht  at  Leipaio 
in  1731,  and  is  printed  in  the  (^riatian  Rrforwur,  voL  xviL 


THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH.  213 

"A  kid,  a  kid,  which  my  father  bought  for 
two  pieces  of  money.*     A  kid  !  a  kid ! 

"  There  came  a  cat  which  ate  the  kid,  which  my 
father  bought  for  two  pieces  of  money.     A  kid ! 

"  There  came  a  dog,  who  bit  the  cat,  who  ate 
the  kid,  which  my  father  bought  for  two  pieces 
of  money.     A  kid ! 

"  There  came  a  stick,  which  beat  the  dog,  who 
bit  the  cat,  who  ate  the  kid,  which  my  father 
bought  for  two  pieces  of  money.    A  kid !    A  kid ! 

"There  came  a  fire,  which  burnt  the  stick, 
which  beat  the  dog,  who  bit  the  cat,  who  ate  the 
kid,  which  my  father  bought  for  two  pieces  of 
money.     A  kid!     A  kid! 

"  There  came  the  water,  which  quenched  the 
fire,  which  burnt  the  stick,  which  beat  the  dog,  who 

p.  28.  The  original  is  in  Cbaldee.  It  is  tbroaghout  an  alle- 
gory. The  kid,  one  of  the  pure  animals,  denotes  Israel.  The 
Father  by  whom  it  was  purchased  is  Jehovah  ;  the  two  pieces 
of  money  signify  Moses  and  Aaron.  The  cat  means  the 
Assyrians,  the  dog  the  Babylonians,  the  staff  the  Persians,  the 
fire  the  Grecian  Empire  under  Alexander  the  Great.  The  water 
betokens  the  Roman  or  the  fourth  of  the  great  monarchies  to 
whose  dominion  the  Jews  were  subjected.  The  ox  is  a  symbol 
of  the  Saracens,  who  subdued  Palestine  ;  the  butcher  that  killed 
the  ox  denotes  the  crusaders  by  whom  the  Holy  Land  was 
taken  from  the  Saracens  ;  the  Angel  of  Death  the  Turkish  power 
to  which  Palestine  is  still  subject.  The  tenth  stanza  is  designed 
to  show  that  God  will  take  signal  vengeance  on  the  Turks,  and 
restore  the  Jews  to  their  own  land. 

^  Sudein.  In  Heine's  Torsion,  every  noun  in  this  song 
assames  the  diminutive  Uin,  as  VaUrlein,  "  little  father,"  Boek- 
Itin,  Eundlein,  kc 


*3 


SI4  THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH. 

bit  the  cat,  who  ate  the  kid,  which  mj  father 
bought  for  two  pieces  of  money.     A  kid !    A  kid ! 

"  There  came  an  ox,  who  drank  the  water, 
wbich  quenched  the  fire,  which  burnt  the  stick, 
which  beat  the  dog,  who  bit  the  cat,  who  ate  the 
kid,  which  my  father  bought  for  two  pieces  of 
money.     A  kid  !     A  kid  ! 

"  There  came  the  butcher,*  who  slew  the  ox, 
who  drank  the  water,  which  quenched  the  fire, 
which  burnt  the  stick,  which  beat  the  dog,  who 
bit  the  cat,  that  ate  the  kid,  which  my  father 
bought  for  two  pieces  of  money.    A  kid  I    A  kid  ! 

"  Then  came  the  Angel  of  Death,'  who  slew 
the  butcher,  who  killed  the  ox,  who  drank  the 
water,  which  quenched  the  fire,  which  burnt  the 
stick,  which  beat  the  dog,  who  bit  the  cat,  who 
ate  the  kid,  which  my  father  bought  for  two 
pieces  of  money.     A  kid !     kid  j "  ^ 

"  Yes,  beautiful  lady,"  added  the  singer,  "  and 
the  day  will   come  when  the  Angel  of  Death 

*  Sehochet,  butcher,  meaning  the  Crasaden.  Jews  in  repeat- 
ing this  in  English  or  German  retain  this  Hebrew  word. 

*  Mailach  Hammowet,  the  Angel  of  Death.  This  is  also 
generally  given  in  Hebrew.  There  is  a  great  awe  attached  to 
the  name  which  gives  a  peculiar  dignity  to  this  Terse. — 2Van«- 
Jolor. 

'  There  is  a  concloding  Terse  which  Heine  has  omitted. 
"  Then  came  the  Holy  One  of  Israel — blessed  be  he — and  slew 
the  Angel  of  Death,  who,"  Ac.  Heine  goes  *tque  ad  ar<u,  bat 
no  farther. — Trandator. 


TUB  RABBJ  OF  BACHARACH.  215 

will  slaj  the  slayer,  and  all  our  blood  come  over 
£dom,  for  God  is  a  Grod  of  vengeance." 

But  all  at  once,  casting  aside  with  violent 
effort  the  serionsness  into  which  he  had  uncon- 
sciously fallen,  Jakel  jumped  again  into  his  mad 
fancies,  and  kept  on  in  his  harsh  jester  tones, 
"  Don't  be  afraid,  beautiful  lady,  Nose  Star  will 
not  harm  you.  He  is  only  dangerous  to  the  old 
Schnapper-Elle.  She  has  fallen  in  love  with  his 
nose — and,  faith !  it  deserves  it.  Yea,  for  it  is 
beautiful  as  the  tower  which  looketh  forth  to- 
wards Damascus,  and  riseth  like  a  cedar  of 
Lebanon.  Outwardly  it  gleameth  like  gold  leaf 
and  syrup,  and  inwardly  it  is  all  music  and 
loveliness.  It  bloometh  in  summer  and  in 
winter  it  is  frozen  up — but.  in  summer  and 
winter  it  is  petted  and  pulled  by  the  white 
hands  of  Schnapper-Elle.  Yes,  she  is  madly  in 
love  with  him.  She  cuddles  him,  she  fuddles 
and  fodders  him ;  for  her  age  he  is  young 
enough.  When  he  is  fat  enough  she  means  to 
marry  him;  and  whoever  comes  to  Frankforty 
three  hundred  years  hence,  will  not  be  able  to 
see  the  heavens  for  Nose  Stars." 

"  Ah,  you  are  Jakel  the  Fool,"  exclaimed  the 
Babbi,  laughing,  "  I  mark  it  by  your  words. 
I  have  often  heard  of  you." 

"  Yes — ^yes,"  replied  Jakel,  with  a  comical  air 
of  modesty.    "  Yes,  that  comes  of  being  famoua 


t.^j,r 


2i6  THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH. 

A  man  is  often  celebrated  far  and  wide  for  being 
a  bigger  fool  than  he  has  any  idea  of.  However, 
I  take  great  pains  and  do  my  very  best  to  be  a  fool, 
and  jump  and  shake  myself  to  make  the  bells 
ring ;  other  people  manage  it  more  easily.  But 
tell  me,  Rabbi,  why  do  ye  journey  on  a  feast- 
day?"  1 

"  My  justification,"  replied  the  Rabbi,  "  is  in 
the  Talmud,  and  it  says,  'Danger  drives  away 
the  Sabbath.' " 

"  Danger  !  "  screamed  the  tall  Nose  Star,  with 
an  air  of  deadly  terror.  "  Danger !  danger ! 
Drummer  Jack ! — drum,  drum.  Danger  !  dan- 
ger !     Drummer  Jack !  " 

From  without  resounded  the  deep  beery  voice 
of  Drummer  Jack,  "  Tausend  dormer  sacramerU  ! 
The  devil  take  the  Jews.  That's  the  third  time 
to-day  that  you've  woke  me  out  of  a  sound  sleep, 
Nose  Star !  Don't  make  me  mad !  For  when 
I  am  mad  I'm  the  howling  old  devil  himself; 
and  then  as  sure  as  I'm  a  Christian  I'll  up  with 
my  gun  and  shoot  slap  through  the  grated 
window  of  your  tower — and  then  itil  be,  old 
fellow,  everybody  look  out  for  his  nose !  " 

"Don't  shoot!  don't  shoot!  I'm  a  lonely 
man,"  wailed  Nose  Star  piteously,  and  pressed 
his  face  against  the  wall,  and  remained  trembling 
and  murmuring  prayers  in  this  position. 

"  But  say,  what  has  happened  ? "  cried  Jakel 


THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH.  217 

the  Fool,  with  all  the  impatient  curiosity  which  was 
even  then  characteristic  of  the  Frankfort  Jews. 

But  the  Rabbi  impatiently  broke  loose  from 
them,  and  went  his  way  along  the  Jews*  Street. 
"  See,  Sara ! "  he  exclaimed,  "  how  badly  guarded 
is  our  Israel.  False  friends  guard  its  gates  with- 
out, and  within  its  watchers  are  folly  and  fear." 

They  wandered  slowly  through  the  long  and 
empty  streets,  where  only  here  and  there  the  head 
of  some  bright  young  girl  looked  out  of  a  window, 
while  the  sun  mirrored  itself  in  the  brilliant  panes. 
In  those  days  the  houses  in  the  Jewish  quarter 
were  still  neat  and  new,  and  much  lower  than 
they  now  are,  since  it  was  only  at  a  later  time 
that  the  Jews,  as  their  number  greatly  increased, 
although  they  could  not  enlarge  their  quarter, 
buUt  one  storey  over  another,  squeezed  them- 
selves together  like  sardines,  and  so  cramped 
themselves  both  in  body  and  soul.*  That  part 
of  the  Jewish  quarter  which  remained  after  the 
great  fire,  and  which  is  called  the  Old  Lane — 
that  series  of  high,  grimly  dark  houses,  where  a 
strangely  grimacing,  damp  race  of  people  bar- 
gains and  chaffers,  is  a  horrible  relic  of  the 
Middle  Ages.     The  older  synagogue  exists  no 

^  It  is  remarkable  that  in  America  a  narrow-minded,  mean 
man  is  called  a  sardine.  "  A  man  who  has  never  traTelled,  and 
has  all  his  life  been  packed  tightly  among  those  who  were  his 
eqnals  in  ignorance  and  inexperience,  is  therefore  called  a  sar* 
dine  "  {The  Breitvumn  Balladt). 


ir 


2i8  THE  RABBI  OP  BACHARACH. 

more ;  it  was  less  capacious  than  the  present  one, 
built  later,  after  the  Nuremberger  exiles  came 
into  the  community.  It  lay  more  to  the  north. 
The  £abbi  had  no  need  to  ask  his  way.  He 
found  it  from  afar  by  the  buzz  of  many  voices 
often  raised  aloud.  In  the  court  of  the  House 
of  God  he  parted  from  his  wife,  and  after  wash- 
ing his  hands  at  the  fountain  there,  entered 
the  lower  part  of  the  synagogue  where  the  men 
pray,  while  Sara  went  up  a  flight  of  stairs  and 
came  into  the  place  reserved  for  women. 

This  upper  portion  was  a  kind  of  gallery  with 
three  rows  of  seats  painted  of  a  reddish  brown, 
whose  backs  were  fitted  in  a  manner  very  con- 
venient for  placing  the  prayer-books,  with  a  hang- 
ing board.  Here  the  women  sat  gossiping  together 
or  standing  up  in  deep  prayer.  However,  they 
often  went  and  peered  with  curiosity  through  the 
large  grating  which  was  on  the  eastern  side,  through 
the  thin  green  lattice  of  which  one  could  look 
down  into  the  lower  portion  of  the  synagogue. 
There,  behind  high  praying-desks,  stood  the 
men|  in  their  black  cloaks,  their  pointed  beards 
shooting  out  over  white  ruffs,  and  their  skull- 
capped  heads  more  or  less  concealed  by  a  four- 
cornered  scarf  of  white  wool  or  silk,  furnished 
with  the  prescribed  tassels,  in  some  instances 
also  adorned  with  gold  lace.  The  walls  of  the 
synagogue  were  simply  white-washed,  and    no 

'  1      "" 


I 


»i  ..«^. ..» I^.^t      _«■-;_-..         -i    -       ^. _!■.■.■:■ ''v.:    ■._■.'■   .  X>m     i.  .mt 


THE  RABBI  OP  BACHARACH.  219 

other  ornament  wa&  to  be  seen  except  the 
gilded  iron  grating  on  the  square  stage,  where 
the  extracts  from  the  Law  were  recited,  and 
the  holy  cofiTer,  a  costly  embossed  chest,  appa- 
rently upheld  by  marble  columns  with  rich 
Capitols,  whose  flower  and  leaf-work  flourished 
charmingly,  covered  with  a  curtain  of  violet  vel- 
vet, on  which  a  pious  inscription  was  worked 
in  gold  spangles,  pearls,  and  many-coloured  gems. 
Here  hung  the  silver  memorial-lamp,  and  there 
also  rose  a  barred  dais,  on  whose  crossed  iron  bars 
were  all  kinds  of  sacred  utensils,  among  the  rest 
the  seven-branched  candlestick ;  while  before  it, 
his  countenance  towards  the  chest,  stood  the 
choir-leader  or  chief  singer,  whose  song  was 
accompanied  as  if  instrumentally  by  the  voices 
of  his  two  assistants,  the  bass  and  soprano. 
The  Jews  have  forbidden  all  instrumental  music 
to  be  used  in  their  Church,  thinking  that  hymns 
to  God  are  more  true  in  spirit  or  edifying  when 
they  rise  from  the  glowing  breast  of  man,  than 
from  the  cold  pipes  of  an  organ.  Beautiful  Sara 
was  charmed  like  any  child  when  the  chief 
singer,  an  admirable  tenor,  raised  his  voice,  and 
the  ancient,  deep,  and  solemn  melodies  which  she 
knew  so  well  bloomed  forth  in  a  fresher  loveli- 
ness than  she  had  ever  dreamed  of,  while  the 
bass  murmured  in  harmony  the  deep  dark  notes, 
while  in  the  pauses  the  soprano  trilled  sweetly 


THE  RABBI  OP  BACHARACH. 


and  daintily.  Such  singing  Beautiful  Sara  had 
never  heard  in  the  synagogue  of  Bacharach, 
where  the  public  superintendent,  David  Levi, 
was  the  leader;  and  when  this  elderly  trembling 
man,  with  his  broken  baa-ing  voice,  would  try  to 
tiill  like  a  girl,  and  in  his  desperate  effort  to  do 
so  shook  his  weak  and  drooping  arm  feverishly, 
it  rather  inspired  laughter  than  devotion.        i 

A  something  of  devotedness,  not  unmingled 
with  feminine  curiosity,  drew  Beautiful  Sara  to 
the  grating,  where  she  could  look  down  into  the 
lower  division,  or  the  so-called  men's  school. 
She  had  never  before  seen  so  many  of  her  faith 
together,  and  it  cheered  her  heart  to  be  in  such 
a  multitude  of  those  so  nearly  allied  by  race, 
thought,  and  sufferings.  And  her  soul  was  still 
more  deeply  moved  when  three  old  men  rever- 
entially approached  the  sacred  repository,  un- 
locked the  chest,  drew  aside  the  glittering  curtain, 
and  very  carefully  brought  forth  the  Book  which 
God  once  wrote  with  His  own  hand,  and  to  main- 
tain which  the  Jews  have  suffered  so  much — so 
much  misery  and  hate,  disgrace  and  death — a 
thousand  years'  martyrdom.  This  Book — a  great 
roll  of  parchment — was  wrapped  like  a  princely 
child  in  a  gaily  embroidered  scarlet  velvet  cloak ; 
above,  on  both  the  wooden  rollers,  were  two  little 
silver  shrines,  in  which  many  pomegranates  and 
small  bells  moved  and  rang  prettily,  while  before, 


THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH.  aai 

on  a  silver  chain,  hung  gold  shields  with  many 
coloured  gems.  The  chief  singer  took  the  Book, 
and,  as  if  it  had  been  really  a  child — a  child  for 
whom  one  has  greatly  sufiFered,  and  whom  we  love 
all  the  more  on  that  account — he  rocked  it  in  his 
arms,  skipped  with  it  here  and  there,  pressed  it  to 
his  breast,  and,  like  one  inspired  by  a  holy  touch, 
broke  forth  into  such  a  devout  hymn  of  praise  and 
thanksgiving  that  it  seemed  to  Beautiful  Sara  as 
if  the  pillars  of  the  holy  shrine  began  to  bloom, 
and  the  strange  and  lovely  blossoms  and  leaves 
of  the  capitols  shot  ever  higher,  and  the  notes  of 
the  treble  were  changed  to  nightingales,  while 
the  arch  of  the  synagogue  was  shattered  by  the 
tremendous  tones  of  the  bass  singer,  and  the  joy 
and  splendour  of  God  gleamed  down  and  through 
from  the  blue  heavens.  Yes,  it  was  a  beautiful 
psalm.  The  congregation  sang  over  as  in  chorus 
the  concluding  verse,  and  the  chief  singer  walked 
slowly  to  the  raised  platform  in  the  middle  of 
the  synagogue  bearing  the  holy  Book,  while  men 
and  boys  crowded  hastily  about  him  to  kiss  its 
velvet  covering  or  even  to  touch  it.  When  on 
the  platform,  the  velvet  cover  as  well  as  the 
wrappings  covered  with  illuminated  letters  were 
removed,  and  the  chief  singer,  in  the  peculiar 
intonation  which  in  the  Passover  service  is  still 
more  peculiarly  sounded,  read  the  edifying  nar- 
rative of  the  temptation  of  Abraham.  ' 


222  THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH. 

Beautiful  Sara  had  modestly  withdrawn  from 
the  grating,  and  a  stout,  much  ornamented  woman 
of  middle  age,  with  a  self-asserting,  forward, 
good-natured  aspect,  had  with  a  nod  allowed  her 
to  read  in  company  in  her  prayer-book.  This 
lady  was  evidently  no  great  scholar,  for  as  she 
read  with  a  murmuring  voice  the  prayers  as  the 
women  do,  not  being  allowed  to  take  part  in  the 
singing,  Sara  observed  that  she  made  the  best 
she  could  of  many  words,  and  omitted  not  a  few 
good  passages  altogether.  But  after  a  while  the 
watery  blue  eyes  of  the  good  woman  were 
languidly  raised,  an  insipid  smile  gleamed  over 
her  red  and  white  china-ware  face,  and  in  a 
voice  which  she  strove  to  make  as  genteel  as 
possible,  she  said  to  Beautiful  Sara,  "  He  sings 
very  well.  But  I  have  heard  far  better  singing 
in  Holland.  Tou  are  a  stranger,  and  perhaps  do 
not  know  that  the  chief  singer  is  from  Worms, 
and  that  they  will  keep  him  here  if  he  will 
be  content  with  four  hundred  florins  a  year.  He 
is  a  charming  man,  and  his  hands  are  as  white 
as  alabaster.  I  think  a  great  deal  of  a  hand- 
some hand;  it  makes  one  altogether  hand- 
some " — saying  which,  the  good  lady  laid  her 
own  hand,  which  was  really  a  fine  one,  on  the 
shelf  before  her,  and  with  a  polite  bow  which 
intimated  that  she  did  not  care  to  be  interrupted 
while  speaking,  she  added,  "  The  Lttle  singer  is 


THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH. 

a  mere  child,  and  looks  veiy  much  worn  out. 
The  basso  is  too  ugly  for  anything,  and  our  Star 
once  said — ^it  was  very  witty  of  him — 'The  basa 
singer  is  a  bigger  fool  than  even  a  basso  is 
expected  to  be ! '  All  three  eat  in  my  restaur- 
ant— periiaps  you  don't  know  that  I'm  Elle 
Schnapper?" 

Beautiful  Sara  expressed  her  thanks  for  the 
information,  when  Schnapper  Elle  proceeded  to 
narrate  in  detail  how  she  had  once  been  in 
Amsterdam,  how  she  had  been  subjected  to  base 
designs  on  account  of  her  remarkable  beauty, 
how  she  had  come  to  Frankfort  three  days  before 
Pentecost  and  married  Schnapper,  how  he  had 
passed  away,  and  what  touching  things  he  had 
said  on  his  deathbed,  and  how  hard  it  was  to 
carry  on  the  business  of  a  cook-shop  and  keep 
one's  hands  nice.  Several  times  she  glanced  aside 
with  contemptuous  looks,  apparently  directed 
at  some  giggling  girls,  who  were  apparently  quizz- 
ing her  clothes.  Truly  this  dress  was  remark- 
able enough — a  very  much  puffed  gown  of  white 
satin,  on  which  all  the  animals  of  Noah's  Ark 
were  embroidered  in  gaudy  colours ;  a  jacket  of 
cloth  of  gold  like  a  cuirass,  the  sleeves  of  red 
velvet,  yellow  slashed ;  an  immensely  high  cap 
on  her  head,  with  a  mighty  ruff  of  stiff  white 
linen  round  her  neck,  which  also  bore  a  silver 
chain,  to  which  hung  all  kinds  of  coins,  cameos. 


324  THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH. 

and  curiosities,  chief  among  which  was  a  great 
image  of  the  city  of  Amsterdam,  which  rested  on 
her  bosom.* 

But  the  dresses  of  the  other  women  were  not 
less  remarkable.  They  consisted  of  a  medley  of 
fashions  of  different  ages,  and  many  a  little 
woman  there  was  so  covered  with  gold  and 
diamonds  as  to  look  like  a  wandering  jeweller's 
shop.  It  is  true  that  there  was  a  fashion  of 
dress  prescribed  by  law  to  the  Frankfort  Jews, 
and  to  distinguish  them  from  Christians  the  men 
must  wear  yellow  rings  on  their  cloaks,  while 
the  women  bore  very  high  standing,  blue  striped 
veils  on  their  caps.  However,  in  the  Jewish 
quarter  these  laws  were  little  looked  after,  and 
there,  especially  on  Sundays,  and  in  the  syna- 
gogue, the  women  put  on  as  much  magnificent 
apparel  as  they  could — partly  to  be  envied  of 
others,  and  partly  to  advertise  the  wealth  and 
standing  of  their  husbands. 

Meanwhile,  as  passages  from  the  laws  of  Moses 
were  being  read  from  the  Book  of  Moses,  the 
devotion  somewhat  lulled.  Many  made  them- 
selves comfortable  and  sat  down,  whispering 
perhaps  business  affairs  with  a  friend,  or  went 

^  These  eooentric  ornaments,  representing  cities,  sea-fights, 
men  on  horseback,  &c.,  may  be  seen  occasionally  in  cariosity 
shops  and  museums.  They  are  sometimes  very  large  indeed, 
and  few  would  imagine  that  they  were  intended  for  personal 
decoration. 


THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH.  225 

out  into  the  court  to  get  a  little  fresh  air.  Small 
boys  took  the  liberty  of  visiting  their  mothers 
in  the  women's  apartment ;  and  here  worship  was 
still  more  loosely  observed,  as  there  was  gossip- 
ing, cluttering  together  or  laughing,  while,  as 
will  always  happen,  the  young  quizzed  the  elder, 
while  the  latter  blamed  the  light-headedness  of 
the  girls  and  the  general  degeneracy  of  the  age. 
And  just  as  there  was  a  chief  singer  in  the  place 
below,  so  was  there  a  head-cackler  and  gossip  in 
the  one  above.  This  was  Puppy  Eeiss,'^  a  shallow, 
buxom  woman,  who  had  an  inkling  of  every 
trouble,  and  always  had  a  scandal  on  her  tongue. 
The  usual  butt  of  her  pointed  sayings  was  the 
poor  Schnapper  Elle,  and  she  could  mock  right 
well  the  affected  genteel  airs  and  languishing 
manner  with  which  the  latter  accepted  the  mock- 
ing compliments  of  young  men. 

"Do  you  know,"  cried  Puppy  Eeiss,  "that 
Schnapper  Elle  said  yesterday,  'If  I  were  not 
beautiful  and  clever,  and  beloved,  I  had  rather 
not  live.'" 

Then  there  was  a  loud  tittering,  and  Schnapper 
Elle,  who  was  not  far  distant,  noting  that  this  was 
all  at  her  expense,  lifted  her  nose  in  scorn,  and 
sailed  away  like  a  proud  galley  to  some  further 
place.  Then  Birdie  Ochs,  a  plump  and  somewhat 
awkward   lady,  remarked  compassionately  that 

^  Hiindcben  Reiss. 

.        ■         P 


226  THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH. 

Scbnapper  Elle  might  be  a  little  vain  and  small 
of  mind,  but  that  she  was  an  honest,  generous 
soul,  and  did  much  good  to  many  folk  in  need. 

"  Particularly  to  Nose  Star,"  snapped  Puppy 
Eeiss.  And  all  who  knew  of  this  tender  tie 
laughed  all  the  louder.  ! 

"Don't  you  know,"  added  Puppy  spitefully, 
"  that  Nose  Star  now  sleeps  in  Scbnapper  Elle's 
house !  But  just  look  at  Susy  Florsheim 
down  there,  wearing  the  necklace  which  Daniel 
Flasch  pawned  to  her  husband !  Flasch's  wife 
is  vexed  at  it — that  is  plain.  And  now  she  is 
talking  to  Mrs.  FlOrsheim.  How  amiably  they 
shake  hands  ! — and  hate  one  another  like  Midian 
and  Moab !  How  sweetly  they  smile  on  one 
another !  Oh,  you  dear  souls,  don't  eat  one 
another  up  out  of  pure  tenderness !  Fll  just 
steal  up  and  listen  to  them ! " 

And  so,  like  a  sneaking  wild  cat,  Puppy  Reiss 
stole  along  and  heard  the  two  women  mutually 
bewailing  to  one  another  how  they  had  worked 
all  the  past  week  to  clean  up  the  house  and 
scour  the  kitchen  things,  and  all  they  had  to  do 
before  Passover,  so  that  not  a  crumb  of  leavened 
bread  stuck  to  anything.  And  such  troubles  as 
they  had  baking  the  unleavened  bread !  Mrs. 
Flasch  had  bitter  griefs  over  this — for  she  had 
no  end  of  trouble  over  it  in  the  public  bakery, 
for  according  to  the  ticket  which  she  drew  she 


THE  RABBI  OP  BACHARACH,  337 

could  not  bake  there  tfll  the  afternoon  of  the 
very  last  day,  just  before  Passover  Eve  ;  and  then 
old  Hannah  had  kneaded  the  dough  badly,  and 
the  maids  had  rolled  it  too  thin,  and  half  of  it 
was  scorched  in  baking,  and  worst  of  all,  rain 
came  pouring  through  the  bake-house  roof,  and 
so  wet  and  weary  they  had  to  work  tUl  late  in 
the  night. 

"  And,  my  dear  Mrs.  FlSrsheim,"  said  Mrs. 
Flasch,  with  gracious  friendliness  most  insincere, 
"  you  were  a  little  to  blame  for  that,  because  you 
did  not  send  your  people  to  help  me  in  baking." 

"  Ah  !  pardon,"  replied  the  other.  "  My 
servants  were  so  busy — the  goods  for  the  fair 
had  to  be  packed — my  husband  " 

"  Yes.  I  know,"  said  Mrs.  Flasch,  with  cut- 
ting irony  in  her  speech.  "  I  know  that  you  have 
much  to  do — many  pledges  and  a  good  business, 
and  necklaces  " 

And  a  bitter  word  was  just  about  to  glide 
from  the  lips  of  the  speaker,  and  Dame  Florsheim 
had  turned  as  red  as  a  lobster,  when  Puppy  Eeiss 
cried  out  loudly,  "  For  Grod's  sake  ! — the  strange 
lady  lies  dying — water !  water ! " 

Beautiful  Sara  lay  insensible,  pale  as  death, 
^ile  a  swarm  of  women,  busy  and  bewailing, 
crowded  round  her.  One  held  her  head,  another 
her  arm,  some  old  women  sprinkled  her  with 
the  glasses  of  water  which  hung  behind  their 


228  THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH. 

prayer  desks  for  washing  the  hands  in  case 
they  should  by  accident  touch  their  own  bodies. 
Others  held  under  her  nose  an  old  lemon  stuck 
full  of  spices,  which  remained  from  the  last 
feast-day,  when  it  had  served  for  smelling  and 
strengthening  the  nerves.  Exhausted  and  sigh- 
ing deeply.  Beautiful  Sara  at  last  opened  her 
eyes,  and  with  mute  glances  thanked  them  for 
their  kind  care.  But  now  the  eighteenth  prayer, 
which  no  one  dare  neglect,  was  heard  in  thrilling 
sound  below,  and  the  busy  women  hurried  back 
to  their  places  and  offered  the  prayer  as  the  rite 
ordains,  standing  up  with  their  faces  turned 
towards  the  east,  which  is  that  part  of  the 
heavens  where  Jerusalem  lies.  Birdie  Ochs, 
Schnapper  Elle,  and  Puppy  Eeiss  stayed  to  the 
last  by  Beautiful  Sara — the  first  two  to  aid  her 
as  much  as  possible,  the  latter  to  find  out  why  it 
was  that  she  fainted  so  suddenly.  ! 

Beautiful  Sara  had  swooned  from  a  singular 
cause.  It  is  a  custom  in  the  synagogue  that 
any  one  who  has  escaped  a  great  danger  shall,  after 
the  reading  of  the  extracts  from  the  Law,  appear 
in  public  and  return  thanks  for  his  Divine  de- 
liverance. As  Eabbi  Abraham  rose  in  the  multi- 
tude to  make  his  prayer,  and  Beautiful  Sara 
recognised  her  husband's  voice,  she  also  observed 
how  its  accents  gradually  subsided  into  the 
mournful  murmur  of  the  prayer  for  the  dead.    She 


THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH.  229 

heard  the  names  of  her  dear  ones  and  relations, 
accompanied  by  the  words  which  convey  the 
blessing  on  the  departed;  and  the  last  hope 
vanished  from  her  soul,  for  it  was  torn  by  the 
certainty  that  those^  dear  ones  had  really  been 
slain,  that  her  little  niece  was  dead,  that  her  little 
cousins  with  flowers  and  birds  were  dead,  that 
little  Gottschalk  was  dead  too.  All  murdered 
and  dead.  And  she  too  would  have  died  from 
the  agony  of  this  conviction,  had  not  a  kind 
swoon  poured  forgetfulness  over  her  souL 


CHAPTER  THIRD. 

When  Beautiful  Sara,  after  divine  service  was 
ended,  went  down  into  the  courtyard  of  the  syna- 
gogue, the  Kabbi  stood  there  waiting  for  her.  He 
nodded  to  her  with  a  cheerful  expression,  and 
accompanied  her  out  into  the  street,  where  there 
was  no  longer  silence  but  a  noisy  multitude.  It 
was  like  a  stream  of  ants,  what  with  bearded 
men  in  black  coats,  women  gleaming  along  like 
gold-chafers,  boys  in  new  clothes  carrying  prayer- 
books  after  their  parents,  young  girls  who,  because 
they  could  not  enter  the  synagogue,  now  came 
bounding  to  their  parents,  bowing  their  curly 
heads  to  receive  their  blessings — all  gay  and 
merry,  and  walking  about  with  the  happy  antici- 


■,.».■ 


»30  THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH. 

pations  of  people  expecting  a  good  dinner,  the 
exquisite  scent  of  which — causing  the  mouth  to 
water — rose  from  many  black  pots  and  covers 
carried  by  smiling  girls  from  the  great  public 
bakery. 

In  this  multitude  there  was  specially  to  be 
remarked  the  form  of  a  Spanish  cavalier,  whose 
youthful  features  bore  that  fascinating  pallor 
which  ladies  generally  associate  with  an  unfor- 
tunate— and  men,  on  the  contrary,  with  a  very 
fortunate — love  affair.  His  gait,  naturally  care- 
less, had  however  in  it  a  somewhat  affected 
mincing  daintiness ;  the  feathers  of  his  cap  were 
mord  agitated  by  the  aristocratic  waving  of  his 
head  than  by  the  wind ;  and  his  golden  spurs,  and 
the  jewelled  guard  of  his  sword,  which  he  bore  on 
his  arm,  rattled  rather  more  than  was  needed.  A 
white  cavalier's  cloak  enveloped  his  slender  limbs 
in  an  apparently  careless  manner,  which,  however, 
betrayed  the  most  careful  arrangement  of  the 
folds.  Passing  and  repassing,  partly  with  curio- 
sity, partly  with  an  air  of  a  connoisseur,  he  ap- 
proached the  women  walking  by,  looked  calmly 
at  them,  paused  when  he  thought  a  face  was 
worth  the  trouble,  gave  to  many  a  pretty  girl  a 
passing  compliment,  and  went  his  way  heedless  as 
to  its  effect.  He  had  met  Beautiful  Sara  more 
than  once,  but  seemed  to  be  repelled  every  time  by 
her  commanding  look,  or  the  enigmatical  smiling 


THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH.  231 

air  of  her  husband,  but  at  last,  proudly  subduing 
all  difl&dence,  he  boldly  faced  both,  and  with 
foppish  confidence  made  in  a  tenderly  gallant 
tone  the  following  speech: — 

"I  swear,  Senora  ! — list  to  me! — I  swear — by 
the  roses  of  both  the  kingdoms  of  Castile,  by  the 
Aragonese  hyacinths  and  the  pomegranate  blossoms 
of  Andalusia!  by  the  sun  which  illumines  all 
Spain,  with  all  its  flowers,  onions,  pea-soups, 
forests,  mountains,  mules,  he-goats,  and  Old 
Christians !  by  the  canopy  of  heaven,  of  which 
this  sun  is  the  golden  tassel !  and  by  the  Grod 
who  sits  on  the  roof  of  heaven  and  meditates  day 
and  night  over  the  creation  of  new  forms  of  lovely 
women! — I  swear  that  you,  Senora,  are  the 
fairest  dame  whom  I  have  seen  in  all  the  German 
realm,  and  if  you  please  to  accept  my  service, 
then  I  pray  of  you  the  favour,  grace,  and  leave 
to  call  myself  your  knight  and  bear  your  colours 
henceforth  in  jest  or  earnest ! " 

A  flush  as  of  pain  rose  in  the  face  of  Beautiful 
Sara,  and  with  one  of  those  glances  which  are  the 
most  cutting  from  the  gentlest  eyes,  and  with  a 
tone  such  as  is  bitterest  from  a  beautiful  voice, 
the  lady  answered  as  one  deeply  hurt: — 

"  My  noble  lord,  if  you  will  be  my  knight 
you  must  fight  whole  races,  and  in  the  battle 
there  will  be  little  thanks  to  win  and  less 
honour ;  and  if  you  will  wear  my  colours,  then 


232 


THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH. 


you  must  sew  yellow  rings  on  your  cloak,  or 
bind  you  with  a  blue-striped  scarf,  for  such  are 
my  colours — the  colours  of  my  house,  the  House 
of  Israel,  which  is  wretched  indeed,  one  mocked 
in  the  streets  by  the  sons  of  good  fortune."  I 

A  sudden  purple  red  shot  into  the  cheeks  of 
the  Spaniard ;  an  inexpressible  confusion  seemed 
to  seize  him  as  he  stammered — 

"  Senora,  you  misunderstood  me.  An  inno- 
cent jest — but,  by  God,  no  mockery,  no  jest  at 
Israel.  I  myself  am  sprung  from  that  house ; 
my  grandfather  was  a  Jew,  perhaps  even  my 
father."  ' 

"And  it  is  very  certain,  Senor,  that  your 
uncle  is  one,"  suddenly  exclaimed  the  Rabbi, 
who  had  calmly  witnessed  this  scene;  and  with 
a  merry  quizzical  glance  he  added,  "  And  I  my- 
self will  be  bound  that  Don  Isaac  Abarbanel, 
nephew  of  the  great  Eabbi,  is  sprung  from  the 
best  blood  of  Israel,  if  not  from  the  royal  race  of 
David  ! " 

The  chain  of  the  sword  rattled  under  the 
Spaniard's  cloak,  his  cheeks  became  deadly  white, 
his  upper  lip  twitched  as  with  scorn  in  which 
there  was  pain,  and  angry  death  grinned  in  his 
eyes  as  in  an  utterly  changed,  ice-cold,  keen 
voice  he  said : — 

"Se'nor  Eabbi,  you  know  me.  Well,  then, 
you   know  also  who   I   am.     And   if   the  fox 


THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH.  233 

knows  that  I  belong  to  the  blood  of  the  Hon,  let 
him  beware  and  not  bring  his  fox-beard  into 
danger  of  death,  nor  provoke  my  anger.  Only 
he  who  feels  like  the  lion  can  understand  his 
weakness." 

"  Oh,  I  understand  it  well,"  answered  the 
Babbi,  and  a  mournful  seriousness  came  over  his 
brow.  "  I  understand  it  well,  how  the  proud 
lion,  out  of  pride,  casts  aside  his  princely  hide 
and  goes  mumming  in  the  scaly  armour  of  a 
crocodile,  because  it  is  the  fashion  to  be  a 
grinning,  cunning,  greedy  crocodile !  What  can 
you  expect  the  lesser  beasts  to  be  when  the 
lion  denies  his  nature  ?  But  beware,  Don  Isaac, 
tTiou  wert  not  made  for  the  element  of  the 
crocodile.  For  water — thou  knowest  well  what 
I  mean — is  thy  evil  fortune,  and  thou  wilt 
perish.  Water  is  not  thy  element ;  the  weakest 
trout  can  live  in  it  better  than  the  king  of  the 
forest  Hast  thou  forgotten  how  the  eddy  of  the 
Tagus  would  swallow  thee  ? " 

Bursting  into  loud  laughter,  Don  Isaac  sud- 
denly threw  his  arms  round  the  Kabbi's  neck, 
covered  his  mouth  with  kisses,  leapt  with  jing- 
ling spurs  high  into  the  air,  so  that  the  Jews 
who  were  passing  by  shrank  back  in  alarm,  and 
in  his  own  natural  hearty  and  joyous  voice 
cried — 

•*  Truly  thou  art  Abraham  of  Bacharach !    And 


334 


THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH. 


it  Was  a  good  joke,  and  more  than  that,  a  friendly 
act,  when  thou — in  Toledo— didst  leap  from  the 
Alcantara  bridge  into  the  water,  and  grasp  by  the 
hair  thy  friend,  who  could  drink  better  than  he 
could  swim,  and  drew  him  to  dry  land.  I  was  very 
near  making  really  deep  research  whether  there 
is  actually  gold  in  the  sands  of  the  Tagus,  and 
whether  the  Eomans  were  right  in  calling  it  the 
golden  river.  I  assure  you  that  I  shiver  even 
now  from  only  thinking  of  that  water-party." 

Saying  this  the  Spaniard  made  a  gesture  as  if 
he  were  shaking  water  from  his  garments.  The 
countenance  of  the  Rabbi  expressed  great  joy  as 
he  again  and  again  pressed  his  friend's  hand, 
saying  every  time — 

"  I  am  indeed  glad."  ' 

"  And  so  indeed  am  I,"  answered  the  other. 
"  It  is  seven  years  now  since  we  met,  and  when 
we  parted  I  was  as  yet  only  a  little  greenhorn, 
and  thou — thou  wert  already  so  staid  and  serious. 
But  whatever  became  of  the  beautiful  Donna  who 
in  those  days  cost  thee  so  many  sighs,  which 
thou  didst  accompany  with  the  lute  ?  " 

"  Hush,  hush  !  the  Donna  hears  us — she  is 
my  wife,  and  thou  hast  thyself  given  her  to-day 
a  proof  of  thy  taste  and  poetic  skill."  i 

It  was  not  without  some  trace  of  his  former 
embarrassment  that  the  Spaniard  greeted  the 
beautiful  lady,  who  amiably  regretted  that  she, 


THE  RABBI  OP  BACHARACB.  |^ 

hy  expKBsing  herself  so  plainly,  had  pained  a 
friend  of  her  husband. 

**  Ahj  Senora,"  replied  Don  Isaac,  "  he  who 
grasps  too  snappishly  at  a  rose  must  not  com- 
plain that  the  thorns  scratch.  When  the  star  of 
evening  mirrors  itself,  gold-gleaming,  in  the  azure 
flood" 

"  For  Grod's  sake  ! "  interrupted  the  Eabbi, 
"  cease !  If  we  wait  till  the  star  of  evening 
mirrors  itself,  gold-gleaming  in  the  azure  flood, 
my  wife  will  starve,  for  she  has  eaten  nothing 
since  yesterday,  and  suffered  much  meantime." 

"  Well,  then,  I  will  take  you  to  the  best  cook- 
shop  of  Israel,"  said  Don  Isaac,  "  to  the  house  of 
my  friend  Schnapper  Elle,  which  is  not  far  away. 
I  already  smeU  the  sweet  perfume  of  the  kitchen  ! 
Oh,  didst  thou  but  know,  0  Abraham,  how  this 
perfume  woos  and  wins  me.  This  it  is  which, 
since  I  have  dwelt  in  this  city,  has  so  often  lured 
me  to  the  tents  of  Jacob.  Intimacy  with  God's 
peculiar  people  is  not  a  weakness  of  mine,  and 
truly  it  is  not  to  pray  but  to  eat  that  I  visit  the 
Jews'  Street" 

"  Thou  hast  never  loved  us,  Don  Isaac." 

"WeU,"  continued  the  Spaniard,  "I  like 
your  cookery  much  better  than  your  creed — 
which  wants  the  right  sauce.  I  really  never 
could  rightly  digest  you.  Even  in  your  best 
days,  under  the  rule  of  my  ancestor  David,  who 


236 


THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH. 


was  king  over  Judah  and  Israel,  I  never  could 
have  held  out,  and  certainly  I  should  some  fine 
morning  have  run  away  from  Mount  Zion  and 
emigrated  to  Phoenicia  or  Babylon,  where  the 
joys  of  life  foamed  in  the  temple  of  the  gods." 

"Thou  blasphemest,  Isaac,  blasphemest  the 
one  God,"  murmured  the  Kabbi  grimly.  "  Thou 
art  much  worse  than  a  Christian — thou  art  a 
heathen,  a  servant  of  idols."  I 

"  Yes,  I  am  a  heathen,  and  the  melancholy  self- 
tormenting  Nazarenes  are  quite  as  little  to  my 
taste  as  the  dry  and  joyless  Hebrews.  May  our 
dear  Lady  of  Sidon,  holy  Astarte,  forgive  me,  that 
I  kneel  before  the  many  sorrowed  Mother  of  the 
Crucified  and  pray.  Only  my  knee  and  my  tongue 
worship  death — my  heart  remains  true  to  life." 

"  But  do  not  look  so  sourly,"  continued  the 
Spaniard,  as  he  saw  how  little  gratification  his 
speech  seemed  to  give  the  Rabbi  "  Do  not  look 
at  me  with  disdain.  My  nose  is  not  a  renegade. 
When  I  once  by  chance  came  at  dinner  time 
into  this  street,  and  the  well-known  savoury 
odours  of  the  Jewish  kitchen  rose  to  my  nose, 
I  was  seized  by  the  same  yearning  which  our 
fathers  felt  for  the  fleshpots  of  Egypt — pleasant 
tasting  memories  of  youth  came  unto  me.  I 
saw  again  in  spirit  the  carp  with  brown  raisin 
sauce  which  my  aunt  prepared  so  sustainingly 
for  Friday  eve — I  saw  once  more  the  steamed 


THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH,  237 

mtitton  with  garlic  and  horse-radish  which  might 
raise  the  dead,  and  the  soup  with  dreamily  swim- 
ming force-meat  balls — the  Klosschen — and  mj 
soul  melted  like  the  notes  of  an  enamoured 
nightingale — and  since  then  I  eat  in  the  cook- 
shop  of  my  friend  Donna  Schnapper  EUe." 

Meanwhile  they  had  arrived  at  the  place  so 
highly  praised,  where  Schnapper  Elle  stood  at 
the  door  greeting  in  a  friendly  manner  the 
strangers  come  to  the  fair,  who,  led  by  hunger, 
streamed  in.  Behind,  and  putting  forth  his 
head  over  her  shoulder,  was  the  tall  Nose 
Star,  anxiously  and  inquisitively  observing  them. 
Don  Isaac  approached  the  landlady  with  exag- 
gerated grand  style,  who  returned  his  satirically 
deep  reverences  with  endless  curtseys,  after 
which  he  drew  the  glove  from  his  right  hand, 
wound  it  about  with  the  fold  of  his  cloak, 
and  grasping  that  of  Schnapper  Elle,  drew  it 
over  his  moustaches  and  said : — 

"  Senora !  your  eyes  rival  the  glow  of  the 
sun !  But  as  eggs  the  longer  they  are  boiled 
the  harder  they  become,  so  on  the  contrary  my 
heart  grows  softer  the  longer  it  is  cooked  in  the 
flaming  flashes  of  your  eyes.  From  the  yolk  of 
my  heart  flies  up  the  winged  god  Amor  and 
seeks  a  confiding  nest  in  your  bosom.  And  oh, 
Senora,  wherewith  shall  I  compare  that  bosom? 
For  in  all  the  world  there  is  no  flower,  no  fruit, 


138  THB  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH. 

which  is  like  to  it !  This  growth  is  only  of  its 
kind  alone !  Though  the  storm  wind  tears  away 
the  leaves  from  the  tenderest  rose,  your  bosom 
is  still  a  winter  rose  which  defies  all  storms. 
Though  the  sour  lemon  the  older  it  grows  be- 
comes yellower  and  more  wrinkled,  your  bosom 
rivals  in  colour  and  softness  the  sweetest  pine- 
apple. Oh,  Senora,  if  the  city  of  Amsterdam  be 
as  beautiful  as  you  told  me  yesterday,  and  the 
day  before,  and  every  day,  yet  is  the  ground  on 
which  it  rests  far  lovelier  stiU."  I 

The  cavalier  spoke  these  last  words  with 
affected  earnestness,  and  squinted  as  if  yearning 
at  the  great  picture-plate  which  hung  from 
Schnapper  EUe's  neck.  Nose  Star  looked  down 
with  inquisitive  eyes,  and  the  much-bepraised 
bosom  heaved  so  that  the  whole  city  of  Amster- 
dam rocked  from  side  to  side. 

**  Ah ! "  sighed  Schnapper  Elle,  "  virtue  is 
worth  more  than  beauty.  What  use  is  my 
beauty  to  me  ?  My  youth  is  passing  away,  and 
since  Schnapper  is  gone — anyhow,  he  had  hand- 
some hands — what  avails  beauty."  | 

With  that  she  sighed  again,  and  like  an  echo 
all  but  inaudible  Nose  Star  sighed  behind  her. 

"  Of  what  avail  is  your  beauty  ? "  cried  Don 
Isaac.  "  Oh,  Donna  Schnapper  Elle,  do  not  sin 
against  the  goodness  of  creative  Nature !  Do 
not  scorn  your  most  charming  gifts.     She  will 


THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH.  339 

terribly  revenge  herself.  Those  blessed  blessing 
eyes  will  be  like  dim  glasses,  those  winsome 
lips  grow  flat  and  commonplace,  that  chaste  and 
charming  form  be  changed  into  a  barrel  of  tallow 
hardly  pleasing  to  any  one,  and  the  city  of 
Amsterdam  at  last  rest  on  a  spongy  bog." 

So  he  sketched  piece  by  piece  the  appearance 
of  Schnapper  EUe,  so  that  the  poor  woman  .was 
bewildered,  and  sought  to  escape  the  uncaimy 
compliments  of  the  cavalier.  She  was  demhted 
at  this  instant  to  see  Beautiful  Sara  appear,  as 
it  gave  her  an  opportunity  to  inquire  whether 
she  had  quite  recovered  from  her  swoon.  There- 
upon she  rushed  into  lively  chatter,  in  which  she 
fully  developed  her  sham  gentility,  mingled  with 
real  kindness  of  heart,  and  related  with  much 
more  sensibility  than  common  sense  the  awful 
story  how  she  herself  had  almost  fainted  with 
horror  when  she,  as  innocent  and  inexperienced 
as  could  be,  came  in  a  canal  boat  to  Amsterdam, 
and  the  rascally  porter  who  carried  her  trunk 
led  her — not  to  a  respectable  tavern,  but  oh, 
horrors ! — to  an  infamous  place  !  She  saw  what 
it  was  the  moment  she  entered,  by  the  brandy- 
drinking  ;  and,  oh ! — the  immorality  that  was 
going  on ! — and  she  would,  as  she  said,  "  really 
have  swooned,  if  it  had  not  been  that  during 
the  six  weeks  she  stayed  there  she  only  once 
ventured  to  close  her  eyes." 


240 


THE  RABBI  OF  BACHARACH. 


"  I  dared  not,"  she  added,  "  on  account  of  my 
virtue.  And  all  that  took  place  because  of  my 
beauty  !  But  virtue  will  stay — when  good  looks 
pass  away."  ^ 

Don  Isaac  was  beginning  to  go  somewhat 
critically  into  the  details  of  this  story  when, 
fortunately,  Squinting  Aaron  Hirschkuh  from 
Hamburg  on  the  Lahn  came,  a  white  apron  on 
his  arm,  and  bitterly  bewailed  that  the  soup  was 
already  served,  and  that  the  boarders  were  seated 
at  table,  but  that  the  landlady  was  missing. 


^The  conclusion  and  the  chapters  which  follow 
are  lost,  not  from  any  fault  of  the  author.) 

t 

^  Aber  Schonbeit  vergeht  und  Tugend  bestebt. 


L  I  B  R.AR.Y 

OF  THE 

UNIVLRSITY 

or    ILLINOIS 


834H36 

LL53 

Vo2 


■    v'»».-    ''■"".. 


THE  PROSE  AND  POETICAL  WORKS 

OF      " 

HEINRICH  HEINE 


Translated  ivith  Introductions  by 

CHARLES  GODFREY  LELAND 


IN  TWENTY  VOLUMES 


^2^^      ^V     ^V     ^v     ^P     ^V     ^v     ^r     4v     ^P     ^P     ^P     ^P     ^P     ^P     ^V     ^P     ^P     ^P     ^P     ^P     ^P     ^P       J^% 


^ 


HEINRICH   HEINE 


jfeMtion  &e  ILusc 


7%//  Edition  of  the  Works  of  Heinrich  Heink  is  limited 
to  One  Thousand  numbered  and  registered  copies  for 
America. 


\ 


Thu  is  Copy  No. 


..  3  'V 


H^inrkli  Heitr^ 


;*5f-v>,- 


-^1  ■ 


The    Works    of      i 

£1  einrich    iJeine 

Translated  by 

Charles    Godfrey   Leland 


SHAKESPEARE'S 
MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN 

V0\J[3WB.  TWO 

ILLUSTRATED   WITH   PORTRAITS 


Printed  for  Subscribers  only  by  , 

CROSCUP  AND  STERLING  COMPANY 
NEW    YORK 


Printed  by 

Ballantynb,  Hanson  6*  Co. 

Edinburgh 


?  3^  H  34 


CONTENTS 

VOLUME  TWO 

PAGE 

Shakespeare's  Maidens  and  Women  ....  241 

Introduction 249 

Tragedies 281 

Comedies 403 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

^'        Dr.  Johnson         .        .        •        .        .        .        .    Frontispiece 
From  ike  Portraii  6y  Sir  ]OSHV A  REYtiOVXiS. 

Denis  Diderot To  face  page  266 

Abb6  Prevost MM       306 

Henry  VIII „       352 

From  the  Portrait  by  Holbein. 


.^'J 


G 


SHAKESPEARE'S 
MAIDENS    AND    WOMEN. 


TRANSLATOR'S    PREFACE. 


It  is  a  rale  with  rare  exceptions  that  the  more 
a  literary  work  is  inspired  with  genius,  the  more 
necessary  it  is  for  us  to  form  a  true  conception 
of  the  habits  of  thought  of  the  author,  his  prin- 
ciples or  "  morals/'  his  excellences  or  demerits. 
This  is  particularly  the  case  with  writers  who 
gossip  about  themselves,  who  take  wild  or 
eccentric  flights  of  fancy,  and  above  all  with 
those  who,  believing  themselves  to  be  perfectly 
informed  or  correct,  often  unconsciously  mingle 
error  and  prejudices  with  great  truths,  and  also 
noble  inspirations,  and  the  combination  of  great 
learning  with  the  charm  of  poetry.  Henry 
Heine  was  pre-eminently  such  a  writer,  and  the 
work  on  Shakespeare's  "  Maidens  and  Women  " 
by  him,  which  is  here  presented  in  English, 
deserves  careful  study,  as  being  from  this  point 
of  view  the  moat  characteristic  of  all  his  works. 
It  is  a  small  bo<^,  it  bears  intrinsic  evidence  of 
having  been  a  piece  de  manufacture  recklessly 


244 


TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE. 


pat  together,  and  it  is  professedly  merely  "  written 
up"  to  supply  the  letterpress  for  a  series  of 
engravings.  The  fact  that  all  the  female  char- 
acters of  the  comedies  of  Shakespeare  are  only 
illustrated  by  quotations)  would  seem  to  indicate 
either  that  the  author's  or  publisher's  original 
intention  was  to  confine  the  text  to  such  citations, 
or  that  the  former,  becoming  weary  of  his  task, 
finished  the  work  with  this  lame  and  impotent 
conclusion.  In  several  chapters  the  lady  char- 
acter serves  as  a  mere  peg  whereon  to  hang 
some  brilliant  garment  of  an  essay,  behind  which 
she  is  quite  concealed,  and  in  many  cases  the 
citations  from  the  comedies  are  far  from  being 
apt  or  well  chosen.  That  carelessness  prevailed 
is  shown  in  the  fact  that  none  of  the  numerous 
quotations  in  the  tragedies  are  given  in  the 
German  original,  with  references  to  act  or  scene^ 
an  omission  which  has  been  a  cause  of  annoyance 
to  many  a  reader — while  several  of  these  refer- 
ences in  the  comedies  are  incorrectly  numbered. 
On  the  other  hand,  it  may  be  fairly  said 
that,  making  every  allowance  for  every  error  of 
commission  or  omission,  there  is  probably  no 
small  work  of  the  kind  in  any  language  which 
is  so  well  worth  reading.  The  tribute  to  the 
genius  of  Shakespeare,  whom  the  author  sin- 
cerely believed  to  be  immeasurably  the  greatest 
genius  in  the  world,  as  contrasted  to  his  narrow- 


TRANSLATOR'S  PRBPACB.  945 

minded  hatred  of  the  English,  is  in  the  highest 
degree  interesting  and  piquant  Not  less  able 
are  his  accounts  of  the  development  of  the 
influence  of  Shakespeare  in  Germany  and  France, 
while  the  viyacity  of  expression,  the  brilliancy 
of  tone  and  colour,  and  the  accurate  though 
miraculously  rajnd  sketching  of  outline  of  the 
tragical  characters,  or  of  others  connected  with 
them,  is  not  surpassed,  if  it  be  equalled,  by  any 
writer  of  this  century.  If  it  be  a  test  of  the 
original  merit  or  character  of  men  or  books 
that  we  can  remember  something  of  them,  this 
work  should  rank  among  the  best,  since  few  who 
read  it  will  ever  forget  its  valuable  information, 
or  the  brilliant  style  ia  which  it  is  conveyed — 
apples  of  gold  on  plates  of  silver. 

These  apples  are  not  all,  however,  of  purest 
gold,  and  I  have,  I  trust  judiciously,  pointed 
out  in  notes  what  I  believed  to  be  the  admixtures 
of  baser  metal.  It  is  so  much  the  habit  of 
translators,  like  biographers,  to  swallow  their 
subjects  whole  "  without  winking,"  and  to  exalt 
them  as  perfect  in  every  conceivable  respect, 
that  the  idea  of  pointing  out  or  admitting  errors 
in  mine  will  seem  to  many  to  be  simply  an  un- 
pleasant paradox.  This  will  certainly  be  the 
case  with  those  who  read  merely  for  pastime,  and 
who  dislike  anything  which  calls  for  thought  or 
disturbs  the  even  current  of  their  waking  dream, 


"f  *Wi*W*"»'^"'^"*  ''^0'.Ziii^M.it^'t'i'i^'.iaJil^Mj!^j''nzr^'r^^LX^^EX'.*-»*^  i^     ~m.  m'.m^'^^^" • 


240 


TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE. 


and  still  more  so  with  the  fonatical  cesthete  or 
Heine  worshipper,  who  believes,  like  all  idola- 
ters, that  his  idol  is  perfection  and  all  solid  gold, 
even  thongh  the  wooden  core  appears  visibly 
through  cracks  in  the  plating.  Bat  the  sensible 
critic  knows  that  it  is  after  all  of  immense  valae, 
and  makes  allowance  for  defects.  { 

I  believe  that  Heine  himself  would  have 
approved  in  his  heart  of  such  fair  treatment. 
He  was  as  a  rule  only  an  enemy  to  such  as  had 
reviled  him  with  personal  insult,  as  did  Platen. 
In  the  chapter  on  Anna  BuUen  he  praises  Queen 
Elizabeth  because  she  desired  that  Shakespeare 
should  set  forth  the  English  sovereigns,  includ- 
ing her  own  father,  with  perfect  impartiality. 
Heine  knew  his  own  defects — his  contradictions 
of  character,  inconsistencies,  and  errors — he  admits 
them  sadly  and  sincerely  enough,  and  rather 
touchingly  attempts,  like  a  child,  to  put  them 
off  on  something  else — '*  on  this  horrid  age." 

But  Heine  was  also  conscious  of  his  own 
stupendous  genius,  and  knew  that  the  bell, 
though  it  had  a  flaw  in  it,  could  ring  forth  tones 
which  should  be  heard  to  all  times.  Therefore 
he  would  not  have  objected  even  to  the  closest 
criticism,  if  it  were  truthful,  and  accompanied 
with  sincere  and  enlightened  appreciation  of  his 
merits.  The  latter  indeed  speak  for  themselves 
BO  loudly  and  clearly  as  to  require  no  comment. 


TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE. 

With  his  errors  it  is  another  affair,  and  one  of 
these  glides  so  snbtly  into  all  his  works,  and 
into  every  expression  of  opinion,  be  it  on  sub- 
jects social,  political,  or  aesthetic,  that  the  reader 
should  be  in  all  fairness  now  and  then  reminded 
of  it.  This  error  is  the  inconsistency  which 
sprang  from  his  education  and  life.  Professedly 
a  revolutionary  or  radical,  ami  du  peuple  or 
socialist,  more  or  less  here  and  there— —or  now 
and  then — and  an  exile  for  liberty,  et  cetera, 
there  seldom  lived  a  man  who  loved  aristocracy 
or  "  gentility "  more,  and  this  is  shown  in  an 
absolutely  amusing  manner  in  several  passages 
in  this  work,  especially  in  his  comments  on 
Queen  Margaret,  where  he  taunts  English  chivalry 
as  being  tainted  with  the  shop-keeping  spirit, 
and  sneers  at  the  battle  of  Cressy,  as  I  have 
pointed  out  in  a  note.  Bearing  this  in  mind, 
the  reader  need  not  be  puzzled,  as  many  have 
been,  with  apparent  contradictions.  With  less 
genius  and  more  settled  principles  Heine  would 
have  been  unquestionably  a  far  greater  man,  and 
probably  not  less  brilliant.  There  is  a  popular 
belief  that  without  some  inconsistency  or  eccen- 
tricity there  can  be  no  genius ;  but  Shakespeare, 
the  very  type  of  genius,  is  a  proof  to  the 
contrary. 

THE  TRANSLATOR 


•^'^'.«»*ai>*A'r»'*. <K>t,,M^~^:j",'. .'.•>^x.u-'.^i'-'^  *■' *.  •"' " •" '"  ^-■vf'*" 


•  'Nlis^ 


SHAKESPEARE'S 
MAIDENS    AND    WOMEN. 


INTRODUCTION. 

I  ENOW  a  good  Hamborg  Christiaii  who  can 
never  reconcile  himself  to  the  fact  that  oar  Lord 
and  Saviour  was  by  birth  a  Jew.  A  deep  dis- 
satisfaction seizes  him  when  he  must  admit  to 
himself  that  the  man  who,  as  the  pattern  of  per- 
fection, deserves  the  highest  honour,  was  still  of 
kin  to  those  snuffling,  long-nosed  fellows  who 
go  running  about  the  streets  selling  old  clothes, 
whom  he  so  utterly  despises,  and  who  are  even 
more  desperately  detestable  when  they — like 
himself — apply  themselves  to  the  wholesale 
business  of  spices  and  dye-stuffs,  and  encroach 
upon  his  interests. 

As  Jesus  Christ  is  to  this  excellent  son  of 
Hammonia,  so  is  Shakespeare  to  me.  It  takes 
the  heart  out  of  me  when  I  remember  that  he  is 
an  Englishman,  and  belongs  to  the  most  repulsive 
race  which  God  in  His  wrath  ever  created. 

What  a  repulsive  people,  what  a  cheerless, 
unrefreshing  country !     How  strait-ruled,  hide- 


ti>  <*^  ,■  '      **«A*-i^i-»i'.«^.'»-i--'-'vW..'.:_^^. ./!■;:« _..;.;^:^..-;v  v?;;7."?ri4."::;ivv^  t- ,,■,_* ^f^-*^s,!i't\ 


250    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

botmd,  home-made ;  how  selfish,  how  angalar, 
how  Anglican !  *  A  conntay  which  would  long 
ago  have  been  swallowed  np  by  the  sea  if  it  had 
not  feared  that  it  wonld  cause  internal  pain  .  .  . 
a  race,  a  grey  gaping  monster,  which  breathes 
only  nitrogen  '  and  deadly  ennui,  and  which  will 
certainly  at  last  hang  itself  with  a  colossal  cable. 

And  in  such  a  land  and  among  such  people 
William  Shakespeare  first  saw  the  light  in  1 5  64. 

But  the  England  of  those  days  where — in  the 
Northern  Bethlehem  called  Stratford-upon-Avon 
— the  man  was  bom  to  whom  we  are  indebted 
for  the  world's  gospel  known  as  the  Shakesperian 
Drama — that  England  was  certainly  very  differ- 
ent from  that  of  to-day;  it  was  even  termed 
Merry  England,  and  it  flourished  in  gleaming 
colour,  masque-merriment,  deep  meaning  frolic- 
some folly,  sparkling  earnest  action,  transcendent- 

^  Wie  eng,  wie  Engliteh.  Literally,  how  narrow  or  close; 
implying  also  angular,  contracted  movements.  Heine  was 
mnch  given  to  these  little,  old-fashioned  quodiHets  and  pnns 
which  are  so  much  admired  by  certain  readers  as  "  untranslate- 
able  graces,"  and  brilliant  points  of  "  ineffably  graceful  style  "  or 
"  wealth  of  imagery."  Out  of  justice  to  Heine  it  may  be  here 
recalled  that,  many  years  after,  be  expressed  to  Lady  Duff 
Gordon  deep  regret  for  all  this  early  abuse  of  everything  English, 
confessing  that  it  was  mere  ill-tempered  caprice,  and  that  he 
was  quite  ignorant  of  the  people. — "  leh  habe  ne  auoh  niekt 
gekanmL"  It  is  probable  that  false  second-hand  ideas  as  to 
English  "  Puritanism,"  and  a  desire  to  please  his  French  readers, 
had  a  great  deal  to  do  with  it. — Trandator. 

*  Nitrogen,    In  German,  Stkkaqfft  literally  straogling-stoff. 


^v  '  ;•••  .^.^.■■.■'  ^::-'^'«....»,  ,.,.♦♦'< -«»■*' ■'^'■^■'^"•'v♦-^f-^!^^^r.-»,;^^41^•'<.,»^,^•vy>^ 


SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN.    351 

dreaming  passion.  Life  was  there  still  a  gay 
tournament,  where  the  knight  of  noble  birth 
certainly  played  in  jest  or  earnest  the  leading 
part,  but  where  the  clear  ringing  trumpet-tofie 
also  thrilled  the  heart  of  the  citizen.  Instead  of 
heavy  beer,  people  then  drank  light-hearted  wine, 
that  democratic  drink  which  makes  all  men  alike 
when  inspired  by  it,  though  they  still  on  the 
sober  stages  of  real  life  divide  themselves  accord- 
ing to  rank  and  birth.  v        ;•  _ 

All  of  this  gay  and  many-coloured  life  has 
faded;  silent  are  the  joyful  trumpet-tones,  the 
sweet  intoxication  is  gone  for  aye!  And  the 
book  which  is  called  the  "  Dramatic  Works  of 
William  Shakespeare"  is  now  a  consolation  in 
evil  times,  and  a  proof  still  extant  in  the  hands 
of  the  people  that  a  merry  England  really  did  exist. 

It  is  lucky  for  us  that  Shakespeare  came  just 
at  the  right  time,  that  he  was  a  contemporary 
of  Elizabeth  and  James,  while  Protestanism,  it  is 
true,  expressed  itself  in  the  unbridled  freedom 
of  thought  which  prevailed,  but  which  had  not 
yet  entered  into  life  or  feeling,  and  the  kingdom 
lighted  by  the  last  rays  of  setting  chivalry  still 
bloomed  and  gleamed  in  all  the  glory  of  poetry. 
True,  the  popular  faith  of  the  Middle  Ages,  or 
Catholicism,  was  gone  as  regarded  doctrine,  but 
it  existed  as  vet  with  all  its  magic  in  men's 
hearts,  and  held  its  own  in  manners,  customs, 


■•  •  >•* 


252    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

and  views.  It  was  not  till  later  that  the 
Puritans  succeeded  in  plucking  awaj  flower  by 
flower,  and  utterly  rooting  up  the  religion  of  the 
past,  and  spreading  over  all  the  land,  as  with  a 
grey  canopy,  that  dreary  sadness  which  since 
then,  dispirited  and  debilitated,  has  diluted  itself 
to  a  lukewarm,  whining,  drowsy  pietism.  Nor 
had  the  kingdom,  any  more  than  the  religion, 
in  Shakespeare's  time,  suffered  that  heavy  languid 
change  now  known  to  us  as  the  constitutional 
form  of  government,  which,  however  it  may  have 
benefited  European  freedom,  has  in  no  way 
advanced  or  aided  Art} 

^  In  thia  passage  we  perceive  to  perfection  Heine's  great 
weakness,  that  is,  bis  inconsistency  and  bis  real  inability  to  be  a 
leader  in  politics  or  thought.  He  was  fond  of  assuming  to  be 
the  first  of  the  reformers  of  bis  time,  but  no  London  "  aesthete  " 
ever  surpassed  him  in  practically  preferring  "  Art,"  or  what  he 
found  personally  agreeable,  refined,  and  elegant,  to  great  prin- 
ciples, or  in  being  now  one  thing  and  then  another.  He  was 
very  vain  of  his  intimate  knowledge  of  everything  English,  but 
it  did  not  go  beyond  luperficial  characteristics.  He  curses  the 
Anglican  in  the  beginning  of  this  chapter  as  "  the  most  repulsive 
race  ever  created  by  God  in  His  wrath,"  apparently  because 
he  did  not  like  their  beer,  cookery,  and  piety,  and  manifests  in 
his  amusing  attempts  at  political  economical  criticism  an  in- 
credible ignorance  of,  and  indifference  to,  the  real  influence  of 
the  national  debt  and  commerce.  He  was  a  genius  within  his 
sphere,  but  unfortunately  he  too  often  attempts  to  show  him- 
self as  one  without  its  limits.  A  brave  and  leading  soldier 
of  freedom  who  deserves  the  name  does  not  regard  it  as  inferior 
to  "Art."  In  the  next  sentences  the  reader  will  find  him 
bewailing  the  death  of  Charles  L  as  a  great  calamity  and  oat- 


«r.r*^li*~*-  "^^^  r*"' 


*-.    9*A-'f' 


Mvt^  ••*'>m^. 


'^ft 


SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN.    253 

With  the  blood  of  Charles  I.,  the  great,  true, 
and  last  king,  all  the  poetry  ran  from  the  veins  of 
England,  and  thrice  happy  was  the  poet  who  did 
not  live  to  witness  this  sorrowful  event,  which  he 
had  perhaps  foreboded.  Shakespeare  has  in  oar 
time  often  been  called  an  aristocrat.  This  I 
would  not  deny.  I  would  very  much  rather 
excuse  his  political  inclinations  when  I  reflect 
that  his  foreseeing  poet's  eye  perceived  the 
dead-levelling  Puritan  times  which  were  to  make 
an  end,  with  the  kingdom,  of  all  enjoyment  of 
life,  all  poetry,  and  all  bright  and  cheerful  Art. 

Yes,  daring  the  rule  of  the  iPuritans  in 
England,  Art  was  outlawed;  as  when  the 
evangelical  zeal  raged  against  the  theatre,  and 
even  the  name  of  Shakespeare  was  long  ex- 
tinguished in  popular  remembrance.  It  awakens 
our  astonishment  when  we  read  in  the  current 
literature  of  that  time — ^for  instance,  in  the 
"  Histrio-Mastix "  of  the  famous  Prynne — ^the 
outbreak  of  wrath  with  which  the  anathema  of 
the  drama  is  croaked.  Shall  we  blame  the 
Puritans  too  severely  for  sach  zealotry.  Truly 
not;  every  one  is,  in  history,  in  the  right  if  he 
remains  true  to  his  indwelling  principle,  and  the 

rage,  while  in  other  places  he  exults  in  the  guillotine^  the 
French  revolution,  and  regicide.  "  The  age "  is  no  excuse  for 
Buch  inconsiBtency.  The  more  chaotic  an  age  is,  the  more  it 
becomes  a  genius  to  form  inherent  principles,  and  act  or  writ* 
np  to  them. — TVandator. 


354    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 


gloomy  Bonndheads  only  followed  the  conse- 
quences of  that  anti-artistic  spirit  which  had 
already  manifested  itself  in  the  first  centnries  of 
the  Charch,  and  made  its  iconoclastic  power  felt 
more  or  less  to  this  day. 

This  old,  irreconcilable  antipathy  against  the 
theatre  is  nothing  bat  one  side  of  that  enmity 
which  for  eighteen  hundred  years  has  raged  and 
ruled  between  two  utterly  dissimilar  views  of 
life,  one  of  which  first  grew  on  the  arid,  barren 
soil  of  JudsBa,  and  the  other  in  blooming  Greece. 
For  full  eighteen  hundred  years  has  the  grudge 
and  rancour  between  Jerusalem  and  Athens, 
between  the  Holy  Sepulchre  and  the  cradle  of 
Art,  between  life  in  the  spirit  and  the  spirit  in 
life,  prevailed,  and  the  irritation  or  friction,  and 
public  and  private  feuds  which  it  has  caused, 
reveal  themselves  plainly  to  the  esoteric  reader 
in  the  history  of  mankind.  When  we  read  to- 
day in  the  newspapers  that  the  Archbishop  of 
Paris  has  refused  Christian  burial  ^  to  a  poor  dead 
actor,  such  action  is  not  influenced  by  any  priestly 
caprice,  and  only  a  short-sighted  person  can 
perceive  in  it  narrow-minded  malice.  What 
here  inspires  is  rather  the  spirit  of  an  ancient 
strife,  a  battle  to  death  against  Art,  which  was 
often    employed    by    the    Hellenic    spirit   as   a 

^  Oebrduehliehen  BegrUlbnU$ehrtn,   "the   uaoal  honours  of 
burial." 


SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN.    255 

rostmm  from  which  to  preach  life  against  deaden- 
ing, benumbing  Judaism — the  Church  persecuted 
in  the  actors  the  agents  of  Hellenism,  and  this 
persecution  often  followed  the  poets  who  derived 
their  inspiration  only  from  Apollo,  and  assured 
a  refuge  to  the  proscribed  heathen  gods  in  the 
land  of  poetry. 

Or  was  there  perhaps  some  spite  in  the  game  ? 
The  most  intolerable  foes  of  the  oppressed  Church, 
during  the  first  two  centuries,  were  the  players, 
and  the  Acta  Sanctorum  often  tell  how  these 
"  infamous  actors  "  often  devoted  themselves  for 
the  amusement  of  the  heathen  mob  to  mocking 
the  manner  of  life  and  mysteries  of  the  Nazarenes. 
Or  was  it  a  mutual  jealousy  which  begot  such 
bitter  enmity  between  the  servants  of  the  spiritual 
and  the  worldly  word  ? 

Next  to  ascetic,  religious  zeal  was  the  re- 
publican fanaticism  which  inspired  the  Puritans 
in  their  hatred  for  the  old  English  stage,  in 
which  not  only  heathenism  and  heathenish  tastes, 
but  also  royalism  and  nobility  were  exalted.  I 
have  shown  in  another  place  ^  how  much  resem- 
blance there  was  in  this  respect  between  the 
Puritans  of  those  days  and  the  Republicans  of 
ours.  May  Apollo  and  the  eternal  Muses  protect 
ns  from  the  rule  of  the  latter! 

In  the  whirlpool  of  the  priestly  and  political 

^  In  discussing  the  characters  in  Jvliut  Cketar  in  the  follow^ 
ing  pages. — Note  by  H.  Heine, 


256    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

npsettings  and  revolutions  described,  the  name 
of  Shakespeare  was  long  lost,  and  it  was  nearly 
a  century  ere  he  again  rose  to  fame  and  honour. 
Since  then  his  renown  has  risen  from  day  to  day 
— and  he  was  indeed  as  a  spiritual  sun  for  that 
country  where  the  real  sun  is  wanting  twelve 
months  in  the  year,  for  that  island  of  damnation, 
that  Botany  Bay  without  a  southern  climate, 
that  stone- coal- stinking/  machinery- buzzing, 
church-going,  and  vilely  drunken  England ! 
Benevolent  nature  never  quite  disinherits  her 
creatures,  and  while  she  denied  the  English  all 
which  is  beautiful  or  worthy  of  love,  and  gave 
them  neither  voice  for  song  nor  sense  of  enjoy- 
ment— and  perhaps  endowed  them  with  leathern 
porter  bottles  or  jacks,  instead  of  human  souls — 
bestowed  on  them  for  recompense  a  large  portion 
of  municipal  freedom,  the  talent  to  make  them- 
selves comfortably  at  home,  and  William  Shake- 
speare. 

Yes,  this  is  the  sun  which  glorifies  that  land 
with  its  loveliest  light,  with  its  gracious  beams. 
Everything  there  reminds  us  of  Shakespeare,  and 
by  it  the  most  ordinary  objects  appear  trans- 
figured and  idealised.  Everywhere  the  wings  of 
his  genius  rustle  round  us,  his  clear  eye  gleams 
on  us  from  every  significant  occurrence,  and  in 
great  events  we  often  seem  to  see  him  nod — nod 
gently — softly  and  smiling. 

^  SteinioJdenqualmige. 


SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN.    257 

This  unceasing  memory  of  and  through  Shake- 
peare  became  significantly  clear  to  me  during  my 
residence  in  London,  while  I,  an  inquisitive 
traveller,  ran  about  from  early  morn  till  deep 
into  the  night,  to  see  the  so-called  noteworthy 
objects.  Every  lion  recalled  the  greater  lion 
Shakespeare.  All  the  places  which  I  visited 
live  an  immortal  life  in  his  historical  dramas, 
and  were  known  to  me  from  my  earliest  youth. 
But  these  dramas  are  known  in  England  not  only 
by  the  cultivated,  but  by  the  people,  and  even 
the  stout  beefeater  who  with  his  red  coat  and 
red  face  acts  as  guide  to  the  Tower,  and  shows 
you  behind  the  middle  gate  the  dungeon  where 
Richard  caused  the  young  princes,  his  nephews, 
to  be  murdered,  refers  you  to  Shakespeare,  who 
has  described  minutely  the  details  of  this  harrow- 
ing history.  Also  the  verger  who  leads  you 
round  through  Westminster  Abbey  always  speaks 
of  Shakespeare,  in  whose  tragedies  those  dead 
kings  and  queens  whose  stony  counterfeits  here 
lie  stretched  out  on  their  sarcophagi — and  whom 
he  shows  to  you  for  eighteenpence — play  such  a 
wild  or  lamentable  part. 

He  himself,  or  the  image  of  the  great  poet, 
stands  there  the  size  of  life,  a  noble  form  with 
a  thoughtful  head,  holding  in  his  hand  a  roll  of 
parchment.  There  may  be  magic  words  inscribed 
on  it,  and  when  he  moves  at  midnight  his  white 

.«.  ..    - 


2S8    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

lips,  and  calls  the  dead  who  rest  in  the  vaults 
below,  they  rise  with  rusted  armour  and  anti- 
quated court  dresses — the  knights  of  the  white 
and  red  rose ;  even  the  ladies  come  forth  sighing 
from  their  resting-place,  and  a  clatter  of  swords, 
laughter  and  curses,  rings  around,  just  as  at 
Drury  Lane,  where  I  so  often  saw  Shakespeare's 
historical  dramas  played,  and  where  Kean  moved 
my  soul  so  mightily  when  he  rushed  desperately 
across  the  stage  crying —  | 

"  A  horse,  a  horse,  my  kingdom  for  a  horse  ! "    i 

But  I  must  copy  the  Guide-book  of  London  if 
I  would  mention  every  place  where  Shakespeare 
was  brought  to  my  mind.  This  happened  most 
significantly  in  Parliament ;  not  so  much  because 
its  place  is  the  Westminster  Hall,  so  often  spoken 
of  in  the  Shakesperian  dramas,  but  because  while 
I  there  listened  to  the  debates,  Shakespeare  was 
alluded  to  several  times,  and  his  verses  were 
quoted,  not  with  reference  to  their  poetical,  but 
to  their  historical  importance.  To  my  amaze- 
ment, I  remarked  that  Shakespeare  is  not  only 
celebrated  in  England  as  a  poet,  but  recognised 
as  a  writer  of  history  by  the  highest  state  or 
parliament  officials.  I 

This  leads  me  to  the  remark  that  it  is  unjust, 
when  reading  the  historical  dramas  of  Shake- 
speare, to  require  what  only  a  poet  can  give,  or 


SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN.    259 

one  to  whom  poetry  and  its  artistic  surroundings 
are  the  highest  aim.  Shakespeare's  theme,  or 
task,  was  not  merely  poetry,  but  also  history. 
He  could  not  model  the  subject-matter  as  he 
chose,  he  could  not  create  events  and  characters 
at  his  caprice,  and  just  as  little  as  he  could 
determine  unity  of  time  and  place  could  he 
regulate  that  of  interest  for  particular  persons 
or  deeds.  And  yet  in  these  historical  dramas 
poetry  streams  forth  more  powerfully,  richly,  and 
sweetly  than  in  the  tragedies  of  those  writers  who 
either  invent  or  vary  their  own  plots  at  will,  who 
aim  at  the  most  perfect  symmetry  of  form,  and 
who  in  "  art  proper,"  especially  in  the  enchaine- 
ment  des  scenes,  far  surpass  poor  Shakespeare. 

Yes — there  we  have  it — the  great  Briton  is 
not  only  a  poet,  but  a  historian;  he  wields  not 
only  the  dagger  of  Melpomene,  but  the  still 
sharper  stylus  of  Clio.^  In  this  respect  he  is 
like  the  earliest  writers  of  history,  who  also  knew 
no  difference  between  poetry  and  history,  and  so 
gave  us  not  merely  a  nomenclature  of  the  things 
done,  or  a  dusty  herbarium  of  events,  but  who 
enlightened  truth  with  song,  and  in  whose  song 
was  heard   only  the  voice  of  truth. ^     The   so- 

^  The  stylus  for  writing  was  often  used  as  a  dagger  among 
the  Romans  (Adams), — Translator. 

^  Herein  lies  the  value  of  folk-lore  as  an  aid  to  the  study  of 
history,  that  it  supplies  the  inner  life  of  the  people  in  all  things 


26o    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

called  objectivity  of  which  we  at  present  hear  so 
much  is  nothing  else  than  a  dried  up  lie ;  it  is 
not  possible  to  sketch  the  past  without  giving 
it  the  colour  of  our  own  feelings.  Yes,  the  so- 
called  objective  writer  of  history,  directing  his 
words  to  the  men  of  his  time,  writes  involuntarily 
in  the  spirit  of  his  time ;  and  this  spirit  will 
be  perceptible  in  his  writings,  just  as  in  letters 
which  betray  not  only  the  character  of  the 
writer  but  of  the  receiver.  That  so-called  ob- 
jectivity which,  puffed  up  with  its  lifelessness, 
enthrones  itself  on  the  Golgotha  of  actual  deeds, 
is  on  that  very  account  to  be  rejected,  because 
we  need  for  historical  truth  not  only  the  exact 
statement  of  facts,  but  also  certain  information 
of  the  impression  which  a  fact  produced  on  con- 
temporaries. To  give  such  information  is,  how- 
ever, the  hardest  problem,  since  it  requires  not 
only  the  usual  imparting  of  actual  facts,  but  also 
the  capacity  of  perception  ^  in  the  poet  to  whom, 
as  Shakespeare  says,  the  being  and  the  body  of 
past  times  have  become  visible. 

And  not  only  had  the  phenomena  of  his  own 
national  history  become  visible  to  him,  but  also 

— that  is  to  saj,  it  does  this  so  long  as  its  students  do  not  turn 
it  into  mere  tables  of  comparison  of  tales  and  superstitions. — 
Trandator. 

^  AnschtiuungtvennOgen.  SelbttamehauungsvermSgen,  the 
faculty  of  self-perception  {Kant).  Kritik  der  reinen  Vemunft. — 
Trandator. 


SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN.    261 

those  of  whicli  the  annals  of  antiquity  have 
given  us  knowledge,  as  we  behold  to  our  amaze- 
ment in  the  dramas  where  he  paints  the  Roman 
realm,  long  passed  away,  with  truest  colours.  As 
he  saw  to  the  inner  life  the  knights  of  the  Middle 
Ages,  so  did  he  that  of  the  heroes  of  the  antique 
world,  and  bade  them  speak  out  the  deepest  word 
of  their  souls.  And  he  always  knew  how  to  raise 
Truth  to  Poetry ;  and  how  to  set  forth  in  poetic 
light  that  hard  and  sober  race  of  prose,  those 
combinations  of  rude  rapine  and  refined  legal 
shrewdness,  that  casuistic  soldatesca,  the  unsenti- 
mental Romans. 

But  yet  as  regards  his  Roman  dramas,  Shake- 
speare must  needs  incur  the  reproach  of  being 
without  form,  and  a  highly-gifted  author,  Dietrich 
Grabbe,  even  called  them^  "poetically  adorned 
chronicles,"  wherein  all  central  motive  was  want- 
ing, where  no  one  knew  who  was  the  leading  or 
side  character,  and  where,  even  if  we  dispensed 
with  unity  of  time  and  place,  we  can  find  no 
unity  of  interest.  A  strange  error  of  the 
shrewdest  critics !  For  neither  is  this  last-named 
unity,  nor  those  of  place  and  time,  at  all  want- 
ing to  our  great  poet.     Only  that  the  ideas  ^  are 

^  In  an  essay  on  the  Shakespearomania,  in  the  second  volume 
of  "Dramatic  Poems,"  by  Grabbe,  Frankfort,  1827. — Note  ly 
the  Oerman  PvblUher. 

^  £^r^e,  conceptions. 


»»-A4 


262    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 


somewhat  broader  in  his  mind  than  in  ours :  the 
stage  of  his  dramas  is  the  whole  wide  world,  and 
that  is  his  unity  of  place ;  eternity  is  the  time  in 
which  his  pieces  played,  and  that  is  his  unity  of 
time ;  and  in  keeping  with  both  is  the  hero  of 
his  dramas,  who  forms  the  central  point,  and 
represents  the  unity  of  interest.  And  humanity 
is  that  hero  who  ever  dies  and  comes  to  life 
again  ;  who  ever  loves  and  hates,  yet  loves  the 
most ;  who  bends  like  a  worm  to-day,  and  sosirs 
to-morrow  like  an  eagle  to  the  sun — deserving 
to-day  a  cap  and  bells,  to-morrow  a  laurel  wreath, 
and  oftener  both  together :  the  great  dwarf,  the 
little  giant,  the  homoeopathically  prepared  divinity, 
in  whom  that  which  is  divine  is  indeed  terribly 
diluted,  but  still  there.  Ah  !  let  us  not  speak 
too  much  of  the  heroism  of  this  hero,  out  of  very 
modesty  and  shame. 

The  same  fidelity  and  truth  which  Shakespeare 
manifests  as  regards  history  is  found  as  to  Nature. 
People  are  wont  to  say  that  he  held  the  mirror 
up  to  it.  The  expression  is  incorrect,  for  it 
leads  us  astray  as  to  the  relations  of  the  poet  to 
Nature.  In  the  poetic  soul  not  only  Nature  is 
mirrored,  but  an  image  of  it  which,  being  like 
the  most  faithful  reflection  of  a  looking-glass,  is 
bom  in  the  spirit  of  the  poet ;  he  brings  at  the 
same  time  the  world  forth  unto  the  world,  and 
if  he,  awaking  from  the  dreaming  age  of  child- 


SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN.    263 

hood,  attains  to  self-consciousness,  then  every 
portion  of  the  outer  world  of  seeming  is  at  once 
grasped  by  him  in  all  its  mutual  relations,  for 
he  bears  a  likeness  of  the  whole  in  his  soul,  he 
knows  the  deepest  foundation  of  all  phenomena 
which  are  riddles  to  common  minds,  and  which, 
when  investigated  by  the  ordinary  methods,  are 
understood  with  diflSculty,  or  not  at  all.  And  as 
the  mathematician,  when  only  the  smallest  por- 
tion of  a  circle  is  given,  infallibly  deduces  from  it 
the  whole  circle  and  the  centre,  so  the  poet,  when 
only  the  merest  fragments  of  the  world  of  things 
which  seem  is  presented,  then  to  him  appear 
clearly  all  that  is  connected  with  it ;  he  knows 
at  once  the  periphery  and  centre  of  all  things, 
yea,  he  understands  them  in  their  widest  com- 
prehension and  deepest  central  point. 

But  some  fragment  of  the  outer  world  must 
always  be  given  before  the  poet  can  develop  that 
wonderful  process  of  completing  a  world;  and 
this  perfect  apprehension  of  a  part  of  the  world 
of  perception  is  effected  by  sensation,  and  is 
simultaneously  the  external  occurrence,  the  inner 
revelations  of  which  are  determined,  and  to  which 
we  owe  the  art- works  of  the  poet.  The  greater 
these  works,  the  more  anxiously  desirous  are  we  to 
know  those  external  occurrences  which  inspired 
the  motive.  We  gladly  investigate  memoranda 
of  the  actual  life  of  the  poet.     This  curiosity  is 


264    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

the  more  ridiculous  because,  as  appears  from  what 
has  been  said,  the  greatness  of  external  events  is 
in  no  proportion  to  the  greatness  of  the  creations 
thereby  called  forth.  These  events  may  be  very 
trijfling  and  invisible,  and,  in  fact,  generally  are 
so,  just  as  the  external  life  of  the  poet  is  usually 
small  and  unnoted — I  say  small  and  unnoted, 
for  I  will  not  use  harsher  expressions.  The 
poets  show  themselves  to  the  world  in  the  splen- 
dour of  their  works,  and  it  is  specially  when  one 
sees  them  from  afar  that  the  beholder  is  dazzled 
by  the  rays.  Let  us  never  look  too  closely  into 
their  ways.  They  are  like  the  lovely  lights  which 
gleam  so  gloriously  of  summer  evenings  from 
grassy  banks  and  foliage,  that  one  might  believe 
they  were  the  stars  of  the  earth,  or  diamonds  and 
emeralds,  or  jewels  rich  and  rare,  which  kings' 
children  who  had  been  playing  in  the  garden 
had  left  hanging  on  the  bushes  and  there  for- 
gotten ;  or  glowing  sun -drops  lost  amid  the  grass, 
and  which  now,  revived  by  the  cool  night,  awake 
and  gleam  with  joy  till  the  morning  returns,  and 
the  red  flaming  star  draws  them  up  again  unto 
himself.  Ah,  seek  not  by  broad  daylight  the 
traces  of  those  stars,  jewels,  and  sun-drops !  In 
their  place  you  will  find  a  poor  miscoloured 
wormlet  which  crawls  wretchedly  along,  whose 
look  repels  you,  and  whom  you  do  not  tread 
under  foot  out  of  sheer  pity.  I 


./*  •-•"'•■•»,/f»-—**^.-^^ -»'•*■•-•.•-.■  ■-•;.,'»-  ■  ..-^^Ipm.  _     _,    ,  >^ 


SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN.    265 

And  what  was  the  private  life  of  Shakespeare  ? 
In  spite  of  all  research  we  have  learned  almost 
nothing  of  it,  and  it  is  fortunate  that  we  have 
not.  Only  all  kinds  of  unverified,  foolish  tales 
have  been  told  continually  about  his  youth  and 
life.  So  he  is  said,  while  employed  by  his  father 
who  was  a  butcher,  to  have  slaughtered  oxen. 
This  was  probably  the  surmise  of  certain  English 
commentators  who,  probably  out  of  ill  feeling, 
attribute  to  him  general  ignorance  and  want  of 
art.  Then  he  was  a  dealer  in  wool,  and  did  not 
succeed.  Poor  fellow,  he  thought  perhaps  that 
from  wool  he  would  come  to  sit  on  the  woolsack. 
I  do  not  believe  a  word  of  it  all — 'tis  simply  a 
great  cry  and  little  wool.  I  am  more  inclined 
to  believe  that  he  was  a  poacher,  and  came  to 
prison  through  a  fawn ;  for  which,  however,  I  do 
not  condemn  him.  "  Even  Honour  once  stole  a 
calf,"  says  a  German  proverb.^  Then  he  fled  to 
London,  and  held  gentlemen's  horses  for  a  fee 
before  theatre  doors.  Something  like  this  are 
the  fables  which  one  old  woman  chatters  after 
the  other  in  literary  history. 

The  sonnets  of  Shakespeare  are  more  authentic 
documents  as  to  his  life,  which  I,  however,  would 
not  discuss,  yet  which,  from  the  deep  human  misery 

^  There  ia  a  pan  here,  something  of  the  spirit  of  which  may 
be  given  by  translating  this  as  "  even  Pride  once  fawned."— 
TrandcUor. 


266    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

which  is  therein  revealed,  tempted  me  into  my 
previous  remarks  as  to  the  private  life  of  the 
poet. 

The  want  of  more  accurate  information  as  to 
Shakespeare's  life  is  readily  explained  when  we 
recall  the  political  and  religious  storms  which 
burst  wildly  out  soon  after  his  death — calling 
forth  for  a  time  an  absolute  Puritan  dominion, 
which  long  after  had  a  cold,  deadening  influence, 
and  not  only  destroyed  the  golden  age  of  Eliza- 
bethan literature,  but  brought  it  into  absolute 
oblivion.  When  in  the  beginning  of  the  last 
century  the  works  of  Shakespeare  again  came  to 
the  full  light  of  day,  all  traditions  which  could 
aid  in  analysing  the  text  were  utterly  wanting, 
and  commentators  were  obliged  to  take  refuge  in 
a  criticism  which  drew  from  superficial  empiri- 
cism, and  a  more  lamentable  materialism,  their 
last  dregs.  With  the  exception  of  William 
Hazlitt,  England  has  given  us  no  commentator 
of  any  consequence ;  in  all  the  works  of  all  the 
others  we  find  only  petty  huckstering  of  trifles, 
self-reflecting  shallowness,  enthusiastic  mysticism, 
pedantic  pufied-upness  which  threatens  to  burst 
for  joy,  when  they  can  convict  the  poor  poet  of  an 
antiquarian,  geographical,  or  chronological  error, 
and  thereby  bewail  that  he  unfortunately  did  not 
study  the  ancients  in  the  original  tongues,  and 
had  thereunto  but  little  schooling.     He  makes 


;:;^vV.)  ^.;.- 


r  >" 


3m? 


vr- 


^4^«n»  ♦.«— 


j^Zii^ 


•""     nriwrnn 


SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN.    267 

his  Romans  wear  hats,^  lets  ships  land  in  Bohemia, 
and  suffers  Aristotle  to  be  quoted  in  the  time  of 
Troy  !  Which  was  more  than  an  English  scholar 
who  had  graduated  Magister  Artium  at  Oxford 
could  endure !  The  only  commentator  on  Shake- 
speare whom  I  cited  as  an  exception,  and  who  is 
indeed  unique  in  every  aspect,  was  the  late  Hazlitt, 
a  mind  which  was  as  brilliant  as  deep,  a  com- 
mingling of  Diderot  and  Borne,  combining  flaming 
zeal  for  the  revolution  with  the  most  glowing 
sense  of  art,  ever  sparkling  with  verve  and  esprit. 
The  Germans  have  comprehended  Shakespeare 
better  than  the  English.  And  here  I  must  again 
recall  that  great  name  which  is  ever  to  be  found 
where  there  is  question  of  a  great  beginning. 
Gottlob  Ephraim  Lessing  was  the  first  man  who 
raised  his  voice  in  Germany  for  Shakespeare. 
He  it  was  who  bore  the  first  and  greatest  stone 
for  a  temple  to  the  greatest  of  all  poets,  and, 
what  was  more  praiseworthy,  he  took  the  pains 
to  clear  the  ground  on  which  this  temple  was  to 
be  raised  of  all  its  ancient  rubbish.  Without 
pity  he  tore  down  the  light  French  stage-show 
which  spread  wide  over  the  place,  so  inspired  was 
he  with  a  genial  love  of  building.  Gottsched  shook 
the  locks  of  his  peruke  so  despairingly  that  all 

1  Which  they  certainly  did,  occasionally.  The  putting  on  a 
hat  was  the  ceremony  by  which  a  slave  was  made  free." — 
Trandator. 


268    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN, 

Leipzig  trembled,  and  the  cheeks  of  his  spouse 
grew  white  with  fear — or  from  pearl-powder.  One 
may  say  that  the  whole  dramaturgy  of  Lessing 
was  written  in  the  interest  of  Shakespeare. 

Next  to  Lessing  we  have  Wieland.  By  his 
translation  of  the  great  poet  he  increased  more 
practically  the  recognition  of  his  merits  in  Ger- 
many. Strange  that  the  poet  of  Agathon  and 
of  Musarion,  the  trifling,  toying  cavaliere  servante 
of  the  Graces,  the  hanger-on  and  imitator  of  the 
French,  was  the  man  who  all  at  once  grasped  the 
British  earnestness  so  powerfully  that  he  himself 
raised  on  his  shield  the  hero  who  was  to  put  an 
end  to  his  own  supremacy.  , 

The  third  great  voice  which  rang  for  Shake- 
speare in  Germany  was  that  of  our  dearly-loved 
Herder,  who  declared  himself  with  unconditional 
enthusiasm  for  the  British  bard.  Goethe  also  paid 
him  honour  with  a  grand  flourish  on  his  trumpet;  in 
short,  it  was  an  array  of  kings,  who,  one  after  the 
other,  threw  their  votes  into  the  urn,  and  elected 
William  Shakespeare  the  Emperor  of  Literature.  | 

This  Emperor  was  already  firmly  seated  on  his 
throne  when  the  knight  August  Wilhelm  von 
Schlegel  and  his  squire.  Count  Councillor  Lud- 
wig  Tieck,  succeeded  in  kissing  his  hand,  and 
assured  all  the  world  that  now  his  realm  and 
reign  were  really  sure — ^the  thousand-year-long 
rule  of  the  great  William. 


,.  ,»v  iH 


'  1^^*.  A  ■•  *^  -  *'  ^ 


SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN.    269 

But  it  would  be  unjust  should  I  deny  to 
A.  W.  von  Schlegel  the  merit  which  he  won  by 
his  translation  of  Shakespeare's  dramas,  and  his 
lectures  on  them.  Honourably  confessed  the 
latter  lack  the  philosophic  basis,  they  sweep 
along  too  superficially  in  a  frivolous  dilettantism, 
and  certain  ugly  reserved  reflections  or  back- 
thoughts  came  too  visibly  forward  for  me  to  pro- 
nounce unreserved  praise  over  them.  Herr  A. 
W.  von  Schlegel's  inspiration  is  always  artificial, 
a  dehberately  intended  shamming  one's  self  into 
an  intoxication  without  drunkenness;  and  with 
him,  as  with  all  the  rest  of  the  romantic  school, 
the  apotheosis  of  Shakespeare  is  indirectly  meant 
for  a  degradation  of  Schiller.  Schlegel's  trans- 
lation is  certainly  the  best  as  yet,  and  fulfils 
every  requisition  which  can  be  made  for  a  metrical 
version.  The  feminine  nature  of  his  talents  is 
here  an  admirable  aid  to  the  writer,  and  in  his 
artistic  ready  skill  without  character,  he  can 
adapt  himself  admirably  and  accurately  to  the 
foreign  spirit. 

And  yet  I  confess  that,  despite  these  merits,  I 
often  prefer  to  read  the  old  translation  of  Eschen- 
burg  (which  is  all  in  prose)  to  that  of  Schlegel, 
and  for  these  reasons  : — 

The  language  of  Shakespeare  is  not  peculiarly 
his  own,  but  was  derived  from  his  predecessors 
and  contemporaries ;  it  is  the  traditional  theatrical 


270    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

language  which  the  dramatic  poet  of  those  days 
must  use,  whether  he  found  it  fitted  to  his  genius 
or  not.  One  has  only  to  look  superficially  over 
Dodsley's  Collection  of  Old  Plays,  and  observe 
that  in  all  the  tragedies  and  comedies  of  the  time 
there  prevails  the  same  manner  of  speech,  the 
same  euphuism,  the  same  exaggeration  of  refine- 
ment, the  same  forced  meaning  of  words,  and  the 
same  "conceits,"  jests,  witty  flourishes,  and  elabo- 
rate fancies  which  we  find  in  Shakespeare,  and 
which  are  blindly  admired  by  men  of  small  or 
narrow  minds,  but  which  are  excused  by  the  intel- 
ligent reader — when  he  does  not  blame  them — 
as  extraneous,  or  belonging  to  the  conditions  of  an 
age  which  exacted  them.  Only  in  the  passages 
where  his  highest  revelations  are  shown,  and  where 
the  whole  genius  of  Shakespeare  appears,  does  he 
voluntarily  strip  away  that  traditional  language 
of  the  stage,  and  show  himself  in  grandly  beauti- 
ful nakedness,  in  a  simplicity  which  vies  with  un- 
adorned Nature  and  fills  us  with  delighted  awe. 

Yes,  in  such  passages  Shakespeare  manifests, 
even  in  language,  a  decided  originality,  but  one 
which  the  metrical  translator  who  comes  limping 
along  behind  on  the  feet  of  the  measure  fitted  to 
the  thought  cannot  faithfully  reflect.  With  such 
a  translator  these  unusual  passages  are  lost  in 
the  ordinary  wheel-ruts  of  theatrical  language, 
and  even  Schlegel  cannot  avoid  this  fate.     But 


SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN.    271 

why  then  take  the  trouble  to  translate  metrically, 
when  the  best  work  of  the  poet  is  thereby  lost 
and  only  the  faulty  reproduced.  A  prose  trans- 
lation which  more  easily  reproduces  the  unadorned, 
plain,  natural  purity  of  certain  passages  therefore 
deserves  preference  to  the  metrical.^ 

While  directly  following  Schlegel,  Ludwig 
Tieck  deserves  credit  as  an  elucidator  of  Shake- 
speare. This  was  set  forth  in  his  Dramaturgic 
Pages,  which  appeared  fourteen  years  ago  in  the 
Abendzeittmg,  and  which  awoke  the  utmost  interest 
in  "  the  theatre-going  public,"  as  well  as  among 
actors.  Unfortunately  there  prevails  in  these 
pages  a  wide-ranging  or  straying,  wearisome, 
pedantic  tone,  which  the  delightful  good-for- 
nothing,  as  Gutzkow  called  him,  assumed  with  a 
certain  lurking  spirit  of  roguery.  What  he  lacked 
in  a  knowledge  of  classic  tongues,  or  even  in  philo- 
sophy, he  made  up  in  decorum  and  gravity,  and 
we  are  reminded  of  Sir  John  in  the  chair,  when  he 
delivers  his  harangue  to  the  Prince.  But  in  spite 
of  the  puffed-out  doctrinal  gravity  under  which 
little  Ludwig  sought  to  conceal  his  philologic  and 
philosophic  deficiencies  or  'i^noraniia,  there  are 

^  Heine  is  here  far  too  sweeping  and  "general,"  assuming 
that  faults  which  are  few  and  far  between  in  Schlegel  and 
Tieck's  translation  are  universal.  Nor  is  the  principle  abso- 
lutely true.  Shelley's  translation  of  a  portion  of  Goethe's 
"  Faust "  is  incomparably  better  than  that  of  Hayward. 


272    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

to  be  found  here  and  there  in  these  leaves  the 
shrewdest  comments  on  the  character  of  the  Shake- 
spearean heroes,  and  ever  and  anon  we  find  that 
poetic  power  of  perception  which  we  ever  admired 
in  his  earlier  writings,  and  recognised  with  joy. 

Ah,  this  Tieck,  who  was  once  a  poet,  and 
reckoned,  if  not  among  the  highest,  at  least  with 
those  who  had  the  highest  aims,  how  low  has  he 
fallen  since  then !  How  miserably  mournful  is 
the  negligently  reeled  off  task,  which  he  gives 
us  annually,  compared  to  the  free  outpourings 
of  his  muse  from  the  early  moonlit  time  of  Fairy 
Tale !  As  dear  as  he  once  was,  even  so  re- 
pulsive is  he  now — the  powerless  Neidhart,^  who 
calumniates  the  inspired  sorrows  of  German 
youth  in  his  gossiping  novels.  Unto  him  are 
truly  applicable  those  words  of  Shakespeare  : —    ' 

"For  sweetest  things  turn  sourest  by  their  deeds  :        I 
Lilies  that  fester  smell  far  worse  than  weeds."  ^ 

Among  the  German  commentators  on  the  great 
poet,  the  late  Franz  Horn  should  not  be  omitted. 
His  elucidations  of  Shakespeare  are  certainly  the 
fullest,  and  are  in  five  volumes.  There  is,  indeed, 
in  them  the  spirit  of  wit  and  intelligence,  but  it 
is  a  spirit  so  diluted  and  thinned  down,  that  it 
is  even  less  refreshing  than  the  most  spiritless 
narrow-mindedness.     Strange  that  this  man,  who 

^  Neidhart,  gradger,  grumbler.  '  Sonnets,  xciv.         ( 


SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN.    273 

out  of  love  for  Shakespeare  devoted  a  whole 
life  to  his  study  of  him,  and  was  one  of  his  most 
zealous  worshippers,  was  a  pitifully  petty  pietist. 
But  it  may  be  that  a  sense  of  his  own  wretched 
weakness  of  soul  awoke  in  him  an  endless  amaze- 
ment at  Shakespeare's  power,  and  so,  whenever 
and  anon  the  British  Titan,  in  his  most  passionate 
scenes,  piles  Pelion  on  Ossa  and  storms  the 
heights  of  heaven,  then  the  poor  elucidator  in  awe 
lets  fall  his  pen  and  pauses,  mildly  sighing  and 
grimacing.  As  a  pietist  he  must  naturally,  accord- 
ing to  his  canting-pious  nature,  hate  the  poet 
whose  soul,  inspired  with  the  spring-like  air  of 
the  gods,  breathes  in  every  word  the  most  joyous 
heathenism — yes,  he  should  hate  that  believer  in 
life,  to  whom  the  faith  of  death  is  in  secret  detest- 
able, and  who,  revelling  in  the  most  enchanting 
delirium  of  antique  heroic  power,  shuns  the  pitiful 
pleasures  of  humility,  self-denial,  and  abasement ! 
And  yet  he  loves  him  all  the  same,  and  in  his  un- 
wearied love  would  fain  convert  Shakespeare  to  the 
true  Church ;  he  comments  a  Christian  sense  into 
him — be  it  pious  fraud  or  self-delusion ;  he  finds 
this  Christian  feeling  everywhere  in  Shakespeare's 
dramas,  and  the  holy  water  of  his  commentary  is 
also  a  bath  of  baptism  in  five  volumes,  which  he 
pours  on  the  head  of  the  great  heathen. 

And  yet,  I  repeat,  these  comments  are  not  quite 
without   wit   and    sense.     Many   a    time   Franz 

a. 


t74    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

Horn  brings  forth  a  happy  thought, — then  ho 
makes  wearisome,  sweet-soarish  grimaces,  and 
groans  and  twists  and  twines  himself  round  on 
the  stool  of  childbirth;  and  when  finally  the 
clever  idea  has  come  to  light,  he  looks  at  it  with 
emotion  and  wearied  smiles,  like  a  midwife  who 
has  got  through  with  her  job.  It  is  really  both 
vexatious  and  amusing  that  just  this  weak  and 
pious  Franz  commented  Shakespeare.  In  a 
comedy  by  Grabbe  the  affair  is  delightfully  re- 
versed, and  Shakespeare  is  represented  in  hell  as 
writing  explanations  of  Horn's  works.^ 

But  all  the  glosses  and  explanations  and 
laborious  laudation  of  commentators  was  of  less 
practical  use  as  regarded  making  Shakespeare 
known  to  the  public  than  the  inspired  love  with 
which  talented  actors  produced  his  dramas,  and 
thereby  made  them  a  subject  for  popular  judg- 
ment. Lichtenberg,  in  his  letters  from  England, 
gives  us  important  intelligence  as  to  the  skill 
and  method  by  which  Shakespeare's  characters 
were  given  on  the  London  stage  in  the  middle 
of  the  last  century.  I  say  characters — not  the 
works  in  their  fulness,  since  to  this  day  British 
actors  have  only  felt  or  known  what  is  charac- 


'  Sckerz,  Satire,  Ironie  ttnd  titftrt  Baieutung.  A  comedy  in 
three  acta.  Dramatic  Works  of  Grabbe,  vol.  iL  The  passage 
occars  in  the  second  scene  of  act  ii.  p.  125. — Note  by  the  Oemum 
PvUiiher. 


SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN,    27$ 

teristic,  not  the  poetry,  and  still  less  the  art 
Such  one-sidedness  of  apprehension  is  found,  but 
in  far  more  limited  degree,  among  the  commen- 
tators, who  were  never  able  to  see  through  the 
dusty  spectacles  of  erudition  that  which  was  the 
simplest  and  nearest,  or  the  nature  which  was  in 
Shakespeare's  dramas.  Garrick  saw  more  clearly 
into  the  Shakespearean  thoughts  than  did  Dr. 
Johnson  the  John  Bull  of  Learning,  on  whose 
nose  Queen  Mab  doubtless  cut  the  drollest  capers 
while  he  wrote  on  the  "Midsummer  Night's 
Dream  j "  truly  he  never  knew  why  he,  when  at 
work  on  Shakespeare,  felt  more  tickling  o*  the 
nose  and  wish  to  sneeze  than  over  any  other 
poet  whom  he  criticised. 

While  Dr.  Johnson  dissected  the  Shake- 
spearean characters  like  dead  corpses,  dealing 
out  thereby  his  dullest  dogmatisms  in  Ciceronian 
English,  balancing  himself  with  heavy  self-conceit 
on  the  antitheses  of  his  Latin  periods,  Garrick 
on  the  stage  thrilled  all  the  people  of  England, 
as  he  called  with  thrilling  invocation  the  dead  to 
life,  that  they  might  set  forth  to  all  their  fearful, 
bloody  or  gay,  and  festive  work.  But  Garrick 
loved  the  great  poet,  and  as  reward  for  that  love 
he  lies  buried  in  Westminster  near  the  pedestal 
of  Shakespeare's  statue,  like  a  faithful  dog  at 
the  feet  of  his  master. 

We  are  indebted  to  the  celebrated  Schroder  for 


276    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

a  transference  of  Garrick's  acting  to  Germany. 
He  also  adapted  several  of  Shakespeare's  best 
dramas  to  the  German  stage.  like  Garrick, 
Schrdder  understood  neither  the  poetry  nor  art 
which  is  revealed  in  those  dramas — he  only  cast 
an  intelligent  glance  at  the  nature  which  ex- 
presses itself  in  them  ;  nor  did  he  so  much  attempt 
to  reproduce  the  charming  harmony  and  inner 
perfection  of  a  piece,  as  to  give  the  single  char- 
acters with  the  most  one-sided  truth  to  nature. 
I  am  guided  in  this  opinion  by  the  traditions  of 
his  plays  as  they  are  preserved  till  to-day  in  the 
Hamburg  theatre,  and  also  his  "  make  up  "  of  the 
dramas  for  the  stage,  in  which  all  poetry  and 
art  are  wiped  out,  and  in  which  only  a  certain 
generally  attainable  naturalness  and  sharp  outline 
of  character  appears  to  be  developed  by  a  com- 
bination of  the  most  striking  traits. 

The  method  of  the  great  Devrient  was  deve- 
loped out  of  this  system  of  naturalness.  I  saw 
him  once  at  Berlin  at  the  same  time  with  the 
great  "Wolf,  who,  however,  in  his  play  manifested 
a  deeper  feeling  for  art.  But  though  they  took 
opposite  directions — one  from  nature,  the  other 
from  art — both  were  one  in  poetry,  and  they 
thrilled  or  enraptured  the  souls  of  their  audience 
by  the  most  dissimilar  methods. 

The  muses  of  music  and  of  painting  have  done 
less   than   might  have   been    expected  to  exalt 


SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN.    277 

Shakespeare.  Were  they  envioas  of  their  sisters 
Melpomene  and  Thalia,  who  won  their  most 
immortal  ^  wreaths  by  means  of  the  great  Briton. 
With  the  exception  of  Romeo  and  Juliet  and 
Othello,  no  play  by  Shakespeare  has  inspired  any 
composer  of  any  note  to  any  great  creation.  The 
value  of  those  sweetly  sounding  flowers  which 
sprung  from  the  exulting  nightingale  heart  of 
Zingarelli  I  need  not  praise,  any  more  than  those 
sweetest  sounds  with  which  the  swan  of  Pesaro 
sung  the  bleeding  tenderness  of  Desdemona,  and 
the  black  flames  of  her  lover!  Painting,  and 
especially  the  arts  of  design,  have  still  more 
scantily  sustained  the  fame  of  our  poet.  The 
so-called  Shakespeare  gallery  in  Pall  Mall  shows 
a  good  will,  but  at  the  same  time  the  chilly  weak- 
ness of  British  painters.  There  we  see  sober 
portrayals,  quite  in  the  spirit  of  the  old  French 
school,  but  without  the  taste  which  the  latter 
never  quite  lost.  There  is  something  in  which 
the  English  are  as  ridiculous  bunglers  as  in  music. 
That  is,  painting.'  Only  in  portraits  have  they 
shown  the  world  anything  remarkable,  and  when 
they   execute  them   with   the  graver — not  with 

»  VtuterUiehgten  / 

*  As  Heine  generally  wrote  intelligently  and  well  on  art,  I 
ean  only  attribute  the  absolate  abeordity  of  this  sweeping  remark 
to  great  ignorance.  He  might  with  quite  as  much  truth  have 
extended  the  remaric  to  British  engraving. — Trcmdator. 


278    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAtDBNS  AND  WOMEN. 


eolotirB — tiiey  surpass  the  artists  of  the  rest  of 
Europe.  What  can  the  cause  be  that  the  English, 
to  whom  sense  of  colour  is  so  scantily  allotted, 
are  still  the  most  remarkable  draughtsmen  and 
prodace  masterpieces  of  copper  and  steel  engrav- 
ing? That  this  last  remark  is  shown  by  the 
portraits  of  Women  and  Maidens  from  the  dramaa 
of  Shakespeare  which  are  given  with  this  work.^ 
Their  superior  excellence  requires  no  comment, 
but  the  question  or  subject  here  is  not  of  com- 
ment at  all.  These  pages  are  only  intended  as 
a  fleeting  introduction  or  greeting  to  the  delight- 
ful work,  as  use  and  custom  go.  I  am  the  porter 
who  opens  this  gallery  to  you,  and  what  you  have 
so  far  heard  is  only  the  rattling  of  my  keys. 
And  while  I  lead  you  round  I  shall  often  intrude 
a  brief  word  of  gossip  on  your  reflections,  and 
often  imitate  the  cicerone  who  never  allows  a 
man  to  become  too  deeply  inspired  amid  his  own 
reflections  while  looking  at  a  picture,  and  is 
ever  ready  with  a  trivial  word  to  wake  you  from 
your  contemplative  dream. 

In  any  case,  I  trust  with  this  publication  to 
cause  some  pleasure  to  my  friends  at  home.  May 
the  sight  of  these  beautiful  women's  faces  drive 
from  their  brows  the  shadows,  which  at  present 
have  only  too  much  cause  to  be  there !     Ah  that 

^  The  original  German  edition  was  aooompanied  by  forty-fiv* 
•toel  engravinga,  illaatrating  the  text — Trandator. 


SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN.   279 

I  conld  offer  you  more  substantial  consolation 
than  is  afforded  by  these  shadowy  forms  of 
beauty ! — alas  that  I  cannot  give  you  the  rosy 
reality!  Once  I  would  fain  have  broken  the 
halberds  with  which  the  Gardens  of  Delight  are 
guarded ;  but  my  hand  was  too  weak,  and  the 
halberdiers  laughed  and  thrust  their  points 
against  my  breast,  and  the  too  forward,  great- 
souled  heart  was  silent  for  shame,  if  it  was  not 
from  fear.     Ye  sigh  ! 


TRAGEDIES. 


CRESSIDA. 

[tROILUS  and  CRESSIDA.] 

It  is  the  strictly  honourable  daughter  of  the 
priest  Calchas  whom  I  here  present  to  the  most 
honourable  public.  Fandarus  was  her  uncle,  a 
most  admirable  pander  indeed ;  but  his  active 
aid,  as  regarded  his  calling,  was  here  hardly 
called  for.  Troilus,  a  son  of  the  very  productive 
Mam,  was  her  first  lover.  She  fulfilled  with  him 
all  the  usual  formalities,  swore  him  endless  truth, 
broke  her  oath  with  befitting  propriety,  and  de- 
livered a  mournful  monologue  on  the  weakness 
of  the  female  heart  before  transferring  herself 
to  Diomed.  The  eavesdropper  Thersites,  who 
ever  ungallantly  calls  a  spade  a  spade,  speaks  of 
her  as  a  strumpet ;  but  he  should  certainly  have 
softened  the  word,  for  it  may  come  to  pass  that 
the  beauty,  transferred  from  one  hero  to  another, 
and  ever  sinking  lower,  will  at  last  fall  as  a 
sweetheart  to  him. 

Not  without  good  and  many  reasons  have  I 
placed  the  portrait  of  Cressida  at  the  portal  of 
this  gallery.  Truly  it  was  not  for  her  virtue, 
and  not  because  she  is  a  type  of  the  ordinary 
average  woman,  did  I  give  her  preference  to  so 

•«3 


284    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

many  glorious  and  ideal  forms  of  Shakespeare's 
art ;  no — I  opened  the  dance  with  that  dame  of 
dabions  fame  because  I,  should  I  publish  Shake- 
speare's works,  would  begin  with  the  drama 
entitled  TroUus  and  Cressida.  Steevens,  in  his 
magnificent  edition,  did  the  same ;  I  do  not  know 
why,  but  I  conjecture  that  this  English  publisher 
had  a  reason,  which  I  will  here  set  forth. 

TroiLus  and  Cressida  is  the  only  drama  by 
Shakespeare  in  which  he  puts  upon  the  stage 
the  same  heroes  which  the  Greek  poets  also 
chose  for  a  subject  of  their  dramas,  so  that  the 
method  of  Shakespeare  is  very  clearly  revealed 
by  comparison  with  the  manner  and  style  in 
which  the  elder  poets  treated  the  same  theme. 
While  the  classical  poets  of  Greece  strove  for  the 
most  elevated  transfigurations  of  real  life  and 
soared  to  ideality,  our  modem  tragedian  pene- 
trates more  into  the  depth  of  things,  digging 
with  a  sharply  whetted  spiritual  spade  into  the 
silent  soil  of  whai  appears  to  be,  and  lays  bare 
before  us  its  hidden  roots.  In  opposition  to  the 
ancient  tragedians  who,  like  the  sculptors  of 
their  time,  only  aimed  at  beauty  and  nobility, 
and  glorified  the  form  at  the  expense  of  the 
subject,  Shakespeare  directed  his  views  first  to 
truth  and  the  thing  in  itself,  hence  his  mastery 
of  the  characteristic,  whence  it  comes  that  he 
often  touches  on  the  most  provoking  caricature. 


CRESSIDA.  a&s 

and  strips  the  glittering  armour  from  his  heroes, 
showing  them  in  the  most  ridiculous  of  dressing- 
gowns.  Therefore  critics  who  judge  of  TroUus 
and  Cressida  by  the  principles  which  Aristotle 
drew  from  the  greatest  dramas  of  Greece,  must 
fall  into  great  perplexity,  if  not  into  the  absurdest 
errors.  As  a  tragedy  the  piece  was  not  su£S- 
ciently  serious  or  sad,  because  everything  in  it 
went  so  naturally  from  the  beginning,  just  as  in 
our  own  life,  and  the  heroes  behaved  just  as 
stupidly,  not  to  say  vulgarly,  as  we  ourselves 
do — and  the  hero  is  a  puppy,  and  the  heroine 
just  such  a  common  bit  of  calico^  as  we  have 
met  many  a  time  among  our  most  intimate 
acquaintances.  Even  the  most  famed  bearers  of 
great  names,  renowned  in  the  heroic  olden  time, 
for  example,  the  great  Achilles,  the  brave  son  of 
Thetis — how  wretchedly  they  seem  before  us  here ! 
And  yet,  on  the  other  hand,  the  piece  cannot  be 
treated  as  a  comedy,  for  the  blood  flows  through 
it  in  tremendous  stream,  and  the  longest  speeches 
of  wisdom  ring  therein  with  grand  dignity— as, 
for  instance,  in  the  remarks  which  Ulysses  makes 
as  to  the  necessity  of  Authority,  and  which  to 
this  day  deserve  the  most  serious  consideration. 
"  No,  no — a  play  in  which  such  speeches  are 

*  "  Der  Hauptheld  ist  ein  Laps  and  die  Heldin  eine  gewohn- 
liche  Schiirze."  SehHtne  is  literally  a  petticoat ;  jocosely,  a  gii! 
or  woman. 


286    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

intercliaiiged  can  be  no  comedy,"  said  the  critics ; 
and  still  less  could  they  admit  that  a  poor  rogue, 
who,  like  the  teacher  of  gymnastics,  Massmann, 
had  small  Latin  and  less  Greek,^  could  dare  be  so 
bold  as  to  use  the  great  classic  heroes  to  a  comedy. 

No,  Troilits  and  Cressida  is  neither  a  comedy 
nor  tragedy,  in  the  common  sense  of  the  words ; 
it  does  not  belong  to  any  determined  class  of  the 
drama,  and  still  less  can  it  be  measured  with  the 
current  standard  rules — it  is  Shakespeare's  own 
and  most  peculiar  creation.  We  can  only  in 
general  principles  recognise  its  eminent  excel- 
lence; for  a  close  criticism  of  it  we  need  an 
Aesthetic,  which  is  not  as  yet  written. 

Since  I  have  registered  this  drama  under  the 
heading  of  Tragedy,  let  me  first  show  how  strictly 
I  hold  to  the  title.  My  old  teacher  of  poetry  in 
the  gymnasium  of  Diisseldorf  once  remarked  very 
shrewdly  that  all  plays  in  which  the  melancholy 
of  Melpomene  prevailed  over  the  gay  and  joyous 
spirit  of  Thalia,  belonged  to  the  realm  of  tragedy. 
Perhaps  I  had  that  comprehensive  definition  in 
my  mind  when  it  occurred  to  me  to  place  Troilus 
and  Cressida  among  the  tragedies.  And  in  truth 
there  prevails  in  it  an  exultant  bitterness,  a 
world-mocking  irony,  such  as  we  never  met  in 

I 

'  This  was  originally  said  of  Shakespeare  himself  bj  Ben 
Jonson.  In  Heine's  text  it  reads,  "  Blatwenig  Latein  uad  gar 
kein  Griechiscb." — Trandator. 


CASSANDRA.  aS/ 

tiie  merriment  of  the  comic  mase.  It  is  the 
tragic  goddess  who  is  very  much  more  before  na 
in  this  play,  only  that  she  here  would  fain  be  gay 
for  once,  and  move  to  mirth.  It  is  as  if  we  saw 
Melpomene  at  a  grisette-ball,  dancing  the  chah%U, 
bold  laughter  on  her  pale  lips  and  death  in  her 
heart. 


CASSANDRA. 

[troilus  and  cressida.] 

It  is  the  prophetic  daughter  of  Priam  whose 
picture  is  here  presented.  She  bears  in  her 
heart  the  awful  foreknowledge  of  the  future,  she 
announces  the  fall  of  Troy,  and  now  she  stands 
and  wails  where  Hector  weapons  himself  to  battle 
with  the  dreadful  Pelides.  She  sees  in  the  spirit 
her  beloved  brother  bleeding  from  the  open  wound 
of  death,  she  groans  and  grieves — in  vain  !  No 
one  heeds  her  counsel,  and  as  hopeless  of  rescue 
as  the  whole  deluded  race,  she  sinks  into  the  abyss 
of  a  dark  destiny. 

Shakespeare  gives  the  beautiful  seeress  scanty 
and  not  very  significant  speech  ;  she  is  to  him 
only  an  ordinary  prophetess  of  evil  who,  with  her 


388    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 


cries    of 
town — 


woe,    sweeps    about   in    the    outlawed 

"  Her  eyes  madly  rolling,  | 

Her  hair  wildly  flying," 


as  the  pictore  indicates. 

Oar  great  Schiller  has  exalted  her  in  more 
attractive  form  in  one  of  his  sweetest  poems. 
Here  she  laments  to  the  Pythian  god,  with  the 
keenest  cntting  tones  of  grief,  that  fearful  fate 
which  he  holds  over  his  priestess.  Once  I  had  to 
declaim  in  school  in  public  trial  that  poem,  and  I 
stopped  and  could  get  no  further  than  the  words — 

•*  What  avails  to  lift  the  cnrtain,  i 

Hiding  danger  dire  and  dread  t  I 

Life's  an  error — that  is  certain,  I 

Knowledge  puts  us  with  the  dead."  ' 


HELENA. 
[troilus  and  cressida.] 


Thxs  is  the  beautiful  Helen,  whose  whole  history 
I  cannot  tell,  or  make  clear;  for  then  I  must 
really  begin  with  Leda's  egg.  t 

Her  titular  father  was  called  Tyndams,  but 
her  real  and  secret  begetter  was  a  god,  who  in 


HELENA.  289 

the  form  of  a  fowl  fructified  her  blessed  mother 
— as  very  often  took  place  in  the  olden  time. 
Married  when  very  young,  she  went  to  Sparta, 
and,  as  is  easy  to  suppose,  was  there,  owing 
to  her  extraordinary  beauty  soon  seduced,  and 
cuckolded  her  husband  Menelaus. 

Ladies — the    one    among    you    who    is    per- 
fectly conscious  of  purity,  will  please  cast  the 
first  stone  at  the  poor  sister !     I  do  not  say  here 
that  there  can  be  no  really  true  women.     The 
first  wife,  the  celebrated  Eve,  was  a  pattern  of 
conjugal  fidelity.      Without    the    least    idea    of 
adultery,  she  wandered  in  Eden  by  the  side  of 
her   husband  (the   celebrated  Adam),  who   was 
then  the  only  man  in  the  world,  and  wore  an 
apron   of  fig  leaves.       She   conversed   willingly 
with  the  Serpent,  but  that  was  only  to  learn  the 
beautiful   French  language,   which   she  thereby 
acquired,  because  she  was  so  desirous  of  culture. 
Oh,  ye  daughters  of  Eve,  what  a  beautiful  ex- 
ample did  your  first  mother  leave  behind  her ! 

Dame  Venus,  the  undying  goddess  of  all  delight, 
managed  for  Prince  Paris  the  favour  of  fair 
Helen ;  he  violated  the  holy  law  of  hospitality, 
and  fled  with  his  charming  booty  of  beauty  to 
Troy — the  safe  citadel — as  we  all  under  the 
same  circumstances  should  doubtless  have  done.^ 
We  all,  by  which  I  specially  mean  we  Germans, 

^  We,  id  est,  I  {Seine).— Trantlalor. 

T 


290    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

t 

I 
who,  being  more  learned  than  other  races,  busy 
ourselves  more  from  youth  upwards  with  Homer's 
songs.  The  beautiful  Helen  is  our  first  love,  and 
even  in  our  boyhood's  days,  when  we  sit  on  the 
school-bench  and  the  master  explains  to  us  the 
exquisite  Greek  verses  in  which  the  Trojan  grey- 
beards were  enraptured  at  the  sight  of  Helen,  the 
most  enchanting  feelings  beat  in  our  young  in- 
experienced breasts — with  blushing  cheeks  and 
stammering  tongues  we  answer  the  questions  in 
grammar  put  by  our  preceptor.  Later  in  life, 
when  we  are  older  and  fully  taught,  and  have 
ourselves  become  wizards,  and  can  raise  the  very 
devil  himself,  then  we  exact  from  our  attendant 
sprite  that  he  shall  obtain  for  us  the  beautiful 
Helen  from  Sparta.  I  have  already  said  ^  that 
John  Faust  is  the  true  representative  of  the 
Germans,  of  the  people,  who  satisfy  their  deepest 
longing  in  knowledge  and  not  in  life.  Although 
this  famed  doctor — the  normal  German — craves 
and  yearns  for  sensual  pleasure,  he  by  no  means 
seeks  the  subject  of  his  gratification  in  the 
flowery  fields  of  reality,  but  in  the  learned  mould 
of  the  world  of  books ;  and  while  a  French  or 
Italian  necromancer  would  have  demanded  of 
Mephistopheles  the  fairest  woman  living,  the 
German  wants  one  who  died  thousands  of  years 

^  In  referring  to  Goethe's  Fauat.     Romantic  School,  first 
book. — Note  by  the  Oerman  PvMuher. 


VIRGILIA.  «9i 

ago,  and  who  smiles  at  him  as  a  lovely  shade 
firom  ancient  Greek  parchment  times — the  Helen 
of  Sparta.  How  deeply  and  significantly  does 
this  yearning  set  forth  the  inner  being  of  the 
German  people ! 

In  TroUus  arid  Cressida  Shakespeare  has  treated 
of  Helen  as  sparingly  as  he  did  Cassandra  in 
the  previous  chapter.  We  see  her  appear  with 
Paris,  and  she  exchanges  with  the  grey-haired 
pander,  Pandarus,  a  few  lively  mocking  passages. 
She  rallies  him,  and  at  last  asks  that  he  shall  sing, 
with  his  old  bleating  voice,  a  love-song.  But  sad, 
sorrowful  shadows  of  forebodings,  the  foregoing 
feelings  of  a  terrible  end,  often  come  before  her 
frivolous  heart ;  the  serpents  stretch  out  their 
black  heads  from  the  rosiest  jests,  and  she  betrays 
her  deeper  feeling  in  the  words: — 

"  Let  thy  song  be  love.  This  love  will  undo 
lis  all.     0  Cupid  !    Cupid !    Cupid  ! "  ^ 


VIRGILIA. 

{CORIOLANUS.] 

She,  the  wife  of  Coriolanus,  is  a  shy  dove  who  dares 
not  so  much  as  coo  in  the  presence  of  her  over- 

1  Troilut  and  Crettida,  act  iii.  ac  I. 


292    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

haughty  husband.  When  he  returns  victorious 
from  the  field,  and  all  is  exultation  and  loud  re- 
joicing over  him,  she  in  humility  looks  down,  and 
the  smiling  hero  calls  her  "  My  gracious  Silence!"* 
In  this  silence  lies  her  whole  character ;  she  is 
silent  as  the  blushing  rose,  as  the  chaste  pearl, 
as  the  yearning  evening  star,  as  the  enraptured 
human  heart — a  perfect,  precious,  glowing  silence, 
which  tells  more  than  eloquence,  more  than  all 
rhetorical  bombast.^  She  is  an  ever  mild  and 
modest  dame ;  and  in  her  tender  loveliness  forms 
the  clearest  contrast  to  her  mother-in-law,  the 
Boman  she- wolf  Volumnia,  who  once  suckled  with 
her  iron  milk  the  wolf  Caius  Marcius.  Yes,  the 
latter  is  the  real  matron,  and  from  her  aristocratic 
nipples  the  young  brood  sucked  nothing  but  wild 
self-will,  unbridled  defiance,  and  scorn  of  the 
people. 

How  a  hero  may  win  the  laurel  crown  of  fame 
from  the  early  imbibing  of  such  virtues  and  vices, 
but  on  the  other  hand  lose  the  civic  oaken  wreath, 


Ooriolanut,  act  ii.  sc.  I. 

"  My  gracious  Silence,  haU  ! 
Wouldst  thon  have  laugh'd  had  I  come  coffin'd  home, 
That  weep'st  to  see  me  triumph  f     Ah,  my  dear. 
Such  eyes  the  widows  in  C!orioIi  wear, 
And  mothers  that  lack  sons."  i 


'   WortschwaU,  bounding  billows  of  talk. 
I  deem  the  better  word." — Translator. 


1 
"But  'rigmarole* 


VIRGILIA.  293 

and  finally  descending  to  the  most  atrocious  crime, 
or  treason  to  his  native  land,  disgracefully  perish, 
is  shown  by  Shakespeare  in  his  drama  entitled 
Coriolanibs. 

After  Troilus  and  Cressida,  in  which  our  poet 
took  his  material  from  the  old  Greek  heroic  time, 
I  take  up  Coriolanus,  because  we  here  see  how 
he  understood  treating  Boman  affairs.  In  this 
drama  he  sketches  the  partisan  strife  of  the  patri- 
cians and  plebeians  in  ancient  Rome. 

I  will  not  directly  assert  that  this  portrayal 
agrees  exactly  in  every  detail  with  the  annals  of 
Roman  history ;  but  our  poet  has  understood 
and  depicted  the  real  life  and  nature  of  that 
strife  with  deepest  truthfulness.  We  can  judge 
of  this  the  more  accurately  because  our  own  times 
afford  so  many  subjects  which  recall  those  of  the 
troubled  discord  which  once  raged  in  old  Rome 
between  the  privileged  patricians  and  the  de- 
graded plebeians.  We  might  often  deem  that 
Shakespeare  was  a  poet  of  the  present  day,  who 
lived  in  the  London  of  our  own  life,  sketching  the 
Tories  and  Radicals  of  our  own  time  disguised  as 
Romans.  What  might  confirm  us  in  such  a  fancy 
is  the  great  resemblance  which  really  exists  between 
the  ancient  Romans  and  modem  Englishmen,  and 
the  statesmen  of  both  races.  In  fact,  a  certain 
prosaic  hardness,  greed,  love  of  blood,  unweary- 
ing perseverance  and  firmness  of  character,  is  as 


294    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

peculiar  to  the  English  of  to-day  as  to  the  old 
Romans,  only  that  the  latter  were  more  land-rats 
than  water-rats ;  bat  in  the  unamidbleness,  in 
which  both  attained  the  utmost  height,  they  are 
perfectly  equal  and  alike.  The  most  striking  elec- 
tive affinity  is  to  be  observed  between  the  nobility 
of  both  races.^  The  English  nobleman,  like  the 
same  character  of  yore  in  Rome,  is  patriotic ;  love 
for  his  native  land  keeps  him,  in  spite  of  all 
political-legal  differences,  intimately  allied  to  the 
plebeian,  and  this  sympathetic  bond  so  brings  it 
about  that  the  English  aristocrats  and  democrats, 
like  the^  Romans  before  them,  form  one  and  an 
united  race.  In  other  countries  where  nobility 
is  bound,  less  to  the  land  than  to  the  person  of 
him  who  is  their  prince,  or  are  devoted  to  the 
peculiar  interests  of  their  class,  this  is  not  the 
case.  Then  again  we  find  among  the  English, 
as  once  among  the  Roman  nobles,  a  striving 
towards  established  authority  as  the  highest,  most 
glorious,  and  also  indirectly  the  most  profitable — 
I  say  indirectly  the  most  profitable,  because,  as 
once  in  Rome,  so  now  in  England,  the  manage- 
ment of  the  highest  offices  under  government  are 
made  profitable  only  by  misuse  of  influence  and 

^  Tb«8e  are  tree  oomparuona  on  the  whole.  Many  years  ago 
I  remarked  the  astonuhing  likeness  between  many  basts  of  old 
Romans  of  the  better  class  and  certain  modem  Englishmen. — 
Trcmdator. 


VIRGILIA.  995 

traditional  exactions,  that  is  to  say,  indirectly. 
Those  offices  are  the  aim  of  yonthf  al  education 
in  the  great  families  of  England,  just  as  they 
were  among  the  Romans,  and  with  the  one  as 
with  the  other,  skill  in  war  and  oratory  avail  as 
the  means  to  future  position.  So  among  the 
English,  as  it  was  among  the  Bomans,  the  tradi- 
tion of  reigning  and  of  administration  is  the 
hereditary  endowment  of  noble  families,  and 
through  this  it  may  be  that  the  English  Tories 
will  long  be  indispensable — yes,  and  so  long  in 
power  as  were  the  senatorial  families  of  old 
Rome. 

But  nothing  under  present  circumstances  in 
England  is  so  resemblant  as  the  "  soliciting  suf- 
frages," as  we  see  it  depicted  in  Coriolanvs. 
With  what  bitter  and  restrained  sourness,  with 
what  scornful  irony,  does  the  Roman  Tory  beg  for 
the  votes  of  the  good  citizens  whom  he  so  deeply 
despises  in  his  soul,  and  whose  approbation  is  to 
him  so  absolutely  necessary  that  he  may  become 
consul.  There  being,  however,  this  difference-^ 
that  most  English  lords  have  got  their  wounds, 
not  in  battle  but  in  fox-hunting,  and  being  better 
trained  by  their  mothers  in  the  art  of  dissimila- 
tion, do  not  when  electioneering  manifest  their 
ill-temper  and  scorn  as  did  the  stubborn  Corio- 
lanus. 

As  in  all  things,  Shakespeare  has  exercised  in 


296    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

this  drama  the  strictest  impartiality.  The  aristo- 
crat is  here  quite  in  the  right  when  he  despises  hia 
plebeian  masters  of  votes,  for  he  feels  that  he  was 
braver  in  war — such  bravery  being  among  the 
Romans  the  greatest  virtue.  Yet  the  poor  electors, 
the  people,  are  withal  quite  right  in  opposing  him, 
despite  this  virtue,  for  he  distinctly  declared  that 
as  consul  he  would  oppose  giving  bread  to  the 
people,  although  bread  is  the  people's  first  right.^ 


PORTIA. 

[jULIUS    C^SAR.]    - 

The  chief  basis  of  Caesar's  popularity  was  the 
magnanimity  with  which  he  treated  the  people, 
and  his  generosity.  The  multitude  felt  that  in 
him  might  be  the  founder  of  those  better  days 
which  they  were  to  know  under  his  descendants 
the  Emperors  ;  for  these  secured  to  the  people 
its  just  right — they  gave  them  their  daily  bread. 
We  willingly  forgive  the  Caesars  the  bloodiest 
caprices  by  which  they  arbitrarily  disposed  of 
hundreds  of  patrician  families  and  mocked  their 

1  Heine  here  indicates  an  opinion,  which  he  manifests  in  other 
passages  of  his  works,  that  the  rich  possess,  and  keep  from  tha 
poor,  abundant  means  to  support  the  latter. — Translator.        i 


PORTIA.  297 

privileges ;  we  recognise  in  them,  and  that  grate- 
fully, the  destroyers  of  that  aristocratic  mle  which 
gave  the  people  for  the  hardest  service  the  least 
possible  payment ;  we  praise  them  as  worldly 
saviours  who,  humiliating  the  lofty  and  exalting 
the  lowly,  introduced  a  civic  equality.  That 
advocate  of  the  past,  the  patrician  Tacitus,  may 
describe  as  he  will  the  private  vices  and  mad 
freaks  of  the  Caesars  with  the  most  poetic  poison, 
we  know  better  things  of  them — ^they  fed  the 
people.^ 

It  was  Caesar  who  led  the  Roman  aristocracy 
to  ruin,  and  prepared  the  victory  of  democracy. 
Meanwhile  there  were  many  old  patricians  who 
still  cherished  in  their  hearts  the  spirit  of  repub- 
licanism ;  they  could  not  endure  the  supremacy 
of  a  single  man,  they  would  not  live  where  one 
raised  his  head  above  all  theirs,  even  though  it 
were  the  lordly  head  of  Julius  Caesar — so  they 
whetted  their  daggers  and  slew  him. 

Democracy  and  monarchy  are  not  enemies,  aa 
people  falsely  assert,  in  these  our  times.  The  best 
democracy  will  ever  be  that  where  one  person 
stands  as  incarnation  of  the  popular  will  at  the 

^  That  is  to  say  that  on  the  evil  principle  of  unlimited  "  out- 
of-door  relief,"  they,  like  the  monks  of  later  date  with  their 
doles,  deliberately  created  an  army  of  incurable  paupers,  who 
were  thereby  forced  into  being  retainers  and  partisans.  They 
plundered  the  world  to  feed  a  lazy  mob  of  Roman  citizens. — 
Translator. 


298    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

bead  of  the  state,  like  God  at  the  head  of  the 
world's  government,  for  under  that  incarnate  will 
of  the  people,  as  under  the  majesty  of  God, 
blooms  the  safest  human  equality,  the  truest 
democracy.  Aristocracy  and  republicanism  are 
not  really  opposed  to  one  another,  and  that  we 
see  most  clearly  in  the  drama  before  us,  where 
the  spirit  of  republicanism  speaks  directly  out 
with  its  sharpest  traits  of  character  in  the  proudest 
aristocrats.  These  traits  are  even  more  marked 
in  Cassius  than  in  Brutus.  We  have  long  since 
observed  that  the  spirit  of  republicanism  con- 
sists in  a  certain  asthmatic  close  jealousy  which 
will  tolerate  nothing  over  itself,  in  a  dwarfish 
envy  which  hates  all  that  is  higher  than  itself, 
which  would  not  willingly  see  even  virtue  re- 
presented by  a  man,  for  fear  lest  such  a  repre- 
sentative would  turn  his  high  personality  to 
private  profit.  The  republicans  are  therefore  to- 
day the  humblest  of  deists,  and  see  in  humanity 
only  paltry  figures  of  clay,  which,  kneaded 
all  in  one  common  likeness  by  the  hands  of  a 
Creator,  have  no  right  whatever  to  proud  dis- 
tinctions and  ambitions,  or  displays  of  splendour. 
The  English  republicans  once  cherished  such  a 
principle  in  Puritanism,  and  such  was  the  case 
with  the  old  Romans,  who  were  Stoics.  If  this 
be  borne  in  mind,  we  cannot  fail  to  be  struck  by 
the  shrewd  sagacity  with  which  Shakespeare  has 


PORTIA.  299 

sketched  Cassias  in  his  dialogue  with  Brntas, 
when  he  hears  how  the  people  have  greeted  with 
hurrahs  Caesar,  whom  they  wish  to  raise  to  king- 
ship:— 

"  Ga».  I  kaow  that  virtue  to  be  in  yon,  Bratoi, 
As  well  as  I  do  know  your  outward  favour. 
"Well,  honour  is  the  subject  of  my  story. — 
I  cannot  tell,  what  you  and  other  men 
Think  of  this  life ;  but,  for  my  single  self, 
I  had  as  lief  not  be,  as  live  to  be 
In  awe  of  such  a  thing  as  I  myself. 
I  was  bom  free  as  Caesar  ;  so  were  you : 
We  both  have  fed  as  well ;  and  we  can  both 
Endure  the  winter's  cold  as  well  as  he  :  ' 
For  once,  upon  a  raw  and  gusty  day, 
The  troubled  Tiber  chafing  with  her  shores, 
Caesar  said  to  me,  Dar'st  thou,  Gassius,  now 
Leap  in  toith  me  into  this  angry  flood, 
And  swim  to  yonder  point  ? — Upon  the  word, 
Accouter'd  as  I  was,  I  plungfed  in, 
And  bade  him  follow  ;  so,  indeed,  he  did. 
The  torrent  roar'd  ;  and  we  did  buflfet  it 
With  lusty  sinews  ;  throwing  it  aside, 
And  stemming  it,  with  hearts  of  controversy. 
But  ere  we  could  arrive  the  point  proposed, 
Caesar  cried.  Help  me,  Cassitu,  or  I  tinJi. 
I,  as  iBneas,  our  great  ancestor, 
Did  from  the  flames  of  Troy  upon  his  shoulder 
The  old  Anchises  bear,  so,  from  the  waves  of  Tiber 
Did  I  the  tirM  Caesar :  And  this  man 
Is  now  become  a  god  ;  and  Cassius  is 
A  wretched  creature,  and  must  bend  his  body, 
If  Caesar  carelessly  but  nod  on  him. 


300    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

He  had  a  fever  when  he  was  in  Spain, 

And,  when  the  fit  was  on  him,  I  did  mark 

How  he  did  shake  :  'tis  true,  this  god  did  shake  : 

His  coward  lips  did  from  their  colour  fly  ; 

And  that  same  eye,  whose  bend  doth  awe  the  world. 

Did  lose  his  lustre  :  I  did  hear  him  groan  : 

Ay,  and  that  tongue  of  his,  that  bade  the  Romans 

Mark  him,  and  write  his  speeches  in  their  books, 

Alas  !  it  cried,  Gfive  me  some  drink,  Ttttntua,  , 

As  a  sick  girl.    Ye  gods,  it  doth  tuuaze  me,  ! 

A  man  of  such  a  feeble  temper  should 

So  get  the  start  of  the  majestic  world,  j 

And  bear  the  palm  alone."  j 

CsBsar  himself  knows  his  man  well,  and  on  this 
subject  lets  fall  deeply  significant  words  in  a 
dialogue  with  Anthony. 

I 
**  Com.  Let  me  have  men  about  me  that  are  fat ; 
Sleek-headed  men,  and  such  as  sleep  o'  nights  : 
Yond  Cassius  has  a  lean  and  hungry  look  ; 
He  thinks  too  much  :  such  men  are  dangerous. 

AiiL  Fear  him  not,  Caesar,  he's  not  dangerous ; 
He  is  a  noble  Roman,  and  well  given. 

CdJM.  'Would  he  were  fatter : — But  I  fear  him  not : 
Yet  if  my  name  were  liable  to  fear,  | 

I  do  not  know  the  man  I  should  avoid 
So  soon  as  that  spare  Cassius.    He  reads  much  ; 
He  is  a  great  observer,  and  he  looks 
Quite  through  the  deeds  of  men  :  he  loves  no  plays. 
As  thou  dost,  Antony  ;  he  hears  no  music ; 
Seldom  he  smiles  ;  and  smiles  in  such  a  sort, 
As  if  he  mock'd  himsSl^  a^id  scorn'd  his  spirit  \ 

That  could  be  moved  to  smile  at  any  thing.  | 


PORTIA.  301 

Snch  men  as  he  be  never  at  hearths  ease, 
Whiles  they  behold  a  greater  than  themselTes ; 
And  therefore  are  they  very  dangerous." 

Caseins  is  a  republican,  and,  as  we  oflben  see  in 
such  men,  is  more  attracted  by  noble  friendship 
in  men  than  by  the  tender  love  of  women. 
Brutus,  on  the  contrary,  sacrifices  himself  for  the 
republic — not  because  he  is  by  nature  a  republi- 
can, but  because  he  is  a  hero  of  virtue,  and  sees 
in  sacrifice  the  highest  demand  of  duty.  He  is 
susceptible  to  all  soft  feelings,  and  clings  with 
tenderest  love  to  his  wife,  Portia. 

Portia,  a  daughter  of  Cato,  altogether  a  Roman 
woman,  is,  however,  worthy  of  love,  and  even 
in  her  highest  flights  of  heroism  betrays  the 
most  feminine  feeling  and  shrewdest  womanly 
nature.  With  anxious  looks  of  love  she  watches 
every  shadow  on  the  brow  of  her  husband,  be- 
traying his  troubled  thoughts.  She  will  know 
what  torments  him,  she  vnll  share  the  burden  of 
the  secret  which  oppresses  his  soul ;  and  when 
at  last  she  knows  it,  she  is  after  all  a  woman,  and 
being  well  nigh  conquered  by  the  frightful  care, 
cannot  conceal  it,  and  must  needs  confess. 

"  I  have  a  man's  mind,  but  a  woman's  might. 
How  hard  it  is  for  a  woman  to  keep  counsel !  * 


302    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN 


CLEOPATRA. 

[ANTONY   AND   CLEOPATRA.] 

Yes,  this  is  the  famed  Queen  of  Egypt  who  rained 
Antony.  I 

He  knew  perfectly  that  this  woman  was  lead- 
ing him  to  destruction,  and  he  would  fain  tear 
himself  away  from  the  magic  fetters : —  i 

"  I  must  with  haste  from  hence  ! "  J 

He  flies — only  to  return  all  the  sooner  to 
the  flesh-pots  of  Egypt,  to  his  serpent  of  old  Nile, 
as  he  calls  her ;  soon  finding  himself  again  with 
her  in  the  luxurious  mud  of  Alexandria,  and 
there,  as  Octavius  relates —  j 

"  I'  the  market-place,  on  a  tribunal  Bilver*d,  > 

Cleopatra  and  himself  in  chairs  of  gold  | 

Were  publicly  enthron'd  :  at  the  feet  sat  | 
Csesarion,  whom  they  call  my  father's  son. 

And  all  the  unlawful  issue,  that  their  lust  i 

Since  then  hath  made  between  them.     Unto  her  ! 

He  gave  the  'stablishment  of  Egypt ;  made  her  I 

Of  lower  Syria,  Cyprus,  Lydia,  I 

Absolute  queen.  ...  "  \ 

V  the  common  show-place,  where  they  exercise,  | 

His  sons  he  there  proclaim'd  the  kings  of  kings  :  j 

Qreat  Media,  Parthia,  and  Armenia,  j 

He  gave  to  Alexander  ;  to  Ptolemy  he  aasign'd  ! 
Syria,  Cilicia,  and  Phoenicia  :  she 


'•"■'-       .^- 


CLEOPATRA.  303 

In  the  habiliments  of  the  goddess  Isis 

That  day  appear'd  ;  and  oft  before  gave  audience, 

As  'tis  reported,  so.^ 

The  Egyptian  sorceress  holds  not  only  his  hand 
captive,  but  even  his  brain,  and  bewilders  his 
talent  as  a  general  Instead  of  fighting  on  firm 
land  where  he  had  always  conquered,  he  gives 
battle  on  the  treacherous  sea,  where  his  bravery 
was  of  less  avail ;  and  there,  where  the  capricious 
woman  obstinately  followed  him,  she  fled  with  all 
her  ships  in  the  critical  instant  of  the  combat, 
and  Anthony,  "  like  a  doting  mallard,"  ^  with  out- 
spread sail-wings  fled  after  her,  leaving  fortune 
and  honour  in  the  lurch. 

But  it  was  not  merely  from  the  womanish 
caprices  of  Cleopatra  that  the  unfortunate  hero 
Buflered  the  most  disgraceful  defeat ;  for  she  after- 
wards treated  him  with  the  blackest  treason,  and 
in  complicity  with  Octavius  went  with  her  whole 
fleet  over  to  the  enemy.  She  betrayed  him  in 
the  most  despicable  manner,  either  to  save  her 
own  goods  in  the  shipwreck  of  his  fortunes,  or  to 
fish  some  greater  advantage  for  herself  out  of  the 
troubled  waters.  She  drives  him  to  despair  and 
death  by  deceit  and  lies,  and  yet  to  the  very  last 
he  loves  her  with  all  his  heart — yes,  after  every 
treachery  his  love   flashes  up  the   more  wildly. 

^  Antony  and  Cleopatra,  act  iii.  bc.  6. 
'  Ibid.,  act  iii.  sc  8. 


304    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 


He  curses  her  of  course  after  every  trick,  lie  knows 
all  her  faults,  and  his  better  judgment  expresses 
itself  in  the  coarsest  abuse,  when  he  says  with 
bitterest  truth  : — 


•'  You  were  half  blasted  ere  I  knew  you  : — Ha  ? 
Have  I  my  pillow,  left  unpresa'd  in  Rome, 
Forborne  the  getting  of  a  lawful  race, 
And  by  a  gem  of  women,  to  be  abused 
By  one  that  looks  on  feeders  1 

Cleo.  Good  my  lord, — 

Ant.  You  have  been  a  boggier  ever  : — 
But  when  we  in  our  viciousness  grow  hard, 
(0  misery  on 't !)  the  wise  gods  seal  our  eyes  ; 
In  our  own  filth  drop  our  clear  judgments  ;  make  us 
Adore  our  errors  ;  laugh  at  us,  while  we  strut 
To  our  confusion. 

Cleo.  O  is  it  come  to  this  7 

Ant.  I  found  you  as  a  morsel,  cold  upon 
Dead  Caesar's  trencher  :  nay,  you  were  a  fragment 
Of  Cneius  Pompey's  ;  besides  what  hotter  hours, 
Unregister'd  in  vulgar  fame,  you  have 
Luxuriously  pick'd  out : — For,  I  am  sure, 
Though  you  can  guess  what  temperance  should  be. 
You  know  not  what  it  is."  * 


But  like  the  spear  of  Achilles,  which  could 
heal  the  wounds  which  it  gave,  the  mouth  of  the 
beloved  one  can  heal  again  with  its  kisses  the 
deadliest  stabs  which  his  sharp  words  had  given 
to  her  feelings.  And  after  that  infamy  which 
the  serpent  of  old  Nile  had  inflicted  on  the  Roman 

'  Antony  and  CUopatra,  act.  iii.  aa  ii. 


CLEOPATRA.  30$ 

wolf,  and  after  every  curse  which  he  had  howled 
at  her — the  pair  kiss  d  la  Florentine  the  more 
tenderly/  even  in  dying  he  presses  on  her  lips 
the  last  of  so  many  kisses. 

And  she,  the  Egyptian  snake,  how  she  loves 
her  Eoman  wolf !  Her  betrayals  are  only  the  ex- 
ternal irrepressible  twinings  and  coils  of  her  evil 
serpent  nature  ;  she  practises  them  mechanically, 
because  they  are  in  her  inborn  or  habitual  habit, 
but  in  the  depth  of  her  soul  there  is  the  deepest 
unchanging  love  for  Antony.  Yes,  she  herself 
knows  not  how  strong  it  is.  Many  a  time  she 
thinks  she  can  conquer  or  play  with  it,  but  she  errs, 
and  the  error  will  appear  to  her  at  the  moment 
when  she  loses  the  man  whom  she  loves,  and  her 
agony  bursts  forth  in  the  sublime  words  : — 

"  Cleo.  I  dream'd,  there  was  an  emperor  Antony ; — 
O,  such  another  sleep,  that  I  might  see 
But  such  another  man  ! 

Dol.  If  it  might  please  you, — 

Cleo.  His  face  was  as  the  heavens  ;  and  therein  stuck 
A  sun,  and  moon  ;  which  kept  their  course,  and  lighted 
The  little  0,  the  earth. 

Dol.  Most  sovereign  creature, — 

^  Ziingdn,  to  kiss,  touching  the  tongues  together — the  haisir 
d.  la  Florentine.  In  that  remarkable  work,  Delle  Biaarerit 
Aeademiche,  by  Gio.  Francesco  Loredano,  Venice,  1667,  there  is 
a  chapter  on  this  subject,  but  according  to  him  this  peculiar 
osculation  is  effected  by  holding  the  ears  of  the  subject,  and 
kissing  lip  to  lip.     French  writers  define  it  as  I  have  done. 

U 


MHM^WII 


3o6    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN, 


CUo.  His  legs  besbrid  the  ocean  :  his  rear'd  arm 
Crested  the  world  :  his  voice  was  propertied 
As  all  the  tuned  spheres,  and  that  to  friends  ; 
But  when  he  meant  to  quail  and  shake  the  orb^ 
He  was  as  rattling  thunder.     For  his  bounty,  1 

There  was  no  winter  in 't,  an  autumn  'twas, 
That  grew  the  more  by  reaping  :  His  delights  I 

Were  dolphin-like  ;  they  show'd  his  back  above 
The  element  they  lived  in :  In  his  livery 
Walk'd  crowns  and  crownets  ;  realms  and  islands  were 
As  plates  dropp'd  from  his  pocket  "  * 

For  Cleopatra  is — a  woman.  She  loves  and 
betrays  at  the  same  time.  It  is  a  mistake  to 
believe  that  women  when  they  betray  us  have 
ceased  to  love.  They  only  follow  their  inborn 
nature ;  and  if  they  will  not  empty  the  forbidden 
cup,  they  like  at  least  a  sip  from  it,  or  lick  the 
brim,  just  to  see  what  poison  tastes  like.  Next 
to  Shakespeare,  no  one  has  sketched  this  fact  so 
well  as  old  Abb^  Prevost  in  his  novel  "  Manon 
Lescaut"  The  intuition  of  the  greatest  poet  here 
coincides  with  the  sober  observation  of  the  coldest 
writer  of  prose. 

Yes,  this  Cleopatra  is  a  woman  in  the  blessedest 
and  cursedest  sense  of  the  word !  She  reminds 
me  of  that  saying  of  Lessing,  "  When  God  made 
woman  He  took  clay  of  too  fine  a  quality  ! "  The 
extreme  tenderness  of  His  material  does  not  agree 
with  the  requirements  of  life.     This  creature  is  at 

^  Antony  and  Cleopatra,  act  v.  8&  2. 


CLEOPATRA.  m 

once  too  good  and  too  bad  for  this  world.  The 
most  charming  attractions  are  here  the  cause  of 
the  most  repukive  frailties.  With  enchanting 
truth  Shakespeare  sketches  even  at  the  first 
appearance  of  Cleopatra  the  variegated  fluttering 
spirit  of  caprice  which  is  always  rioting  in  the 
brain  of  the  beautiful  queen,  which  often  jets 
and  sprays  in  the  most  notable  questions  and 
fancies,  and  is  perhaps  really  the  basis  of  all  her 
actions  and  behaviour.  Nothing  is  more  charac- 
teristic than  the  fifth  scene  of  the  first  act,  where 
she  asks  her  maid  for  mandragora,  so  that  this 
narcotic  may  fill  up  her  time  while  Antony  is 
gone.  Then  the  devil  teases  her  to  caU  her 
eunuch  Mardian.  He  humbly  asks  what  his 
mistress  requires.  I  will  not  hear  singing,  she 
says,  for  naught  that  an  eunuch  can  do  pleases 
me  now  ;  but  tell  me,  Dost  ever  feel  passion  ? 
"  Hast  thou  affections  ?  " 

"ifor.  Yes,  gracious  madam. 

Cleo.  Indeed? 

Mar.  Not  in  deed,  madam,  for  I  can  do  nothing 
But  what,  in  deed,  is  honest  to  be  done : 
Yet  have  I  fierce  aflfections,  and  think, 
What  Venus  did  with  Mars. 

Cleo.  0  Charmian, 
Where  think'st  thou  he  is  now  1     Stands  he,  or  edts  he  1 
Or  does  he  walk  t  or  is  he  on  his  horse  ? 
0  happy  horse,  to  bear  the  weight  of  Antony  ! 
Do  bravely,  horse  1  for  wot'st  thou  whom  thou  mov'st  t 


3o8    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN, 

.  I.- 

The  demi- Atlas  of  this  earth,  the  ann  j 

And  burgonet  of  men. — He's  speaking  now,  I 

Or  murmuring,  Whereas  my  serpent  of  old  Nile  9 
For  so  he  calls  me ;  Now  I  feed  myself  I 

With  most  delicious  poison  : — Think  on  me. 
That  am  with  Phoebus'  amorous  pinches  black, 
And  wrinkled  deep  in  time  ?    Broad-fronted  Caesar, 
When  thou  wast  here  above  the  ground,  I  was  i 

A  morsel  for  a  monarch  :  and  great  Pompey  I 

Would  stand,  and  make  his  eyes  grow  in  my  brow  j       ' 
There  would  he  anchor  his  aspect,  and  die  j 

With  looking  on  his  life."  *  { 

If  I  may  boldly  speak  out  all  my  thought, 
fearing  no  slanderous  sarcastic  smiles,  I  would 
say  that,  candidly  confessed,  this  helter-skelter 
thought  and  feeling  of  Cleopatrti — the  result  of 
an  irregular,  idle,  and  troubled  life — reminds  me 
of  a  certain  class  of  spendthrift  women,  whose 
expensive  housekeeping  is  defrayed  by  an  out- 
of-wedlock  generosity,  and  who  torment  and 
bless  their  titular  spouses  very  often  with  love 
and  fidelity ;  though  not  seldom  with  love  alone, 
but  always  with  wild  whims.  And  was  she  in 
reality  difierent  from  them — this  Cleopatra,  who 
could  not  maintain  her  unheard-of  luxury  with 
the  Egyptian  crown-revenue,  and  who  took  from 
Antony,  her  Roman  entreteneur,  the  squeezed-out 
treasures  of  whole  provinces  for  "  presents " — 
and  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word,  was  a  kept- 
queen  ! 

'  Antony  and  Cleopatra,  act  L  bc.  5.  I 


CLEOPATRA.  309 

In  the  ever  excited,  irregular  mind  of  Cleo- 
patra, made  of  extremes  tossed  together  by  reck- 
less chance,  a  soul  oppressively  sultry,  there  flashes 
like  heat-lightning  all  the  time  a  sensuous,  wild, 
and  brimstone-yellow  wit,  which  rather  frightens 
than  pleases.  Plutarch  gives  us  an  idea  of  this  wit, 
which  shows  itself  more  in  deeds  than  words,  and 
even  in  school  I  laughed  with  all  my  heart  at 
the  mystified  Antony,  who  went  with  his  queenly 
love  fishing,  but  drew  up  on  his  line  a  salt  fish 
— the  crafty  Egyptian  dame  having  employed 
divers,  one  of  whom  had  fastened  it  on  his  hook. 
Our  teacher  indeed  frowned  at  this  anecdote,  and 
blamed  the  wicked  wantonness  with  which  the 
queen  risked  the  lives  of  her  subjects,  the  poor 
divers,  to  carry  out  a  jest ;  but  our  teacher  was 
not  a  friend  to  Cleopatra,  and  he  made  us  speci- 
ally observe  how  Antony,  through  her,  destroyed 
his  whole  public  career,  got  himself  involved  in 
domestic  diflSculties,  and  at  last  plunged  headlong 
into  ruin. 

Yes,  my  old  teacher  was  quite  right — it  is 
utterly  dangerous  to  enter  into  intimate  relations 
with  such  a  person  as  Cleopatra.  A  hero  can 
go  to  the  devil  in  this  way,  but  only  a  hero. 
Good  commonplaceness  suffers  no  danger  here — 
nor  anywhere. 

The  position  of  Cleopatra  was  as  intensely 
droll  as  her  character.     This  capricious-peevish, 


»  v»*:-*«» '#''^«*  ♦*■•  * 


^.J*n  *-  <  m'ir^i^  ■'»-.'■  ^m  ■■»  >  .-*H- -^.1  m  .^V  ^^y  --f  <••»-*   *  '^  ^"^  -    •   ^-  ' 


flO    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN.       i 

i 

I 

pleasure-seeking,  weatlier-vain,  feverishly  coqnet- 
tish  woman,  this  Parisienne  of  the  olden  time, 
this  goddess  of  life,  juggled  and  ruled  over  Egypt, 
the  stark  silent  land  of  the  dead.  You  know 
it  well,  that  Egypt,  that  Mizraim  full  of  mystery, 
that  narrow  Nile  strip,  looking  like  a  coffin.  In 
the  high  reeds  still  grinned  the  crocodile  or  the 
deserted  child  of  Revelation.  .  .  .  Kock  temples 
with  colossal  pillars,  on  which  recline  grotesque 
wild  forms  of  horribly  varied  hues  ...  in  the 
portal  nods  the  monk  of  Isis,  with  hieroglyphed 
head-gear  ...  in  luxurious  villas,  mummies  are 
taking  their  siestas,  and  the  gilded  masks  protect 
them  from  the  swarms  of  flies  of  decay  .  .  .  there 
stand  the  slender  obelisks  and  plump  pyramids, 
like  silent  thoughts  ...  in  the  background  we 
are  greeted  by  the  mountains  of  the  Moon  of 
Ethiopia,  which  hide  the  sources  of  the  Nile — 
everywhere  death,  stone,  and  mystery.  And  over 
this  land,  the  beautiful  Cleopatra  ruled  as  queen. 
How  witty  God  is ! 


LAV  INI  A. 

[titus  andronicus.]  , 

Ik  Julius  CsBsar  we  see  the  last  throbs  of  the 
republican  spirit,  which  struggles  in  vain  with 


.        LAVINIA.  jti 

the  monarchy;  the  republic  has  outlired  itself, 
and  Brutus  and  Gassius  can  only  murder  the 
man  who  first  grasped  at  the  royal  crown,  but 
are  in  no  degree  able  to  kill  the  royal  form  of 
government  which  is  deeply  rooted  in  the  needs 
of  the  age.  In  Antony  and  Cleopatra  we  see 
how,  in  place  of  a  fallen  Caesar,  three  other 
Caesars  stretch  forth  daring  hands  to  the  sove- 
reignty of  the  world,  the  problem  of  principles 
is  solved,  and  the  strife  which  breaks  out  between 
these  triumvirs  is  only  the  personal  question, 
"Who  shall  be  Emperor,  lord  of  all  men  and 
lands  ?  "  The  tragedy  entitled  Titus  Andronicvs 
shows  us  that  even  unlimited  autocracies  in  the 
Boman  realm  follow  the  law  of  all  earthly  events, 
that  is,  to  pass  into  decay,  and  nothing  is  more 
repulsive  than  those  later  Caesars  who,  to  the 
madness  and  crimes  of  Nero  and  Caligula,  added 
the  windiest  weakness.  Nero  and  Caligula 
indeed  grew  giddy  on  the  vast  height  of  their 
power  ;  thinking  themselves  above  humanity  they 
became  inhuman,  believing  they  were  gods  they 
became  godless ;  but  in  contemplating  their  mon- 
strosity we  can  no  longer  measure  them  with 
the  rule  of  reason.  The  later  Caesars,  on  the 
contrary,  are  rather  subjects  of  our  pity,  our  dis- 
like, our  disgust ;  they  are  wanting  in  the  heathen 
self-deification,  the  intoxication  of  a  sense  of 
their  own  majesty,  their  terrible  irresponsibility ; 


■■  'n  .»*  M  .•■«  »#..  ^■••^-•j^w^  ,  ■**  ,^.»',^  ,xi  i^  -■_,  ■»  ■«*  -^ '  4.  **:* 


312    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

they  are  Christianly  crushed,  and  the  black  con- 
fessor has  crept  into  their  consciences  and  spoken, 
and  they  feel  that  they  are  only  poor  worms,  that  ' ;' V 

they  die  dependent  on  the  grace  of  a  higher  God,  :  ' 

and  that  they  in  due  time  for  their  earthly  evil  >; 

doings  must  be  boiled  and  roasted  in  hell.  ■    ] 

Although  the  outer  stamp  of  heathendom  still  ; 

prevails  in  Titus  Andronicits,  still  the  character 
of  the  later  Christian  time  begins  to  show  itself 
in  this  piece,  and  the  perversion  in  moral  and 
civic  relations  which  it  displays  is  already  quite 
Byzantine.  The  play  certainly  belongs  to  Shake- 
speare's earliest  productions,  though  many  critics 
deny  it  to  him  altogether;  for  there  is  in  it  that 
cruelty,  that  cutting  predilection  for  the  repulsive, 
a  Titanic  struggle  with  divine  powers,  such  as 
we  are  wont  to  find  in  the  first  works  of  great 
poets.  The  hero,  in  opposition  to  his  utterly 
demoralised  surroundings,  is  a  real  Koman,  a  relic 
of  the  stem  and  hard  old  time.  Did  such  men 
then  still  exist  ?  It  is  possible,  for  Nature  loves 
to  preserve  examples  of  all  the  creatures  whose 
kind  is  perishing  or  undergoing  change,  though 
it  be  in  petrifactions,  such  as  we  find  on  moun- 
tain-tops. Titus  Andronicus  is  such  a  petrified 
Roman,  and  his  fossil  virtue  is  a  real  curiosity  in 
the  time  of  the  latest  Caesars. 

The  disgrace  and  mutilation  of  his  daughter 
Lavinia  belongs  to  the  most  horrible  scenes  to  be 


'7  jV''>^*t/  <t "»gr 


LAVINIA.  •  313 

found  in  any  author.  The  history  of  Philomela, 
in  Ovid's  "  Metamorphoses,"  is  not  by  far  so  awfdl, 
for  the  very  hands  of  the  wretched  Eoman  maiden 
are  hacked  oflf  lest  she  should  betray  the  prime 
movers  of  the  dreadful  piece  of  wickedness.  As 
the  father  by  his  stem  manliness,  so  the  daughter 
by  her  grand  feminine  dignity,  reminds  us  of  the 
more  moral  past;  she  dreads  not  death  but  dis- 
honour ;  and  deeply  touching  are  the  words  with 
which  she  implores  mercy  of  her  enemy,  the 
Empress  Tamora,  when  the  sons  of  the  latter  will 
defile  her  person : — 

"  "Tis  present  death  I  beg  ;  and  one  thing  more, 
That  womanhood  denies  my  tongue  to  tell : 
0,  keep  me  from  their  worse  than  killing  lust, 
And  tumble  me  into  some  loathsome  pit, 
Where  never  man's  eyes  may  behold  my  body  : 
Do  this,  and  be  a  charitable  murderer."  ^ 

In  this  virginal  purity  Lavinia  forms  the  fullest 
contrast  to  the  Empress  Tamora;  and  here,  as 
in  most  of  his  dramas,  Shakespeare  places  two 
entirely  dijfferent  types  of  woman  together,  and 
renders  their  characters  clearer  by  the  contrast. 
This  we  have  already  seen  in  Antony  and  Cleo- 
patra, where  our  dark,  unbridled,  vain  and  ardent 
Egyptian  comes  forth  more  statuesquely  by  the 
white,  cold,  moral,  arch -prosaic  and  domestic 
Octavia. 

^  Titus  Androniev4,  act  ii.  sc.  3. 


;tV«'    -^  ■..«tr>.i.ii» >.—■•■;■'  I-"  ,'■-•-.-■  -~"  . -.-v.- »i-r  •:t^    ■.;.'.•■' ■•Vv—V'^.'SM.fJ' 


314    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

And  yet  that  Taxnora  is  a  fine  figure,  and  I 
think  it  is  an  injustice  that  the  English  grayer 
has  not  traced  her  portrait  in  this  Gallery  of 
Shakespearean  ladie&  She  is  a  magnificently 
majestic  woman,  an  enchanting  and  imperial 
figure,  on  whose  brow  are  the  marks  of  a  fallen 
deity,  in  her  eyes  a  world -devouring  lust, 
splendidly  vicious,  panting  with  thirst  for  red 
blood.  Pitying  and  far-seeing  as  our  poet  ever 
is,  he  has  beforehand  justified,  in  the  first  scene 
where  Tamora  appears,  all  the  horrors  which  she 
at  a  later  time  inflicted  on  Andronicus.^  For 
this  grim  Roman,  unmoved  by  her  most  agonised 
mother's  prayers,  suffers  her  son  to  be  put  to  death 
before  her  eyes;  and  as  soon  as  she  sees  in  the 
wooing  favour  of  the  young  Emperor  the  rays  of 
hope  of  future  vengeance,  there  roll  forth  from  her 
lips  the  exultant  and  darkly  foreboding  words : — 

**  I'll  find  a  day  to  massacre  them  all, 
And  raze  their  faction  and  their  family, 
The  cruel  father  and  his  traitorous  sons, 
To  whom  I  8u6d  for  my  dear  son's  life ; 
And  make  them  know  what  'tis  to  let  a  queen 
Kneel  in  the  streets,  and  beg  for  grace  in  vain."  * 


^  This  aympatby  with  Tamora  and  her  vindication  are  not 
creditable  to  Heine.  It  is  difficult  to  understand  how  the 
Morifice  of  Alarbus,  in  accordance  with  the  custom  of  the 
times,  justifies  the  outraging  and  mutilation  of  Lavinia.  The 
traces  of  divinity  in  Tamora  are  indeed  very  faint. — TraiuUUor 

*  Titui  Andronieiu,  act  L  so.  2.  -  i 


LAVJNJA.  315 

As  her  cruelty  is  excnsed  by  the  excess  of 
snfferings  which  she  endured,  so  the  harlot-like 
looseness  with  which  she  abandons  herself  to  a 
disgusting  negro  is  to  a  degree  ennobled  by  the 
romantic  poetry  which  is  manifested  in  it.  Yes, 
that  scene  in  which  the  Empress,  having  left  her 
corthge  daring  a  hunt,  finds  herself  alone  in  the 
wood  with  her  beloved  black,  belongs  to  the 
most  terribly  sweet  magic  pictures  of  romantic 
poetry — 

"  My  lovely  Aaron,  wherefore  look'st  thou  sad. 
When  everything  doth  make  a  gleeful  boast  1 
The  birds  chaunt  melody  on  every  bush  ; 
The  snake  lies  rollM  in  the  cheerful  sun  ; 
The  green  leaves  quiver  with  the  cooling  wind, 
And  make  a  chequer'd  shadow  on  the  ground  : 
Under  their  sweet  shade,  Aaron,  let  us  sit, 
And,  whilst  the  babbling  echo  mocks  the  hounds, 
Replying  shrilly  to  the  well-tuned  horns, 
As  if  a  double  hunt  were  heard  at  once, 
Let  us  sit  down  and  mark  their  yelling  noise ; 
And, — after  conflict,  such  as  was  suppos'd 
The  wandering  prince  and  Dido  once  enjoy*d. 
When  with  a  happy  storm  they  were  surpris'd. 
And  curtain'd  with  a  counsel-keeping  cave, — 
We  may,  each  wreathfed  in  the  other's  arms, 
Our  pastimes  done,  possess  a  golden  slumber  ; 
Whiles  hounds,  and  horns,  and  sweet  melodious  birds, 
Be  unto  us,  as  is  a  nurse's  song 
Of  lullaby,  to  bring  her  babe  to  sleep."* 


*  TUut  Andronieut,  act  iL  se.  3. 


3i6    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN.       | 

Bnt  while  the  gleams  of  passion  flash  from  the 
eyes  of  the  beautiful  Empress  and  play  on  the 
black  form  of  the  negro,  like  decoy  lights  or  curl- 
ing flames,  he  thinks  of  far  more  serious  things — 
on  the  execution  of  the  most  infamous  intrigues, 
and  his  answer  forms  the  rudest  contrast  to  the 
impassioned  appeal  of  Tamora.  i 


CONSTANCE. 

[king  JOHN,]  I 

It  was  in  the  year  1827  after  the  birth  of 
Christ  that  I  gradually  went  to  sleep  in  the 
theatre  in  Berlin  during  the  first  representation 
of  a  new  tragedy  by  Herr  E.  Eaupach.  | 

For  the  highly  cultured  public  which  does  nob 
go  to  the  theatre,  and  only  reads  that  which  is 
strictly  literature,  I  must  here  remark  that  the 
Herr  Raupach  referred  to  is  a  very  useful  man, 
who  supplies  tragedies  and  comedies,  and  pro- 
vides the  stage  of  Berlin  every  month  with  a 
new  masterpiece.  The  Berlin  stage  is  admir- 
able, and  one  especially  useful  for  Hegelian 
philosophers  who  wish  to  refresh  themselves  by 
repose  in  the  evening  afler  hard  work  during 
the   heat   of  the   day.      The    soul    reinvigorates 


.-,>••  M^«^*<»tf•^^  r»iiA»rw^»i|, 


CONSTANCE.  317 

itself  there  far  more  in  accordance  with  nature, 
than  by  Wisotzki.  One  goes  into  the  theatre, 
stretches  himself  carelessly  on  the  velvet  seat, 
looks  through  his  opera-glass  at  the  faces  of 
his  fair  neighbours  or  the  legs  of  the  lady- 
dancers,  and  if  the  fellows  on  the  stage  don't 
shout  too  loudly,  he  goes  to  sleep  comfortably 
and  peaceably — even  as  I  did  on  the  29th  of 
August  1827.     P.  M.  C. 

When  I  awoke  all  was  dark  and  drear  around 
me,  and  by  the  light  of  a  dim  flickering  lamp 
I  saw  that  I  was  alone  in  the  theatre.  I  deter- 
mined to  pass  the  rest  of  the  night  there,  and 
tried  to  softly  sink  again  to  slumber,  which  did 
not  succeed  so  easily  as  it  had  done  some  hours 
before,  when  the  poppy  perfume  of  the  Eaupach 
rhymes  had  risen  to  my  brain ;  and  I  was,  more- 
over, much  disturbed  by  the  squeaking  and  cheep- 
ing of  mice.  Near  the  orchestra  rustled  and 
bustled  a  whole  colony  of  the  gens  Mus ;  and  as 
I  understand  not  only  Eaupachian  verses,  but 
also  the  languages  of  all  other  kinds  of  animals, 
I  involuntarily  overheard  all  the  mice  said.  They 
conversed  on  subjects  such  as  would  naturally 
interest  a  thinking  being — the  ultimate  basis  of 
all  phenomena,  the  nature  of  things  in  and  for 
themselves,  fate,  freewill,  foreknowledge  absolute,  1 
and  the  great  Eaupachian  tragedy,  which  had  with 
all  conceivable  horrors  not  long  before  unfolded, 


3i8    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

i 
t 

developed   itself,   and   ended    before   their    yery 
eyes. 

"  You  young  people,"  slowly  said  an  old  mouse 
of  stately  and  commanding  presence,  "you  have 
only  seen  a  single  play — at  best  but  a  few — but 
I  am  grey,  and  have  lived  through  many  and 
marked  them  all  with  care.  And  I  have  found 
that  in  reality  they  are  all  alike,  that  they  are 
generally  variations  on  the  same  theme ;  and  that 
very  often  the  same  situations,  entanglements, 
and  catastrophes  are  set  before  us.  They  are 
always  the  same  men  with  the  same  passions, 
who  only  change  costumes  and  figures  of  speech. 
There  are  always  the  same  motives  of  action,  love 
or  hate,  or  ambition,  or  envy  or  jealousy,  whether 
the  hero  wears  a  Roman  toga  or  old  German 
mail,  a  turban  or  a  felt  hat,  and  whether  he 
speaks  simply  or  in  flowery  verse,  in  bad  iambics, 
or  even  worse  trochees.  The  whole  history  of 
mankind,  which  people  are  so  prone  to  divide  into 
different  dramas,  acts  and  entrances,  is  after  all 
one  and  the  same  story,  only  a  masked  come- 
ronnd-again  procession  of  the  same  natures  and 
occurrences,  an  organic  rotation  in  orbit,  which 
begins  anew  from  the  same  initial ;  and  when  one 
has  once  realised  this,  he  no  longer  bewails  the 
bad  nor  rejoices  too  readily  over  the  good — he 
smiles  at  the  folly  of  the  heroes  who  sacrifice 
themselves  for  the  perfection  and  prosperity  of 


■.'■■-.1 


CONSTANCE.  319 

the  hnman  race,  and  amuses  himself,  with  calm 
composure." 

A  tittering,  giggling  little  voice,  which  seemed 
to  be  that  of  a  small  shrewd  mouse,  here  quickly 
interposed, 

"  I  too  have  seen  a  thing  or  two,  and  that  not 
merely  from  a  single  place  or  view.  I  never 
spared  myself  in  jumping  high  nor  balked  a  leap 
for  knowledge ;  I  left  the  pit  and  looked  at  things 
behind  the  stage  itself,  where  I  made  startling 
discoveries.  The  hero  whom  I  had  just  admired 
is  no  hero,  for  I  saw  how  a  young  fellow  called 
him  a  drunken  rascal,  and  gave  him  kicks  which 
he  quietly  received.  The  virtuous  princess  who 
appeared  as  sacrificing  her  life  to  save  her  virtue, 
is  no  more  a  princess  than  she  is  virtuous ;  I  have 
seen  how  she  took  red  powder  from  a  china  cup 
to  colour  her  cheeks — and  this  passed  in  the  play 
for  the  blush  of  modesty ;  and,  after  all,  she  threw 
herself  yawning  into  the  arms  of  a  lieutenant  of 
the  guards,  who  told  her  on  his  word  of  honour 
she'd  find  in  his  room  a  stunnin'  herrin'  salad 
and  a  glass  of  punch.^  What  you  thought  was 
thunder  and  lightning  is  only  the  rolling  of  tin 
cylinders  and  the  burning  of  a  few  crumbs  of 
pulverised  rosin.  Even  that  portly,  honourable 
citizen  who  seemed  to  be  all  unselfishness  and 

^   Einen  juten   fferingsaiat  nebst  einem  Olate  PuntcK.     J 
(t.e.,  T)  for  G  is  charaoteriBtic  of  the  Fraasi»n  dialect. 


320    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

generosity,  quarrelled  most  miserly  about  money 
with  a  meagre  man  whom  he  called  the  chief 
manager,  and  from  whom  he  wanted  a  few  thalers 
of  extra  pay.  Yes,  I  have  seen  all  with  my  own 
eyes,  and  heard  with  my  own  ears,  all  the  greatness 
and  nobility  which  is  acted  before  us  is  all  sham  and 
flam.  Self-interest  and  selfishness  are  the  secret 
springs  of  all  actions,  and  an  intelligent  being  will 
not  let  itself  be  humbugged  by  outside  show." 

Here,  however,  there  rose  a  sighing,  sorrowful 
voice  which  seemed  familiar  to  my  ears,  though 
I  know  not  whether  it  was  of  a  mouse  male  or 
a  mouse  feminine.  She  began  with  a  wail  over 
the  frivolity  of  the  age,  lamented  its  unbelief  and 
scepticism,  and  said  a  great  deal  about  her  love 
for  everything  and  everybody.  "I  love  you," 
she  sighed,  "and  I  tell  you  the  truth.  And 
Truth  revealed  itself  to  me  through  grace  in  a 
blessed  hour.  I  was  on  a  pilgrimage,  going  about 
here  and  there  trying  to  attain  to  a  revelation 
or  comprehension  of  the  various  deeds  which  are 
done  on  this  earthly  stage,  and  also  to  pick  up 
some  crumbs  to  satisfy  my  bodily  hunger — for 
I  love  you.  And  it  came  to  pass  that  I  found 
a  spacious  hole — yes,  my  friends — a  chest,  in 
which  there  sat  crouching  a  thin  grey  dwarf,* 
who  held  in  his  hand  a  roll  of  paper,  and  with 
a  slow  monotonous  voice  he  repeated  to  himself 

'  This  refers  to  the  prompter  in  hia  box. — Translator. 


■   -—    ■" 


CONSTANCE.       ^  ^       321 

all  the  speeches  which  are  declaimed  before  us  so 
loudly  and  passionately  on  the  stage.  A  mystic 
shudder  flurried  all  my  fur.  I  knew  that,  despite 
my  un  worthiness,  I  had  attained  grace  to  see  into 
the  Holy  of  Holies.  I  found  myself  in  the  blessed 
presence  of  the  mysterious  First-being — the  pure 
Spirit  who  rules  the  corporeal  world  with  his  will, 
who  creates  it  with  a  word,  inspires  it  with  a 
word,  and  with  a  word  destroys — for  I  saw  that 
the  heroes  on  the  stage  whom  I  had  a  little  while 
before  so  greatly  admired,  only  spoke  confidently 
when  they,  in  absolute  confiding  faith,  my  dear 
Mends,  repeated  the  text  exactly  as  he  gave  it — 
yea,  and  that  they  stumbled  and  stuttered  when 
they  in  their  pride  turned  from  his  ways  and 
listened  not  unto  the  sound  of  his  voice.  All 
beings  I  beheld  depended  on  him.  He  was  the 
only  self-existent  one  in  his  all-holiest  ark.  On 
every  side  thereof  glowed  the  mystic  lamps,  rang 
the  violins,  and  softly  pealed  the  flutes;  around 
him  was  light  and  music — he  swam  in  harmoni- 
ous rays  and  flashing  harmoniea"  .  .  . 

Then  the  speech  became  so  nasal  and  weep- 
ingly  whispering  that  I  understood  but  little 
more,  only  now  and  then  I  caught  the  words, 
"  Deliver  us  from  cats  and  mouse-traps — give 
us  each  day  our  daily  bread  crumbs — I  love  ye 
— in  eternity.     Amen!" 

By  giving  this  dream  I  endeavour  to  set  forth 


322    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

. .;  r 

my  views  as  to  the  different  philosophical  points 
of  view  whence  men  regard  history,  at  the  same 
time  showing  why  I  do  not  load  these  light 
leaves  with  any  peculiar  philosophy  of  English 
history. 

For  I  will  not,  above  all  things,  analyse  or 
dogmatically  elucidate  that  in  which  Shakespeare 
has  ennobled  the  great  events  of  English  chronicle, 
but  only  decorate  with  a  few  arabesques  of  words 
the  portraits  of  the  women  who  bloom  in  those 
poems.  And  as  in  these  English  historical  dramas 
the  women  play  anything  but  chief  parts,  and  as 
the  poet  never  lets  them  appear  as  female  char- 
acters and  figures,  as  we  generally  see  them  in 
other  plays,  but  simply  because  the  plot  requires 
their  presence,  so  will  I  speak  the  more  sparingly 
of  them.  I 

Constance  begins  the  dance,  or  is  first  in  the 
procession,  and  that  sorrowfully  enough.  She 
bears  her  child,  like  a  Mater  dolorosa,  on  her  arm 
— the  oppressed  boy 

**  Who  is  not  plagued  for  her  sin,*  j 

But  God  hath  made  her  sin  and  her  the  plague 
Of  this  removed  issue." 

1 

I  once  saw  the  part  of  this  mourning  queen 
admirably  acted  on  the  Berlin  stage  by  Madame 
Stich.     Much  less  brilliant  was  the  queen,  Maria 

*  That  of  Queen  Elinor.     King  John,  act  i.  sc.  2.      i 


LADY  PERCY.  323 

Louisa,  who,  during  the  French  invasion,  played 
Queen  Constance  in  the  royal  French  theatre. 
But  miserable  beyond  all  measure  in  this  part 
was  a  certain  Madame  Caroline,  who  acted  about 
in  the  provinces.  She  wanted  neither  beauty, 
talent,  nor  passion — unfortunately  she  had  too 
big  a  belly,  which  always  injures  an  actress  when 
ehe  must  act  grandly  tragic  parts.^ 


LADY  PERCY,   : 

[king  henry   IV.] 

I  TTAT>  imagined  her  face,  and  especially  her  form, 
less  plump,  or  eiribonpcdnt,  than  is  here  repre- 
sented. But  it  may  be  that  the  sharp  traits  and 
slender  form  which  are  apparent  in  her  words, 
and  which  her  spiritual  physiognomy  presents, 
contrast  the  more  interestingly  with  her  well- 
rounded  outer  form.  She  is  cheerful,  cordial, 
and  sound  in  body  and  soul.  Prince  Henry,  who 
would  fain  make  a  jest  of  this  agreeable  person- 
age, thus  parodies  her  and  her  Percy  : — 

^  Notwithstanding  the  cleverness  of  the  fable  of  the  mice, 
these  comments  on  Constance  must  be  pronounced  an  utter 
failure  as  regards  appreciation  of  the  character,  while  the  con- 
clusion, containing  an  allusion  to  a  political  personage,  which  is 
not  worth  explaining,  is  like  the  last  whoop  with  an  unseemly 
gesture  of  a  clown  leaving  the  ring. — Translator. 


324    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

"I  am  not  yet  of  Percy's  mind,  the  Hotspur  of  the 
North  ;  he  that  kills  me  some  six  or  seven  dozens  of  Scots 
at  a  breakfast,  washes  his  bands,  and  says  to  his  wife — 
Fy  upon  this  quiet  life  I  I  ward  work.  0  my  sweet  Harry, 
says  she,  how  many  hast  thou  hilled  to-day  ?  Oive  my  roan 
horse  a  drench,  says  be  ;  and  answers,  Some  fourteen,  an 
hour  after  ;  a  trifle,  a  trifle"  ^ 

This  Bcene,  in  which  we  see  the  real  domestic 
life  of  Percy  and  his  wife,  is  as  delightful  as 
it  is  snccinct — a  scene  in  which  she  checks  the 

boisterous  hero  with  the  boldest  words  : — 

•:    I 

-I 

"  Lady  Percy.  Come,  come,  you  paraquito,  answer  me 
Directly  unto  this  question  that  I  ask  : 
In  faith,  I'll  break  thy  little  finger,  Harry,  | 

An  if  thou  wilt  not  tell  me  all  things  true.  j 

Hotspur.  Away, 
Away,  you  trifler  ! — Love  ? — I  love  thee  not,  j 

I  care  not  for  thee,  Kate  :  this  is  no  world  j 

To  play  with  mammets,  and  to  tilt  with  lips  : 
We  must  have  bloody  noses  and  crack'd  crowns, 
And  pass  them  current  too, — Gods  me,  my  horse  1 — 
What  say'st  thou,  Kate  ?  what  wouldst  thou  have  with  me  | 

Lady  Percy.  Do  you  not  love  me  ?  do  you  not,  indeed  ? 
Well,  do  not,  then ;  for  since  you  love  me  not, 
I  will  not  love  myself.     Do  you  not  love  me  I 
Nay,  tell  me  if  you  speak  in  jest  or  no. 

Hotspur.  Come,  wilt  thou  see  me  ride  1 
And  when  I  am  o'  horseback,  I  will  swear 
I  love  thee  infinitely.    But  hark  you,  Kate  ; 
I  must  not  have  you  henceforth  question  me 
Whither  I  go,  nor  reason  whereabout : 

^  First  Part  of  King  Henry  IV.,  act  ii  so.  4. 


PRINCESS  KATHARINE.  "32$ 

Whither  I  must,  I  must ;  and,  to  conclude. 
This  evening  must  I  leave  you,  gentle  Kate. 
I  know  you  wise  ;  but  yet  no  farther  wise 
Than  Harry  Percy's  wife  :  constant  you  are ; 
But  yet  a  woman  :  and  for  secrecy, 
No  lady  closer  ;  for  I  well  believe 
Thou  wilt  not  utter  what  thou  dost  not  know, — 
And  so  far  will  I  trust  thee,  gentle  Kate."  *■ 


PRINCESS  KATHARINE. 
[king  henry  v.] 

Did  Shakespeare  really  write  the  scene  in  which 
the  Princess  Katharine  takes  a  lesson  in  the 
English  language,  and  are  all  the  French  phrases 
in  it  with  which  John  Bull  is  so  much  pleased, 
his  own  ?  I  doubt  it.  Our  poet  might  have  pro- 
duced the  same  comic  effect  by  means  of  an 
English  jargon,  and  all  the  more  easily  because 
the  English  language  has  this  peculiarity,  that, 
without  being  ungrammatical,  it  can  by  the 
mere  use  of  Latin  2  words  and  constructions  bring 
out  a  certain  French  expression  of  thought.     In 

*  First  Part  of  King  Henry  IV.,  act  ii.  sc.  3. 

*  Bomanitehe  Worter,  not  literally  Latin  words,  bat  those  of 
Latin  derivation. — Trand<Uor. 


326    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

the  same  manner  an  English  dramatist  conid 
indicate  or  suggest  a  German  style  of  thought, 
if  he  would  use  old  Saxon  expressions  and  in- 
flections. For  the  English  language  consists  of 
two  heterogeneous  elements^  the  Latin  and  the 
German,  which,  being  merely  squeezed  together, 
do  not  form  an  organic  whole,  and  which  easily 
fall  apart — when  we  cannot  decide  as  to  which 
side  the  real  English  belongs.  One  has  only  to 
compare  the  language  of  Doctor  Johnson  or  of 
Addison  with  that  of  Byron  or  Cobbett  It  was 
really  quite  unnecessary  for  Shakespeare  to  let 
the  Princess  Katharine  talk  French. 

This  leads  me  back  to  a  remark  which  I  have 
already  made.  It  is  a  defect  in  the  historical 
drama  of  Shakespeare  that  he  does  not  contrast 
the  Norman  French  spirit  of  the  higher  nobility 
with  the  Saxon  British  spirit  of  the  people  by 
means  of  characteristic  forms  of  speech.  Walter 
Scott  did  this  in  his  novels,  and  thereby  attained 
his  most  startling  effects. 

The  artist  who  has  contributed  to  this  gallery 
the  portrait  of  the  French  princess  has,  perhaps 
inspired  by  English  malice,  given  her  features 
more  expressive  of  drollery  than  beauty.  She 
has  here  a  true  bird  face,  and  her  eyes  look  as 
if  they  belonged  to  some  one  else.  Are  those 
parrot's  feathers  which  she  wears  on  her  head, 
and  are  they  intended  to  indicate  her  babbling 


yOAN  OP  ARC.      )"■.■" \:-\;';^ 

echoes  and  docility?  She  has  little  white  in- 
qnisitive  hands,  her  whole  sonl  is  the  vain  love 
of  adornment  and  coquetry,  and  she  can  flirt 
most  charmingly  with  her  fan.  I  would  wager 
that  her  feet  coquet  with  the  ground  on  which 
she  walks. 


JOAN  OF  ARC, 
[first  part  of  king  henry  VI.] 

Hail  to  thee,  great  German,  Schiller,  who  didst 
purify  gloriously  the  great  monumental  statue  from 
the  smutty  wit  of  Voltaire,  and  the  black  spots 
with  which  it  was  libelled  even  by  Shakespeare's 
song.^  Yes,  whether  it  was  British  national 
hatred  or  mediaeval  superstition  which  darkened 
his  mind,  our  poet  has  represented  the  heroic 
maid  as  a  witch  allied  to  the  dark  powers  of 
hell.  He  makes  her  evoke  the  demons  of  the 
underworld,  and  her  dire  and  cruel  execution  is 
justified  by  this  assumption.    A  deep  discontent  is 

^  Ben  tehwarzen  Pleeken,  die  ihm  aogar  Shakespeare  ange- 
dicAtet.  2)teAt«n,  to  compose  as  an  author.  Andiekten,  to  iayeut 
a  charge  against  one,  to  libel,  tw  impate  falaely  against. — Tran$- 
lator. 


328    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

always  in  my  mind  when  I  walk  over  the  little 
market-place  of  Rouen,  where  the  Maid  was 
bnmed,  and  where  a  bad  statue  immortalises  the 
bad  deed.  To  put  to  death  by  torture !  That 
was  your  fashion  then  towards  fallen  foes  !  Next 
after  the  rock  of  St.  Helena,  the  market-place 
of  Eouen  gives  the  most  revolting  proof  of  the 
magnanimity  of  Englishmen.  I 

Yes,  even  Shakespeare  sinned  against  the  Maid, 
and  if  he  does  not  manifest  decided  enmity,  he 
treats  the  noble  virgin  who  freed  her  fatherland 
in  a  manner  which  is  both  unfriendly  and  un- 
amiable.  And,  had  she  done  it  with  the  help  of 
hell,  she  would  have  deserved  for  it  honour  and 
admiration. 

Or  are  the  critics  in  the  right  when  they  deny 
that  the  play  in  which  the  Maid  is  introduced,  as 
well  as  the  second  and  third  parts  of  Henry  F/., 
were  not  written  by  the  great  poet  ?  They 
declare  that  this  trilogy  belongs  to  the  older 
dramas,  which  he  only  worked  over.  I  would 
gladly,  if  it  were  only  for  the  sake  of  the  Maid 
of  Orleans,  assent  to  this.  But  the  arguments 
adduced  are  not  tenable.  These  disputed  dramas 
manifest  in  many  places  far  too  decidedly  the 
perfect  stamp  of  the  genius  of  Shakespeare.*  j 

^  Heine  in  this  paper  asstimes  as  a  settled  thing  that  all  the 
details  and  truths  as  regards  Joan  of  Aro  are  perfectly  known, 
and  that  they  are  fully  set  forth  by  Schiller.     In  fact  it  is  a 


.......  i; 


MARGARET.    :  329 

MARGARET. 
[first  part  of  king  henry  vl] 

Here  we  see  the  beautiful  daughter  of  Count 
Beignier  as  yet  a  maid.  Suffolk  enters,  leading 
her  as  captive,  but  ere  he  himself  is  aware  she 

very  donbtful  matter  whether  the  Maid  was  ever  burned  at 
all,  and  whether  she  did  not  marry  and  become  the  mother  of 
a  large  family.  As  regards  witchcraft,  had  Heine  lived  in 
Shakespeare's  time  be  would  certainly  have  believed  in  it  heart 
and  BouL  But  there  is  no  proof  that  Shakespeare  was  super- 
stitious in  any  respect.  Joan  of  Arc  gave  it  out,  and  perhaps 
herself  believed,  that  she  was  visited  by  spirits,  and  in  a  credu- 
Ions  age  she  naturally  brought  upon  herself  the  charge  of  being 
a  sorceress.  Shakespeare  simply  used  the  generally  accredited 
tradition  as  a  dramatist.  Heine  appears  here  to  have  totally 
forgotten  that  in  Grermany,  long  after  the  time  of  Joan  of  Arc, 
many  thousands  of  witches,  who  did  not  pretend  to  supernatural 
gifts,  and  who  had  not  made  themselves  violently  obnoxious  to 
great  political  powers,  were  put  to  death  far  more  cruelly.  If 
the  very  doubtful  death  of  Joan  of  Arc  in  a  very  Catholic  age 
is  a  proof  of  British  barbarism,  what  do  the  witch  burnings  of 
the  Protestants  in  the  seventeenth  century  indicate  as  regards 
Grerman  humanity  I 

It  may  be  remarked  that  in  the  concluding  paragraph  Heine 
remarks  that  Shakespeare  could  not  have  worked  over  or  re- 
touched (bearbeitet)  this  play  on  Henry  YI.  because  they  bear 
'  in  many  parts "  the  VoUgeprage  or  perfect  stamp  of  his 
genius.  It  might  be  asked  to  what  purpose  he  reworked  or 
finished  up  the  dramas,  if  it  was  not  to  give  them  such  a 
stamp  or  effect?  The  whole  article  indicates  that  it  was 
intended  to  flatter  the  Germans  through  Schiller,  and  especi- 
ally to  gratify  the  French  by  abuse  of  England. 


33P    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

has  enchained  him.  He  qnite  reminds  us  of  the 
recruit  who  cried  from  the  guard-post  to  his 
captain  that  he  had  made  a  captive.  "  Bring  him 
here  then  to  me ! "  answered  his  chiefl  "  I  can't,'* 
was  the  reply,  "  for  he  won't  let  me."  * 
Suffolk  speaks : — 


**  Be  not  offended,  nati)i;*e'8  miracle, 

Thou  art  allotted  to  be  la'en  by  me  : 

So  doth  the  swan  her  downy  cygnets  save, 

Keeping  them  prisoners  underneath  her  wings. 

Yet,  if  this  servile  usage  once  offend, 

Qo  and  be  free  again  as  Suffolk's  friend. 

[She  turns  away  at  going. 
O  stay  1 — I  have  no  power  to  let  her  pass  ; 
My  hand  would  free  her,  but  my  heart  says  no. 
As  plays  the  sun  upon  the  glassy  streams, 
Twinkling  another  counterfeited  beam,  I 

So  seems  this  gorgeous  beauty  to  mine  eyes.  j 

Fain  would  I  woo  her,  yet  I  dare  not  speak  :  j 

I'll  call  for  pen  and  ink,  and  write  my  mind :  j 

Fie,  de  la  Poole  !  disable  not  thyself ; 
Hast  not  a  tongue  ?  is  she  not  here  thy  prisoner  ? 
Wilt  thou  be  daunted  at  a  woman's  sight  ? 
Ay  ;  beauty's  princely  majesty  is  such. 
Confounds  the  tongue,  and  makes  the  senses  rough. 
Mar.  Say,  Earl  of  Suffolk, — if  thy  name  be  so, — 
What  ransom  must  I  pay  before  I  pass  ? 
For,  I  perceive,  I  am  thy  prisoner. 


1  As  usnftlly  told,  the  soldier  cried  that  he  had  caught  a 
Tartar.  "Bring  him  in  then."  " He  winna  let  me  go  ! "  This 
ia  the  tuoally  accredited  seiue  of  the  saying,  "  He  baa  caught  a 
Tartar."— TraiwJator. 


i'-j^' 


^  imi       M  \1^.A...^A^ 


.^Jt « 


-  i. — .--.,?■ 


MARGARET.  331 

Suf.  How  canst  thou  tell,  she  will  deny  thy  suit, 
Before  thou  make  a  trial  of  her  love  ?  [Aside. 

Mar,  Why  speak'st  thou  not  ?  what  ransom  must  I  pay? 

Suf.  She's  beautiful ;  and  therefore  to  be  woo'd  : 
She  is  a  woman  ;  therefore  to  be  won."* 

He  at  last  finds  it  best  to  keep  the  prisoner, 
and,  wedding  her  to  his  king,  become  at  once 
her  public  subject  and  her  private  lover. 

Has  this  connection  of  Margaret  with  Suffolk 
any  historical  basis  ?  I  do  not  know.  But 
Shakespeare's  eye  of  divination  often  sees  things 
of  which  chronicles  say  nothing,  yet  are  none  the 
less  true.  He  knows  even  those  fleeting  dreams 
of  bygone  days  which  Clio  forgot  to  write.  There 
lie  perhaps  upon  the  stage  of  events  all  kinds 
of  varied  images  or  forms,  which  do  not  flit  as 
common  shadows  with  the  real  shapes,  but  come 
like  ghostly  things  upon  the  ground,  unnoted  by 
the  busy  world  of  men  who,  naught  surmising, 
carry  on  their  work.  Yet  they  are  often  visible 
enough,  as  clear  in  colour  as  distinct  in  form 
unto  the  eyes  of  seers  born  on  Sunday  whom  we 
call  poets! 

^  First  Part  of  King  Henry  VI.,  act  y.  sc  3. 


332    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

QUEEN  MARGARET. 
[second  and  third  parts  of  king  henry  VI.] 

In  this  likeness  we  see  the  same  Margaret  as 
queen,  and  as  wife  of  the  sixth  Henry.  The  bud 
has  blossomed ;  she  is  now  a  full-blown  rose, 
but  a  repulsive  worm  lies  hid  therein.  She  has 
become  a  hard-hearted,  evil-minded  woman. 
Horrible  beyond  all  comparison,  be  it  in  the 
world  of  reality  or  poetry,  is  the  scene  where 
she  gives  to  the  weeping  York  the  ghastly  hand- 
kerchief dipped  in  the  blood  of  his  son,  and 
jeering  bids  him  dry  his  tears  on  it.  The  words 
are  dreadful : — 


"  Look,  York ;  I  etain'd  this  napkin  with  the  blood 
That  valiant  ClifiFord  with  his  rapier's  point  I 

Made  issue  from  the  bosom  of  the  boy  : 
And,  if  thine  eyes  can  water  for  his  death,  '  ^ 

I  give  thee  this  to  dry  thy  cheeks  withal. 
Alas,  poor  York  !  but  that  I  hate  thee  deadly, 
I  should  lament  thy  miserable  state. 
I  pr'ythee,  grieve  to  make  me  merry,  York  ; 
Stamp,  rave,  and  fret,  that  I  may  sing  and  dance."  ^ 

Had  the  artist  who  designed  the  beautiful  Mar- 
garet for  this  gallery  represented  her  with  more 

*  Third  Part  of  King  Henry  VI.,  act  i.  so.  3. 


^UEEN  MARGARET.        y  33J 

widely  opened  lips,  we  might  have  seen  that  she 
has  teeth  like  a  beast  of  prey.^ 

In  the  next  drama,  or  in  Richard  III..,  she 
appears  as  personally  repulsive,  for  the  sharp 
teeth  have  been  broken,  she  can  no  longer  bite, 
bnt  only  ban,  and  so  as  a  ghostly  old  woman 
wanders  through  the  royal  chambers,  and  the 
toothless  old  mouth  murmurs  words  of  evil  omen 
and  execrations. 

Yet  through  her  love  for  Suflfolk— "the  wild 
Suffolk" — Shakespeare  awakes  in  us  some  spark 
of  sympathy  even  for  this  un-woman.  Sinful  or 
shameful  as  this  love  may  be,  we  cannot  deny  it 
truth  nor  earnestness.  How  rapturously  beauti- 
ful are  the  two  lovers'  parting  words,  and  what 
tenderness  in  those  of  Margaret! — 

"  Q.  Mar.  0,  let  me  entreat  thee,  cease  I    Give  me  thy 
liand, 
That  I  may  dew  it  with  my  mournful  tears ; 
Nor  let  the  rain  of  heaven  wet  this  place, 
To  wash  away  my  woful  monuments. 
O,  could  this  kiss  be  printed  in  thy  hand  ; 

\Kisse»  his  hand. 
That  thou  might* st  think  upon  these  by  the  seal. 
Through  whom  a  thousand  sighs  are  breathed  for  thee  1 
So,  get  thee  gone,  that  I  may  know  my  grief ; 
'Tis  but  surmised  whilst  thou  art  standing  by. 
As  one  that  surfeits  thinking  on  a  want. 

*  "She- wolf  of  France,  but  worse  than  wolves  of  France." 
— Third  Part  of  King  Henry  VI.,  act  I  aa  4. 


iatM 


334    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

I  will  repeal  thee,  or,  be  well  assured, 
Adventure  to  be  banished  myself : 
And  banished  I  am,  if  but  from  thee. 
Go,  speak  not  to  me  ;  even  now  be  gone. — 
0,  go  not  yet ! — Even  thus  two  friends,  condemn'd. 
Embrace,  and  kiss,  and  take  ten  thousand  leaves, 
Loather  a  hundred  times  to  part  than  die. 
Yet  now  farewell ;  and  farewell  life  with  thee  ! 
Suf.  Thus  is  poor  Suffolk  ten  times  banished. 
Once  by  the  king,  and  three  times  thrice  by  thee. 
'Tis  not  the  land  I  care  for,  wert  thou  hence  : 
A  wilderness  is  populous  enough. 
So  Suffolk  had  thy  heavenly  company  : 
For  where  thou  art,  there  is  the  world  itself^ 
With  every  several  pleasure  in  the  world  : 
And  where  thou  art  not,  desolation. 
I  can  no  more  : — Live  thou  to  joy  thy  life  ; 
Myself  no  joy  in  nought,  but  that  thou  liv*st.*  * 

And  later,  when  Margaret,  bearing  the  bloody- 
head  of  her  beloved  in  her  hand,  wails  forth  the 
wildest  despair,  she  reminds  ns  of  the  terrible 
Chrimhilda  of  the  "  Nibelungenlied."  What  iron- 
mailed  agonies  whence  all  words  of  comfort 
glance  aside  in  vain ! 

I  have  already  shown  in  the  introduction  that 
I  intended  as  regarded  the  English  historical 
dramas  of  Shakespeare  to  refrain  from  historical 
and  philosophical  reflections.  The  theme  of  those 
dramas  will  never  be  ftilly  discussed,  so  long  as 
the  strife  of  the  modem  requirements  of  indus- 

^  Second  Part  o/Kmg  Henry  VJ.,  act  iiL  aa  2. 


QUEEN  MARGARET,  3J5 

trial  development  with  tbat  of  medisBTal  fendalism 
in  all  its  varions  surviving  forms  continuea  It  is 
not  so  easy  here  as  in  the  Roman  dramas  to  express 
a  decided  opinion,  and  every  bold  free  utterance 
might  meet  with  a  dubious  or  displeased  reception. 
But  I  cannot  here  refrain  from  one  remark. 

It  is  unintelligible  to  me  how  certain  German 
commentators  take  side  with  the  English  party, 
and  that  very  decidedly,  when  they  speak  of 
those  French  wars  which  are  depicted  in  the 
dramas  of  Shakespeare.  For,  in  truth,  in  those 
wars  the  English  had  with  them  neither  justice 
nor  poetry.  For  they  partly  concealed  the  coarsest 
spirit  of  robbery  under  worthless  claims  of  suc- 
cession, and  in  part  made  war  as  mean  mercenaries 
in  the  vulgar  interests  of  mere  merchants  or  shop- 
men— just  as  they  do  to-day  in  these  our  times, 
only  that  in  the  nineteenth  century  they  deal 
more  in  coffee  and  sugar,  whereas  in  the  fourteenth 
and  fifteenth  it  was  in  sheep's  wool.^ 

Michelet,  in  that  genial  work,  his  "History  of 
France,"  remarks  very  truly : — 

"  The  secret  of  the  battles  of  Cressy,  Poitiers, 
&c.,  is  to  be  sought  in  the  counting-houses  of  the 
merchants  of  London,  of  Bordeaux  and  Bruges. 
.  .  .  Wool  and  meat  founded  the  original  Eng- 

'  Or,  as  men  say  in  the  American  stock-market,  "lamba," 
meaning  victims.  The  allusion  may  be  taken  to  drawing  the 
wool  over  one's  eyes,  to  blind  a  victim  to  its  fate,  aa  well  at  to 
literal  trade  in  wool. — Translator. 


336    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

land,  and  the  English  race.  Before  England 
became  a  great  woollen-mill  and  iron  factory  for 
the  whole  world,  it  was  a  meat  factory.  From  the 
earliest  times  this  race  busied  itself  with  cattle- 
raising  and  nourished  itself  with  meat.  Hence 
the  freshness  of  complexion  of  this  (snub-nosed  and 
back-of-the-head-less)  beauty.  May  I  here  be  per- 
mitted to  mention  a  personal  experience.  j 

"I  had  seen  London  and  a  great  part  of 
England  and  Scotland;  I  had  stared  with  amaze- 
ment at  more  than  I  had  understood.  And  it 
was  on  my  return  journey,  as  I  went  from  York 
to  Manchester,  cutting  across  the  breadth  of  the 
island,  that  I  first  began  to  form  a  true  idea  of 
England.  It  was  a  damp,  foggy  morning,  when 
the  country  seemed  not  to  be  merely  surrounded 
but  inundated  by  the  ocean.  A  pale  sun  hardly 
lit  up  half  the  landscape.  The  new  tile-red 
houses  would  have  contrasted  harshly  with  the 
sap-green  banks  if  these  screaming  colours  had 
not  been  subdued  by  the  fleeting  sea-mists.  Fat 
farm  meadows,  covered  with  sheep,  over-topped 
by  the  flaming  chimneys  of  factoriea  Cattle- 
raising,  agriculture,  industry,  all  were  crowded 
together  in  this  little  space,  one  over  the  other, 
one  feeding  the  other — the  grass  fed  by  the  fog, 
the  sheep  by  the  grass,  and  man  by  blood. 

"Man  in  this  devouring  climate,  where  he  is 
always  tormented  by  hunger,  can  only  sustain  life 


QUEEN  MARGARET,  y         C         337 

by  hard  work.  Nature  compels  him  to  it.  But 
he  knows  how  to  revenge  himself  on  her;  he 
compels  her  to  work,  and  snbdnes  her  with  iron 
and  fire.  All  England  pants  with  this  strife. 
Man  there  seems  to  be  enraged,  and  as  if  beside 
himself  See  yon  red  face,  that  wildly  gleaming 
eye!  One  might  suppose  that  he  was  drunk. 
But  his  head  and  hand  are  firm  and  sure.  He 
is  only  intoxicated  with  blood  and  strength.  He 
manages  himself  like  a  steam-machine,  which  he 
crams  to  excess  with  fuel,  to  get  from  it  as  much 
work  and  speed  as  is  possible. 

"  During  the  middle  ages  the  Englishman  was 
much  the  same  as  he  now  is,  far  too  well  fed,  driven 
to  trade,  and  warlike  when  industrial  pursuits 
were  wanting. 

"England,  though  vigorously  pursuing  agri- 
culture and  cattle-raising,  did  not  then  manufac- 
ture. The  English  produced  the  raw  material, 
other  people  turned  it  to  profit.  Wool  was  on 
one  side  of  the  Channel  and  workmen  on  the 
other.  But  while  princes  quarrelled  and  fought, 
the  English  cattle-dealer  and  the  Flemish  cloth- 
factors  lived  in  the  best  accord,  and  in  an  undis- 
turbed alliance.  The  French,  who  wished  to  break 
this  bond  of  union,  atoned  for  the  beginning  of 
it  with  a  hundred  years  of  war.*     The  English 

^  Heine  has  previously  declared  that  the  English  begun  these 
wars,  vide  p.  331. — Translator. 

-:    r  :  \ 


338    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

kings  wished  to  conquer  France,  but  the  people 
wanted  only  freedom  of  trade,  free  ports,  free 
markets  for  English  wool.  Gathered  round  a 
great  wool-sack,  the  commons  consulted  over  the 
king's  demands,  and  willingly  granted  him  sub- 
sidies and  armies.  I 

"  Such  a  mixture  of  industry  and  chivalry  im- 
parts a  strange  and  wonderful  aspect  to  all  the 
history  of  the  time.  That  Edward  who  swore  on 
the  Round  Table  a  proud  oath  to  conquer  France, 
those  solemn  and  silly  knights  who  in  pursuance 
of  their  vows  covered  one  eye  with  red  cloth, 
were  not,  however,  such  fools  as  to  go  to  war  at 
their  own  expense.  The  pious  innocence  of  the 
Crusaders  was  no  longer  in  keeping  with  the  age. 
These  knights  were  in  reality  mercenaries,  paid 
mercantile  agents,  and  armed  and  armoured  com- 
mercial travellers  for  the  merchants  of  London 
and  Ghent.  Edward  himself  was  obliged  to  give 
pledges,  to  lay  aside  all  pride,  to  flatter  the 
clothier  and  weaver  guilds,  to  hold  out  his  hand 
to  his  gossip  the  beer  brewer  Artevelde,  and  mount 
the  desk  of  a  cattle-dealer  to  address  the  multitude. 

"  The  English  tragedies  of  the  fourteenth  cen- 
tury have  very  comical  sides.  There  is  always 
something  of  Falstafi"  in  their  noblest  knights. 
In  France,  in  Italy,  in  Spain,  in  the  fair  lands 
of  the  South,  they  always  show  themselves  as 
rapacious  and  gluttonous  as  they  are  brave.     It  is 


...:■"'•] 


QUEEN  MARGARET,  3» 

Hercules,  the  devourer  of  oxen.  They  came  to 
devour  the  land,  in  the  literal  sense  of  the  word. 
Bat  the  land  retaliates  and  conquers  them  with 
fruit  and  wine.  Their  princes  and  armies  surfeit 
themselves  with  food  and  drink,  and  die  of  indi- 
gestion and  dysentery." 

Compare  with  these  hired  and  gluttonous  heroes 
the  French,  that  most  temperate  race,  which  was 
less  intoxicated  with  its  wine  than  by  innate  en- 
thusiasm. This,  indeed,  was  the  cause  of  their 
misfortune,  and  so  we  can  see  how  it  happened  that 
even  in  the  middle  of  the  fourteenth  century  they, 
by  the  very  excess  of  chivalry,  succumbed  to  the 
English  foa  It  was  at  Cressy  where  the  French 
appear  more  glorious  in  their  defeat  than  do  the 
English  by  their  victory,  which  they  in  unknightly 
fashion  gained  by  employing  infantry.  Hitherto 
war  had  been  only  a  great  tournament  of  knights 
of  equal  birth;  at  Cressy  this  romantic  cavalry, 
this  poetry,  was  disgracefully  shot  down  by  modem 
infantry,  by  prose  in  strongest  disciplined  order  of 
battle — yes,  even  cannon  here  appear.  The  grey- 
bearded  King  of  Bohemia,  who,  blind  and  old,  was 
in  this  battle  as  a  vassal  of  France,  marked  well 
that  a  new  era  had  begun,  that  all  was  at  an  end 
with  chivalry,  that  in  future  the  man  on  horseback 
would  be  beaten  by  the  man  on  foot,  and  so  said 
to  his  knights :  *  I  beg  you  most  earnestly,  carry 
me  so  far  into  the  fight,  that  I  may  once  more 


340    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

strike  one  good  blow  with  my  sword !  *  They 
obeyed  him,  bound  their  horses  to  his,  rushed ; 
with  him  headlong  into  the  wildest  of  the  fray, 
and  the  next  morning  all  were  found  dead  on 
their  dead  horses,  all  still  bound  together.  And 
as  this  King  of  Bohemia  perished  with  his  knights, 
so  the  French  fell  at  Cressy ;  they  died — but  on 
horseback.  England  won  the  victory,  France  the 
fame.  Yes,  even  in  their  defeat,  the  French  cast 
their  conquerors  into  the  shade.  The  triumphs 
of  the  English  are  ever  a  shame  to  humanity, 
from  the  days  of  Cressy  and  Poitiers  to  that  of 
Waterloo.  Clio  is  always  a  woman  in  spite  of  her 
impartial  coolness,  she  is  sensitive  to  knighthood 
and  heroism,  and  I  am  convinced  that  it  is  with 
gnashing  teeth  that  she  inscribes  in  her  tablets 
the  victories  of  England.^  i 

^  Of  this  chapter  it  may  be  said  emphatically,  "  fine  writing 
but  foolish."  For  there  can  be  no  greater  folly  than  to  rake  into 
the  remote  past  for  reasons  to  ridicule  the  present  conditions  of 
society,  which  are  now  entirely  changed.  And  when  we  con- 
sider that  all  this  exaltation  of  pure  aristocracy  and  chivalry 
over  base  mechanicals  and  mere  money-making  merchants  comes 
from  Heine,  who  elsewhere  modestly  requests  the  world  to  lay 
a  sword  on  his  grave  because  he  had  been  such  a  brave  soldier 
in  the  war  against  aristocracy  and  ancient  wrongs  in  the  cause 
of  the  people,  this  abuse  of  the  English  for  not  being  knightly 
is  simply  comic.  But  when  we  find  him  wailing  over  the  first 
great  manifestation  of  the  power  of  the  people  in  the  employ- 
ment of  infantry  at  Cressy,  and  speaking  with  blue-blooded, 
bitter  scorn  of  vulgar  foot- soldiers  and  cannon,  the  inconsistency 
rises  to  broad  absurdity.  Our  author  asserts  that  in  this  battle 
the  victory  was  with  the  English  and  its  glory  to  the  French ; 


LADY  GREY.  l*! 

LADY  GREY. 

[third  part  of  king  henry  vr.] 

She  was  a  poor  widow  who  came  trembling  before 
King  Edward,  and  begged  him  to  restore  to  her 
children  the  small  estate  which,  after  the  death 
of  her  husband,  had  reverted  to  the  enemy.  The 
licentious  king,  who  could  not  stir  her  chastity, 
was  so  enchanted  by  her  beauty,  that  he  placed 
the  crown  on  her  head.  Her  history,  known  to 
all  the  world,  announces  how  much  misery  to 
both  came  from  this  match. 

Did  Shakespeare  really  describe  the  character 
of  this  king  with  strict  regard  to  history  ?  Here 
I  must  repeat  the  remark  that  he  perfectly  under- 
stood how  to  fill  historical  gaps.  His  royal  char- 
acters are  all  drawn  with  such  truth,  that,  as  an 
English  writer  remarked,  we  might  often  suppose 
that  he  had  been  all  his  life  the  Chancellor  of  the 
monarch  whom  he  makes  act  in  many  dramas. 
My  own  memories  of  the  striking  similarity  be- 
but  in  truth  it  was  a  double  victory  and  glory  to  the  former;  one 
over  the  enemy,  and  another  and  far  more  glorious  over  the  old 
order  of  things,  in  which  all  renown  was  for  the  few  and  none 
for  the  many.  It  was  absolutely  this  battle  which  has  since 
made  England  victorious  in  a  thousand  fields,  and  it  was  the 
rise  of  the  "wool-growers  and  merchants,"  or  of  the  middle 
class,  which  sustained  and  supported  the  national  military  spirit. 
>—Trandaior. 


•  .    ..   n.  ^-tl* 


342     SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 


tween  his  ancient  kings,  and  certain  kings  of  the 
present  day,  whom  as  contemporaries  we  can  best 
judge,  are  tests  of  hig  truth  to  life.  I 

What  Friederich  Schlegel  says  of  the  writer 
of  history  holds  good  of  our  poet.  He  is  a 
prophet  looking  into  the  past.  Were  it  per- 
missible to  hold  the  mirror  up  to  one  of  the 
greatest  of  our  crowned  contemporaries,  every 
one  would  perceive  that  Shakespeare  made  out 
his  public  notification^  two  hundred  years  ago. 
In  fact,  when  we  contemplate  this  great,  admir- 
able, and  certainly  also  glorious  monarch,  a 
certain  strange  thrill  comes  over  us,  such  as  we 
might  experience  should  we  in  broad  daylight 
meet  a  form  which  we  had  before  seen  only  in 
nightly  dreams.  When  we  saw  him  eight  years 
ago,  riding  through  the  streets  bare-headed, 
humbly  greeting  all  on  every  side,  we  thought 
continually  of  the  passage  in  which  York  describes 
Bolingbroke's  entry  to  London.  His  cousin,  the 
later  Richard  IL,  knew  him  well,  studied  him  closely, 
and  expressed  himself  once  very  accurately : —     i 

"  Ourself,  and  Bushy,  Bagot  here,  and  Green,  ' 

Observed  his  courtship  to  the  common  people  : —       i 
How  he  did  seem  to  dive  into  their  hearts, 
With  humble  and  familiar  courtesy  ; 
What  reverence  he  did  throw  away  on  slaves  ; 


^  Steekbrief,   writ    of    arrest,   the    public    notice  of  a  run- 
away, including  a  description  of  him. 


LADY  GREY.  343 

Wooing  poor  craftsmen,  with  the  craft  of  smiles, 

And  patient  underbearing  of  his  fortune. 

As  'twere,  to  banish  their  eflFects  with  him. 

Oflf  goes  his  bonnet  to  an  oyster- wench  ; 

A  brace  of  draymen  bid — God  speed  him  well. 

And  had  the  tribute  of  his  supple  knee, 

With — Thanks,  my  countrymen,  my  loving  frienis  i — 

As  were  our  England  in  reversion  his, 

And  he  our  subjects' next  degree  in  hope."* 

Yes,  the  likeness  is  startling.  The  present 
Bolingbroke  develops  himself  before  our  eyes 
accurately  like  the  one  of  yore  who,  after  the 
fall  of  his  royal  cousin,  mounted  the  throne,  and 
little  by  little  made  firm  his  seat — a  clever,  crafty 
hero,  a  creeping  giant,  a  Titan  of  dissimulation, 
terribly,  yes,  tremendously  calm,  the  claws  in  a 
velvet  glove,  and  while  caressing  vrith  it  and  cajol- 
ing public  opinion,  watching  his  prey  far  in  the 
distance,  and  never  leaping  on  it  till  it  is  near. 
May  he  ever  conquer  his  blustering  enemies,  and 
keep  peace  in  his  kingdom  until  the  hour  of  his 
death,  when  he  may  address  his  son  in  the  words 
which  Shakespeare  long  ago  wrote  for  him : — 

"  Come  hither,  Harry,  sit  thou  by  my  bed  ; 
And  hear,  I  think,  the  very  latest  counsel, 
That  ever  I  shall  breathe.     Heaven  knows,  my  son, 
By  what  by-paths,  and  indirect  crook'd  ways, 
I  met  this  crown  :  and  I  myself  know  well. 
How  troublesome  it  sat  upon  my  head  : 

*  King  Richard  II.,  act  i.  sc.  4. 


344    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 


To  thee  it  shall  descend  with  better  quiet, 

Better  opinion,  better  confinnation ; 

For  all  the  &oil  of  the  achievement  goes 

With  me  into  the  earth.    It  seem'd  in  me, 

But  as  an  honour  snatch'd  with  boisterous  hand  ; 

And  I  had  many  living,  to  upbraid 

My  gain  of  it  by  their  assistances  ; 

Which  daily  grew  to  quarrel,  and  to  bloodshed. 

Wounding  supposed  peace  :  all  these  bold  fears, 

Thou  seest,  with  peril  I  have  answered  : 

For  all  my  reign  hath  been  but  as  a  scene 

Acting  that  argument ;  and  now  my  death 

Changes  the  mode  ;  for  what  in  me  was  purchased. 

Falls  upon  thee  in  a  more  fairer  sort ; 

So  thou  the  garland  wear'st  successively. 

Yet,  though  thou  stand'st  more  sure  than  I  could  do. 

Thou  art  not  firm  enough,  since  griefs  are  green  ; 

And  all  my  friends,  which  thou  must  make  thy  friends, 

Have  but  their  stings  and  teeth  newly  ta'en  out ; 

By  whose  fell  working  I  was  first  advanced. 

And  by  whose  power  I  well  might  lodge  a  fear 

To  be  again  displaced  :  which  to  avoid, 

I  cut  them  off ;  and  had  a  purpose  now 

To  lead  out  many  to  the  Holy  Land ; 

Lest  rest,  and  lying  still,  might  make  them  look 

Too  near  unto  my  state.     Therefore,  my  Harry, 

Be  it  thy  course,  to  busy  giddy  minds 

With  foreign  quarrels  ;  that  action,  hence  borne  out, 

May  waste  the  memory  of  the  former  days. 

More  would  I,  but  my  lungs  are  wasted  so. 

That  strength  of  speech  is  utterly  denied  me. 

How  I  came  by  the  crown,  O  God,  forgive  ! 

And  grant  it  may  with  thee  in  true  peace  live  ! "  * 

*  Firtt  Part  of  King  Henry  IV.,  act  iv.  so.  4. 


LADY  ANNE.  345 

LADY  ANNE. 

[king   RICHARD   III.] 

The  favour  of  fair  women,  like  fortune,  is  a  free 
gift — we  receive  it  without  knowing  how  or  why. 
But  there  are  men  who  know  how  to  force  it  with 
iron  will  from  fate,  and  these  attain  their  aim 
either  by  flattery  or  inspiring  terror  in  women, 
by  awaking  their  sympathy,  or  by  artfully  giving 
them  opportunities  to  sacrifice  themselves.  This 
last — that  is,  self-sacrifice — is  the  favourite  part 
of  women  in  the  play  of  love,  for  it  sets  them  off 
so  well  before  the  world,  and  assures  them  so 
many  raptures  of  tears  and  woe  when  alone. 

Lady  Anne  is  impelled  by  all  these  forces  at 
once.  Words  of  flattery  flow  like  virgin  honey 
from  his  terrible  lips.  Richard  flatters  her — that 
same  Richard  who  inspires  her  with  all  the  horrors 
of  hell — he  who  has  murdered  her  loved  husband, 
and  the  paternal  friend  whose  corpse  she  is  accom- 
panying to  the  grave.  He  commands  the  pall- 
bearers with  imperious  voice  to  set  down  the  coffin, 
and  at  this  moment  begins  to  woo  the  beautiful 
sufferer.  The  lamb  sees  with  dread  the  gnashing 
teeth  of  the  wolf — but  the  terror  at  once  tunes  his 
voice  to  the  sweetest  sounds  of  flattery,  and  this 
flattery  from  a  wolf  works  so  prevailingly,  so  like 


346    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

intoxication  on  the  poor  lamb's  soul,  that  every 
feeling  in  it  is  reversed. 

And  King  Richard  speaks  of  his  sufferings, 
of  his  grief,  so  that  Anne  cannot  withhold  her 
pity,  all  the  more  because  this  wild  being  is  far 
from  being  of  a  plaintive  nature.  .  .  .  And  this 
wretched  murderer  has  qualms  of  conscience — 
speaks  of  repentance— a  good  woman  might  per- 
haps lead  him  to  the  better  path  if  she  would 
sacrifice  herself  for  him!  And  so  Anne  deter- 
mines to  be  Queen  of  England. 


QUEEN  KATHARINE. 

[king   henry   VIII.] 

I  CHERISH  an  insuperable  prejudice  against  this 
queen,  to  whom  I  must,  however,  ascribe  every 
virtue.  As  a  wife  she  was  a  pattern  of  domestic 
fidelity.  As  queen  she  bore  her  part  with  the 
highest  dignity  and  majesty.  As  a  Christian  she 
was  piety  itself.  But  Doctor  Samuel  Johnson 
was  inspired  by  her  to  the  most  extravagantly 
soaring  laudation.  She  is,  among  all  Shake- 
speare's women,  his  choicest  darling ;  he  speaks 
of  her  with  tenderness  and  emotion  .  .  and  that 


QUEEN  KATHARINE.  347 

is  intolerable.  Shakespeare  has  employed  all 
the  might  of  his  genius  to  glorify  her,  but  all 
this  is  in  vain  when  we  see  that  Doctor  John- 
son, that  great  pot  of  porter,  falls  into  sweet 
rapture  at  her  sight  and  foams  with  eulogy. 
If  she  had  been  my  wife  such  praise  would 
have  induced  me  to  get  a  divorce.  Perhaps  it 
was  not  the  charms  of  Anna  BuUen  which  tore 
the  poor  king  from  her,  but  the  enthusiasm  with 
which  some  Doctor  Johnson  of  the  time  spoke 
of  the  faithful,  dignified,  and  pious  Katharine. 
Did  Thomas  More,  perhaps,  who,  with  all  his 
surpassing  excellence  was  rather  pedantic,  hide- 
bound, and  indigestible— even  as  Doctor  Johnson 
was — exalt  the  queen  too  much  towards  heaven  ? 
The  brave  Chancellor,  however,  paid  rather  too 
dearly  for  his  enthusiasm ;  the  king  exalted  him 
for  it  to  heaven  itself. 

I  do  not  really  know  at  which  I  am  most 
amazed — ^that  Katharine  endured  her  husband 
for  fifteen  years,  or  that  he  so  long  put  up  with 
her  ?  The  king  was  not  only  very  full  of  whims, 
irritable,  and  in  constant  contradiction  with  all 
his  wife's  inclinations — that  is  common  enough 
in  marriages,  which,  however,  endure  in  admir- 
able fashion  till  death  makes  an  end  of  all — 
but  the  king  was  also  a  musician  and  theologian, 
and  both  to  perfect  wretchedness!  I  heard  not 
long  ago,  as  a  delightful  curiosity,  a  choral  com- 


348    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

posed  by  him,  which  was  quite  as  bad  as  hia 
treatise,  Be  Septem  SacramerUis.  He  certainly  did 
bore  his  poor  wife  terribly  with  his  mnsical  com- 
positions and  theological  authorship.  The  best  in 
Henr^  was  his  feeling  for  plastic  art,  and  it  may 
be  that  his  worst  sympathies  and  antipathies 
were  due  to  his  predilection  for  the  beautiful 
Katharine  of  Arragon  was  still  attractive  in  her 
twenty -fourth  year  when  Henry  at  eighteen 
married  her,  though  she  was  the  widow  of  his 
brother.  But  her  beauty  in  all  probability  did 
not  increase  with  years,  all  the  more  since  she, 
from  pious  motives,  chastised  the  flesh  with  flagella- 
tion, fasting,  vigils,  and  afflictions  sore.  Her  hus- 
band bewailed  bitterly  these  ascetic  practices,  and 
truly  they  would  have  been  a  source  of  despera- 
tion to  any  of  us. 

And  there  is  something  else  which  strengthens 
my  prejudice  against  this  queen.  She  was  the 
daughter  of  Isabella  of  Castile,  and  the  mother 
of  Bloody  Mary.  What  could  come  from  a  tree 
which  grew  from  such  sinful  seed,  and  which  bore 
such  evil  fruit  ?  i 

And  though  we  find  in  history  no  evidences  of 
her  cruelty,  still  the  wild  pride  of  her  race  breaks 
out  on  every  opportunity  where  she  will  vindicate 
her  rank  or  press  its  claims.  In  spite  of  her 
long-practised  Christian  humility,  she  bursts  into 
almost  heathen  wrath  when  any  one  offends  the 


QUEEN  KATHARINE.  :;      349 

etiquette  due  to  her,  or  refuses  her  the  queenly 
title.  Even  to  death  she  retains  this  unquench- 
able pride,  and  Shakespeare  himself  gives  these  as 
her  last  words — 

"Embalm  me, 
Then  lay  me  forth  :  although  unqueen'd,  yet  like 
'  .    A  queen,  and  daughter  to  a  king,  inter  me. 
I  can  no  more."  ^ 


1  This  paper  suggests  the  reflection  that  to  Heine 
every  woman  who  disregarded  the  seventh  command- 
ment was  an  angel,  and  every  one  who  kept  it  a  devil. 
He  finds  something  divine,  adorable,  or  attractive  in 
Tamora,  Cressida,  and  Cleopatra,  even  in  Margaret,  but 
Queen  Katharine  is  to  him  altogether  repulsive.  And 
all  her  great  and  noble  qualities  are  to  him  absolutely 
nothing — because  Doctor  Samuel  Johnson  admired  her ! 
All  the  power  of  Shakespeare's  genius,  he  declares, 
failed  to  exalt  her,  because  "  this  great  pot  of  porter  " 
praised  her.  Call  you  this  criticism  %  It  is  not  even 
excellent  fooling,  it  is  the  fade  frolicking  of  a  fresh- 
man trying  to  seem  wicked,  while  the  suggestions  that 
Henry  bored  his  wife  with  his  accomplishments,  and 
she  him  with  her  virtues,  are  wretchedly  forced  fun 
of  a  kind  which  "has  not  even  novelty  for  merit." 
This  misapplied  trifling  is  carried  out  to  the  very 
end,  for  the  last  words  of  Queen  Katharine,  as  given 
in  full  in  the  original  text,  are  inspired  with  anything 
but  the  heathen  wrath  and  evil  pride  which  Heine 


350    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

directly  declares  are  to  be  found  in  them.     They  ar« 
as  follows  : — 

"  I  thank  you,  honest  lord.     Remember  me 
In  all  humility  unto  his  highness  : 
Say,  his  long  trouble  now  is  passing 
Out  of  this  world  :  tell  him,  in  death  I  bleaa'd  him. 
For  so  I  will. — Mine  eyes  grow  dim. — Farewell, 
My  lord. — Griffith,  farewell — Nay,  Patience, 
You  must  not  leave  me  yet.     I  must  to  bed  ; 
Call  in  more  women. — When  I  am  dead,  good  wench. 
Let  me  be  used  with  honour  ;  strew  me  over  j 

With  maiden  flowers,  that  all  the  world  may  know  j 

I  was  a  chaste  wife  to  my  grave  :  embalm  me, 
Then  lay  me  forth  :  although  unqueen'd,  yet  like 
A  queen,  and  daughter  to  a  king,  inter  me. 
I  can  no  more."  ^ 

Truly  a  singular  specimen  of  heathen  wrath  and 
unquenchable  pride  i  Even  the  garbling  or  misrepre- 
sentation is  very  bunglingly  done,  for  the  Queen 
declares  that  she  has  no  longer  the  title,  but  simply 
wishes  to  be  buried  as  becomes  one  of  her  royal  birth 
— only  this  and  nothing  more — not  as  a  queen,  but 
like  one.  The  heathen  wrath  is  here  all  on  the  side  of 
Heine.  He  was  a  great  genius  and  a  learned  scholar, 
but  he  had  his  limits,  and  a  character  like  that  of 
Katharine  was  as  much  out  of  his  range  of  compre- 
hension as  his  would  have  been  to  her. — Translator. 

*  King  Henry  VIII.,  act  iv.  sc  2.  | 


ANNE  BULLEN.         ,  J$I 

ANNE  BULLEN, 

[king   HENRY  VIII.] 

It  is  generally  believed  that  King  Henry's  gnaw- 
ings  of  conscience  for  his  marriage  with  Katharine 
were  due  to  the  charms  of  the  beautiful  Anne. 
Even  Shakespeare  betrays  this  opinion,  and  when 
the  new  queen  appears  in  the  coronation  pro- 
cession he  puts  these  words  into  the  mouth  of  a 
young  nobleman : — 

"  Heaven  bless  thee  ! 
Thou  hast  the  sweetest  face  I  ever  look'd  on. — 
Sir,  as  I  have  a  soul,  she  is  an  angel ; 
Our  king  has  all  the  Indies  in  his  arms, 
And  more,  and  richer,  when  he  strains  that  lady  ; 
I  cannot  blame  his  conscience."^ 

The  poet  also  gives  us  an  idea  of  the  beauty  of 
Anne  Bullen  in  the  next  scene,  where  he  depicts 
the  enthusiasm  which  her  appearance  at  the 
coronation  produced. 

How  deeply  Shakespeare  was  devoted  to  his 
sovereign,  the  stately  Elizabeth,  shows  itself 
perhaps  most  beautifully  in  the  precision  of 
detail  with  which  he  represents  the  coronation 
of  her  mother.     All  of  these  details  gave  colour 

^  King  Henry  VIII.^  act  iv.  sc.  i.  It  is  remarkable  that  a 
passage  extremely  like  this  occurs  in  a  poem  by  one  of  the 
earlier  Icelandic  skalds.  Vide  notes  to  Tborstens  Saga.  Also 
another  in  the  Carmina  Burana. 


352    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

and  sanction  to  the  royal  rights  of  the  daughter, 
and  the  poet  well  knew  how  to  make  the  con- 
tested legitimacy  of  his  qaeen  clear  to  the  entire 
publia  And  this  queen  deserved  such  zealous 
attachment.  She  thought  it  no  sacrifice  of 
queenly  dignity  when  she  authorised  the  poet 
to  present  on  the  stage  with  absolute  impartiality 
all  her  ancestors  and  even  her  own  father.  And 
it  was  not  only  as  a  queen  but  as  a  woman  that 
she  proved  she  would  never  encroach  on  the 
rights  of  poetry,  and  as  she  had  granted  our 
poet  the  greatest  liberty  of  speech  in  political 
matters,  so  she  permitted  him  the  boldest  ex- 
pression as  to  the  relations  of  the  sexes.  She 
was  not  shocked  at  the  most  reckless  jests  of  a 
healthy  sensuality,  and  she,  "  the  maiden  queen," 
the  royal  virgin,  even  requested  that  Sir  John 
Falstaff  should  show  himself  as  a  lover.  To 
her  smiling  nod  ^  we  owe  the  Merry  Wives  of 
Windsor. 

Shakespeare  could  not  have  brought  his  English 
historical  dramas  to  a  better  conclusion  than  by 
having  the  new-born  infant,  Elizabeth,  carried 
over  the  stage — the  glorious  future  of  England  in 
swaddling-clothea  [ 

But  did  Shakespeare  really  depict  to  the  life 
Henry  VIII.,  the  father  of  his   queen?     Yes, 

^    Wink,  a  sign   of   intelligence,   nod,   hint,   or  vcink.     I« 
German  a  nod  is  truly  "as  good  as  a  wink." — TraniUUor.  \ 


^' 


ClJ- 


ANNE  BULLEN. 

for  thongh  he  did  not  set  forth  the  trath  so 
vigorously,  or  in  such  harsh  utterances  as  in  his 
other  dramas,  he  did  at  least  present  it  fairly  and 
honestly,  and  the  subdued  tone  only  makes  the 
shadows  more  impressive.  This  Henry  "VTIl. 
was  the  worst  of  all  kings,  for  while  other  evil 
princes  only  raged  against  their  foes,  he  was 
furious  at  his  friends,  and  his  love  was  even  more 
dangerous  than  his  hatred.  The  matrimonial 
history  of  this  royal  Bluebeard  is  horrible.  And 
with  all  its  horrors  he  mingled  a  certain  imbecile 
and  cruel  gallantry.  When  he  ordered  the  execu- 
tion of  Anne  Bullen  he  sent  her  word  that  he  had 
provided  for  it  the  best  headsman  in  all  England. 
The  Queen  thanked  him  obsequiously  for  such 
a  delicate  attention,  and  in  her  trifling,  merry 
manner,  spanned  her  throat  with  both  hands  and 
said,  "It  will  be  easy  to  behead  me,  for  I  have 
but  a  little  neck ! " 

Nor  is  the  axe  with  which  she  was  decapitated 
a  very  large  one.  It  was  shown  me  in  the 
armoury  of  the  Tower,  and  as  I  held  it  in  my 
hands  a  strange  thought  struck  me. 

"If  I  were  Queen  of  England,  I  would  have 
that  axe  sunk  in  the  depths  of  the  sea." 


3S4    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

LADY  MACBETH. 

[MACBETH.] 

I  TURN  from  the  anthentic  historical  drama  to 
those  tragedies  whose  plots  are  either  purely 
invented  or  else  drawn  from  old  legends  and 
romancea  Macbeth  forms  a  transition  to  such 
poems,  in  which  the  genius  of  the  great  Shake- 
speare spreads  its  wings  most  freely  and  boldly. 
The  substance  of  it  is  taken  from  an  old  legend, 
it  does  not  belong  to  history,  and  yet  the  drama 
makes  some  demand  on  historical  faith,  because 
the  ancestor  of  the  royal  house  of  England  played 
a  part  in  it.  For  Macbeth  was  first  played  before 
James  I.,  who,  as  is  well  known,  descended  from 
the  Scottish  Banquo.  In  this  relation  the  poet 
has  interwoven  several  prophecies  in  honour  of 
the  reigning  dynasty. 

Macbeth  is  a  favourite  subject  with  critics,  who 
here  find  opportunity  enough  to  set  forth  in 
widest  opposition  their  views  as  to  the  antique 
fatalistic  tragedies  in  comparison  with  concep- 
tion of  fate  by  modem  tragediana  On  this  sub- 
ject I  will  make  merely  a  fleeting  remark. 

Shakespeare's  idea  of  destiny  differs  from  that 
of  the  ancients,  just  as  the  prophetic  sorceresses 
who  in  the  Norse  legend  meet  Macbeth  promis- 


LADY  MACBETH.  355 

ing  sovereignty,  differ  from  the  witch-sisterhood 
which  appears  in  Shakespeare's  tragedy.  Those 
wondrons  women  in  the  Northern  tale  are  plainly 
Valkyries,  terrible  divinities  of  the  air,  who, 
sweeping  over  battle-fields,  determine  victory  or 
defeat,  and  who  are  to  be  regarded  as  the  true 
directresses  of  human  destiny,  the  last,  in  the 
warlike  North,  being  dependent  on  the  issue  of 
battle.  Shakespeare  changed  these  into  mischief- 
making  witches,  stripped  them  of  all  the  terrible 
grace  and  charm  of  Northern  enchantment,  made 
of  them  hybrid  half-women  who  practise  tremen- 
dous ghostly  delusions,  and  brew  destruction  from 
malicious  mischief  or  at  the  bidding  of  hell.  They 
are  servants  of  the  evil  one,  and  he  who  is  be- 
fooled by  their  sayings  goes  body  and  soul  to 
destruction.  Shakespeare  has  therefore  trans- 
lated the  old  heathenish  deities  of  fate  and  their 
dignified  magic  blessing  into  Christian,  and  the 
ruin  of  his  hero  is  therefore  not  a  predetermined 
necessity,  or  something  absolutely  and  sternly 
unavoidable,  as  in  the  ancient  fate,  but  the  result 
of  those  allurements  of  hell  which  cast  their  nets 
around  the  human  heart  Macbeth  succumbs  to 
Satan,  the  prime  eviL^ 

It  is  interesting  to  compare  the  witches  of 
Shakespeare  with  those  of  other  English  poets. 
We  observe  that  Shakespeare  afber  all  could  not 

i  Dem  TJrboao). 


356    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

free  himself  from  the  old  heathen  view,  and  his 
magic  sisters  are  far  more  strikingly  grand  and 
respectable  than  those  of  Middleton,  who  show 
far  more  a  meanly  malicious,  beggarly  nature, 
who  practise  smaller  and  more  spiteful  tricks, 
who  vex  the  body  but  have  far  less  power  over 
the  soul,  and  at. their  utmost  can  only  crust  our 
hearts  over  with  envy,  spite,  lust,  or  wantonness, 
or  similar  skin  eruptions  on  the  heart. 

The  notoriety  of  Lady  Macbeth,  who  for  two 
centuries  passed  for  a  very  bad  character,  about 
twelve  years  ago  in  Germany  took  a  turn  in  her 
favour.  The  pious  Franz  Horn — videlicet — made 
the  remark  in  the  "  Conversations -Lexicon  of 
Brockhaus"  that  the  poor  lady  had  been  quite 
misunderstood,  that  she  was  devotedly  attached 
to  her  husband,  and,  above  all,  was  really  a  re- 
markably amiable  person.  Herr  Ludwig  Tieck 
soon  after  supported  this  view  with  all  his  science, 
erudition,  and  philosophical  depth,  so  that  it  was 
not  long  before  we  saw  Madame  Stich  on  the 
royal  court  stage,  cooing  and  turtle-doveing  so 
feelingly,  that  every  heart  in  Berlin  was  touched 
by  such  tones  of  tenderness,  and  many  a  lovely 
eye  was  moved  to  tears  at  the  sight  of  that  dear 
sweet  Macbeth.^  This  happened,  as  I  said,  twelve 
years  ago,  in  the  soft  times  of  the  B«storation 
when  we  all  had   so   much  love  in  our  hearta 

1  Beim  AriUick  der  jrUen  Maebeth.    Berlin  proviacialism.— 
Ttxm$l<Uor. 


LADY  MACBETH,  357 

Since  then  there  has  been  a  great  bankruptcy, 
and  if  we  do  not  now  allot  to  many  crowned 
personages  the  transcendent  love  which  they  de- 
serve, those  people  are  to  blame  who,  like  the 
Queen  of  Scotland  in  the  period  of  the  Eestora- 
tion,  made  utter  booty  of  our  hearts. 

Whether  men  still  defend  in  Germany  the 
amiability  of  this  lady,  I  do  not  know.  Since 
the  revolution  of  July  many  views  of  many  things 
have  greatly  changed,  and  it  may  be  that  even 
in  Berlin  they  have  learned  to  perceive  that  that 
dear  nice  Lady  Macbeth  may  be  an  awfully  horrid 
beast,  don'cher  know.^ 


In  this  paper  our  author  has  a  little  too  authori- 
tatively, though  very  ingeniously,  set  forth  a  theory  of 
Macbeth,  which  will  hardly  bear  examination.  That 
the  weird  sisters  were  derived  from  the  Valkyries,  is  just 
possible.  But  at  a  very  early  time  there  were,  in  the 
North,  variations  on  these,  down  to  witches  of  the  vulgar 
devilish  sort,  and  all  the  accounts  which  were  current  in 
Shakespeare's  time  represent  these  of  Macbeth  as  being 
of  the  latter  kind,  and  as  deliberately  deceiving  and 
leading  him  to  deadly  ruin.  That  this  was  so  under- 
stood in  the  sixteenth  century  is  absolutely  shown  by 
the  fact  that  Grosius,  in  his  Magica  sen  mirahilium 
Hietoriarum  de  Spectris  et  variis  ProBstigiis  et  Impos- 

^  Dai  diejvte  Maebeth  eine  tehr  hue  Bettie  $inL 


"^ ''«.  W'wii!»>j^-»W.>;*,.<!>»  ■,v.-«ii.  .."i*  <^i^^.'    ""^^1  <.i;>  *-"••  '  *i  ««  t    *''-\  *'■, 


358    SHAKESPEARE'S  UAWBNS  AND  WOMEN.    ' 

ivrit  nuUorum  Dcemonum  (1597),  gives  tinder  the 
heading  of  "  Prophecies  of  devila  or  evil  spirits,"  the 
following  from  Cardanus'  De  Benun  Vcu-ietate,  lib.  16, 
cap.  93 : — 

.  I 
"Macbabsetis  {i.e.,  Macbeth)  was  in  fear,  being  warned  by 
soothsayers.  And  a  prophetess — fatidiea  mulier — ^foretold  that 
he  would  not  be  slain  by  a  hand  bom  of  woman,  nor  conquered 
till  the  wood  of  Bimen  should  come  to  the  fortress  of  Donusin- 
nam,  not  far  from  where  he  was.  Yet  before  he  was  conquered 
the  wood  of  Bimen  came  thither,  being  cut  down  and  carried,  so 
that  it  surrounded  the  fortress.  And  he  was  finally  slain  by 
Magduffus,  who  was  not  born  but  cut  from  his  mother's  belly." 

Cardanus  took  the  story  from  Hector  Boethius,  who 
simply  states  that  the  prophecy  was  uttered  by  three 
women  with  unusual  faces — tres  mulieres  insolita  faeice. 
Boethius,  who  was  Shakespeare's  authority,  evidently 
regarded  them  as  common  witches.  The  same  Boethius 
(Lib.  2,  Hist.  Scotorum)  tells  us  that  DufFus,  King  of 
the  Scots,  had  a  mistress — cujus  mater  venefica  erat — 
whose  mother  was  a  poisoning  or  malicious  witch,  that 
is,  of  the  lowest  and  vilest  type.  There  are  a  hundred 
stories  in  the  Norse  sagas  and  chronicles  which  plainly 
show  that  Shakespeare  had  much  more  reason  to  make 
his  prophetesses  vulgar  witches  than  Valkyries.  And 
it  is  certainly  absurd  to  accuse  him  of  stripping  from 
certain  characters  &  furchtbaren  Grazie,  or  terrible  grace, 
which  he  certainly  did  not  find  in  his  originals.  So  far 
from  degrading  these  originals,  the  poet  actually  elevated 
them,  by  bestowing  that  terrible  grace,  and  refining 
them  above  the  witches  of  his  own  time. — Translatoi: 


,-:,,■»  V 


OPHBLIA,  ;     4|i 

OPHELIA. 

[hamlet.] 

Tms  is  the  poor  Ophelia  whom  Hamlet  the  Dane 
loved.  She  was  a  beautiful  blonde  girl,  and  there 
was— especially  in  her  speech — a  magic  which 
touched  my  heart,  most  of  all  when  I  would  journey 
to  Wittenberg,  and  went  to  her  father  to  bid  him 
ferewell.  The  old  lord  was  so  kind  as  to  give  me 
on  the  way  all  the  good  counsels  of  which  he 
himself  made  so  little  use,  and  at  last  called 
Ophelia  to  give  us  the  parting  cup.  When  the 
dear  girl  modestly  and  gently  approached  me 
with  the  salver,  and  raised  her  gleaming  eyes 
to  mine,  in  my  distraction  I  grasped  an  empty 
instead  of  a  full  cup.  She  laughed  at  my  mis- 
take. Her  smile  was  so  wondrous  gleaming,  and 
there  stole  over  her  lips  that  intoxicating,  melt- 
ing softness  which  doubtless  came  from  the  kiss- 
fairies  who  lurked  in  the  dimples  of  the  mouth. 

When  I  returned  from  Wittenberg,  and  the 
smile  of  Ophelia  gleamed  on  me  again,  I  forgot 
all  the  crafty  casuistry  of  the  scholastics,  and  my 
deep  researches  were  only  on  the  charming  ques- 
tion :  "  What  does  this  smile  set  forth — what  is 
the  inner  meaning  of  that  voice  with  its  mysterious 
deeply  yearning  flute-tones?    Whence  do  those 


':/'^ "''^•*»T.-»'^i>-#<^yii*4».v,->'* "««<««■*, «*^^;^<.j»*-»*;>^v*-  '4t  jj' 


.  .».'<<.4 


36o    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

eyes  derive  their  blessed  rays  ?  Is  it  a  gleam  of 
heaven,  or  is  heaven  but  the  reflect  of  those 
eyes?  Is  that  sweet  smile  in  concord  with  the 
silent  music  of  the  spheres  in  their  unending 
dance,  or  is  it  but  the  earthly  signature  ^  of  the 
most  super-sensual  harmony?"  One  day  while 
we  wandered  in  the  castle  garden  of  Helsingor, 
tenderly  jesting  and  wooing,  our  hearts  in  the  full 
bloom  of  hopeful  love, — it  will  ever  live  in  my 
memory  how  beggarly  the  song  of  the  nightingales 
contrasted  with  the  heavenly  breathing  voice  of 
Ophelia,  and  how  flat  and  poor  the  flowers  seemed 
with  their  variegated  faces  without  smiles,  when 
I  by  chance  compared  them  with  her  excelling- 
sweet  mouth.  And  the  fair  slender  form  like 
wandering  grace  swept  around  and  near  me — all 
as  in  a  dream  ! 

Ah!  that  is  the  curse  of  weak  mortals,  that 
they  ever,  when  a  great  mischancfe  occurs,  vent 
their  ill  temper  on  the  best  and  dearest.  And  so 
poor  Hamlet,  with  his  reason — that  glorious  jewel 
— flawed,  cast  himself  by  a  feigned  aberration  of 
mind  into  the  most  terrible  abyss  of  real  madness, 
and  tortured  his  poor  love  with  scornful  jeers. 
Poor  child !  All  that  was  wanting  was  that  the 
beloved  should  take  her  father  for  a  rat  and  stab 

^  SigrttUura,  mystical  correspondenoe  of  the  thing  created 
to  its  archseus  or  archetypal  creator — e.g.,  Signatitra  Serum  of 
Swedenborg.— rrafu2aUw. 


.I>,y  *••'':•'• 


OPHELIA.  361 

him  dead.  Then  she  must  of  course  go  mad. 
But  her  madness  is  not  so  black  and  gloomily 
brooding  as  that  of  Hamlet,  since  it  deludes, 
soothing  with  sweet  songs  her  poor  distracted 
head.  Her  soft  voice  melts  away  in  music,  and 
flowers,  and  still  more  flowers,  entwine  themselves 
in  all  her  thoughts.  She  sings  while  plaiting 
wreaths  to  deck  her  brow,  and  smiles  with  gleam- 
ing smiles — alas,  poor  ohild ! 

Ziier.  Drown'd  !     0,  where  ? 

Queen.  There  is  a  willow  grows  ascamit  the  brook. 
That  shows  his  hoar  leaves  in  the  glassy  stream  ; 
Therewith  fantastic  garlands  did  she  make 
Of  crow-flowers,  nettles,  daisies,  and  long  purples, 
That  liberal  shepherds  give  a  grosser  name. 
But  our  cold  maids  do  dead  men's  fingers  call  them  :    - 
There  on  the  pendent  boughs  her  coronet  weeds 
Clambering  to  hang,  an  envious  sliver  broke  ; 
When  down  her  weedy  trophies,  and  herself, 
Feu  in  the  weeping  brook.    Her  clothes  spread  wide  ; 
And,  mermaid-like,  a  while  they  bore  her  up  : 
Which  time,  she  chanted  snatches  of  old  tunes  ; 
As  one  incapable  of  her  own  distress. 
Or  like  a  creature  native  and  indued  * 

Unto  that  element :  but  long  it  could  not  be 
Till  that  her  garments,  heavy  with  their  drink, 
Pulled  the  poor  wretch  from  her  melodious  lay 
To  muddy  death."  1  •     . 

Yet  why  should  I  tell  you  this  sad  history? 
You  all  ^ew  it  from  your  childhood,  and  have 

^  J3am2e<,  act  iv.  ■&  7. 


•»».*•"■«  ..V',  ,.<-^i  ii./»-».>y-«^H.».»  »ji^,'»'r*'T''y-.--^V^-. *■:■>■. !^- '■  <  t  ■■■.'■  .'-♦^•;f« 


36a    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

wept  often  enough  over  the  old  tragedy  of  Hamlel 
the  Dane,  who  loved  the  fair  Ophelia  far  more 
than  a  thousand  brothers  could,  with  all  their 
united  love,  and  who  went  mad  because  the  ghost 
of  his  father  appeared  to  him,  and  because  the 
world  was  out  of  its  course  and  he  felt  himself  too 
weak  to  set  it  straight,  and  because  he  in  German 
"Wittenberg  had  from  too  much  thinking  for- 
gotten practical  business,  and  because  he  had  the 
choice  to  go  mad  or  do  something  desperate — and 
finally  because  he,  as  a  mortal  man,  had  above  all 
things  in  himself  a  strong  tendency  to  madness. 

We  know  Hamlet  as  well  as  we  do  our  own 
face,  which  we  so  often  see  in  the  mirror,  and  yet 
which  is  far  less  known  to  us  than  one  would 
think;  for  if  we  were  to  meet  any  one  in  the 
street  who  looked  exactly  like  ourselves,  we  would 
gaze  at  the  startling,  strange,  familiar  face  only 
instinctively,  and  with  a  secret  dread,  without 
remarking  that  it  is  our  features  which  we  have 
just  seen. 


CORDELIA, 

[king   LEAR.] 


"There   are    in   this    play,"   says   an    English 
author,    "  man-traps   and    spring-guns    for    the 


'*.'■*>  r*  I  \>-  ■ 


-A  .•  f.*-^' 


..  ^vfv.fr-  *> .  r ,  '~'"»r  -ni 


CORDELIA,  363 

reader.**  Another  remarks  that  this  tragedy  is 
a  labyrinth  in  which  the  commentator  may  go 
astray  and  be  in  danger  oi  death  from  the 
Minotaur  who  lurks  therein,  therefore  he  should 
only  use  the  critical  scalpel  in  self-defence.  And 
as  it  is  indeed  always  a  delicate  and  doubtful 
task  to  criticise  Shakespeare,  from  whose  words 
the  sharpest  criticism  of  our  own  thoughts  and 
deeds  laughs  out,  so  it  is  almost  impossible  to 
judge  him  in  this  tragedy,  where  his  genius 
leaped  and  climbed  to  the  giddiest  height. 

I  dare  venture  no  further  than  the  gate  of  this 
marvellous  mansion,  only  to  the  introduction, 
which  of  itself  awakens  our  astonishment.  The 
introductions  in  Shakespeare's  tragedies  are  in- 
deed worthy  of  all  wonder  and  admiration.  In 
these  first  scenes  we  are  at  once  rapt  out  of  our 
work-day  feelings  and  business  thoughts,  and 
transported  to  the  midst  of  the  vast  events  with 
which  the  poet  will  convulse  and  puriiy  our  souls. 
So  the  tragedy  of  Macbeth  begins  with  the  meet- 
ing of  the  witches,  and  their  weird  sayings  subdue 
not  only  the  heart  of  the  Scottish  war-chief,  who 
appears  intoxicated  with  victory,  but  also  the 
hearts  of  us  the  spectators,  so  that  we  are  bound 
fast  till  all  is  fulfilled  and  ended.  As  in  Macbeth 
the  desolate,  sense-and-soul-benumbing  horror  of 
the  bloody  world  of  magic  at  once  seizes  on  us,  so 
we  are  frozen  by  the  awe  of  the  pale  realm  of 


364    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

shadows  in  the  scene  of  Hamlet,  and  we  cannot  free 
ourselves  from  the  spectral  feelings  of  the  night, 
or  from  the  nightmare  pressure  of  the  uncanny 
gloomy  dread,  till  all  is  accomplished,  and  till  the 
air  of  Denmark,  which  was  redolent  of  human 
corruption,  is  once  again  made  pure. 

In  the  first  scenes  of  Lear  we  are  in  like 
manner  directly  drawn  into  the  strange  destinies 
which  are  announced,  unfolded,  and  ended  before 
our  eyes.  The  poet  here  gives  us  a  drama  which 
is  more  appalling  than  all  the  horrors  of  the 
world  of  magic  and  the  realm  of  ghosts ;  for  he 
shows  us  human  passion  breaking  all  the  bounds 
of  reason,  and  raging  forth  in  the  royal  majesty 
of  a  monarch's  madness  —  vieing  with  stormy 
nature  in  her  wildest  commotion.  But  I  believe 
that  here  there  is  an  end  to  the  immense  power, 
the  wondrous  play  of  ivill,  with  which  Shakespeare 
ever  masters  his  material.  Here  his  own  genius 
bears  him  away,  and  sways  him  far  more  than 
in  Macbeth  and  Hamlet^  where  he,  with  perfectly 
artistic  self-possession,  depicts  the  darkest  shadows 
of  the  night  of  the  soul  mingled  with  the  rosiest 
gleams  of  wit,  and  the  brightest  and  most  cheer- 
ful still-life  by  the  wildest  deeds.  Yes,  in  the 
tragedy  of  Macbeth  a  soft  and  soothing  nature 
smiles  on  us ;  to  the  turrets  of  the  towers  of  the 
castle  where  the  bloodiest  deed  is  done  cleave 
quiet  swallows'  nests  i  a  cheerful  Scottish  summer 


r  V*..  .^, 


Mrv»r'» 


•■"i. 


CORDELIA.  36J 

air,  not  too  warm  or  cool,  blows  through  the  whole 
play;  everywhere  there  are  beautiful  trees  and 
green  foliage,  and  at  the  end  an  entire  forest 
comes  marching  in,  when  Bimam  wood  doth 
come  to  Dunsinane,  In  Hamlet  also  the  loveli- 
ness of  nature  contrasts  with  the  heat  of  the 
action;  though  it  may  be  black  night  in  the 
heart  of  the  hero,  the  sun  rises  not  less  beauti- 
fully in  morning  red,  and  Polonius  is  an  amusing 
fool,  and  comedies  are  calmly  played,  and  pooi 
Ophelia  sits  among  green  trees,  and  with  pretty 
motley  posies  binds  her  wreath.  ~  - 

But  in  Lear  no  such  contrasts  prevail  between 
the  action  and  nature,  and  the  unbridled  elements 
howl  and  storm  in  emulation  with  the  mad  king. 
Does  a  moral  event  of  most  unusual  kind  also 
act  on  the  so-called  soulless  nature?  Is  there 
indeed  between  this  and  the  mind  of  man  an 
external  visible  relationship  ?  Had  our  poet  ever 
experienced  this,  and  did  he  strive  to  depict  it  ? 

With  the  first  scene  of  this  tragedy  we  are,  as 
I  have  said,  put  at  once  into  the  midst  of  events ; 
and  clear  as  the  sky  may  be,  a  sharp  eye  can 
foresee  the  coming  storm.  There  is  a  little  cloud 
already  in  the  intellect  of  Zear,  which  will  thicken 
anon  to  the  blackest  mental  night.  He  who  in 
such  fashion  gives  all  away,  must  be  already  mad. 
We  learn  perfectly  the  spirit  of  the  hero,  and  the 
character  of  the  daughter,  even  in  the  first  act, 


366    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

and  we  are  deeply  moved  by  the  mute  tenderness 
of  Cordelia,  the  modem  Antigone,  who  in  depth 
of  soul  and  feeling  surpasses  her  antique  sister. 
Yes,  she  is  a  pure  soul,  as  the  king  first  sees 
when  he  is  mad.  Quite  pure  ?  I  believe  that 
she  is  a  little  self-willed,  and  this  small  spot  is  a 
birth-mark  from  the  father.  But  true  love  is  very 
modest,  and  hates  all  cram  of  words ;  she  can  only 
weep  and  bleed.  The  sad  bitterness  with  which 
Cordelia  plays  upon  the  hypocrisy  of  her  sisters 
is  of  the  most  delicate  kind,  and  has  all  the  char- 
acter of  that  irony  which  the  Master  of  all  Love, 
the  hero  of  the  gospel,  sometimes  employed.  Her 
soul  relieves  itself  of  the  justest  indignation,  and 
displays  all  her  nobility  in  the  words : —  j 

"  Sure,  I  shall  never  marry  like  my  dstera, 
To  love  my  father  alL"  ^ 


JULIA,  I 

I 

[rOMEO  and  JULIET.!  | 

Evert  Shakespearean  play  has  its  peculiar  climate, 
its  own  time  of  year,  and  its  local  attributes.  And 
like  the  characters  in  every  one  of  these  dramas, 
so  have  the  soil  and  sky  their  own  marked 
physiognomy.      Here,  in  Borneo  and  Jtdia^  we 

^  King  Lear,  act  L  bc.  I. 

'  Heine  gives  tiiis  name  as  JvliCy  Shakespeare  a«  JitUet, 


yULIA.  367 

have  crossed  the  Alps,  and  find  ourselves  in  that 
fair  garden  called  Italia : — 

"Eoiow'st  thou  the  country  where  the  lemon  hlowB, 
And  in  dark  leaves  the  golden  orange  glows  ? " 

It  is  sunny  Verona  which  Shakespeare  has 
chosen  for  the  stage  of  the  great  deeds  of  love 
which  he  has  glorified  in  BoTneo  and  Julia.  Yes, 
it  is  not  this  loving  pair,  but  Love  himself,  who 
takes  the  leading  part  in  this  drama.  Here  we  see 
love  rising  in  youthful  daring,  defying  all  opposing 
circumstance,  and  all  conquering.  For  he  fears 
not  in  the  great  battle  to  take  refuge  with  his 
most  terrible,  yet  truest  ally,  Deatk  Love  hand 
in  hand  with  death  is  invincible.  Love!  It  is 
the  highest  and  most  victorious  of  all  passions. 
But  its  world-subduing  strength  lies  in  its  illimi- 
table grandeur  of  soul,  its  almost  supernatural 
unselfishness,  in  its  unsacrificing  scorn  of  life. 
There  is  for  it  no  yesterday,  and  it  thinks  of  no 
to-morrow.  It  asks  only  for  to-day,  but  asks  for 
it  all  in  full  and  free  from  care — untroubled,  un- 
diminished. It  will  save  nothing  up  for  future 
time,  and  scorns  the  warmed-up  leavings  of  the 
past.  "  Night  be  before  me  and  the  night  behind." 
It  is  a  wandering  flame  between  two  darknesses. 
Whence  came  it  ?  From  an  infinitely  petty  spark. 
How  will  it  end?  Without  a  trace,  and  unin- 
telligibly.   The  wilder  it  bums  the  sooner  it  is 


368    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

quenched.  But  that  does  not  hinder  it  when  it 
has  once  given  itself  up  to  the  flaring  impulse, 
as  if  the  fire  would  last  for  ever. 

Ah,  when  one  feels  for  the  second  time  in  life 
the  great  glow,  unfortunately  the  faith  in  its 
eternal  durance  fails,  and  the  bitterest  recollec- 
tion whispers  to  us  that  this  in  the  end,  too,  will 
devour  itself.  Hence  the  difference  in  melancholy 
in  the  first  love  and  in  the  second.  In  the  first, 
we  think  that  our  passion  can  only  end  tragically 
by  death,  and  indeed  when  the  opposing  threaten- 
ing diflficulties  are  invincible  we  easily  make  up 
our  minds  to  hurry  with  the  loved  one  to  the 
grave.  On  the  contrary,  in  a  second  love  we  know 
that  our  wildest  and  noblest  feelings  will  turn 
with  time  into  a  tender  tameness,  and  that  we 
shall  yet  regard  with  calm  indifference  the  eyes, 
the  lips,  the  limbs  which  now  inspire  us  so  wildly. 
Ah,  this  thought  is  more  melancholy  than  that  of 
death.  For  it  is  a  sad  comfortless  feeling  when 
we  in  the  glow  of  intoxication  think  of  future 
sobriety  and  coolness,  and  know  from  experience 
that  the  highly  poetic  heroic  passion  must  have 
such  a  pitifully  prosaic  end ! 

These  highly  poetic  heroic  passions !  How  the 
princesses  of  the  theatre  bear  themselves,  and 
warmly  rouged,  splendidly  dressed,  laden  with 
flashing  gems,  walk  proudly  o'er  the  scene  de- 
claiming in   measured  iambica     Bat  when  the 


i.\^ 


JVIAA,  369 

curtain  falls  the  poor  princess  once  more  puts 
on  her  common  clothes,  washes  the  rouge  from 
her  cheeks,  hands  over  her  adornments  to  the 
one  who  has  care  of  the  costumes,  and  dangling 
slovenly  she  hangs  on  the  arm  of  the  first  best 
young  third-rate  legal  official^  who  may  come 
along,  talks  bad  Berlin  German,  climbs  with  him 
up  to  a  garret,  and  yawns,  stretching  herself 
out,  hardly  heeding  the  sweet  assurance  that  Sie 
spielten  jettlichj  mif  Ehre  I  "  You  played  divinely 
— you  just  did — 'pon  honour ! " 

I  do  not  venture  to  find  the  least  fault  with 
Shakespeare,  and  would  only  express  my  wonder 
that  be  makes  Eomeo  feel  a  passion  for  Eosalind 
before  be  brings  him  to  Julia.  Though  he  gives 
himself  up  utterly  to  this  second  love,  there  still 
nestles  in  his  heart  a  certain  scepticism,  which 
makes  itself  known  in  ironical  expressions,  and 
often  reminds  us  of  Hamlet.  Or  is  the  second 
love  the  strongest  in  the  man  because  it  is 
coupled  with  clear  self-consciousness  ?  With 
woman  there  is  no  second  love,  her  nature  is 
too  tender  to  8u£fer  her  to  survive  a  second 
time  the  most  terrible  earthquake  of  feeling. 
Look  at  Julia!     Is  she,  able  to  twice  endure  the 

^  llnd  Bchlottemd  hangt  tie  sieh  an  dem  Arm  da  ersten 
lesten  StadtgeriehttreferendariL  This  portentous  name  is  ap- 
plied to  a  lawyer  without  salaary  attached  to  the  municipal 
administration  of  justice ;  naturally  a  man  of  limited  means. 

2  A 


370    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 


transcendent  raptures  and  terrors,  and,  defying 
all  anguish,  empty  again,  the  dreadful  cup.  I 
believe  she  had  quite  enough  of  it  the  first  time, 
the  poor  blest  creature,  this  pure  sacrifice  of  the 
great  passion.  1 

Julia  loves  for  the  first  time,  and  loves  with 
the  full  healthiness  of  love  and  soul.  She  is 
fourteen  years  old,  which  in  Italy  means  as  much 
as  seventeen  by  the  Northern  standard.  She  is  a 
rosebud  which  is  kissed  before  our  eyes  by  Eomeo's 
lips,  and  which  blossoms  out  in  youthful  fulness 
and  beauty.  She  has  not  learned  what  love  is 
from  worldly  or  religious  books,  the  sun  has  told 
it  to  her  and  the  moon  repeated  it,  and  her  heart 
re-echoed  it  when  she  by  night  believed  herself 
to  be  alone.  But  Eomeo  stood  beneath  the 
balcony  and  heard  it  all,  and  took  her  at  her 
word.  The  character  of  her  love  is  truth  and 
earnestness.  The  maid  breathes  honesty  and 
truth,  and  it  is  touching  to  the  heart  when  she 
speaks  thus  : —  t 

"  Jul.  Thou  knoVst  the  mask  of  night  is  on  my  face  ; 
Else  would  a  maiden  blush  bepaint  my  cheek, 
For  that  which  thou  hast  heard  me  speak  to-night 
Fain  would  I  dwell  on  form,  fain,  fain  deny  ^ 

What  I  have  spoke  ;  but  farewell  compliment !  | 

Dost  love  me  1  I  know,  thou  wilt  say — Ay ;  I 

And  I  will  take  thy  word  :  yet,  if  thou  8wear*st        | 
Thou  mayst  prove  false  ;  at  lovers'  perjuries, 
They  say,  Jove  laughs.    0  gentle  Borneo, 


JULIA.  jyi 

If  thou  dost  love,  pronounce  it  faithfully  : 
Or  if  thou  think'st  I  am  too  quickly  won, 
111  frown  and  be  perverse,  and  say  thee  nay, 
So  thou  wilt  woo  ;  but,  else,  not  for  the  world. 
In  truth,  fair  Montague,  I  am  too  fond ; 
And  therefore  thou  mayst  think  my  haviour  light : 
But  trust  me,  gentleman,  I'll  prove  more  true 
Than  those  that  have  more  cunning  to  be  strange. 
I  should  have  been  more  strange,  I  must  confess, 
But  that  thou  overheard'st,  ere  I  was  ware, 
My  true  love's  passion :  therefore  pardon  me  ; 
And  not  impute  this  yielding  to  light  love, 
Which  the  dark  night  hath  so  discovered."  * 


In  this  paper  there  is  a  great  relapse  from  excellence, 
so  much  80  that  it  may  be  almost  classed  as  a  pure 
piece  de  manufacture.  The  remarks  on  first  love  are 
merely  a  repetition  of  commonplaces  which  have  been 
better  uttered  "  many  a  time  and  oft "  by  others,  and 
the  actress  princess,  with  her  rouge  and  third-class 
lover,  and  Berlin  dialect,  is  a  careless  repetition  of  the 
same  simile,  in  almost  the  same  words,  in  the  comment 
on  Constance.  Heine  assumes  in  these  remarks  that 
all  men  have  their  full  mental  development  at  the  time 
of  their  first  love,  and  that  it  is  the  same  tremendous 
and  overwhelming  phase  of  passion  in  all,  whereas  in 
most  cases  it  is  true  that  no  man  ever  became  a  fully 
developed  lover,  any  more  than  a  fully  fledged  criminal, 
all  at  once.  For  the  development  even  of  a  critical 
taste  in  food  and  wines  is  a  matter  of  education  and 

^  Romeo  and  Juliet,  act  iL  sa  2. 


372    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

experience,  and  love,  like  every  passion,  is  guided, 
though  it  may  not  be  created,  by  culture,  on  which 
view  Heine  himself  could  have  written  congenially, 
genially,  and  ingeniously,  had  his  heari;  been,  like  the 
Irish  poet's,  "  in  his  pen." 

Shakespeare  has  shown  in  every  utterance  which 
he  has  given  to  lovers  the  fullest  conviction  that  the 
greatest  love  occurs  where  highly  cultivated  intellect 
combines  with  passion — and  of  this  idea  there  is  not 
a  trace  in  the  present  remarks  of  Heine.  Heine  ex- 
presses astonishment  that  Shakespeare  makes  Bomeo 
first  feel  a  passion  for  Rosalind,  because  he  had  not 
learned  that  the  poet  wished  to  show  that  in  a  man  "who 
is  like  Hamlet "  passion  and  culture  go  hand  in  hand  and 
advance.  And  though  this  is  less  the  case  with  women, 
yet  in  Cleopatra  love's  strongest  passion  is  its  last 


DESDEMONA. 

[OTHELLO.] 

I  HAVE  incidentally  remarked  in  the  foregoing 
paper  that  the  character  of  Romeo  has  in  it 
something  of  Hamlet.  In  fact,  a  Northern  serious 
earnestness  casts  its  side-shadows  on  this  glowing 
mind.  And  if  we  compare  Julia  with  Desdemona, 
the  same  Northern  element  appears  in  all  the 
power  of  her  passion ;  she  is  always  self-conscious, 


DESDEMONA.  v  373 

and  in  clearest  self-conscioasness  mistress  of  her 
deeds.  Jnlia  loves  and  thinks  and  acts — Des- 
demona  loves,  feels  and  obeys  not  her  own  will, 
but  the  stronger  impulse.  Her  admirable  excel- 
lence lies  in  this,  that  the  bad  can  in  no  respect 
act  on  her  noble  nature  like  the  good.  She 
would  certainly  have  remained  in  the  palazzo  of 
her  father,  a  modest  child  fulfilling  household 
duties ;  but  the  voice  of  the  Moor  was  heard,  and 
though  she  looked  down  she  saw  his  countenance 
in  his  words,  in  his  stories  of  his  life,  or,  as  she 
says,  in  his  soul,  and  this  suffering,  magnanimous, 
beautiful  white  face  of  the  soul  wrought  on  her 
heart  with  irresistibly  attracting  magic.  Yes,  her 
father,  the  dignified  and  wise  Brabantio,  was  quite 
in  the  right ;  she  was  so  bound  in  chains  of  magic 
that  the  timid,  tender  child  felt  herself  drawn  to 
the  Moor,  and  had  no  fear  of  the  hideous  black 
mask  which  the  multitude  regarded  as  the  face  of 
Othello. 

Julia's  love  is  active,  that  of  Desdemona 
passive.  She  is  the  sunflower,  herself  uncon- 
scious that  her  head  is  ever  turned  toward  the 
high  star  of  day.  She  is  a  true  daughter  of  the 
South — tender,  sensitive,  patient,  like  those  slen- 
der, great-eyed  lights  of  women  who  beam  so 
lovingly,  so  softly  and  dreamily,  from  the  Sanscrit 
poems  or  plays.  She  ever  reminds  me  of  the 
Sakuntala  of  Kalidasa,  the  Indian  Shakespeare. 


iy«r<**V^'*'i;"^*~*"'^,**»»  'y^v»Vty'«^'';';:'''.»-'.,-V)r)^»  -tuti:^  f?*f'^^t'':f\     '-,'  5, . yV  -"ir*r 


■•••;n.«?-.' 


374    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

The  English  engraver  to  whom  we  are  indebted 
for  the  present  picture  of  Desdemona  has  given 
to  her  great  eyes  a  somewhat  too  strong  expres- 
sion of  passion.  Bat  I  believe  that  I  have  already 
remarked  that  the  contrast  between  face  and  char- 
acter always  has  its  peculiar  charm.  In  any  case 
this  face  is  very  fair,  and  it  must  specially  please 
the  writer  of  these  pages  that  it  recalls  that  noble 
and  beautiful  woman  who,  thank  God! — never 
found  any  deep  defect  in  his  own  face,  and  who 
as  yet  has  only  seen  it  in  his  soul. 

"  Othello.  Her  father  loved  me ;  oft  invited  me  ; 
Still  queatiou'd  me  the  story  of  my  life, 
From  year  to  year ;  the  battles,  eieges,  foitanea,  ! 

That  I  have  pass'd.  { 

I  ran  it  through,  even  from  my  boyish  days,  j 

To  the  very  moment  that  he  bade  me  tell  it. 
Wherein  I  spoke  of  most  disastrous  chances,  ' 

Of  moving  accidents,  by  flood  and  field  ; 
Of  hair-breadth  'scapes  i'  the  imminent  deadly  breach  ; 
Of  being  taken  by  the  insolent  foe. 
And  sold  to  slavery  ;  of  my  redemption  thence,  .    [ 

And  portance  in  my  travel's  history :  , 

Wherein  of  antres  vast,  and  deserts  idle, 
Bough  quarries,  rocks,  and  hills  whose  heads  touch  heaven. 
It  was  my  hint  to  speak,  such  was  the  process ; 
And  of  the  Cannibals  that  each  other  eat,  | 

The  Anthropophagi,  and  rr.en  whose  heads 
Do  grow  beneath  their  s  .  'iders.    These  things  to  heai^ 
Would  Desdemona  seriously  incline  : 
But  still  the  house  affairs  would  draw  her  thence ;         ! 
Which  ever  as  she  could  with  haste  despatch,  | 


DESDEMONA.  $/$ 

She'd  come  again,  and  with  a  greedy  ear 

Devour  up  my  discourse  :  "Which  I  observing 

Took  once  a  pliant  hour ;  and  found  good  means 

To  draw  from  her  a  prayer  of  earnest  heart, 

That  I  would  all  my  pilgrimage  dilate, 

Whereof  by  parcels  she  had  something  heard. 

But  not  intentively :  I  did  consent ; 

And  often  did  beguile  her  of  her  tears, 

When  I  did  speak  of  some  distressful  stroke, 

That  my  youth  suffer'd.    My  story  being  done. 

She  gave  me  for  my  pains  a  world  of  sighs : 

She  swore, — In.  faith,  'twas  strange,  'twas  passing  strange  ; 

Twas  pitiful,  'twas  wondrous  pitiful : 

She  wish'd  she  had  not  heard  it,  yet- she  wish'd 

That  Heaven  had  made  her  such  a  man  :  she  thank'd  me. 

And  bade  me,  if  I  had  a  friend  that  loved  her, 

I  should  but  teach  him  how  to  tell  my  story. 

And  that  woTild  woo  her.    Upon  this  hint,  I  spake ; 

She  loved  me  for  the  dangers  I  had  pass'd ; 

And  I  loved  her,  that  she  did  pity  them. 

This  only  is  the  witchcraft  I  have  used ; 

Here  comes  the  lady,  let  her  witness  it*' 

This  tragedy  is  believed  to  be  the  last  work 
of  Shakespeare,  as  Tittis  Andronicus  was  the  first. 
In  both  the  love  of  a  fair  lady  for  an  ugly  negro 
is  treated  with  predilection.  The  man  matared, 
returned  to  the  problem  which  had  busied  his 
youth.  Has  he  here  found  the  solution  of  it? 
Is  this  solution  as  true  as  it  is  beautiful?  A 
gloomy  grieving  seizes  me  when  I  give  place  to 

1  Othello,  tstl  ac.  3. 


t^f^mm-i*'*^^' 


376    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

the  thought  that  the  honoarable  lago,  with  his 
evil  comments  on  the  love  of  Desdemona  for  the 
Moor,  is  not  all  in  the  wrong.  Most  repulsive  of 
all  to  me  are  Othello's  remarks  on  the  damp  hand 
of  his  wife. 

There  is  just  such  a  marvellous  and  significant 
example  of  love  for  a  negro,  such  as  we  see  in 
Titus  Androniais  and  Othello,  in  the  "  Arabian 
Nights'  Entertainments,"  where  a  beautiful  prin- 
cess, who  is  also  a  sorceress,  keeps  her  husband 
bound  in  a  statue-like  immovability,  and  beats 
him  daily  with  rods  because  he  slew  her  negro 
lover.  Heartrending  are  the  wails  of  the  princess 
over  the  bier  of  the  black  corpse,  which  she  by 
her  magic  art  keeps  in  a  kind  of  apparent  life  and 
covers  with  the  kisses  of  despair,  and  which  she 
would  fain,  by  the  greater  magic  of  love,  wake  from 
its  twilight-dimmering  half  death  to  the  full  truth 
of  life.  Even  as  a  boy  I  was  struck  in  reading 
the  Arabian  tale  with  this  picture  of  passionate 
and  incomprehensible  love.* 

^  There  are  among  the  legends  of  the  peasants  in  the 
Romagna  Toscana  two  which  strangely  recall  this  commen<>. 
One  is  of  a  ladj  who  becomes  eneeinte  by  merely  looking  at  a 
black  or  Moorish  wizard,  the  other  is  of  a  young  girl  who  keeps 
under  her  bed  in  a  chest  the  petrified  body  of  her  dead  lover, 
which  she  every  night  "  covers  with  the  kiasea  of  despair,"  as 
Heine  describes  it — TrandcUor.  1 


ry^^^'r- 


ysssrcA.  in 

JESSICA, 

[the  merchant  of  VENICE.] 

When  I  saw  this  piece  played  in  Drury  Lane 
there  stood  behind  me  in  the  box  a  pale  British 
beaaty  who,  at  the  end  of  the  fourth  act,  wept 
passionately,  and  many  times  cried  out,  "The 
poor  man  is  wronged ! "  It  was  a  countenance  of 
noblest  Grecian  cut,  and  the  eyes  were  large  and 
black.  I  have  never  been  able  to  forget  them, 
those  great  black  eyes  which  wept  for  Shylock ! 

When  I  think  of  those  tears  I  must  include  the 
Merchant  of  Venice  among  the  tragedies,  although 
the  frame  of  the  work  is  a  composition  of  laughing 
masks  and  sunny  faces,  satyr  forms  and  amorets, 
as  though  the  poet  meant  to  make  a  comedy. 
Shakespeare  perhaps  intended  originally  to  please 
the  mob,  to  represent  a  thorough  going  wehr-wolf, 
a  hated  fabulous  being  who  yearns  for  blood,  and 
pays  for  it  with  daughter  and  with  ducats,  and  is 
over  and  above  laughed  to  scorn.  But  the  genius 
of  the  poet,  the  spirit  of  the  wide  world  which 
ruled  in  him,  was  ever  stronger  than  his  own  will, 
and  so  it  came  to  pass  that  he  in  Shylock,  despite 
the  glaring  grotesqueness,  expressed  the  justifica- 
tion of  an  unfortunate  sect  which  was  oppressed 
by  providence,  from  inscrutable  motives,  with  the 


.»-"' 


,,.«■   I 'Yf  1*  #-»lJr' 


378    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

hatred  of  the  lower  and  higher  class,  and  which 
did  not  always  return  this  hate  with  love.* 

But  what  do  I  say  ?  The  genius  of  Shakespeare 
rises  still  higher  over  the  petty  strife  of  two  re- 
ligions sects,  and  his  drama  shows  us  neither  Jews 
nor  Christians,  but  oppressors  and  oppressed,  and 
the  madly  agonised  cries  of  exultation  of  the  latter 
when  they  can  repay  their  arrears  of  injuries  with 
interest.  There  is  not  in  this  play  the  least  trace 
of  difference  in  religion,  and  Shakespeare  sets 
forth  in  Shylock  a  man  whom  nature  bade  hate 
his  enemies,  just  as  he  in  Antonio  and  his  friends 
by  no  means  expresses  the  disciples  of  that  divine 
doctrine  which  commands  us  to  love  oar  enemies. 
When  Shylock  says  to  the  man  who  would  borrow 
money  of  him : — 

"  Signer  Antonio,  many  a  time  and  oft, 
In  the  Bialto,  you  have  rated  me 
About  my  monies  and  my  usances  : 
Still  have  I  borne  it  with  a  patient  shmg ; 


^  This  assertion  that  Shakespeare  meant  to  make  a  wild  beast 
of  Shylock,  but  was  compelled  nolent  voUnt  by  bis  better  natore 
to  depict  him  as  "the  only  decent  man  in  the  play,"  recalls 
the  fact  that  when  the  German  army  entered  Paris  there  was 
a  small  part  of  the  city  to  which  the  invaders  did  not  penetrate. 
On  which  the  local  press  declared  that  the  barbarian  foe,  struck 
by  the  moral  grandeur  of  the  French,  had  not  dared  to  advance 
further.  It  is  probable,  if  not  certain,  that  Shakespeare  knew 
what  he  meant  to  write  quite  as  well  as  any  critic  of  the  present 
day,  or  even  Heine. 


-""   "^T"?  .%.»*  Hy-WW.  ,u 


yESSICA.  379 

For  BufTrance  is  the  badge  of  all  our  tribe : 
You  call  me  misbeliever,  cut-throat  dog, 
And  spit  upon  my  Jewish  gaberdine, 
And  all  for  use  of  that  which  is  mine  own. 
Well,  then,  it  now  appears  you  need  my  help : 
Go  to,  then  ;  you  come  to  me,  and  you  say, 

*  Shylock,  we  would  hare  monies  : ' — ^you  say  so ; 
You,  that  did  void  your  rheum  upon  my  beard, 
And  foot  me,  as  you  spurn  a  stranger  cur 

.     Over  your  threshold  :  monies  is  your  suit.   ■ 
What  should  I  say  to  you  1    Should  I  not  say 

•  Hath  a  dog  money  1    Is  it  possible, 

A  cur  can  lend  three  thousand  ducats  ? '  or 
Shall  I  bend  low,  and  in  a  bondman's  key. 
With  'bated  breath  and  whisp'ring  humbleness, 
Say  this, — 

'  Fair  sir,  you  spit  on  me  on  Wednesday  last ; 
You  spum'd  me  such  a  day ;  another  time 
You  call'd  me  dog ;  and  for  these  courtesies 
m  lend  you  thus  much  monies  ?'"  1 

To  which  Antonio  replies : — 

"  I  am  as  like  to  call  thee  so  again. 
To  spit  on  thee  again,  to  spurn  thee  too.** 

Where  is  the  Christian  love  in  this?  Truly 
Shakespeare  wonld  have  written  a  satire  against 
Christianity  if  he  had  made  it  consist  of  those 
characters  who  are  the  enemies  of  Shylock,  bnt 
who  are  hardly  worthy  to  unlace  his  shoes.  The 
bankrupt  Antonio  is  a  weak  creature  without 
energy,  without  strength  of  hatred,  and  as  little 

^  Merchant  of  Vtniee,  act  L  sa  3. 


38o    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

of  love,  a  melancholy  worm-heart  whose  flesh  is 
really  worth  nothing  save  "to  bait  fish  withal." 
He  does  not  repay  the  swindled  Jew  the  three 
thousand  ducats.  Nor  does  Bassanio  repay  him 
— this  man  is,  as  an  EngliaJi  critic  calls  him,  a  real 
fortune-hunter ;  he  borrows  money  to  make  a  dis- 
play so  as  to  win  a  rich  wife  and  a  fat  bridal 
portion,  for  as  he  says  to  his  friend  : —  | 

**  'Tis  not  unknown  to  you,  Antonio,  I 

How  much  I  have  disabled  mine  estate, 
By  something  showing  a  more  swelling  port 
Than  my  faint  means  would  grant  continuance  : 
Nor  do  I  now  make  moan  to  be  abridg'd 
From  such  a  noble  rate  ;  but  my  chief  care 
Is,  to  come  fairly  off  from  the  great  debts, 
Wherein  my  time,  something  too  prodigal. 
Hath  left  me  gag'd.     To  you,  Antonio, 
I  owe  the  most,  in  money  and  in  love  ; 
And  from  your  love  I  have  a  warranty 
To  unburthen  all  my  plots  and  purposes,  j 

How  to  get  clear  of  all  the  debts  I  owe."  *         I 

As  for  Lorenzo,  he  is  the  accomplice  of  a  most 
infamous  theft,  and  according  to  the  laws  of 
Prussia  he  would  have  been  branded,  set  in  the 
pillory,  and  condemned  to  fifteen  years'  imprison- 
ment, notwithstanding  his  susceptibility  to  the 
beauties  of  nature,  landscapes  by  moonlight,  and 
musia  As  for  the  other  noble  Venetians  who 
appear  as  allies  of  Antonio,  they  do  not  seem  to  have 

^  Merchant  of  Venice,  act  L  aa  I. 


"f'^»"%  «.'V-«' 


yESSICA.  381 

any  special  antipathy  to  money,  and  when  their 
poor  friend  is  in  difficulties  they  have  nothing 
for  him  but  words  or  minted  air.  Our  good  pious 
friend  Franz  Horn  here  makes  the  following  very 
thin  and  watery,  but  still  quite  correct,  remark : 
"Here  it  is  but  fair  to  inquire:  How  is  it 
possible  that  Antonio's  misfortune  went  so  far  ? 
All  Venice  knew  and  esteemed  him,  his  excellent 
acquaintances  knew  all  about  the  terrible  bond, 
and  also  that  the  Jew  would  not  abate  so  much 
as  a  point  of  punctuation  from  it.  Yet  they  let 
one  day  pass  after  another,  till  at  last  the  three 
months  expired,  and  with  them  every  hope  of 
rescua  Surely  it  would  have  been  an  easy  thing 
for  those  good  friends,  of  whom  the  royal  merchant 
had  a  multitude,  to  raise  three  thousand  ducats 
to  save  a  human  life — and  such  a  life ! — but  such 
a  thing  is  always  rather  inconvenient,  and  so  the 
dear  good  friends,  because  they  are  only  so-called 
friends,  or  half  or  three-quarter  friends,  do — 
nothing,  nothing  still  and  naught  again.  They  pity 
the  excellent  merchant  who  formerly  gave  them 
such  fine  feasts ;  scold  terribly  with  all  their  hearts 
and  tongues,  though  only  at  fitting  opportunity, 
at  Shylock,  a  thing  incurring  no  danger,  and  then 
think  they  have  done  all  that  friendship  requires. 
Much  as  we  must  hate  Shylock  we  can  hardly  take 
it  amiss  of  him  that  he  despises  this  folk  a  little, 
as  he  well  may  da     Indeed  he  seems  to  confuse 


382    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

even  Gratiano,  who  is  excused  by  his  absence,  in 
one  and  the  same  class,  when  he  dismisses  sum- 
marily the  previous  lack  of  deeds  and  present 
fulness  of  words  with  the  remark : — 

"  Till  thou  canst  rail  the  seal  from  off  my  bond. 
Thou  but  offend'st  thy  lungs  to  speak  so  loud  : 
Bepair  thy  wit,  good  youth,  or  it  will  fall 
To  cureless  ruin. — I  stand  here  for  law."  ^         j 

Or  is,  perhaps,  Launcelot  Gobbo  here  the  repre- 
sentative of  Christianity  ?  Singularly  enough, 
Shakespeare  has  nowhere  expressed  himself  so 
clearly  as  to  this,  as  in  the  dialogue  which  this 
rogue  holds  with  his  mistress.  To  Jessica's  as- 
sertion— 

"  I  shall  be  saved  by  my  husband  ;  he  hath  made  me  a 
Christian." 

Launcelot  Gobbo  replies — 

**  Truly,  the  more  to  blame  he :  we  were  Christians 
enow  before ;  e'en  as  many  as  could  well  live,  one  by 
another.  This  making  of  Christiana  will  raise  the  price 
of  hogs :  if  we  grow  all  to  be  pork-eaters,  we  shall  not 
shortly  have  a  rasher  on  the  coaLs  for  money."  ' 

In  fact,  with  the  exception  of  Portia,  Shylock 
is  the  most  respectable  person  in  the  whole  piece. 
He  loves  money,  he  does  not  conceal  it — he  cries 
it  aloud  in  the  public  market-place.  But  there 
is  one  thing  which  he  esteems  above  money,  it 

^  Merehant  of  Venice,  iMit  ir.  so.  I. 

*  IbidL,  act  iii.  80.  5.  f 


^/ 


is  satisfaction  for  his  injured  feelings — the  jast 
retribution  for  unspeakable  insults;  and  though 
the  borrowed  sum  be  offered  him  tenfold  he  refuses 
it,  and  he  does  not  regret  the  three  thousand,  or 
ten  times  three  thousand,  ducats  if  he  can  bnj 
a  pound  of  the  flesh  of  the  heart  of  his  enemy. 
"  Thou  wilt  not  take  his  flesh :  what's  that  good 
for  ? "  asks  Salarino.     And  he  replies : — 

"  To  bait  fish  withal :  if  it  will  feed  nothing  else,  it  will 
feed  my  revenge.  He  hath  disgraced  me,  and  hindered 
me  of  half  a  million ;  laughed  at  my  losses,  mocked  at  my 
gains,  scorned  my  nation,  thwarted  my  bargains,  cooled 
my  friends,  heated  mine  enemies  ;  and  what's  his  reason  ? 
I  am  a  Jew.  Hath  not  a  Jew  eyes  ?  hath  not  a  Jew 
hands,  organs,  dimensions,  senses,  affections,  passions  1 
fed  with  the  same  food,  hurt  with  the  same  weapons, 
subject  to  the  same  diseases,  healed  by  the  same  means, 
warmed  and  cooled  by  the  same  winter  and  summer,  as 
a  Christian  is  1  if  you  prick  us,  do  we  not  bleed  ?  if  you 
tickle  us,  do  we  not  laugh  ?  if  you  poison  us,  do  we  not 
die  1  and  if  you  wrong  us,  shall  we  not  revenge  ?  if  we  are 
like  you  in  the  rest,  we  will  resemble  you  in  that.  If  a 
Jew  wrong  a  Christian,  what  ia  his  humility  1  revenge  :  if 
a  Christian  wrong  a  Jew,  what  should  his  suffrance  be  by 
Christian  example?  why,  revenge.  The  villainy  you 
teach  me,  I  will  execute  ;  and  it  shall  go  hard  but  I  will 
better  the  in8tructM)n."  ^ 

No,  Shylock  loves  money,  but  there  are  things 
which  he  loves  more,  among  others  his  daughter, 

^  Merchant  of  Veniet,  act  ilL  sc  i. 


384    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

"Jessica,  my  child."  Though  he  curses  her  in 
the  greatest  passion  of  wrath,  and  would  fain  see 
her  dead  at  his  feet,  with  the  jewels  in  her  ears 
and  with  the  ducats  in  her  coffin,  he  still  loyes 
her  more  than  all  ducats  and  jewela  Excluded 
from  public  life  and  Christian  society,  and  forced 
into  the  narrow  consolation  of  domestic  happi- 
ness, there  remain  to  the  poor  Jew  only  fitmily 
feelings,  and  these  come  forth  from  him  with  the 
most  touching  tenderness.  The  turquoise,  the 
ring  which  his  wife  Leah  once  gave  him,  he  would 
not  exchange  for  "  a  wilderness  of  monkeya" 
When  in  the  judgment  scene  Bassanio  speaks 
thus  to  Antonio  : —  I 


**  Antonio,  I  am  married  to  a  wife 
Which  is  as  dear  to  me  as  life  itself ; 
But  life  itself,  my  wife,  and  all  the  world. 
Are  not  with  me  esteem'd  above  thy  life  : 
I  would  lose  all,  ay,  sacrifice  them  all 
Here  to  this  devil,  to  deliver  you." 

To  which  Gratiano  adds : — 


*•  I  have  a  wife,  whom,  I  protest,  I  love :  j 

I  would  she  were  in  heaven,  so  she  could 
Entreat  some  power  to  change  this  currish  Jew."  ^ 

Then  there  awakes  in  Shy  lock  a  dreadful  appre- 
hension as  to  the  fate  of  his  daughter,  married 

*  MerehatU  0/  Venice,  »ct  iv.  bc.  I. 


yESSICA.  i^ 

among  men  who  will  sacrifice  their  wives  for 
their  friends,  and  aside,  not  alond,  he  says  to 
himself: — 

**  These  be  the  Christian  hushanda  I  I  have  a  daughter ; 
Would  any  of  the  stock  of  Barrabas 
Had  been  her  husband,  rather  than  a  Christian  ! "  * 

This  passage — this  casual  word — is  the  basis  of 
the  condemnation  which  we  must  prononnce  of 
the  fair  Jessica.  It  was  not  an  unloving  father 
whom  she  robbed  and  abandoned.  Shameful 
deceit !  She  even  makes  common  cause  with  the 
enemies  of  Shylock,  and  when  they  at  Belmont 
say  all  manner  of  evil  things  of  him,  Jessica  does 
not  cast  down  her  eyes,  nor  do  her  lips  grow 
white — no,  Jessica  herself  says  the  worst  things 
of  her  father.  Atrocious  wickedness!  She  has 
no  feeling,  only  a  love  of  what  is  remarkable  and 
romantic.  She  is  wearied  and  ennuyie  in  the 
closely  shut  "honourable"  house  of  the  stern 
and  bitter  Jew,  which  at  last  appears  to  her  to 
be  a  hell.  Her  frivolous  heart  was  all  too  easily 
attracted  by  the  lively  notes  of  the  drum,  and 
the  wry-necked  fife.  Did  Shakespeare  here  mean 
to  sketch  a  Jewess  ?  Indeed  no ;  what  he  depicts 
is  only  a  daughter  of  Eve,  one  of  those  beautiful 
birds,  who,  when  they  are  fledged,  fly  away  from 
the  paternal  nest  to  the  beloved  man.     So  Desde- 

^  Merehani  of  Venice,  act  iv.  sc.  i. 

2  B 


386    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

mona  followed  the  Moor,  so  Imogene  Posthumus. 
That  is  woman's  way.  We  may  remark  in  Jessica 
a  certain  timid  shame  which  she  cannot  over- 
come when  she  mast  put  on  a  boy's  dresa  It 
may  be  that  in  this  we  recognise  the  remarkable 
chastity  which  is  peculiar  ^  to  her  race,  and  which 
gives  its  daughters  such  a  wonderfully  lovely 
charm.  The  chastity  of  the  Jews  is  perhaps  the 
result  of  an  opposition  which  they  always  main- 
tained against  that  Oriental  religion  of  sense  and 
sensuality  which  once  flourished  among  their 
neighbours  the  Egyptians,  Phoenicians,  Assyrians, 
and  Babylonians  in  rankest  luxuriance,  and  which 
in  continual  transformation  has  survived  to  the 
present  day.^  The  Jews  are  a  chaste,  temperate, 
I  might  say  an  abstract  race,  and  in  purity  of 
morals  they  are  most  nearly  allied  to  the  Grer- 
manic  races.  The  chastity  of  the  women  among 
Jews  and  Germans  is  perhaps  of  no  real  value 
in  itself,  but  its  manifestation  makes  the  most 

'  Eigen,  own,  proper.     Eigens,  particularly,  especially. 

'  Of  all  which  charming  chastity  and  opposition  to  sensual 
worship,  Heine  elsewhere  in  many  places  expresses  a  very  sin- 
cere  detestation  ;  as,  for  instance,  in  the  "  Rabbi  of  Bacharach," 
where  he  unquestionably  portrays  himself  as  the  Spanish  Jew, 
and  declares  that  if  he  had  lived  of  old  in  Judea  he  would  have 
skipped  over  some  fine  morning  to  jolly  Babylon.  As  he  cer- 
tainly would  have  done.  And  it  may  be  also  remarked,  as 
regards  the  next  sentence,  that  it  is  hardly  consistent  to  declare 
that  anything  can  be  in  itself  worthless  and  yet  always  produce 
marvellous  results  1 — Tramdaior. 


7ESSICA.  38r 

fascinating,  charmingly  sweet,  and  deeply  moving 
impression.  It  is  touching  even  to  tears  when 
we  read  that  after  the  defeat  of  the  Cimbri  and 
Teutones,  the  women  begged  Marias  not  to  give 
them  over  to  the  soldiery,  but  to  make  them  slaves 
in  the  temple  of  Vesta. 

It  is  indeed  wonderful  what  a  deep  elective 
affinity  prevails  between  both  races,  Jews  and 
Germans.  This  chosen  alliance  did  not  originate 
in  a  historical  course,  because  the  great  family 
chronicle  of  the  Jews,  or  the  Bible,  was  used  by 
the  whole  Germanic  world,  nor  because  both  races 
were  from  early  times  foes  to  the  Eomans,  and 
were  thereby  naturally  allies;  it  has  a  deeper 
ground,  the  two  being  so  much  alike  that  one 
might  regard  primaBval  Palestine  as  an  Oriental 
Germany,  just  as  one  might  regard  the  Germany 
of  to-day  as  the  home  of  the  Holy  Word,  for  the 
mother-soil  of  prophetdom,  for  the  citadel  of  the 
Holy  Spirit.1 

But  it  is  not  Germany  alone  which  bears  the 
physiognomy  of  Palestine ;  all  Europe  raises  itself 
to  the  Jews.  I  say  raises  itself,  because  in  the 
beginning  the  Jews  had  the  modem  principle  in 
themselves  which  is  at  the  present  day  developing 
itself  for  the  first  time. 

Greeks  and  Romans  held  as  if  inspired  to 
their  native  soil — to  the  Fatherland.  The  later 
^  Orittheit,  spirit-hood,  spiritnality. 


388    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

Northern  immigrants  to  the  Grseco-Roman  world 
were  attached  to  the  persons  of  their  chiefs,  and 
instead  of  antique  patriotism  the  Middle  Ages 
witnessed  the  faith  of  vassals  and  loyalty  to 
princes.  But  the  Jews  always  held  to  and 
reverenced  that  Law  or  an  abstract  conception, 
like  our  new  cosmopolite  republicans,  who  care 
neither  for  the  country  of  their  birth  nor  the 
persons  of  princes,  but  regard  laws  as  leading 
principles  or  the  highest.  Yes,  cosmopolitanism 
sprung  from  the  land  of  Judea  alone,  and  Christ, 
who,  despite  the  displeasure  of  the  before-men- 
tioned Hamburg  grocer,  was  a  real  Jew,  actually 
founded  a  propaganda  of  cosmopolitanism.  As 
for  the  republicanism  of  the  Jews,  I  remember  to 
have  read  in  Josephus  that  there  were  in  Jeru- 
salem republicans  who  opposed  the  royally-in- 
clined Herodians,  fought  them  fiercely,  and  called 
no  man  "master,"  and  hated  Eoman  absolutism 
most  bitterly.  Freedom  and  equality  was  their 
religion.     What  madness ! 

But  what  is  the  real  reason  for  that  hatred 
which  we  see  here  in  Europe  between  the  adherents 
of  the  Mosaic  law  and  the  teaching  of  Christ  to 
the  present  day,  and  of  which  the  poet,  illustrating 
general  principles  by  facts,  gives  us  a  terrible 
picture  in  T?ie  Merchant  of  Venice.  Is  it  the 
original  fraternal  hatred  which  we  saw  flame 
forth  between  Cain  and  Abel  caused  by  different 


•  yESSICA.  389 

methods  of  sacrifice  ?  Or  is  religion  only  a  pre- 
tence, and  do  men  hate  one  another  simply  to 
hate,  just  as  they  love  to  love  ?  On  which  side 
is  the  guilt  in  this  animosity?  I  cannot  here 
refrain  from  giving  as  an  answer  to  this  question 
an  extract  from  a  private  letter,  which  also  justi- 
fies the  foes  of  Shylock : — ^ 

"  I  do  not  condemn  the  hatred  with  which  the 
common  people  persecute  the  Jews,  I  condemn 
the  unfortunate  errors  which  caused  that  hatred. 
The  people  are  always  in  the  right ;  in  their  hate 
as  in  their  love  there  is  always  at  bottom  a 
perfectly  correct  instinct,  but  they  do  not  know 
how  to  put  emotions  properly  into  shape,  and  so, 
instead  of  the  proper  subject,  their  grudge  falls 
on  the  innocent  scapegoat  of  the  disorders  and 
dissensions  of  time  or  place.  The  mob  is  in  want, 
it  lacks  the  means  to  enjoy  life,  and  though  the 
high  priest  of  the  religion  of  state  assures  it  that 
man  is  here  on  earth  to  endure  and  suflFer,  and  to 
obey  the  authorities  in  spite  of  hunger  and  thirst, 
still  the  people  have  secret  yearnings  for  what 
gratifies   their  senses,   and  they   hate  those  in 

^  Oar  author  here  appears  to  have  quite  forgotten  that  he 
has  already  perfectly  and  very  piously  accounted  for  all  the 
persecution  of  the  Jews,  by  informing  us  that  it  was  due  to 
"a  mysterious  dispensation  of  Providence."  Die  Vorsehtmg 
aus  geheimnissvoUen  Oriinden.  Surely  after  this  it  was  hardly 
consistent  to  attempt  to  explain  it  like  a  mere  irreligious 
rationalist  1 


~<mrtfif>i«t^^Jmmm;.f)^.,.4f 


390    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 


whose  chests  and  safes  their  means  therennto  lie 
hoarded  np,  they  hate  the  rich,  and  are  glad  when 
religion  permits  them  to  give  fall  swing  to  this 
hatred.  The  common  people  hated  in  the  Jews 
only  the  owners  of  money — it  was  always  the 
heaped-up  metal  which  attracted  the  lightning  of 
popular  wrath  to  the  Jews.  The  spirit  of  the 
times  gave  its  password  or  parole  to  that  hatred. 
In  the  Middle  Ages  it  bore  the  gloomy  colour 
of  the  Catholic  Church  and  people,  killed  Jews 
and  plundered  their  houses  because  they  crucified 
Christ,  with  quite  the  same  logic  certain  black 
Christians  at  the  time  of  the  massacre  in  San 
Domingo  paraded  about  with  a  picture  of  Christ 
on  the  cross  and  fanatically  cried :  Zes  blancs  Vont 
tv4,  tuons  nous  les  Uancs!^  I 

My  friend,  you  laugh  at  the  poor  negroes ;  but 
I  assure  you  that  the  West  Indian  planters  did 

^  Heine  would  have  been  charmed  (bad  he  ever  heard  of  it) 
with  an  incident  which  once  occurred  in  California.  A  China- 
man who  bad  heard  Bome  dim  account  of  the  Crucifixion,  and 
of  which  all  be  remembered  was  that  it  had  been  an  exceedingly 
discreditable  transaction  to  all  concerned,  had  a  quarrel  with 
a  Jew,  and  in  anger,  cried  :  "  My  savvy  you — you  one-piecee 
bad  man — you  velly  bad  man — ^you  killee  Melican  man's  Joss." 
The  conduct  of  the  St.  Domingo  blacks  recalls  a  passage  from 
a  negro  sermon  which  was  delivered  in  Philadelphia:  "My 
hyarers — bress  de  Lawd,  dere  was'n  no  cullered  folks  at  de 
Crucifixion.  De  Bible  doesn't  mention  one  single  nigga's  bein' 
dar.  Of  coee  dere  was  plenty  of  'em  in  Jerusalem,  else  who'd  a 
done  de  wite-washin'  an'  waitin'  ?  But  dey  had  too  much  sense 
to  'tend  to  any  such  doin's  as  crudfjrin'  folks." — Ttxmdator. 


ysSSICA.  30 

not  laugh  when  they  were  massacred  in  expiation 
to  Christ,  as  the  European  Jews  had  been  a  few 
centuries  before.  But  the  black  Christians  of 
San  Domingo  were  quite  in  the  right  The 
whites  lived  idly  in  full  enjoyment  of  all  plea- 
sures, while  the  negro  who  worked  for  them  in 
the  sweat  of  his  black  brow  got  for  pay  a  little 
rice-meal  and  very  many  lashes — ^the  blacks  were 
the  common  folk. 

"We  no  longer  live  in  the  Middle  Ages;  the 
common  folk  themselves  are  more  enlightened, — 
they  no  longer  kill  the  Jews  dead  at  sight,  nor 
palliate  their  hatred  with  religion;  our  age  is 
no  longer  so  hot  with  religious  zeal,  the  traditional 
grudge  veils  itself  with  modem  figures  of  speech, 
and  the  lower  orders  in  the  pot-houses  declaim 
against  the  Jews,  like  their  betters  in  the  chamber 
of  deputies,  with  mercantile,  industrial,  scientific, 
or  even  philosophical  arguments.  Only  utter 
hypocrites  continue  to  give  their  hatred  a  religious 
hue  and  persecute  Jews  on  account  of  Christ ;  the 
great  multitude  confesses  that  material  interests 
are  what  are  really  at  stake,  and  will  by  all 
possible  means  make  the  realisation  of  their  in- 
dustrial capacities  impossible  to  Jews.  Here  in 
Frankfort,  for  example,  only  twenty-four  believers 
in  the  law  of  Moses  can  be  married  annually,  lest 
their  population  should  increase  and  thereby  too 
much  competition  with  Christian  business  people 


"*?•''•:/** 


39«    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

be  created.  Here  the  real  reason  for  hating  the 
Jews  shows  itself  with  its  tme  fiace,  and  this  face 
has  not  the  gloomy  fanatical  features  of  a  monk, 
bat  the  flabby  tricky  traits  of  a  tradesman  who 
with  fear  works  in  business,  as  in  behavionr,  to 
keep  from  being  beaten  by  the  Jewish  commercial 
spirit. 

"Bat  Is  it  the  fault  of  the  Jews  that  this 
business-spirit  has  twined  itself  round  them  in 
such  a  threatening  manner  ?  The  guilt  lies 
entirely  in  that  lunacy  with  which  man  in  the 
Middle  Ages  ignored  the  meaning  of  industry, 
regarding  trade  as  something  ignoble,  even  that 
in  money  as  something  accursed,  and  therefore 
gave  that  most  profitable  part  of  all  business  over 
to  the  Jews,  so  that  these  latter,  being  excluded 
from  all  other  occupations,  necessarily  became  the 
most  refined  and  expert  merchants  and  bankers. 
The  world  compelled  them  to  become  rich,  and 
then  hated  them  for  their  wealth,  and  though 
Christianity  has  laid  aside  its  prejudices  against 
industry,  and  the  Christians  have  become  in  trade 
and  industry  as  great  rascals  and  as  rich  as  the 
Jews,  still  the  old  popular  hatred  against  the 
latter  survives,  the  people  persist  in  seeing  in 
them  always  the  representatives  of  money,  and 
hate  them.  You  see  that  in  history  every  one  is 
in  the  right,  the  hammer  as  well  as  the  anvil." 


K**'^" 


ysssiCA.  J98 

It  is  much  to  be  regretted  that  our  author  should 
in  this  paper  have  so  much  lost  sight  of  his  text  or 
subject,  or  that,  as  regards  these  last  sentences,  his 
"  friend  "  should,  in  his  lofty  scorn  for  "  finance  "  and 
"  tradesmen,"  have  employed  the  worn-out,  false,  and 
feeble  plea  that  Jews  were /orced  into  becoming  bankers 
and  men  of  business.  In  this  ^n<iest&Ze,  when  business 
is  regarded  as  a  great  and  noble  science,  and  allied  to, 
when  not  identical  with,  diplomacy,  social  science,  and 
philanthropy,  it  is  no  discredit  to  have  been  the  great 
agents  of  commerce,  even  in  the  days  of  chivalry.  It 
;  '  is  very  evident,  indeed,  that  the  Jews,  in  common  with 
the  Phoenicians  and  all  Semitic  races,  were  always 
-  keen  men  of  business,  even  while  they  were  warriors. 

The  buying  up  of  grain  by  Joseph,  and  the  testimony 
of  Latin  writers,  indicate  that  this  was  recognised  long 
before  the  Middle  Ages.  A  race  who  could  have  in- 
vented, or  introduced,  bills  of  exchange  in  the  tenth 
century,  but  who  were  in  all  probability  familiar  with 
them  in  the  great  banking  houses  of  Assyria  during^ 
f^" :  the  Captivity,  probably  required  no  extreme  pressure 

rJ:'  to  make  them  discount  bills.     As  Heine  informed  the 

reader  in  the  paper  on  Queen  Margaret,  that  all  the 
English  chivalry  and  knighthood  was  mere  greed  and 
managed  in  the  interests  of  bankers  and  shopmen,  he 
should  in  fairness  have  made  this  exception  when 
subsequently  declaring  that  gentlemen  in  the  Middle 
Ages  never  had  anything  to  do  with  such  repulsive 
u..,  occupations.     The  Jews  were  not  forced  into  business, 

they  entered  Europe  already  passed  grand-masters  of 
it — to  their  great  credit  be  it  spoken — and,  aided  by 


392    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

be  created.  Here  the  real  reason  for  hating  the 
Jews  shows  itself  with  its  true  face,  and  this  face 
has  not  the  gloomy  fanatical  features  of  a  monk, 
but  the  flabby  tricky  traits  of  a  tradesman  who 
with  fear  works  in  business,  as  in  behavioar,  to 
keep  from  being  beaten  by  the  Jewish  commercial 
spirit. 

"But  is  it  the  fault  of  the  Jews  that  this 
business-spirit  has  twined  itself  round  them  in 
such  a  threatening  manner  ?  The  guilt  lies 
entirely  in  that  lanacy  with  which  man  in  the 
Middle  Ages  ignored  the  meaning  of  industry, 
regarding  trade  as  something  ignoble,  even  that 
in  money  as  something  accursed,  and  therefore 
gave  that  most  profitable  part  of  all  business  over 
to  the  Jews,  so  that  these  latter,  being  excluded 
from  all  other  occupations,  necessarily  became  the 
most  refined  and  expert  merchants  and  bankers. 
The  world  compelled  them  to  become  rich,  and 
then  hated  them  for  their  wealth,  and  though 
Christianity  has  laid  aside  its  prejudices  against 
industry,  and  the  Christians  have  become  in  trade 
and  industry  as  great  rascals  and  as  rich  as  the 
Jews,  still  the  old  popular  hatred  against  the 
latter  survives,  the  people  persist  in  seeing  in 
them  always  the  representatives  of  money,  and 
hate  them.  You  see  that  in  history  every  one  is 
in  the  right,  the  hammer  as  well  as  the  anvil" 


,,/i. 


yESSICA.        :  393 

It  is  much  to  be  regretted  that  our  author  should 
in  this  paper  have  so  much  lost  sight  of  his  text  or 
subject,  or  that,  as  regards  these  last  sentences,  his 
"  friend  "  should,  in  his  lofty  scorn  for  "  finance  "  and 
"tradesmen,"  have  employed  the  worn-out,  false,  and 
feeble  plea  that  Jews  were  forced  into  becoming  bankers 
and  men  of  business.  In  this^n  de  etSde,  when  business 
is  regarded  as  a  great  and  noble  science,  and  allied  to, 
when  not  identical  with,  diplomacy,  social  science,  and 
philanthropy,  it  is  no  discredit  to  have  been  the  great 
agents  of  commerce,  even  in  the  days  of  chivalry.  It 
is  very  evident,  indeed,  that  the  Jews,  in  common  with 
the  Phoenicians  and  all  Semitic  races,  were  always 
keen  men  of  business,  even  while  they  were  warriors. 
The  buying  up  of  grain  by  Joseph,  and  the  testimony 
of  Latin  writers,  indicate  that  this  was  recognised  long 
before  the  Middle  Ages.  A  race  who  could  have  in- 
vented, or  introduced,  bills  of  exchange  in  the  tenth 
century,  but  who  were  in  all  probability  familiar  with 
them  in  the  great  banking  houses  of  Assyria  during 
the  Captivity,  probably  required  no  extreme  pressure 
to  make  them  discount  bills.  As  Heine  informed  the 
reader  in  the  paper  on  Queen  Margaret,  that  all  the 
English  chivalry  and  knighthood  was  mere  greed  and 
managed  in  the  interests  of  bankers  and  shopmen,  he 
should  in  fairness  have  made  this  exception  when 
subsequently  declaring  that  gentlemen  in  the  Middle 
Ages  never  had  anything  to  do  with  such  repulsive 
occupations.  The  Jews  were  not  forced  into  business, 
they  entered  Europe  already  passed  grand-masters  of 
it — to  their  great  credit  be  it  spoken — and,  aided  by 


-■^  ' 


394    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

other  influences,  they  forced  society  into  it  It  never 
•eems  to  have  occurred  to  Heine  that  this  was  a 
subject  for  pride;  he  invariably  appears  like  the 
sweU  in  Punch,  who  had  a  great  horror  of  business. 
And  he  also  forgets  something,  of  which  his  text 
should  have  reminded  him,  that  in  Italy,  especially 
in  Venice,  the  noblest  and  most  aristocratic  Christian 
families  were  engaged  in  commerce  and  banking.  It 
is  not  yet  settled  whether  the  three  balls  of  the  pawn- 
brokers were  derived  from  the  arms  of  the  Lombards, 
or  from  the  pills  of  the  Medici 


PORTIA. 

[the   merchant  of   VENICE.]  | 

''It  is  probable  that  all  art-critics  are  so  dazzled 
and  captured  by  the  astonishing  character  of 
Shylock  that  they  fail  to  do  justice  to  Portia, 
although  Shylock  is  not  richer  artistically,  nor 
more  complete  in  his  way,  than  Portia  in  hers. 
The  two  brilliant  figures  are  both  worthy  of 
honour,  worthy  to  be  placed  in  the  rich  realm  of 
enchanting  poetry  and  admirable  charming  forms. 
By  the  terrible,  unpitying  Jew,  against  his  mighty 
shadow,  strongly  contrasted  with  her  brilliant 
light,  she  hangs  like  a  magnificent  Titian,  breath- 
ing beauty,  near  a  glorious  Bembrandt. 

"Portia  has  her   full  share  of  the   agreeable 


\.r,'':f*:'--^:*^^*'^1'-'''f\  •"  ■ 


PORTIA.  395 

qualities  which  Shakespeare  has  given  to  many 
of  his  female  characters ;  but  with  the  dignity, 
the  sweetness,  and  tenderness  which  especially 
characterise  her  sex,  she  possesses  qnite  peculiar  or 
special  endowments — great  intellectual  power,  in- 
spired mind,  decided  firmness,  and  a  sprightliness 
which  plays  over  all.  These  are  inborn,  but  she 
has  still  other  remarkable  external  gifts,  which 
result  from  her  position  and  relations.  Thus  she 
is  heiress  to  a  princely  name  and  incalculable 
wealth;  she  is  always  surrounded  by  a  host  of 
gay  pleasures ;  from  infancy  she  has  breathed  an 
atmosphere  spiced  with  perfame  and  the  fragrance 
of  flattery.  Hence  a  commanding  but  charming 
manner,  an  aristocratic  elevated  tenderness,  a  spirit 
of  magnificence  in  all  which  she  does  and  says,  as 
of  one  familiar  from  birth  with  splendour.  She 
wanders  ever  as  if  in  marble  palaces,  under  gold- 
embroidered  canopies ;  on  floors  of  cedar  and 
mosaics  of  jasper  and  porphyry ;  in  gardens  with 
statues,  flowers,  and  fountains,  and  spiritual  whis- 
pering music.  She  is  fall  of  penetrating  wisdom, 
truest  tenderness,  and  lively  wit.  And  never 
having  known  poverty,  grief,  fear,  or  adversity, 
her  wisdom  has  no  trace  of  gloom  or  sadness ;  all 
her  actions  are  inspired  with  faith,  hope,  and  joy, 
and  her  wit  is  not  in  the  least  malicious  or  biting."  ^ 

^  These  are  not  Mrs.  Janiieson's  own  words,  but  a  close 
traaslation  of  Heine's  version  of  tb«n. — Trandator. 


396    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

I  have  taken  the  foregoing  passages  from  a  work 
by  Mrs.  Jamieson,  entitled,  "  Moral,  Poetical,  and 
Historical  Characters  of  Women." 

In  this  work  only  the  women  of  Shakespeare 
are  discussed,  and  what  is  here  cited  indicate  the 
spirit  of  the  writer,  who  is  probably  a  Scotch  lady. 
What  she  says  of  Portia,  as  opposed  to  Shylock, 
is  not  only  beautiful  but  true.  Should  we  take 
the  latter,  according  to  the  usual  conception, 
as  the  representative  of  the  stem,  earnest,  art- 
detesting  representative  of  Judea,  Portia,  on  the 
contrary,  appears  to  us  as  setting  forth  that 
after-blossoming  of  Greek  spirit  which  spread 
forth  its  delicious  perfume  in  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury from  Italy  all  over  the  world,  and  which 
we  love  and  esteem  to-day  as  the  Renaissance, 
Portia  is  also  the  type  of  gay  prosperity  in  anti- 
thesis to  the  gloomy  adversity  which  Shylock 
presents.  How  blooming,  rose-like,  pure  ringing, 
is  her  every  thought  and  saying,  how  glowing 
with  joy  her  every  word,  how  beautiful  all  the 
figures  of  her  phrases,  which  are  mostly  from  the 
mythology.  And  how  dismal,  sharp,  pinching, 
and  ugly  are,  on  the  contrary,  the  thoughts  and 
utterances  of  Shylock,  who  employs  only  similes 
from  the  Old  Testament  His  wit  is  cramped  and 
corroding,  he  seeks  his  metaphors  amid  the  most 
repulsive  subjects,  and  even  his  words  are  discords 
squeezed  together,  shrillj  hissing,  and  whirring. 


■■'r»*'»*-'^%  **.•••' 


rvj^^^ 


^  PORTIA. 

As  the  people,  so  their  homes.  When  we  see 
how  the  servant  of  Jehovah  will  not  endure  an 
image  of  either  God  or  man  in  his  "honourable 
house,"  and  even  closes  its  ears — the  windows — 
lest  the  sounds  of  heathenish  masquerading  should 
pierce  therein,  and  then  see  on  the  contrary  the 
costly  and  exquisitely  tasteful  villegiatura-life  in 
the  beautiful  palace  of  Belmont,  where  all  is  light 
and  music,  where  among  pictures,  marble  statues, 
and  high  laurel-trees,  the  elegantly  clad  wooers 
wander  and  discuss  enigmas  of  love,  while  through 
and  amid  all  this  splendour  fair  Signora  Portia 
gleams  like  a  goddess  whose  sunny  locks — 

*'  Hang  on  her  temples  like  a  golden  fleece.'  * 

By  such  a  contrast  the  two  chief  personages 
of  the  drama  are  so  individualised  that  one  might 
swear  they  were  not  the  feigned  fantasies  of  a 
poet,  but  real  people  and  of  woman  bom.  Yes, 
they  seem  to  us  to  be  even  more  living  than 
the  common  creatures  of  the  world,  for  neither 
time  nor  death  have  part  in  them,  and  in  their 
veins  runs  immortal  blood,  that  of  undying 
poetry.  When  thou  goest  to  Venice  and  wan- 
derest  through  the  Doge's  palace,  thou  knowest 
well  that  neither  in  the  hall  of  the  senators,  nor 
on  the  Giant's  Stair,   wilt   thou   meet    Marino 

*  Merchant  of  Venice,  act  i.  so.  I. 


398     SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN. 

Faliero.  Of  the  old  Dandolo  thoa  wilt  indeed 
be  reminded  in  the  Arsenal,  bat  on  none  of  the 
golden  galleys  wilt  thou  seek  the  blind  hero. 
Seest  thou  on  one  comer  of  the  Via  Santa  a 
snake  carved  in  stone,  and  on  the  other  a  winged 
lion,  which  holds  the  head  of  the  serpent  in  his 
claws,  you  may  remember  the  proud  Carmagnolo, 
but  only  for  an  instant.  But  far  more  than  all 
such  historical  persons  wilt  thou  think  in  Venice 
of  Shakespeare's  Shylock,  who  is  ever  living  while 
they  are  long  mouldered  in  the  grava 

And  when  thou  crosaest  the  Eialto  thine  eye 
will  seek  him  everywhere,  and  thou  deemest  he 
must  be  there  behind  some  pillar  with  his  Jewish 
gaberdine,  his  mistrusting,  reckoning  face,  and 
thou  believest  many  a  time  that  thou  canst 
hear  his  harsh  voice — "Three  thousand  ducats 
—well!" 

I  at  least,  a  wandering  hunter  of  dreams,  looked 
around  me  on  the  Eialto  to  see  if  I  could  find 
Shylock.  I  had  something  to  tell  him  which 
would  have  pleased  him ;  which  was,  that  his 
cousin  Monsieur  de  Shylock  in  Paris  had  become 
the  greatest  baron  of  all  Christendom,  and  re- 
ceived from  their  Catholic  Majesties  the  Order 
of  Isabella,  which  was  originally  instituted  to 
celebrate  the  expulsion  of  Jews  and  Moors  from 
Spain.  But  I  found  him  not  on  the  Eialto,  so 
I  determined  to  look  for  my  old   acquaintance 


PORTIA.  Hf 

in  the  Synagogue.  The  Jews  happened  to  be 
just  then  celebrating  their  holy  Feast  of  Expia- 
tion, and  stood  wrapped  up  in  their  white  Schavr- 
fdden-Tcdaren}  with  strange,  mysterious  noddinga 
of  their  heads,  looking  like  a  company  of  spectres. 
The  poor  Jews  who  stood  there  fasting  and  pray- 
ing since  early  in  the  morning  had  not  tasted 
food  nor  drink  since  the  yester-evening,  and  had 
also  first  of  all  begged  pardon  of  all  their  acquaint- 
ances for  any  evil  things  which  they  might  have 
said  of  them  during  the  past  year,  that  God  might 
in  like  manner  forgive  them  their  sins— a  beautiful 
custom,  which  very  strangely  exists  among  this 
race,  which  has,  however,  remained  afar  from  the 
teachings  of  Christ. 

But  while  looking  round  for  old  Shylock  and 
passing  in  careful  review  all  the  pale  suffering 
faces  of  the  Jews,  I  made  a  discovery  which  I — 
more  is  the  pity! — cannot  suppress.  I  had  the 
same  day  visited  the  madhouse  of  San  Carlo,  and 
now  it  occurred  to  me  in  the  Synagogue  that 
there  glimmered  in  the  glances  of  the  Jews  the 
same  dreadful,  half  staring,  half  unsteady,  half 
crafty,  half  stupid  expression  which  I  had  previ- 
ously seen  in  the  eyes  of  the  lunatics  in  San 
Carlo.  This  indescribable,  perplexing  look  did 
not  so  much  indicate  absence  of  mind  as  rather 
the  supremacy  of  a  fixed  idea.     Has  perhaps  the 

^  A  pecaliar  head-dress,  worn  by  Jews  in  the  synagogue. 


400    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN.  [ 

faith  in  that  extra-mundane  thunder-god  whom 
Moses  preached,  become  the  fixed  idea  of  a  whole 
race,  so  that,  though  they  have  for  two  thousand 
years  suffered  from  it  in  strait-jackets  and  shower- 
baths,  yet  for  all  that  will  not  give  it  up — like 
that  lunatic  lawyer  whom  I  saw  in  San  Carlo, 
who  would  not  be  persuaded  but  what  the  sun 
was  an  English  cheese,  the  rays  of  which  were 
long  red  maggots,  and  that  one  of  these  worm- 
rays  was  eating  away  his  brain. 

I  will  here  by  no  means  deny  the  value  of  that 
fixed  idea,  but  I  will  only  say  that  those  who 
have  it  are  much  too  weak  to  manage  it,  and 
therefore  being  oppressed  by  it  have  become 
incurable.  What  tremendous  martyrdom  have 
they  suffered  firom  it!  what  greater  martyrdoms 
await  them  in  future !  I  shudder  at  the  thought, 
and  an  infinite  pity  ripples  through  my  heart. 
During  the  whole  Middle  Ages,  till  to-day,  the 
predominant  view  of  all  things  was  not  in  direct 
contradiction  with  that  idea  with  which  Moses 
burdened  the  Jews,  lashed  it  into  them  with  holy 
straps,  and  cut  it  deeply  into  their  flesh — in  fact, 
they  did  not  differ  materially  from  Christians  and 
Mahometans,  nor  by  an  antagonistic  synthesis,  but 
only  by  analysis  and  shibboleth.  But  if  Satan, 
or  the  sinful  pantheism — from  which  may  all  the 
saints  of  the  Old  and  New  Testament  as  well  as 
the  Koran  protect  ns ! — should  conquer,  there  will 


PORTIA.  4U 

fall  on  the  heads  of  the  poor  Jews  a  tempest 
of  persecution  which  will  far  surpass  all  their 
previous  sufferings. 

Though  I  looked  all  around  in  the  synagogue 
of  Venice,  on  every  side  I  could  nowhere  see  the 
face  of  Shylock.     And  yet  it  seemed  to  me  he 
must  be  there,  hidden  under  one  of  those  white 
talars,  praying  more  fervently  than  any  of  his 
fellow-believers,  with  stormy,  wild  passion,  yes, 
with  madness,  to  the  throne  of  Jehovah,  the  severe, 
divine  monarch.     I  saw  him  not.     But  towards 
evening  when,  according  to  the  belief  of  the  Jews, 
the  gates  of  heaven  are  closed  and  no  further 
prayer  can  enter,  I  heard  a  voice  in  which  tears 
flowed  as  they  were  never  wept  from  eyes.    There 
was  a  sobbing  which  might  have  moved  a  stone 
to  pity — ^there  were  utterances  of  agony  such  as 
oould  only  come  from  a  breast  which  held  shut 
within  itself  all  the  martyrdom  which  an  utterly 
tormented  race  had  endured  for  eighteen  centuries. 
It  was  the  death-rattle  of  a  soul  which,  weary  to 
death,  sinks  to  the  ground  before  the  gates  of 
heaven.     And  this  voice  seemed  to  be  well  known 
to  me — as  if  I  had  heard  it  long  long  ago,  when  it 
wailed  just  as  despairingly,  "  Jessica,  my  child ! " 


3C 


MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN 


IN  THK 


COMEDIES  OF  SHAKESPEARE. 


MIRANDA. 
[The  Tempest,  Act  III.  Scene  i.] 

Fer.  Wherefore  weep  you  ? 

Mira.  At  mine  unworthiness,  that  dare  not  offer 
What  I  desire  to  give,  and  much  less  take 
What  I  shall  die  to  want.    But  this  is  trifling ; 
And  all  the  more  it  seeks  to  hide  itself, 
The  bigger  bulk  it  shows.    Hence,  bashful  cunning  1 
And  prompt  me,  plain  and  holy  innocence  I 
I  am  your  wife,  if  you  will  marry  me ; 
If  not,  I'll  die  your  maid  :  to  be  your  fellow 
You  may  deny  me ;  but  I'll  be  your  servant^ 
Whether  you  will  or  no. 

Ftr.  My  mistress,  dearest, 
And  I  thus  humble  ever. 

Mira,.  My  husband  then  ? 

^'(BT.  Ay,  with  a  heart  as  willing 
Ab  bondage  e'er  of  freedom :  here's  my  hand. 

Mvra.  And  mine,  with  my  heart  in 't.   And  now  faxewell 
Till  half  an  hour  hence. 


•  -•»•«••»    ,/(r»'Tf  ,'••*■'•'*". -•'  ♦^-••■^♦^       ^--^■^:4ii' 


4o6    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN 


TITANIA. 
[Midsummer  Night's  Dream,  Aa  J  I.  Sunt  3.] 

Etder  Titania,  wii}i  htr  train. 

Txta.  Come,  now  a  roundel,  and  a  fairy  song ; 
Then,  for  the  third  part  of  a  minute,  hence  ; 
Some  to  kill  cankers  in  the  musk-rose  buds ; 
Some,  war  with  rear-mice  for  their  leathern  wings, 
To  make  my  small  elves  coats  ;  and  some,  keep  back 
The  clamorous  owl,  that  nightly  hoots,  and  wonders 
At  our  quaint  spirits :  Sing  me  now  asleep  ; 
Then  to  your  offices,  and  let  me  rest. 


PERDITA. 
[Winter's  Tale,  Act  IV.  Scene  3.] 

Per.  Come,  take  your  flowers  : 
Methinks,  I  play  as  I  have  seen  them  do 
In  Whitsun'  pastorals  :  sure,  this  robe  of  mine 
Does  change  my  disposition. 

Fh.  What  you  do, 
Still  betters  what  is  done.    When  you  speak,  sweet, 
Pd  have  you  do  it  ever :  when  you  sing, 
Fd  have  you  buy  and  sell  so ;  so  give  idms ; 


■•7>'-  ('.  /"r  - 


( 


*M.  ^      ^ym 


JN  THE  COMEDIES,  40^ 

Pray  so ;  and,  for  the  ordering  your  affairs, 

To  sing  them  too  :  When  you  do  dance,  I  wish  yon 

A  wave  o'  the  sea,  that  you  might  ever  do 

Nothing  but  that ;  move  still,  still  so,  and  own  . 

No  other  function  :  Each  your  doing. 

So  singular  in  each  particular, 

Crowns  what  you  are  doing  in  the  present  deeds. 

That  all  your  acts  are  queens. 


IMOGENE. 
[Cymbeline,  Act  II.  Sune  2.] 

IfM.  To  your  protection  I  commend  me,  gods  I 
From  fairies,  and  the  tempters  of  the  night, 
Quard  me,  beseech  ye  I 

\Sle^s.    Iachimo,  from  the  trunk 

lach.  The  crickets  sing,  and  man's  o'erlaboui'd  sense 
Repairs  itself  by  rest.     Our  Tarquin  thus 
Did  softly  press  the  rushes,  ere  he  waken'd 
The  chastity  he  wounded. — Cytherea,     ; 
How  bravely  thou  becomest  tiiy  bed  I  fresh  Uly  ! 
And  whiter  than  the  sheets  I    That  I  might  touch  I 
But  kiss ;  one  kiss !    Rubies  unparagon'd, 
How  dearly  they  do 't  1 — ^'Tis  her  breathing  that 
Perfumes  the  chamber  thus.    The  flame  o'  the  taper 
Bows  towards  her :  and  would  under-peep  her  lids, 
To  see  the  enclosed  lights,  now  canopied 
Under  those  windows, — ^white  and  azure,  laced 
With  blue  of  heaven's  own  tinct. 


4o8    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN 

JULIA. 

[Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,  Acf  IV.  Scene  4.] 

JvL  How  many  women  would  do  such  a  message  t 
Alas,  poor  Proteus  1  Thou  hast  entertain'd 
A  fox  to  be  the  shepherd  of  thy  lambs  : 
Alas,  poor  fool !  why  do  I  pity  him 
That  with  his  very  heart  despiseth  me  ? 
Because  he  loves  her,  he  despiseth  me  ; 
Because  I  love  him,  I  must  pity  him. 
.  This  ring  I  gave  him,  when  he  parted  from  me, 
To  bind  him  to  remember  my  good  will : 
And  now  am  I  (unhappy  messenger) 
To  plead  for  that  which  I  would  not  obtain  ; 
To  carry  that  which  I  would  have  refused  ; 
To  praise  his  faith  which  I  would  have  dispraised. 
I  am  my  master's  true  confirmed  love ; 
But  cannot  be  true  servant  to  my  master. 
Unless  I  prove  false  traitor  to  myself. 
Yet  I  will  woo  for  him  ;  but  yet  so  coldly, 
Ab,  Heaven  it  knows,  I  would  not  have  him  speed. 


SILVIA. 

[Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona,  Aef  IV.  Scene  4.] 

Here,  youth,  there  is  my  purse  ;  I  give  thee  this 

For  thy  sweet  mistress*  sake,  because  thou  lovest  her.     I 

Farewell  \_Bxii.  SiMa. 


.^••-^._    v<.-  ■    '    ■-  .       "'   ■     r-  •  •"*^. 


IN  THE  COMEDIES.  ;|i| 

Jul.  And  ahe  shall  thank  you  for't,  if  e'er  you  know  her. 
A  virtuous  gentlewoman,  mild,  and  beautiful. 
I  hope  my  master's  suit  will  be  but  cold, 
Since  she  respects  my  mistress'  love  so  much. 
Alas,  how  love  can  trifle  with  itself  I 
Here  is  her  picture :  Let  me  see;  I  think. 
If  I  had  such  a  tire,  this  face  of  mine 
Were  full  as  lovely  as  is  this  of  hers ; 
And  yet  the  painter  flatter'd  her  a  little. 
Unless  I  flatter  with  myself  too  much. 
Her  hair  is  auburn,  mine  is  perfect  yellow : 
If  that  be  all  the  difiference  in  his  love, 
I'll  get  me  such  a  colour'd  periwig. 
Her  eyes  as  grey  as  gjass,  and  so  are  mine :  . 

Ay,  but  her  forehead's  low,  and  mine's  as  high. 
What  should  it  be,  that  he  respects  in  her, 
But  I  can  make  respective  to  myself, 
If  this  fond  love  were  not  a  blinded  god  ? 


HERO. 

[Much  Ado  about  Nothing,  Acf  IV.  Scene  i.] 

Friar.  Lady,  what  man  is  he  you  are  accused  oft 
Hero.  They  know,  that  do  accuse  me ;  I  know  none : 
If  I  know  more  of  any  man  alive, 
Than  that  which  maiden  modesty  doth  warrant, 
Let  all  my  sins  lack  mercy  1 — 0  my  father. 


4IO    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN 

Prove  you,  that  any  man  with  me  conversed 
At  hours  unmeet,  or  that  I  yesternight 
Maintain'd  the  change  of  words  with  any  creature, 
Befuse  me,  hate  me,  torture  me  to  death. 


BEATRICE. 


[Much  Ado  about  Nothing,  Ac/  III.  Scene  i.] 


Hero.  0  God  of  love  !    I  know,  he  doth  deserve 
As  much  as  may  be  yielded  to  a  man  : 
But  nature  never  framed  a  woman's  heart 
Of  prouder  stuflf  than  that  of  Beatrice  : 
Disdain  and  scorn  ride  sparkling  in  her  eyes, 
Misprising  what  they  look  on ;  and  her  wit 
Values  itself  so  highly,  that  to  her 
All  matter  else  seems  weak  :  she  cannot  love, 
Nor  take  no  shape  nor  project  of  affection, 
She  is  so  self  endeared. 

Urt.  Sure,  I  think  so  ; 
And  therefore,  certainly,  it  were  not  good. 
She  knew  his  love,  lest  she  make  sport  at  it. 

Kexo.  Why,  you  speak  truth :  I  never  yet  saw  man, 
How  wise,  how  noble,  young,  how  rarely  featured, 
But  she  would  spell  him  backward  :  if  fair-faced. 
She'd  swear,  the  gentleman  should  be  her  sister ; 
If  black,  why  nature,  drawing  of  an  antic, 
Made  a  foul  blot ;  if  tall,  a  lance  ill-headed  ; 


..*-»«- ••J",'  j>-<i 


IN  THE  COMEDIES.  4*» 

If  low,  an  agate  very  vilely  cut ; 
If  Bpeaking,  why  a  vane  blown  with  all  winds  ; 
If  silent,  why,  a  block  moved  with  none. 
So  turns  she  every  man  the  wrong  side  out ; 
And  never  gives  to  truth  and  virtue  that 
Which  flimpleness  and  merit  purchaseth. 

Urs.  Sure,  sure,  such  carping  is  not  commendable. 

Hero.  No  :  not  to  be  so  odd,  and  from  all  fashionfl, 
As  Beatrice  is,  cannot  be  commendable : 
But  who  dare  tell  her  so  ?    If  I  should  speak, 
She'd  mock  me  into  air  ;  0,  she  would  laugh  me 
Out  of  myself,  press  me  to  death  with  wit. 
Therefore  let  Benedick,  like  cover*d  fire, 
Consume  away  in  sighs,  waste  inwardly  : 
It  were  a  better  death  than  die  with  mocka ; 
Which  is  as  bad  as  die  with  tickling. 


HELENA. 

[All's  Well  that  Ends  Well,  Act  I.  Scene  3.] 

jBci.  Then,  I  confess, 
Here  on  my  knee,  before  high  Heaven  and  you, 
That  before  you,  and  next  unto  high  Heaven, 
I  love  your  son  : — 

My  friends  were  poor,  but  honest ;  bo's  my  love : 
Be  not  offended  ;  for  it  hurts  not  him. 


412    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMBS 

That  he  is  loved  of  me  :  I  follow  him  not 

B7  any  token  of  presumptuous  suit ; 

Nor  would  I  have  him,  till  I  do  deserve  him  ; 

Nor  yet  know  how  that  desert  should  he. 

I  know  I  love  in  vain,  strive  against  hope ; 

Yet,  in  this  captious  and  intenible  sieve, 

I  still  pour  in  the  waters  of  my  love. 

And  lack  not  to  lose  still :  thus,  Indian-like, 

Religious  in  mine  error,  I  adore 

The  sun  that  looks  upon  his  worshipper. 

But  knows  of  him  no  more.    My  dearest  madam. 

Let  not  your  hate  encounter  with  my  love, 

For  loving  where  you  do  :  but,  if  yourself 

Whose  aged  honour  cites  a  virtuous  youth. 

Did  ever,  in  so  true  a  flame  of  liking. 

Wish  chastely,  and  love  dearly,  that  your  Dian 

Was  both  herself  and  love,  0  then  give  pity 

To  her,  whose  state  is  such,  that  cannot  choose 

But  lend  and  give,  where  she  is  sure  to  lose ; 

That  seeks  not  to  find  that  her  search  implies, 

But,  riddle-like,  lives  sweetly  where  she  dies. 


CELIA. 

[As  You  Like  It,  Act  I.  Scene  2.]  j 

Rot.  From  henceforth,  I  will,  coz,  and  devise  sports: 
let  me  see, — What  think  you  of  falling  in  love  ?  | 

CeL  Marry,  I  pr'ythee,  do,  to  make  sport  withal :  bat 


*> 


WfaVi  ■■'    "f"*-*  w^ 


r  IN  THE  COMEDIES.  ..    413 

lore  no  man  in  good  earnest;  nor  no  farther  in  sport 
neither,  than  with  safety  of  a  pnre  blosli  thou  may'st  in 
honour  come  off  again. 

Bos.  What  aliall  be  our  sport  then  ? 

Cel.  Let  us  sit  and  mock  the  good  housewife,  Fortune, 
from  her  wheel,  that  her  gifts  may  henceforth  be  bestowed 
equally. 

Eos.  I  would  we  could  do  so :  for  her  benefits  are 
mightily  misplaced  :  and  the  bountiful  blind  woman  doth 
most  mistake  in  her  gifts  to  women. 

Cel.  'Tis  true :  for  those  that  she  makes  fair,  she  scarce 
makes  honest ;  and  those  that  she  makes  honest,  she  makes 
very  ill-favour'dly. 

B08.  Nay,  now  thou  goest  from  fortunes  office  to  nature's: 
fortune  reigns  in  gifts  of  the  world,  not  in  the  lineaments 
of  nature. 


ROSALIND. 
[As  You  Like  It,  Act  III.  Scene  2.] 

Cel.  Didst  thou  hear  these  verses  ? 

Eos.  0  yes,  I  heard  them  all,  and  more  too  ;  for  some  of 
them  had  in  them  more  feet  than  the  verses  would  bear. 

Cel.  That 's  no  matter  ;  the  feet  might  bear  the  verses. 

Eos.  Ay,  but  the  feet  were  lame,  and  could  not  bear 
themselves  without  the  verse,  and  therefore  stood  lamely 
in  the  verse. 

Cel.  But  didst  thou  hear,  without  wondering  how  thy 
name  should  be  hang'd  and  carved  upon  these  trees  ? 


414    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN 

So$.  I  was  seven  of  the  nine  days  out  of  the  wonder 
before  you  came ;  for  look  here  what  I  found  on  a  palm- 
tree:  I  was  never  so  be-rhymed  since  Pythagoras'  time, 
that  I  was  an  Irish  rat,  which  I  can  hardly  remember. 


OLIVIA. 

[Twelfth  Night;  or,  What  You  Will, 
Act  I.  Scene  5.] 


Vio.  Gk}od  madam,  let  me  see  your  face.  j 

Oli.  Have  you  any  commission  from  your  lord  to  nego- 
tiate with  my  face  ?  you  are  now  out  of  your  text :  but  we 
will  draw  the  curtain,  and  show  you  the  picture.  Look 
you,  sir,  such  a  one  as  I  was  this  present.  Is 't  not  well 
done  %  [  Unveiling. 

Vio.  Excellently  done,  if  (Jod  did  all. 

Oli.  *Tis  in  grain,  sir ;  'twill  endure  wind  and  weather. 

Vio.  Tis  beauty  truly  blent,  whose  red  and  white 
Nature's  own  sweet  and  cunning  hand  laid  on : 
Lady,  you  are  the  cruel'st  she  alive, 
If  you  will  lead  these  graces  to  the  grave, 
And  leave  the  world  no  copy. 


■'• 


IN  THE  COMBDIBS.  415 


VIOLA. 

[Twelfth  Night;  or,  What  You  Will, 
Act  II.  Scene  4.] 

Vio.  Too  well  what  love  women  to  men  may  owe ; 
In  faith,  they  are  as  true  of  heait  as  we. 
M7  father  had  a  daughter  loved  a  man, 
Ajs  it  might  be,  perhaps,  were  I  a  woman, 
I  should  yonr  lordship. 

Dvke.  And  what^s  her  history  t 

Vio.  A  blank,  my  lord.    She  never  told  her  love. 
But  let  concealment,  like  a  worm  i'  the  bud. 
Feed  on  her  damask  cheek :  she  pined  in  thought ; 
And,  with  a  green  and  yellow  melancholy. 
She  sat  like  Patience  on  a  monument, 
Smiling  at  grief.    Was  not  this  love,  indeed  ? 
We  men  may  say  more,  swear  more  :  but,  indeed, 
Our  shows  are  more  than  will ;  for  still  we  prove 
Much  in  our  vows,  but  little  in  our  love. 

Dvke.  But  died  thy  sister  of  her  love,  my  boy  I 

Vio.  I  am  all  the  daughters  of  my  father's  house, 
and  all  the  brothers  too. 


MARIA. 


[Twelfth  Night;  or.  What  You  Will, 
Act  I.  Scene  3.] 

Sir  And.  An*  you  part  so,  mistress,  I  would  I  might 
never  draw  sword  again.  Fair  lady,  do  you  think  you 
have  foola  in  hand  ? 


4i6    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN 

Mar.  Sir,  I  have  not  you  by  the  hand. 

Sir  And.  Marry,  but  you  shall  have ;  and  here  'b  my 
hand. 

Mar.  Now,  sir,  thought  is  free.  I  pray  you,  bring  your 
hand  to  the  buttery-bar,  and  let  it  drink. 

Sir  And.  Wherefore,  sweetheart  ?  What's  your  meta* 
phor?  . 

Mar.  It's  dry,  sir. 

Sir  And.  Why,  I  think  so  :  I  am  not  such  an  ass,  but  I 
can  keep  my  hand  dry.    But  what 's  your  jest  ?  i 

Mar.  A  dry  jest,  sir. 

Sir  And.  Are  you  full  of  them  1 

Mar.  Ay,  sir :  I  have  them  at  my  fingers*  ends  :  marry, 
now  I  let  go  your  hand,  I  am  barren. 


ISABELLA. 

[Measure  for  Measure,  Act  II.  Scene  4] 

Ang.  Admit  no  other  way  to  save  his  life, 
(As  I  subscribe  not  that,  nor  any  other. 
But  in  the  loss  of  question,)  that  you,  his  sister, 
Finding  yourself  desired  of  such  a  person, 
Whose  credit  with  the  judge,  or  own  great  place, 
Could  fetch  your  brother  from  the  manaclea 
Of  the  all-binding  law  ;  and  that  there  were 
No  earthly  mean  to  save  him,  but  that  either 
You  must  lay  down  the  treasures  of  your  body 


...^ 


IN  THE  COMEDIES*       f:         417 

To  this  supposed,  or  else  let  him  suffer : 
What  would  you  ? 

Itah.  As  much  for  my  poor  brother,  as  myself. 
That  is,  were  I  under  the  terms  of  death, 
The  impression  of  keen  whips  I'd  wear  as  rubies, 
And  strip  myself  to  death,  as  to  a  bed 
That  longing  I  have  been  sick  for,  ere  I  'd  yield 
My  body  up  to  shame.  ^ 

Ang.  Then  must  your  brother  die. 

Isah.  And  'twere  the  cheaper  way :  ; 
Better  it  were,  a  brother  died  at  once, 
Than  that  a  sister,  by  redeeming  him, 
Should  die  for  ever. 


THE  PRINCESS  OF  FRANCE. 
[Love's  Labour  's  Lost,  Act  IV.  Scene  i.] 

Cost.  Qod  dig-you-den  all  1    Pray  yon  which  is  the  head 
lady] 

Prin.  Thou  shalt  know  her,  fellow,  by  the  rest  that 
have  no  heads. 

CoiA.  Which  is  the  greatest  lady,  the  highest? 

Prin.  The  thickest  and  the  tallest. 

Cost.  The  thickest,  and  the  tallest  1  it  is  so ;  truth  is 
truth. 
An  your  waist,  mistress,  were  as  slender  as  my  wit, 
One  of  these  maids'  girdles  for  your  waist  should  be  fit. 
Are  not  you  the  chief  woman  %  you  are  the  thickest  here. 

2  D 


4i8    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN 


THE  ABBESS. 
[Comedy  of  Errors,  Act  V.  Scene  i.] 

Ai/r.  It  was  the  copy  of  our  conference : 
In  bed,  he  slept  not  for  my  urging  it ; 
At  board,  he  fed  not  for  my  urging  it ;  j 

Alone,  it  was  the  subject  of  my  theme  ; 
In  company,  I  often  glanced  it ;  } 

Still  did  I  tell  him  it  was  vile  and  bad.  •         ; 

Abh.  And  thereof  came  it,  that  thy  man  was  mad : 
The  venom  clamours  of  a  jealous  woman 
Poison  more  deadly  than  a  mad  dog's  tooth.  i 

It  seems,  his  sleep  waa  hinder'd  by  thy  railing :       ; 
And  therefore  comes  it,  that  his  head  is  light. 
Thou  say'st,  his  meat  was  sauced  by  thy  upbraidings 
Unquiet  meals  make  ill  digestions, 
Thereof  the  raging  fire  of  fever  bred  ;  | 

And  what's  a  fever  but  a  fit  of  madness? 
Thou  say'st  his  sports  were  hinder'd  by  thy  brawls : 
Sweet  recreation  barr'd,  what  doth  ensue, 
But  moody  and  dull  melancholy,  i 

(Kinsman  to  grim  and  comfortless  despair ;) 
And,  at  her  heels,  a  huge  infectious  troop 
Of  pale  distemperatures,  and  foes  to  life  1 
In  food,  in  sport,  and  life-preserving  rest 
To  be  disturb'd,  would  mad  or  man,  or  beast ; 
The  consequence  is  then,  thy  jealous  fits 
Have  scared  thy  husband  from  the  use  of  wits. 


IN  THE  COMEDIES. 


MRS.  PAGE. 

[Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  Act  II.  Scene  2.] 

Quick.  That  were  a  jest,  indeed  ;  they  have  not  so  little 
grace,  I  hope : — that  were  a  trick,  indeed !  But  Mrs. 
Page  would  desire  you  to  send  her  your  little  page,  of  all 
loves  ;  her  husband  has  a  marvellous  infection  to  the  little 
page :  and,  truly.  Master  Page  is  an  honest  man.  Never 
a  wife  in  Windsor  leads  a  better  life  than  she  does  ;  do 
what  she  will,  say  what  she  will,  take  all,  pay  all,  go  to 
bed  when  she  list,  rise  when  she  list,  all  is  as  she  will ; 
and,  truly,  she  deserves  it :  for  if  there  be  a  kind  woman 
in  Windsor  she  is  one.  You  must  send  her  your  page : 
no  remedy. 


MRS.  FORD. 
[Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  Act  I.  Scene  3.] 

Fal.  No  quips  now,  Pistol :  Indeed  I  am  in  the  waist 
two  yards  about :  but  I  am  now  about  no  waste ;  I  am 
about  thrift.  Briefly,  I  do  mean  to  make  love  to  Ford's 
wife  ;  I  spy  entertainment  in  her ;  she  discourses,  she 
carves,  she  gives  the  leer  of  invitation :  I  can  construe 
the  action  of  her  familiar  style ;  and  the  hardest  voice  of 
her  behaviour,  to  be  Englidi'd  rightly,  is,  7  am  Sir  John 
Falstaffs. 

Pitt.  He  hath  studied  her  well,  and  translated  her  well 
—out  of  honesty  into  English. 


4ao    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN 


ANNE  PAGE. 
[Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  Act  I.  Scene  i.] 


AwM,  Will't  please  your  worship  to  come  in,  sir.  I 

Sltn.  No,  I  thank  you,  forsooth,  heartily ;  I  am  very 
welL 

Awiu.  The  dinner  attends  you,  sir. 

£i2en.  I  am  not  a-hungry,  I  thank  you,  forsooth. — Gk)^ 
sirrah,  for  all  you  are  my  man,  go,  wait  upon  my  cousin 
Shallow :  \Exni,  &vm^U^  A  justice  of  peace  sometime  may 
be  beholden  to  his  friend  for  a  man. — I  keep  but  three 
men  and  a  boy  yet,  tiU  my  mother  be  dead :  But  what 
though  ?  yet  I  live  like  a  poor  gentleman  bom. 

Anne.  I  may  not  go  in  without  your  worship :  they  will 
not  sit  till  you  come. 


KATHARINA, 

[Taming  of  the  Shrew,  Act  II.  Scene  i.] 

Pet.  I  pray  you  do,  I  will  attend  her  here, — 
And  woo  her  with  some  spirit  when  she  comes. 
Say,  that  she  rail, — why,  then  I'll  tell  her  plain. 
She  sings  as  sweetly  as  a  nightingale ; 
Say,  that  she  frown,- 

As  morning  roses  newly  wash'd  with  dew ; 
Say,  she  be  mute,  and  will  not  speak  a  word, — 
Then,  I'll  commend  her  volubility, 


I'll  say,  she  looks  as  clear 


'  IN  THE  COMEDIES.       ;•  421 

And  Bay — she  utteretli  piercing  eloquence  ;  ' 

If  she  do  bid  me  pack,  I'll  give  her  thankH, 

Ab  though  she  bid  me  stay  by  her  a  week  j 

If  she  deny  to  wed,  I'll  crave  the  day 

When  I  shall  ask  the  banns,  and  when  be  married. — 

Bat  here  she  comes ;  and  now,  Petmchio,  speak. 

JEnter  Eathabina. 
Good-morrow,  Kate ;  for  that's  your  name,  I  hear. 

Kath.  WeU  have  you  heard,  but  something  hard  of 
hearing; 
They  call  me  Katharine  that  do  talk  of  me. 

Pet.  You  lie,  in  faith  ;  for  you  are  call'd  plain  Kate, 
And  bonny  Kate,  and  sometimes  Kate  the  curst ; 
But  Kate,  the  prettiest  Kate  in  Christendom, 
Kate  of  Kate- Hall,  my  supper-dainty  Kate, 
For  dainties  are  all  cates  :  and  therefore,  Kate, 
Take  this  of  me,  Kate  of  my  consolation, — 
Hearing  thy  mildness  praised  in  every  town, 
Thy  virtues  spoke  of,  and  thy  beauty  sounded, 
(Yet  not  so  deeply  as  to  thee  belongs,) 
Myself  am  moved  to  woo  thee  for  my  wife. 


In  the  introductory  pages  to  this  picture-gallery 
I  have  related  how  the  popularity  of  Shakespeare 
spread  over  England  and  Germany,  and  how, 
here  and  there,  appreciation  of  his  works  was 
developed.  Unfortunately  I  could  impart  no 
such  pleasant  information  as  regards  the  Latin 
lands.  In  Spain,  the  name  of  our  poet  has  re- 
mained even  to  this  day  unknown.  Italy  ignores 
him — probably  intentionally,  in  order  to  protect 


<d  A .y' -  ,mm.  m'-'^ *  *»*  *-^_   --»  " ■'■f^'-' *^'v>-)~.t-. ■■»■'  .  I..  *%  **->:;»>r**.-i.^: :,*i-. 


.  «**•-•  >*•  **i^'Jiy-i^,.  .■'"*j[ 


422    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN 


the  fame  of  its  own  great  poet  fix)m  transalpine 
rivalry ;  and  France,  the  home  of  traditional  taste 
and  refined  tone,  long  believed  it  had  sufficiently 
honoured  the  great  Briton  when  it  called  him  a 
genial  barbarian,  and  made  as  little  mockery  as 
might  be  of  his  strange  roughness.  Meantime  the 
political  revolution  which  animated  this  country 
also  developed  a  literary  one,  which,  as  regards 
Terrorism,  perhaps  surpasses  the  first ;  and  when 
it  came.  Shakespeare  was  lifted  on  the  shield.  Of 
course,  just  as  in  their  attempts  at  political 
changes,  the  French  are  seldom  quite  honourable 
in  their  literary  revolutions — in  the  one  as  in  the 
other  they  praise  and  exalt  a  hero,  not  for  his 
true  innate  worth,  but  on  account  of  the  momen- 
tary advantage  which  their  cause  may  gain  by 
such  exalting  and  glorifying,  and  so  it  happens 
that  they  to-day  praise  what  they  to-morrow  cast 
down,  or  the  contrary.  For  ten  years  Shake- 
speare has  been  for  the  party  of  the  present 
literary  revolution  a  subject  of  the  blindest  adora- 
tion. But  whether  he  has  had  among  these  men 
of  the  Movement  a  truly  scientific  recognition,  or 
even  a  proper  comprehension,  is  the  great  question. 
The  French  are  too  truly  the  children  of  their 
mother,  they  have  taken  in  social  falsehoods  with 
their  mothers'  milk  too  much  to  absolutely  give 
their  taste  or  even  full  intelligence  to  the  poet 
who  breathes  the  truth  of  nature  in  every  word. 


•:•'■.  If..' 


IN  THE  COMEDIES,  4*3 

It  is  certainly  tme  that  for  some  time  there 
has  prevailed  among  their  writers  an  unbounded 
striving  towards  such  naturalness ;  they  have  even 
torn  the  garments  of  conventionalism  from  their 
limbs,  and  show  themselves  in  hideous  naked- 
ness. Yet  ever  some  rag  of  fashion  which  clings  to 
them  betrays  the  old  unnaturalness,  and  awakens 
in  the  German  looker  on  an  ironic  smile.  These 
writers  put  me  in  mind  of  the  copperplate  engrav- 
ings in  certain  novels  where  the  indecent  amours 
of  the  eighteenth  century  are  imitated,  and  where, 
in  spite  of  the  Eden  costume  of  nature  of  gentle- 
men and  ladies,  the  former  keep  their  queued 
periwigs,  and  the  latter  their  towering  fri^ed, 
head-dresses. 

It  is  not  by  direct  criticism,  but  indirectly  in 
dramatic  compositions  which  are  more  or  less 
imitations  of  Shakespeare,  that  the  French  attain 
to  some  knowledge  of  the  great  poet.  As  a 
mediator  in  this  manner  Victor  Hugo  deserves 
great  praise,  not  that  I  regard  him,  however,  as 
a  mere  imitator  of  the  Briton.  Victor  Hugo  is 
a  genius  of  the  highest  order,  and  his  powers  of 
flight  and  of  creation  are  wonderful ;  he  has  the 
form  and  the  word,  he  is  the  greatest  poet  of 
France,  but  his  Pegasus  has  a  morbid  fear  of  the 
roaring  torrents  of  the  present,  and  goes  most 
unwillingly  to  water  where  the  light  of  day  is 
mirrored  in  fresh  floods — he  loves  far  better  to 


t-*k.'     :.^^         •**->     •<•     -■'''%      •^W^.   L*.  =/,»'''*■'■ 


424    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN 


seek  among  the  ruins  of  the  past  those  forgotten 
springs  where  of  old  the  majestic  winged  horse  of 
Shakespeare  once  quenched  his  immortal  thirst. 
Whether  it  is  that  those  ancient  springs,  half 
ruined  and  half  bogged,  no  longer  supply  pure 
draughts,  it  is  enough  to  say  that  Victor  Hugo's 
dramatic  poems  contain  more  of  the  turbid  mud 
than  of  the  reviving  spirit  of  the  old  English 
Hippocrene — ^there  is  wanting  in  them  its  joyous 
brightness  and  harmonious  health ;  and  I  must 
confess  I  am  often  seized  with  the  dreadful  thought 
that  this  Victor  Hugo  is  the  ghost  of  some  English 
poet  of  the  golden  age  of  Elizabeth,  a  dead  poet 
who  has  risen  from  his  grave  in  an  ill-temper 
to  write  some  posthumous  works  in  a  time  and 
country  where  he  will  be  safe  from  competition 
with  the  great  William.^  In  truth,  Victor  Hugo 
reminds  me  of  such  people  as  Marlow,  Decker,  or 
Heywood,  who  in  language  and  manner  were  so 
much  like  their  great  contemporary,  and  only 
lacked  his  deep  perception  and  sense  of  beauty, 
his  terrible  and  laughing  grace,  his  revealing 
mission  from  nature.  And,  ah !  to  all  the  short- 
comings of  Marlow,  Decker,  and  Heywood  there  is 
in  Victor  Hugo  the  saddest  want  of  all — ^that  of 

^  Can  it  be  that  the  well-known  French  expression  "  le  grand 
William$,"  attributed  to  Janin,  originated  in  some  recolleo-* 
tion  of  Heine's  German  phrase,  "der  Konkurrem  des  grotttn 
WUliamt "  T    The  genitive  may  possibly  have  been  taken  for  9 
nominative. — Trandator. 


■f»i*.._-  *#.-_ 


«.«  •  .  ♦'■■i'^-  .'.  Mjitf  -.^.. 


IN  THE  COMEDIES.       ..::;'■■-. /-^ 

Ufa  They  suffered  from  an  over-boiling  copious- 
ness, the  wildest  fulness  of  blood,  and  their  poetic 
creation  was  written  breath,  shouting  for  joy  or 
sobbing  with  woe ;  bat  Victor  Hugo,  with  all  the 
honour  which  I  grant  him,  I  must  confess  has 
something  dead,  uncanny,  ghostly,  grave-risen, 
vampyre-like  in  him.  He  does  not  awaken  in- 
spiration in  our  hearts — ^he  sucks  it  out ;  he  does 
not  win  our  feeling  by  poetic  transfiguration,  but 
terrifies  it  by  repulsive  grotesques.  He  suffers 
from  death  and  horrors. 

A  young  lady  with  whom  I  am  very  intimate 
expressed  herself  recently  as  to  this  craving  for 
horrors  by  Hugo's  muse  in  very  apt  words.  She 
said,  "The  muse  of  Victor  Hugo  reminds  me 
of  the  eccentric  princess  who  was  determined  to 
marry  only  the  ugliest  man  alive,  and  so  sent 
forth  through  the  land  a  summons  that  all  young 
men  who  were  remarkably  misshapen  should  on  a 
certain  day  repair  to  the  royal  castle  as  candidates 
for  marriage.  As  may  be  supposed  there  was  a 
fine  collection  of  cripples  and  grotesques,  and  one 
might  have  supposed  that  he  had  before  him  all 
the  caricatures — I  mean  characters — of  one  of 
Hugo's  novels.  But  Quasimodo  bore  the  bell  and 
took  the  bride  home."  * 

^  Aher  Q^a»inu>do,  fHkrU  die  Bravi  fuuik  ffemte.  A  neat 
adaptation  of  the  old  proverb  :  Wer'$  gUtek  hat,  derfuhret  dU 
Braut  heim,  vnd  vei't  Reeht  hat,  der  $dd&ft  bei  tAr.  Also 
English. — Tran$lator. 


^.  lj»-,^>.VfA*.t^*»  •  —.f  ^.    ^(•-«i»'-*"^.fi~'<«.-.i-.  i<txy•,x-.>,^ll<r-.•«^.»>;i>^••^  ,,..n  >*.i.:,    -•■':»vW,»,  •-^t»«j 


436    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN 

Next  to  Victor  Hugo  I  must  mention  Dnmas ; 
and  he  also  has  to  a  certain  degree  promoted  an 
appreciation  of  Shakespeare  in  France.  If  the 
former  by  extravagance  in  ugliness  accustomed 
the  French  to  seek  in  the  drama  not  merely  a 
beautiful  garb  for  passion,  Dumas  so  influenced 
them  that  they  took  great  pleasure  in  the  natural 
expression  of  it.  But  this  passion  passed  with 
him  for  the  highest  ideal,  and  in  his  poems  it 
took  the  place  of  poetry.  The  natural  result  was 
that  he  had  all  the  more  effect  on  the  stage. 
He  fietmiliarised  the  public  in  this  sphere,  and  in 
the  representation  of  passions,  with  the  boldest 
conceptions  of  Shakespeare,  and  he  who  had 
once  found  pleasure  in  Henry  III.  and  Richard 
Darlington,  could  no  longer  complain  of  want  of 
taste  in  Othello  and  Richard  III.  The  accusa- 
tion of  plagiarism  which  was  urged  against  him 
was  as  foolish  as  it  was  unjust.  It  cannot  be 
denied  that  Dumas  has  here  and  there  in  his 
passionate  scenes  taken  something  from  Shake- 
speare, but  our  Schiller  had  done  this  more  boldly 
without  incurring  the  least  reproach.  And  as  for 
Shakespeare  himself — how  much  was  he  indebted 
to  his  predecessors !  Yes,  and  it  happened  even  to 
him  that  a  sour-souled  pamphleteer  once  assailed 
him  with  the  charge  that  "  the  best  of  his  dramas 
were  taken  from  earlier  writers."     Shakespeare, 


*  r  .^-  'vi»  ■-•."•  I* 


IN  THE  COMEDIES.  #W 

according  to  this  amusing  incident,  appears  as  a 
jackdaw  dressed  out  in  peacock's  feathers.  The 
Swan  of  Avon  was  silent,  and  probably  thought 
in  his  divine  mind — "  I  am  neither  daw  nor  pea- 
cock ! "  and  rocked  himself  carelessly  in  the  blue 
waves  of  poetry,  oft  smiling  at  the  stars,  those 
golden  thoughts  of  heaven. 

Count  Alfred  de  Vigny  must  also  be  mentioned 
here.  This  writer,  quite  familiar  with  the  English 
idiom,  studied  Shakespeare  most  thoroughly,  trans- 
lated with  great  cleverness  several  of  his  dramas, 
and  this  study  exercised  a  most  favourable  influ- 
ence on  his  own  works.  Owing  to  the  ready 
ear  and  keen  perception  of  art,  which  it  must 
be  admitted  de  Vigny  possessed,  we  may  assume 
that  he  heard  and  saw  more  deeply  into  the  spirit 
of  Shakespeare  than  most  of  his  compatriots. 
But  the  talent  of  this  man,  like  all  his  manner  of 
thought  and  feeling,  is  in  the  dainty,  delicate,  and 
miniature-like,  and  his  works  are  chiefly  valuable 
for  their  elaborate  finish.  Therefore  I  can  well 
imagine  that  he  often  stood  stupefied  before  those 
stupendous  beauties  which  Shakespeare  had  hewed, 
as  it  were,  from  the  most  tremendous  granite  blocks 
of  poetry.  .  .  .  He  certainly  gazed  at  them  with 
anxious  admiration,  like  a  goldsmith  who  in  Flor- 
ence stares  at  the  colossal  gates  of  the  Baptistery 
which,  though  made  at  one  cast  of  bronze,  are 


^^..«,^v.-.  .■    -  •-•^♦►^.'V'*'-''-',--  >';"'^U»  •'-■'■•"/•"^■^'-•■'^ 


428    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN 

still  as  delicate  and  dainty  as  if  cut  by  hand,  and 
which  look  like  the  finest  jewellery.^ 

If  it  be  hard  enough  for  the  French  to  under- 
stand Shakespeare's  tragedies,  it  must  be  admitted 
that  an  appreciation  of  his  comedies  is  almost 
utterly  denied  to  them.  The  poetry  of  passion 
is  to  them  intelligible,  and  they  can  also  to  a 
certain  extent  comprehend  the  truth  of  the  char- 
acteristic, for  their  hearts  have  learned  to  glow, 
the  impassioned  is  their  own  peculiar  line,*  and 
with  their  analytical  intelligence  they  can  separate 
every  given  character  into  its  minutest  elements, 
and  calculate  the  phases  or  situations  into  which 
that  character  would  fall  when  reduced  to  the 
realities  of  life.  But  in  the  magic  garden  of  the 
Shakespearean  comedy  all  this  empirical  know- 
ledge is  of  no  avail.  At  its  very  gate  their  under- 
standing fails  them,  their  heart  knows  nothing 
definite,  and  they  lack  the  mysterious  divining 
rod  at  the  touch  of  which  the  lock  opens.  There 
they  stare  with  amazed  eyes  through  the  golden 
grate,  and  see  how  lords  and  ladies,  shepherds  and 
shepherdesses,  fools  and  sages,  wander  about  under 
the  tall  trees;  how  the  lover  and  his  loved  one 
rest  in  the  cool   shadows   and  exchange  tender 

^  "Jewellery  in  iron  "  has  also  been  very  happily  applied  to 
the  great  lanterns  of  the  Strozzi  Palhce  in  Florence.  There  is 
something  of  this  grand  elaborateness  in  Cellini's  "  Perseus." — 
TrandcUor. 

'  Dtu  pMtionirte  itt  m>  recht  ihr  Faeh,  i 


.■tt  ■  'J.  •'■  rt  i  .  - 


IN  THE  COMEDIES.  -.0$-, 

words;  how  now  and  then  a  fabulous  animal, 
perhaps  a  stag  with  silver  horns,  conies  by,  or 
else  a  chaste  anicom,  leaping  from  the  thicket, 
lays  his  head  in  the  lovely  lady's  lap.  And  they 
see  how  the  water-ladies  rise  with  green  hair  and 
glittering  veils,  and  how  all  at  once  the  moon 
rises,  and  they  hear  how  the  nightingale  trills — 
and  they  shake  their  wise  heads  at  all  the  incom- 
prehensibly nonsensical  stuff!  Yes,  the  French 
can  comprehend  the  sun  but  not  the  moon,  and 
least  of  all  the  rapturous  sobbing  and  melancholy 
ecstasy  of  the  nightingales. 

Yes,  neither  their  empirical  familiarity  with 
human  passions,  nor  their  positive  knowledge  of 
the  world,  is  of  any  avail  to  the  French,  when 
they  would  unriddle  the  visions  and  sounds 
which  gleam  and  ring  forth  from  the  magic 
gardens  of  Shakespearean  comedy;  they  ofben 
think  they  see  a  human  face,  yet  when  near  by 
it  is  a  landscape  fair — what  they  believed  were 
eyebrows  was  a  hazel-bush,  and  the  nose  was  a 
rock,  and  the  mouth  a  little  fountain,  as  we  see 
them  in  changing  puzzle-pictures.  And,  on  the 
other  hand,  what  the  poor  Frenchmen  mistake 
for  a  strangely  gnarled  old  tree,  or  marvellous 
stone,  appears  on  closer  view  to  be  a  real  human 
face  of  tremendous  expression.  And  if  they 
succeed  in  overhearing  with  strained  ears  some 
dialogue  which  two  lovers  are  holding  in  the 


.1 


430    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN 

forest-shade,  they  are  still  more  bewildered,  for 
they  hear  familiar  words  in  changed  sense,  and 
so  they  swear  that  these  people  know  nothing 
of  flaming  feeling,  and  the  great  passion.  What 
they  had  ordered  for  refreshment  was  witty  water- 
ice,  not  a  blazing  bowl  of  love-drink.  Nor  do 
they  observe  that  these  people  are  only  disguised 
doves,  who  converse  in  a  jargon  of  their  own,^ 
which  one  can  only  learn  in  dreams  or  in  earliest 
infancy.  Bnt  it  is  worst  of  all  for  the  French 
standing  outside  the  grated  gate  of  Shakespearean 
comedy,  when  ever  and  anon  a  pleasant  west  wind 
sweeps  over  a  garden-bed  and  wafts  to  their  noses 
most  unknown  perfume — "  What's  that  ? " 

Justice  demands  that  I  here  mention  a  French 
writer  who,  with  a  cleverness  quite  his  own,  imi- 
tated Shakespearean  comedies,  and  manifested 
even  in  the  choice  of  his  models  a  strange  sus- 
ceptibility to  true  poetry.  This  is  Alfred  de 
Mnsset.  He  wrote,  about  five  years  ago,  several 
small  dramas  which,  so  far  as  construction  and 
style  are  concerned,  are  altogether  after  the 
comedies  of  Shakespeara  And  he  has  with 
French  facility  mastered  the  caprice,  not  the 
humour,  of  his  original.      And   what  is   more, 

*  Koterietpraehe,  the  pecnliaf  langnage  of  a  set.  "Society 
■laag,"  and,  aa  Heine  here  soggeata,  nanerj-talk.  Jargoning 
is  specially  applied  to  the  language  of  birds  by  old  English 
poets.  Liebestrunk  or  Liebestrank,  "  love-drink,"  also  means  a 
philtre  to  canse  love. — Trandator. 


tN  THE  COMBDIBS.  431 

there  is  not  wanting  in  these  pretty  trifles  some 
of  the  pure  gold  of  poetry,  though  it  be  drawn 
into  the  thinnest  wire.  It  was  only  to  be  re- 
gretted that  the  then  youthful  composer  had  read, 
in  addition  to  a  French  translation  of  the  works  of 
Shakespeare,  also  a  version  of  Byron's  poems,  and 
was  thereby  led  into  affecting  in  the  costume  of 
the  spleeny  lord  that  satiety  and  weariness  of 
life  which  it  was  the  fashion  of  French  youth  to 
assume.  The  rosiest  little  boys,  the  healthiest  saucy 
striplings,^  declared  in  those  days  that  their  sense 
of  enjoyment  was  quite  blunted  ;  they  feigned  the 
coldness  of  old  age,  and  affected  a  distrait  and 
yawning  expression. 

Since  which  time  our  poor  Monsieur  de  Musset 
has  seen  the  error  of  his  ways  and  returned  from 
them,  and  now  plays  no  more  the  part  of  Used- 
up  in  his  poems;  but,  alack,  those  poems  now 
contain,  instead  of  simulated  ruin,  the  far  more 
inconsolable  traces  of  a  real  decline  of  bodily  and 
mental  power.  Ah,  this  writer  reminds  me  of 
those  artificial  ruins  which  we  see  in  castle- 
gardens  of  the  eighteenth  century,  which  were 

*  Odbschnabd,  a  yellow  bill,  so  called  from  certain  birda 
whose  bills  are  yellow  while  very  young.  A  greenhorn,  a 
frecbmao,  an  innocent,  an  unsophisticated  gosling,  or,  in  some 
parts  of  America,  a  lopput.  The  Byronism  which  Heine  here 
ridicules  has  had  its  parallel  of  late  years  in  the  pessimism  of 
certain  popular  philosophers,  which  unfortunately  lacks  ita 
Byron. — TroMdator. 


432    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN 

once  weak  inventions  of  a  childish  fancy,  but 
which  in  the  course  of  time  awaken  in  us  a 
mournful  pity,  when  they  have  become  weather- 
beaten  and  mouldering  in  earnest,  and  run  into 
real  decay.  I 

The  French  are,  as  I  have  said,  little  inclined 
to  grasp  the  spirit  of  the  Shakespearean  comedy, 
and  I  have  found,  with  one  exception  only,  none 
among  their  critics  who  has  even  a  vague  idea 
of  it.  Who  is  this  man  ?  Who  is  the  exception. 
Gutzkow  says  that  the  elephant  is  the  doctrinaire 
among  animals.  And  just  such  a  reasonable  and 
perfect  paragon  of  a  ponderous  elephant  has  most 
sagaciously  grasped  the  real  being  of  the  Shake- 
speare comedy.  Yes,  one  can  hardly  believe  it, 
but  it  is  Monsieur  Guizot  who  has  best  written 
on  those  graceful  and  most  mischievously  wanton 
airy  images  of  the  modem  muse,  and  hereupon 
I  translate  for  the  amazement  and  edification  of 
the  reader  a  passage  from  a  work  which  was  pub- 
lished in  1822  by  Ladvocat  in  Paris,  and  which  is 
called  De  Shakespeare  et  de  la  Po^sie  dramatigue, 
par  F.  Guizot: —  -I 

"  The  Shakespearean  comedies  resemble  neither 
those  of  Moli^re,  nor  of  Aristophanes,  nor  of  the 
B>omans.  Among  the  Greeks,  and  in  modem 
times  among  the  French,  comedy  was  the  result 
of  a  free  but  careful  study  of  the  real  world  of 
life,  and  the  problem,  or  result,  was  its  represen* 


-IN  THE  COMEDIES.  433 

tation  on  the  stage.  The  distinctions  between 
comedy  and  tragedy  are  to  be  found  in  the 
beginning  of  dramatic  art,  and  as  they  were  de- 
veloped the  division  became  more  marked.  The 
reason  for  this  lies  in  the  things  themselves.  The 
destiny  of  man,  like  his  nature,  his  passions  and 
pursuits,  character  and  occurrences,  all  in  and 
around  us,  have  serious  as  well  as  comic  sides, 
and  may  be  ranged  as  one  or  the  other,  accord- 
ing to  our  special  point  of  view.  This  double- 
sidedness  of  man  and  the  world  has  pointed  out 
to  dramatic  poetry — naturally  enough — two  very 
different  paths,  but  while  men  chose  this  or 
that  as  a  place  for  rivalry  or  action,  art  never 
deviated  fTX)m  the  study  and  representation  of 
reality.  Though  Aristophanes  lashes  with  un- 
restrained freedom  of  fancy  the  vices  and  follies 
of  the  Athenians,  though  Moli^re  censures  and 
cuts  the  errors  or  abuses  of  scepticism,  avarice, 
envy,  pedantry,  courtly  etiquette,  and  of  virtue 
itself — all  there  is  in  it  is  that  the  two  poets 
handle  very  different  subjects,  one  bringing  on 
the  stage  a  whole  life  and  people,  the  other  on 
the  contrary  the  incidents  of  private  life,  or  the 
inner  life  of  families,  and  what  is  laughable  in 
individuals  —  this  difference  in  comic  material 
being  a  result  of  a  difference  in  time,  place, 
and  civilisation.  But  to  Aristophanes,  as  to 
Moli^re,  reality  or  the  real  world  is  always  the 

2  £ 


434    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN 

stage  of  their  representations.  What  inspire 
and  sustain  their  poetic  mood  are  the  customs 
and  ideas  of  their  age,  the  vices  and  follies  of 
their  fellow-citizens — above  all,  nature  and  the 
life  of  man.  Comedy  therefore  springs  from  the 
world  which  surrounds  the  poet,  and  she  adapts 
herself  far  more  closely  than  tragedy  to  the  ex- 
ternal action  of  reality. 

"Not  so  with  Shakespeare.  In  his  time,  in 
England,  the  material  of  the  drama,  Nature 
and  human  action,  had  not  yet  received  from  the 
hands  of  Art  that  distinction  and  classification. 
When  the  poet  pleased  to  work  this  material  up 
for  the  stage,  he  took  it  as  a  whole  with  all 
which  was  mixed  with  it,  with  all  the  contrasts 
which  were  gathered  round,  and  public  taste 
found  no  fault  with  such  proceeding.  The 
comic,  an  element  of  human  reality,  could  mani- 
fest itself  wherever  truth  required  or  would 
tolerate  it,  and  it  was  quite  in  accordance  with 
the  character  of  that  English  civilisation  that 
even  tragedy,  with  which  the  comic  was  to  a 
certain  degree  associated,  lost  in  nothing  the 
dignity  of  truth.  In  such  conditions  of  the  stage, 
and  such  tastes  in  the  public,  what  kind  of  comedy 
would  be  likely  to  manifest  itself?  How  could 
the  latter  be  considered  as  a  special  kind,  and 
bear  its  settled  name  as  'Comedy'?  It  suc- 
ceeded in  doing  this  by  freeing  itself  from  those 


IN  THE  COMEDIES.     ;       ^   -     435 

realities  or  conditions  in  which  the  limits  of  its 
natural  realm  were  neither  defended  nor  defined. 
This  comedy  did  not  confine  itself  to  the  represen- 
tation of  accurately  described  manners  and  exact 
characters,  it  sought  no  more  to  depict  men  and 
things  in  a  manner  laughable  yet  true  to  life,  it 
became  a  fantastic  and  romantic  spirit-work,^  a 
refuge  for  all  delightful  improbabilities,  which 
Fantasy,  from  idleness  or  inertness,  freak  or  fancy, 
strings  on  the  thinnest  of  threads,  so  as  to  form 
all  kinds  of  varied  combinations  which  delight 
and  interest  us,  without  being  consistent  with  the 
judgment  of  reason.  Pleasant  pictures,  surprises, 
jovial  intrigues,  excited  curiosity,  disappointed 
hopes,  changes,  witty  problems,  which  lead  to 
disguises.  Such  was  the  material  of  those  inno 
cent,  easily  combined  plays.  The  fabric  of  the 
Spanish  pieces,  which  the  English  people  began 
to  like,  gave  these  plays  all  kinds  of  varied 
frames  and  patterns,  which  applied  well  to  those 
chronicles  and  ballads  from  those  French  and 
Italian  novels  which,  next  to  romances  of  chivalry, 
were  the  favourite  reading  of  the  public.  It  is 
intelligible  how  this  rich  mine  and  this  easy  style 
soon  attracted  the  attention  of  Shakespeare.     No 

^  Oeisteswerk,  or  work  of  genius.  The  very  Hibernian  mixture 
of  similes  in  this  sentence  is  neither  the  fault  of  the  translator, 
much  less  of  Heine,  but  of  Guizot  himself.  A  spirit-work  refuge 
for  improbabilities,  strung  lilf«  beads,  oould  only  occur  to  the 
iublime  genius  of  an  academician. — TransUUor. 


436    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN 

one  need  wonder  that  his  yonthfal  and  brilliant 
imagination  gladly  cradled  itself  in  those  materials 
where,  freed  from  the  strong  yoke  of  reason,  it 
could  produce  every  variety  of  serious  or  startling 
effects  in  defiance  of  probability.  This  poet, 
whose  spirit  and  hand  moved  with  equal  restless- 
ness, whose  manuscripts  had  hardly  a  trace  of 
correction  or  improvement,  must  certainly  have 
abandoned  himself  with  special  delight  to  that 
unbridled  and  adventuresome  play  of  the  imagina- 
tion in  which  he  conld  develop  without  restraint 
all  his  varied  powers.  He  could  cast  with  a  free 
hand  all  things  into  his  comedies,  and  indeed  he 
did  pour  in  everything  except  what  was  utterly 
intolerable  in  such  a  system — that  is,  that  logical 
connection  which  subordinates  every  part  of  the 
piece  to  the  main  object,  and  sets  forth  in  every 
detail  the  depth,  extent,  and  unity  of  the  work. 
In  the  tragedies  of  Shakespeare  we  seldom  find  a 
conception,  a  situation,  an  act  of  passion,  a  degree 
of  crime  or  of  virtue,  which  one  cannot  also  find 
in  one  of  his  comedies;  but  what  there  expands 
itself  in  the  abysmal  depth,  what  manifests  itself 
abundantly  in  overwhelming  results,  what  weaves 
itself  powerfully  into  a  series  of  causes  and  effects, 
that  is  here  hardly  intimated — it  is  only  cast  in  for 
an  instant,  to  produce  a  fleeting  effect,  to  lose 
itself  as  quickly  in  a  new  combination." 

In  truth  the  Elephant  is  in  the  right :  the  soul 


X 


IN  THE  COMEDIES.     ':"      4^ 

of  the  Shakespearean  comedy  is  in  the  gaily- varied 
butterfly  humour  in  which  it  flits  from  flower  to 
flower,  seldom  touching  the  ground  of  reality. 
Only  in  opposition  to  the  realistic  comedy  of  the 
ancients,  and  of  the  French,  can  anything  definite 
be  declared  of  the  Shakespearean  comedy. 

Last  night  I  meditated  long  as  to  whether  I 
coald  not  give  some  positive  explanation  or 
clearing  up  of  this  infinite,  illimitable  kind  of 
the  comedy  of  Shakespeare.  Thereupon,  after 
long  thinking  here  and  there,  I  fell  asleep  and 
dreamed : — 

Dreamed  that  it  was  a  starry  night,  and  I 
swam  in  a  small  boat  on  a  wide,  wide  sea,  where 
all  kind  of  barks  filled  with  masks,  musicians, 
and  torches  gleaming,  music  sounding,  many  near 
or  afar,  rowed  on.  There  were  costumes  of  all 
countries  and  ages,  old  Greek  tunics,  mediaeval 
knightly  cloaks.  Oriental  turbans,  shepherd's  hats 
with  fluttering  ribbons,  masks  of  beasts  wild  or 
tame — now  and  then  I  thought  I  saw  a  well- 
known  face,  sometimes  I  heard  familiar  greetings 
— but  all  passed  quickly  by  and  far  away,  and 
the  merry  music  grew  softer  and  fainter,  when 
instead  of  the  gay*  fiddling  I  heard  near  me  the 
mysterious,  melancholy  tones  of  hunters'  horns 
from  another  boat.  Sometimes  the  night-wind 
bore  the  strains  of  both  to  my  ear,  and  then  the 
mingled  melody  made  a  happy  harmony.     The 


438    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN 

water  echoed  ineffably  sweet  sounds  and  burned 
as  with  a  magical  reflection  of  the  torches,  and 
the  gaily -pennoned  pleasure -boats  with  their 
wondrous  masquerades  swam  in  light  and  music. 
A  lovely  lady,  who  stood  by  the  rudder  of  one 
of  the  barks,  cried  to  me  in  passing,  "Is  it 
not  true,  friend — thou  would'st  have  a  definition 
of  the  Shakespearean  comedy?"  I  know  not 
whether  I  answered  "Yes,"  but  in  that  instant 
the  beautiful  woman  dipped  her  hand  in  the 
water  and  sprinkled  the  ringing  sparks  in  my 
face,  so  that  there  was  a  general  laughter,  and 
I  awoke. 

Who  was  that  charming  woman  who  in  such 
wise  made  merry  with  me  in  my  dream?  On 
her  ideally  beautiful  head  was  a  horned  cap^  of 
variegated  colours  with  bells,  a  white  satin  gar- 
ment with  fluttering  ribbons  enclosed  her  almost 
too  slender  limbs,  and  on  her  breast  she  bore 

^  In  allusion  to  the  hennin,  or  the  two-homed  cap,  often 
worn  by  ladies  during  the  Middle  Ages,  but  which  was  charac- 
teristic of  witches,  and  termed  "the  triumphal  barret  of  the 
devil"  (vide  La  SorcUre  de  O.  Michdet,  voL  i.  chap.  v.).  By 
the  thistle,  Heine  refers  to  what  is  thus  expressed  by  Friedrich 
{SymbcHik  d.  Natur),  "  It  is  an  emblem  of  sarcastic,  biting  wit," 
and  is  associated  with  the  mottoes  Non  nisi  acuLeoi  (nothing 
if  not  stinging)  and  Nemo  me  impune  lacessit  {AegtJietik  der 
Pilamenwdt,  p.  241).  It  is  also  an  emblem  of  Venus,  of  beauty, 
and  in  elfin  lore  signifies  the  presence  of  a  fairy.  Heine  has 
here  with  exquisite  ingenuity  and  grace  employed  the  symbols 
of  witchcraft,  piquancy  and  beauty,  as  attributes  of  his  imagined 
goddess. — Tromslator. 


■  .^rnf-^  A    k.i.    «*  «»-_  .^^mm- 1 ..A..  <^         ^ '.a..^  -Jt,    »>.«t-*»l 


IN  THE  COMEDIES.^        :  ^         ^ 

a  red,  blooming  thistle.  Perhaps  it  was  the 
Groddess  of  Caprice,  that  strange  muse  who  was 
present  at  the  birth  of  Rosalind,  Beatrice,  Titania, 
Viola,  and  all  the  rest,  however  they  may  be 
called,  of  the  dear  charming  children  of  the 
Shakespearean  comedy,  and  kissed  their  brows. 
She,  indeed,  kissed  all  the  freaks  and  fancies, 
dainty  dreams  and  droll  devices  into  their  young 
heads,  whence  they  passed  to  their  hearts.  As 
among  the  men  so  with  the  women  in  Shake- 
speare's comedies,  passion  is  entirely  devoid  of 
that  terrible  earnestness,  quite  without  the  fatal- 
istic necessity  with  which  it  reveals  itself  in  the 
tragedies.  Cupid,  indeed,  is  there  blind,  and 
carries  a  quiver  with  arrows.  But  these  arrows 
are  far  more  gaily-feathered  than  deadly-tipped, 
and  the  little  god  often  squints  roguishly  at  us 
over  his  blind.  Even  the  flames  give  far  more 
light  than  heat,  but  they  are  always  true  flames, 
and  in  the  tragedies  of  Shakespeare,  as  well  as  in 
his  comedies,  love  always  bears  the  character  of 
trutL  Yes,  truth  is  the  token  of  Shakespearean 
love,  no  matter  what  the  form  may  be  in  which 
it  appears,  be  it  called  Miranda,  or  Juliet,  or 
Cleopatra. 

While  I  mention  these  names  rather  by  accident 
than  with  intention,  it  occurs  to  me  that  they 
really  represent  the  three  most  deeply  significant 
types  of  love.  Miranda  is  the  representative  of  a 
love  which,  without  previous  influences  of  any 


440    SHAKESPEARE'S  MAIDENS  AND  WOMEN 

kind,  could  only  develop  its  highest  ideality  as 
the  flower  of  an  nnpollnted  soil  which  cmly  the 
feet  of  spirits  had  trodden.  Ariel's  melodies  have 
trained  her  heart,  and  sensuality  has  never  been 
known  to  her,  save  in  the  horribly  hideous  form 
of  a  Caliban.  The  love  which  Ferdinand  awakes 
in  her  is  therefore  not  really  naive  but  of  a  happy 
true-heartedness,  of  an  early-world-like,  almost 
terrible  purity.  Juliet's  love  shows  like  her  age 
and  all  around  her,  a  more  romantic-mediseval 
character,  and  one  blooming  into  the  Kenaissance : 
it  glitters  in  colours  like  the  court  of  the  Scaligeri, 
and  yet  is  strong  as  of  those  noble  races  of  Lom- 
bardy  which  were  rejuvenated  with  German  blood 
and  loved  as  strongly  as  they  hated.  Juliet  repre- 
sents the  love  of  a  youthful,  rather  rough,  but 
of  an  unspoiled  and  fresh  era.  She  is  entirely 
inspired  with  the  sensuous  glow  and  strength  of 
belief  of  such  a  time,  and  even  the  cold  decay  of 
the  burial  vault  can  neither  shake  her  faith  nor 
cool  her  flame.  Our  Cleopatra ! — ah,  she  sets 
forth  the  love  of  a  sickly  civilisation — an  age 
whose  beauty  is  faded,  whose  locks  are  curled 
with  the  utmost  art,  anointed  with  all  pleasant 
perfumes,  but  in  which  many  a  grey  hair  may  be 
seen,  a  time  which  will  empty  the  cup  held  out 
to  it  all  the  more  hastily  because  it  is  full  of 
dregs.  This  love  is  without  faith  or  truth,  but 
for  all  that  none  the  less  wild  or  glowing.  In  the 
vexed  consciousness  that  this  heat  is  not  to  be 


IN  THE  COMEDIES.  441 

subdued  the  impatient  woman  pours  still  more  oil 
into  it,  and  casts  herself  like  a  Bacchante  into  the 
blazing  flame.  She  is  cowardly,  and  yet  inspired 
with  desire  for  her  own  destruction.  Love  is 
always  a  kind  of  madness,  more  or  less  beautiful ; 
but  in  this  Egyptian  queen  it  rises  to  the  most 
horrible  lunacy.  Such  love  is  a  raging  comet, 
which  with  its  flaming  train  darts  into  unheard- 
of  orbits  through  heaven,  terrifies  all  the  stars, 
even  if  it  does  not  injure  them,  and  at  last,  miser- 
ably crackling  together,  is  scattered  like  a  rocket 
into  a  thousand  pieces. 

Yes,  thou  wert  like  a  terrible  comet,  beautiful 
Cleopatra,  and  thou  didst  glow  not  only  unto 
thine  own  ruin,  but  wert  ominous  of  evil  for  those 
of  thy  time !  With  Antony  the  old  heroic  Eoman 
spirit  came  to  a  wretched  end. 

But  wherewith  shall  I  compare  you,  0  Juliet 
and  Miranda?  I  look  again  to  heaven,  seeking 
for  a  simile.  It  may  be  behind  the  stars  where 
my  glance  cannot  pierce.  Perhaps  if  the  glowing 
sun  had  the  mildness  of  the  moon  I  could  com- 
pare it  to  thee,  0  Juliet !  And  were  the  gentle 
moon  gifted  with  the  glow  of  the  sun,  I  would 
say  it  was  like  thee,  Miranda ! 


2  p 


Printed  by  Ballantyne,  Hansom  &■  Co. 

Edinburgh  6-  London 


THE  PROSE  AND  POETICAL  WORKS 

HEINRICH   HEINE 


Translated  ivith  Introductions  by 

CHARLES  GODFREY  LELAND 


IN  TWENTY  VOLUMES 


fi  '. 


{       ) 


vc  "jC  "jC  jC  'X*  j^  "jC  tt  jC  jC  '4?  'S?  rt*  rr  *"4^  '^  '^  'i*  'i*  rr  'r  *«?  rr   *^^ 


# 


HEINRICH    HEINE 


B&ition  &e  Xuyc        , 

7J4/j  Edition  of  the  Works  of  Heinrich  Heine  is  limited 
to  One  Thoutand  numbered  and  registered  copies  for 
America.  , 


4 


Thii  is  Copy  No A...'^  ^ 


0' 


i 


Translated  by  Charlei  Godfrey  Lela^nd 


!  f 


The    Works    of  ' 

ri einrich    tieine 

Translated  by 

Charles    Godfrey    Leland 


Pictures  of  Travel 

1 8 23-1 8 26 


VOLUME   THREE 


ILLUSTRATED  WITH  PORTRAITS 


'^  .* 


Printed  for  Subscribers  only  by 
CROSCUP  AND  STERLING  COMPANY 
NEW   YORK 


Printed  by 

Baixanttne,  Hanson  &»  Co. 

Edinburgh 


L  LS  3 
V,   3 


TRANSLATOR'S    PREFACE. 


'     M 


No  modern  German  writer  has  exerted  an  infla- 
ence  comparable  to  that  of  Heine,  and  it  is  not  less 
trne  that  since  Goethe  no  author  has  penetrated 
80  generally  through  every  class  of  society.  Uni- 
versality of  popularity  is  the  surest  test  of  the 
existence  of  genius,  just  as  a  faithful  reflex  of 
the  spirit  of  the  age  in  which  it  was  conceived  is 
the  surest  test  of  the  genuineness  of  a  work  of 
art.  That  which  grows  from  and  is  extolled  by 
a  class  may  owe  its  birth  to  prejudice,  and  its 
subsequent  life  to  the  spirit  of  rivalry  to  which  it 
ministers,  and  we  consequently  find  at  times 
writers  endowed  with  the  faintest  talent  achiev- 
ing a  world-wide  reputation,  not  by  the  force 
of  innate  genius,  but  by  dexterously  turning  to 
account  the  enthusiasm  of  a  faction.  But  where, 
as  in  Heine's  case,  we  find  friend  and  enemy 
alike  interested,  and  the  adherents  of  all  parties 


iri  TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE. 

unanimous  as  to  his  abilities,  then  we  become 
at  once  convinced  that  we  have  before  us  that 
rarest  and  most  brilliant  phenomenon,  a  true 
genius,  and  one  who  as  such  imperatively  de- 
mands the  attention  of  all  who  lay  claim  to 
information  and  intelligence.  ^ 

Whether  Heine's  genius  and  influence  has  been 
invariably  and  immediately  exerted  for  good  or 
for  evil  is,  and  ever  should  be,  for  the  impartial 
student  of  literature  and  of  history,  a  matter  of 
supreme  indiflerence.  The  greatest  and  most 
important  developments  are  those  whose  real  aims 
and  value  are  first  appreciated  by  posterity.  If 
progress  be  the  peculiar  law  of  humanity,  it  is 
not  less  certain  that  agitaiion  is  the  mainspring 
of  progress,  and  that  as  a  general  rule  all  agi- 
tations, however  disagreeable  they  may  have 
appeared  to  contemporaries,  have  advanced  the 
world.  Such  goods  as  happiness  and  improved 
social  culture  can  only  be  bought  by  blood  and 
suffering. 

Heine  most  emphatically  belongs  to  that  class 
of  writers  who  are  a  scandal  to  the  weaker 
brethren,  a  terror  to  the  strong,  and  a  puzzle 
to  the  conservatively  wise  of  their  own  day  and 
generation,  but  who  are  received  by  the  intelli- 


TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE.  ;il$ 

gent  contemporary  with  a  smile,  and  by  the  after- 
oomer  with  thanks.  He  is  one  of  that  great 
band,  whose  laughter  has  been  in  its  inner  soul 
more  moving  than  the  most  fervid  flow  of  serious 
eloquence — the  band  which  numbered  Lucian 
and  Babelais  and  Swift  among  its  members — men 
who  lashed  into  motion  the  sleepy  world  of  the 
day,  with  all  its  "  baroque-ish  "  virtues  and  vices. 
Heine  has  ende£ired  himself  to  the  German 
people  by  his  universality  of  talent,  his  sincerity, 
and  by  his  weaknesses.  His  very  affectations 
render  him  more  natural,  for  there  is  no  effort 
whatever  to  conceal  them,  and  that  which  is  truly 
natural  will  always  be  attractive,  if  from  no  other 
cause  than  because  it  is  so  readily  intelligible. 
He  possesses  in  an  eminent  degree  the  graceful 
art  of  communicating  to  the  most  uneducated 
mind  (of  a  sympathetic  cast)  refined  secrets  of 
art  and  criticism;  and  this  he  does,  not  like  a 
pedantic  professor,  ex  cathedra,  as  if  every  word 
were  an  apocalypse  of  novelty,  but  rather  like  a 
friend,  who,  with  a  delicate  regard  for  the  feelings 
of  his  auditor,  speaks  as  though  he  supposed  him 
already  familiar  with  the  subject  in  question. 
Pedantry  and  ignorant  self-sufficiency  appear 
equally  and  instinctively  to  provoke  his  attacks. 


VUl 


TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE. 


and  there  is  scarcely  a  modern  form  of  these 
reactionary  negative  vices  which  he  has  not 
severely  lashed.  I 

Perhaps  the  most  characteristic  position  which 
Heine  holds  is  that  of  interpreter  or  medinm 
between  the  learned  and  the  people.  He  has 
popularised  philosophy  and  preached  to  the 
multitude  those  secrets  which  were  once  the 
exclusive  property  of  the  learned.  His  writings 
have  been  a  "  flux "  between  the  smothered 
fire  of  universities  and  the  heavy  ore  of  the 
public  mind.  Whether  the  process  will  evolve 
pure  and  precious  metal  or  noxious  vapours — 
in  simple  terms,  whether  the  knowledge  thus 
popularised,  and  whether  the  ultimate  tendency 
of  this  "  witty,  wise,  and  wicked  writer,"  has 
been  for  the  direct  benefit  of  the  people,  is  not  a 
question  open  to  discussion.  All  that  we  know 
is,  that  he  is  here — ^that  he  cannot  be  thrust 
aside — and  that  he  exerts  an  incredible  and 
daily  increasing  influence.  But  to  judge  fi'om 
every  analogy  and  precedent,  we  must  conclude 
that  the  agitation  which  he  has  caused,  though 
eminently  disagreeable  to  many,  even  friends, 
who  are  brought  within  its  immediate  action, 
will  be  eminently  beneficial  in  the  end. 


TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE.  ^ 

It  were  worse  than  folly  to  attempt  to  palliate 
Heine's  defects.  That  they  exist  engrained, 
entwined,  and  integrate  with  his  better  qualities, 
admits  no  donbt  or  denial.  But  they  have  been 
in  every  age  so  strikingly  characteristic  of  every 
writer  of  his  class,  that  we  are  forced  to  believe 
them  inseparable.  They  are  the  shades  which 
render  the  lights  of  the  picture  apparent,  with- 
out which  the  picture  would  in  all  probability 
never  have  excited  attention.  It  is  a  striking 
characteristic  of  true  humour  that  it  is  "all- 
embracing,"  including  the  good  and  the  bad,  the 
lofty  and  the  low.  There  is  no  characteristic 
appreciable  by  the  human  mind  which  does  not 
come  within  the  range  of  hv/mouTy  for  wherever 
creation  is  manifested,  tTiere  will  be  contradiction 
and  opposites,  striving  into  a  law  of  harmony. 
Humour  appreciates  the  contradiction — ^the  lie 
disguised  as  truth,  or  the  truth  bom  of  a  lie— 
and  proclaims  it  aloud,  for  it  is  a  strange  quality 
of  humour  that  it  must  out,  be  the  subject  what 
it  may.  Unfortunately,  no  subject  presents  so 
many  and  such  absurdly  vulnerable  points  as  the 
proprieties  and  improprieties  of  daily  life  and 
society.  Poor  well-meaning  Civilisation,  with 
her   allies  Morality  and  Tradition,   maintain  a 


X  TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE, 

ceaseless  warfare  with  nature,  vulgarity,  and  a 
host  of  "  outeide  barbarian  "  foes,  while  Humour, 
who  always  had  in  his  nature  more  of  the  devil 
than  the  angel,  stands  by  laughing  as  either 
party  gets  a  fall.  I 

To  understand  the  vagaries  of  Heine's  nature, 
we  must  regard  him  as  influenced  by  humour  in 
the  fullest  sense  of  the  word.  For  as  humour 
exists  in  the  appreciation  and  reproduction  of 
the  contrasts,  of  contrarieties  and  of  appearance^ 
it  would  not  be  humour  did  its  existence  consist 
merely  of  merriment.  The  bitterest  and  saddest 
tears  are  as  often  drawn  forth  by  humour  as  by 
mere  pathos — nay,  it  may  be  doubted  if  grief 
and  suffering  be  ever  so  terrible  as  when  sup- 
ported by  some  strange  coincidence  or  paradox 
Consequently  we  find  in  his  works  some  of  the 
most  sorrowful  plaints  ever  uttered  by  suffering 
poet,  but  contrasted  with  the  most  uproarious 
hilarity.  Nay,  he  often  contrives  to  delicately 
weave  the  opposing  sentiments  into  one.  "  Other 
bards,"  says  a  late  review  of  Heine  in  the 
AthencBum,  "  have  passed  from  grave  to  gay  within 
the  compass  of  one  work;  but  the  art  of  con- 
stantly showing  two  natures  within  the  small 
limit  of  perhaps  three  ballad  verses  was  reserved 


TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE. 


for  Hen*  Heine.  No  one  like  him  understands 
how  to  build  np  a  little  edifice  of  the  tenderest 
and  most  refined  sentiment  for  the  mere  pleasure 
of  knocking  it  down  with  a  last  line.  No  one 
like  him  approaches  his  reader  with  dolefal 
countenance — pours  into  the  ear  a  tale  of  secret 
sorrow — -and  when  the  sympathies  are  enlisted, 
surprises  his  confidant  with  a  horse-laugL  It 
seems  as  though  nature  had  endowed  him  with  a 
most  delicate  sensibility  and  a  keen  perception 
of  the  ridiculous,  that  his  own  feelings  may  afford 
him  a  perpetual  subject  for  banter." 

A  writer  of  Heine's  character  can  be  judged 
only  by  the  broadest  and  most  comprehensive 
rules  of  criticism,  if  indeed,  in  many  instances, 
he  be  open  to  criticism  at  all.  A  reviewer  is 
said  to  have  remarked  of  Carlyle,  that  one  might 
as  well  attempt  to  criticise  a  porcupine,  and  this 
may  be  said  with  much  greater  truth  of  Heine. 
He  can,  in  fact,  only  be  folly  comprehended  as  a 
whole,  and  the  more  we  read  him,  the  better  we 
appreciate  him.  This  is  a  characteristic  of  all 
truly  great  writers  who  do  not  reproduce  them- 
selves.     ■  ■.--"■•._'.'" '-^--■V'-'- '"".:--',•'  '; 

This  present  translation  of  the  Beisebilder  (of 
which  more  than  ten  thousand  copies  have  been 


xii  TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE. 

published  in  America)  was  on  its  first  appear- 
ance very  favourably  received  by  all  reviewers. 
That  Heine  himself  was  gratified  by  it  appears 
from  the  following  extract  &om  a  letter  to  Mr. 
Calmann-Levy : —  I 

"  A  piece  of  good  news  that  I  forgot  to  commiuii- 
cate  to  you  the  other  day.  An  English  translation 
of  the  EeUehilder  which  has  appeared  in  New  York  * 
has  met  with  an  enormous  success,  according  to  a 
correspondence  in  the  Augahurger  Zeitung  (which  does 
not  love  me  enough  to  invent  successes  for  me). 

"Hknri  Heine." 

"Porii,  Wednesday,  Oct  4,  1855." 

But  to  know  his  work  as  a  whole,  it  is  not 
necessary  that  nothing  should  be  omitted.  There 
are  humourists  who  have  the  strange  talent  of 
communicating  the  attraction  of  the  genial  even 
to  the  immoral.  In  the  works  of  Rabelais,  Sterne, 
and  even  Swift,  the  passages  which  modesty  would 
taboo  are  like  dirty  spice  floating  in  wine;  but 
in  the  JReisebUder  they  are  like  dead  blue- 
bottles, or  rather  spiders,  not  agreeable  to  the 
most  depraved  tastes,  and  such  as  would  be  gladly 
omitted  even  by  an  appreciative  reader  of  the 
Moyen  de  Parvenir.     I  can  hardly  understand 

^  Philadelphia,  none  ever  appeared  in  New  York. 


TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE.  xiii 

what  a  certain  biograplier  of  Heine  means  by- 
saying  that  he  is  "  never  vnlgar."  K  he  is  not 
in  many  places  as  rankly  vulgar  as  mortal  man 
can  be,  then  is  the  P6re  Duch^ne  not  vulgar,  nor 
any  of  his  kind.  In  more  than  one  passage  Heine 
glorifies  himself  cynically  on  this,  as  if  it  com- 
pleted his  many-sidedness  and  his  democracy. 
In  many  places  this  vulgarity,  half  real,  half 
affected,  where  it  takes  the  form  of  intense  admi- 
ration of  style,  aristocracy,  fashion,  and  elegance, 
or  when  Heine,  as  he  says — 

"  Blest  sensation — felt  genieel," 


he  is  only  naively  amusing.  He  very  often 
indeed  dwells  on  the  attributes  and  characteristics 
of  his  beloved  "  gentility,"  far  too  appreciatingly 
for  us  not  to  perceive  that  they  have  not  always 
been  a&  initio  entirely  familiar  to  him.  Heine 
was,  however,  perfectly  conscious  of  this  weakness 
for  "  quality,"  and  we  can  let  it  pass  with  the 
little  protest  that  it  is  not  fair  to  make  him  out 
better  than  he  himself  pretended  to  be.  But 
there  is  a  vulgarity  of  another  kind,  such  as  he 
poured  forth  on  Platen,  which  is  in  striking 
contrast  to  his  brilliancy,  wit,  and  artistic  power, 
since  it  is  with  very  little  exception  coarse,  un- 


ZI7 


TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE. 


F.~' 


attractive,  and  unpleasant,  not  even  good  of  its 
kind,  and  often  quite  untruthful.  This  was  in  later 
years  his  own  opinion  of  it,  since  he  cancelled 
an  entire  chapter  of  such  stuff,  not  in  the  least 
because  it  was  immodest— that  would  never  have 
influenced  him — but  because  it  was  absolutely 
wanting  in  any  kind  of  merit  whatever,  and  was 
cruelly  dishonest.  In  fine,  the  reader  may  rest 
assured  that  there  was  never  a  book  written  in 
which  so  little  that  is  piquant  was  lost  by  careful 
cleansing  and  revision  as  the  Beisebildery  and  in 
this  I  think  that  even  the  most  liberal  lovers  of 
the  prohibited  will  all  agree  with  me.  In  the 
present  version  these  omissions  are  confined 
almost  entirely  to  what  Heine  in  later  years 
himself  altered  or  deleted.  I 

As  regards  the  method  of  translating  Heine's 
poetry  or  prose,  there  is  one  thing  which  has  . 
escaped  many  who  have  attempted  it.  This  is, 
that  in  all  his  lyrical  efforts,  he  took  extraordinary 
pains  to  make  his  sentences  as  much  like  simple 
prose  as  is  compatible  with  melody.  He  strove 
with  might  and  main  to  avoid  what  is  even  more 
of  a  blemish  in  English  poetry  than  in  Q-erman— 
the  old-fashioned  conventional  phrases  involving 
inversion,  and  words  and  terms  seldom  or  never 


TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE.  xw 

heard  in  conversation.  Had  he  been  an  English- 
man, he  would  probably  have  entirely  avoided 
«  Quaker  talk,"  such  as  "thou  "  and  "  thy,"  "  dost," 
"  walketh,"  and  "  standeth."  Unfortunately  for 
the  translator,  this  Quaker  talk  is  still  common 
and  familiar  conversational  prose  in  German,  and 
it  very  often  happens  that  it  is  almost  impossible 
to  omit  it,  or  to  perfectly  transfer  the  original 
spirit  of  glorified  and  clarified  prose  to  EngUsh. 
To  attain  this,  Heine  very  often  wrote  a  little 
ballad  m  times  over,  simplifying  it  at  every  efibrt 

My  own  translation  is  very  far  from  being  per- 
fect as  regards  this  simplicity  of  language  allied 
to  melody  and  brilliancy,  but  I  have  at  least  been 
aware  of  it  in  the  original,  and  done  my  best,  such 
as  it  was,  to  reproduce  it.  And  I  have  certainly 
not  sinned  as  regards  forcing  into  it  worn-out 
artificial  tawdry  specimens  of  "  handsome  talkee," 
as  the  Chinese  call  the  conventional  platitudes  in 
which  their  souls  delight.  ^ 

Heine  has  been  called  the  wittiest  Frenchman 
since  Voltaire,  and  the  most  humorous  German  of 
any  time.  But  between  wit  and  humour  there 
is  another  quality,  which  may  be  called  applied 
fun  or  piquant  drollery;  and  in  this  he,  with 
Dickens  and  Sydney  Smith,  are  probably  the  three 

VOL.  L  i 


xvi  TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE. 

great  leaders  of  the  century.  It  is  almost  char- 
acteristic of  Heine  that  these  piqnant  drolleries, 
as  succinctly  expressed  as  Wellerisms,  are  em- 
ployed by  him — exactly  as  Abraham  Lincoln 
employed  comic  anecdotes — not  to  be  "funny" 
for  fun's  sake,  but  to  illustrate  great  and  even 
serious  truths.  They  are  the  glints  of  light  on 
diamonds,  the  beeswings  in  wine,  which  give 
impressive  beauty  to  the  whole.  They  are  to  be 
found  scattered  here  and  there  alike  in  hia  dis- 
quisitions on  German  metaphysics,  poetry,  art,  or 
human  characters,  in  all  his  works  on  all  subjects. 
The  reviewer  who  can  cast  aside  even  his  frag- 
ments, such  as  the  Edbbi  von  Bacharach^  or 
Schnahelewopskiy  or  The  Florentine  NigJUs,  as 
"  failures  as  novels,"  or  imperfect  (as  many  have 
done),  has  no  true  appreciation  of  the  author. 

It  is  a  proof  of  being  well-read  that  the  reader 
is  not  absolutely  ignorant  of  any  real  work  of 
genius  whatever,  and,  inversely,  every  work  of 
genius  is  absolutely  generally  known.  Heine  is 
distinctly  a  writer  of  whom  no  person  of  true  cul- 
ture can  afford  to  be  ignorant—"  not  to  know 
him  argues  one's  self  unknown,"  beyond  all  ques- 
tion. Many  geniuses  may  be  known  by  a  single 
one  of  their  works;  but  Heine,  far  more  than 


TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE.  xvii 

most,  requires  some  familiarity  with  all  that  he 
has  written  to  be  rightly  judged.  For  as  different 
flowers  in  a  garden  are  believed  to  mutually  give 
and  take  beauty  and  perfume,  so  the  works  of  this 
author  reflect  intelligence  and  enjoyment  one  to 
the  other.  And  as  in  education — or  the  binding 
of  sticks — a  dozen  items  collectively  grouped  are 
stronger  than  a  hundred  scattered  here  and  there 
at  intervals,  so  I  trust  that  this  complete  collec- 
tion in  English  of  Heine's  works — the  first  ever 
undertaken — will  be  of  value  to  those  who  know 
what  an  advantage  it  is  to  be  able  to  consult  at 
any  time  all  that  any  great  author  has  written. 

That  Heine  was  really  in  the  fullest  sense  of 
the  word  a  genivs,  and  not  a  clever  imitator  of 
genius,  much  less  "  a  quack  or  charlatan  in  litera- 
ture," as  one  who  ought  to  have  known  better 
called  him,  is  shown  by  his  many  and  marvellous 
prophecies  or  intuitions,  of  which  a  remarkable 
collection  might  be  made.  Thus  in  his  account 
of  the  Salon  of  1830,  he  selected  for  commenda- 
tion with  unerring  insight  those  pictures  which 
in  due  time  became  "  world-famous,"  and  his 
prediction  that  if  Germany  should  ever  become 
united  it  would  be  to  conquer  France,  also  that 
the  Germans  would  show  that  they  had  not  for- 


znii 


TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE. 


gotten  or  forgiven  any  wrong  since  the  murder 
of  Oonradin,  indicate  the  spirit  of  divination 
which  is  always  found  in  the  true  poet  In  a 
single  book  by  any  author  such  instances  are 
apt  to  strike  the  reader  as  merely  gliickliehe 
EmfdUe — happy  hits;  but  when  they  recur  in 
all  his  works,  then  we  admit  his  inspiration. 

There  is  yet  another  point  which  may  well  be 
borne  in  mind  by  all  who  read  Heine  for  the  first 
time,  because  he  is  one  who  says  many  things 
which  will  be  remembered,  and  who  often  exer- 
cises a  great  influence  on  the  young.  He  com- 
bined with  genius  and  many  good  and  humane 
qualities  many  demerits,  weaknesses,  and  incon- 
sistencies. He  was  deeply  impressed  with  the 
romantic  spirit  at  least  of  religion,  and  he  was 
irreligious ;  in  the  Beise^der  he  alternately  wor- 
ships and  blasphemes,  as  the  word  is  generally 
understood,  and  he  was  at  heart  aristocratic,  yet 
tells  us  that  he  withdrew  his  sympathy  from 
Napoleon  I.  when  the  latter  manifested  the  same 
tendency.  It  is  true  that  he  was  quite  aware 
of  the  chaotic  state  of  his  principles — nay,  I 
believe  that  he  deeply  regretted  it ;  but  when  we 
find  him,  like  too  many  of  his  admirers  of  the 
present  day,  attributing  it  all  to  "  this  horrid  age 


TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE.  xix 

in  which  we  live,"  we  can,  or  should,  only  pity 
the  wretched  weakness  of  a  man  of  real  genius 
who  does  not  strive  all  the  more  on  that  very 
account  to  form  consistent  ideals,  and  to  rise 
above  the  age  and  reform  it  There  are  many 
women,  and  not  a  few  men,  who  think,  because 
they  are  pretty,  brilliant,  gifted,  or  reckless,  that 
they  have  patent  and  privilege  to  say  or  do  every- 
thing foolish  or  capricious.  These  beggars  for 
places  as  spoiled  pets  in  popularity  "  admire " 
Heine,  faults  and  all,  but  do  not  feel,  as  he  did 
at  heart,  the  meanness  of  a  want  of  coherent 
principles,  and  the  fact  that  it  is  really  conducive 
to  Pessimism  and  absolutely  opposite  to  that  spirit 
of  Hellenism,  or  the  beauty  of  Nature,  health, 
and  humanity,  to  which  Heine,  like  Goethe,  was 
passionately  devoted.  For  Hellenism  was  founded 
on  ideals,  and  Pessimism  on  the  absence  of  their 
existence. 


AUTHOR'S    PREFACE 

TO  THE  FRENCH  VERSION. 


It  will  always  be  difficult  to  determine  how  a 
German  writer  should  be  translated  into  French. 
Should  we  smuggle  out  of  sight  here  and  there 
thoughts  and  figures  when  they  are  not  according 
to  the  civilised  taste  of  the  French,  and  appear 
to  them  perhaps  as  unpleasant,  if  not  ridiculous 
exaggeration ;  or  should  we  boldly  introduce  to 
the  elegant  world  of  Paris  the  unlicked  Teuton 
with  all  his  trans-Rhenish  originality  fantastically 
adorned  with  Germanisms  and  overloaded  with 
hyper-romantic  decoration  ?  I,  for  my  part,  do 
not  think  that  the  unlicked  German  can  be  trans- 
lated into  smoothly  licked  French,  and  therefore 
present  myself  in  my  primitive  barbarous  con- 
dition, like  the  Chaomas  (Carib)  Indians  who 
were  so  well  received  last  summer.  I  too  am  a 
warrior,  as  was  the  great  Takuabeh.     He  is  dead 


xxu 


AUTHOR'S  PREFACE. 


now,  and  his  mortal  envelope  reposes,  most  care- 
fully preserved,  in  the  Zoological  Musetim  of  the 
Jardin  des  Plantes,  that  Pantheon  of  the  animal 
world. 

My  book  is  a  theatrical  show.  Enter  without 
fear!  I  am  not  so  evilly  disposed  as  I  seem. 
I  have  only  painted  my  face  with  such  wild 
colours  the  better  to  frighten  my  foes  in  battle. 
At  heart  I  am  meek  as  a  lamb.  Be  of  good 
cheer,  therefore,  and  shake  my  hand.  Nay,  you 
may  handle  my  weapons,  even  the  quiver  and 
the  arrows,  for  I  have  blunted  their  points,  as 
we  barbarians  are  accustomed  to  do  when  we  ap- 
proach consecrated  places.  Between  us,  these 
arrows  were  not  only  sharp  but  well  poisoned. 
To-day  they  are  hurtless  and  harmless,  and  you 
can  for  pastime  examine  the  variegated  feathers 
on  them,  and  your  children  even  use  them  for 
playthings. 

But  I  will  lay  aside  the  tattooed  style  and 
express  myself  in  French.  The  style,  the  con- 
nected trains  of  thought,  the  grotesque  sudden 
fancies,  the  oddities  of  expression — in  short,  the 
whole  character  of  the  German  original,  have 
been  repeated  so  far  as  is  possible,  word  for  word, 
in    this    French    translation   of   the    Beisebilder. 


AUTHOR'S  PREFACE.    ^     ^  rjdii 

Taste,  elegance,  grace,  or  charm  and  nice  refine- 
ment have  been  sacrificed  everywhere  without 
mercy  to  literal  truth.  It  is  now  a  German 
book  in  French  speech,  a  book  which  does  not 
pretend  to  please  the  French  public,  but  rather 
to  enable  it  to  learn  a  strange  and  foreign  style 
of  originality.  For  I  will  teach  or  inform,  and 
not  merely  amuse.  In  such  fashion  have  we  Ger- 
mans translated  foreign  authors,  not  without  advan- 
tage, for  by  so  doing  we  have  gained  new  views, 
new  forms  of  words,  and  new  forms  of  speech. 
A  similar  acquisition  would  do  you  no  harm. 

After  I  had  determined  to  make  you  before  all 
things  familiar  with  the  foreign  character  of  this 
work,  it  seemed  to  me  to  be  of  much  less  conse- 
quence to  present  it  unabridged ;  firstly,  because 
many  passages  referring  to  or  depending  on  local 
or  temporal  allusions,  plays  on  words,  and  simi- 
lar specialties,  cannot  be  reproduced  in  French ; 
secondly,  because  many  passages  which  were 
directed  in  a  spirit  of  bitter  enmity  against  per- 
sons and  circumstances  quite  unknown  here,  might 
occasion  the  most  disagreeable  misunderstand- 
ings. Thus,  for  instance,  I  have  suppressed  a  lead- 
ing chapter  which  contained  a  description  of  the 
island  Norderney  and  the  German  nobility.     The 


XXIV 


AUTHOR'S  PREFACE. 


English  fragments  are  abridged  by  more  than 
one  half;  what  was  expunged  was  limited  entirely 
to  political  questions  of  those  times.  ^  In  the  part 
devoted  to  Italy,  which  was  written  in  the  year 
1828,  the  same  reasons  induced  me  to  omit  seve- 
ral chapters ;  though,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  should 
have  struck  out  the  whole  had  I  allowed  myself 
to  be  influenced  by  similar  considerations  as 
regards  all  that  refers  to  the  Catholic  Church.  I 
considered  it  my  duty  to  annul  a  very  harsh  pas- 
sage in  which  Protestant  zeal  assumed  a  bitter- 
ness which  in  merry  France  would  have  been  an 
oflfence  to  good  taste.  In  Germany,  such  ear- 
nestness would  have  been  all  in  the  right  place ; 
for  in  my  character  as  Protestant  I  could  strike 
the  lovers  of  darkness  ^  and  sham  holy  hypocrites, 
or  the  German  Pharisees  and  Sadducees,  far  more 
effective  blows  than  if  I  had  spoken  as  a  philo- 
sopher. But  that  it  may  not  be  possible  for 
readers  who  may  compare  the  original  with  this 
translation  to  accuse  me  on  account  of  these 
omissions  of  unmeasured  concession,  I  will  here 
speak  plainly  on  this  question. 

This  book  was,  with  the  exception  of  a  few 


^  Restored  in  this  edition. 
'  Obieuranten,  reactionaries. 


AUTHOR'S  PREFACE.  kxt 

pages,  composed  before  the  Revolution  of  July. 
At  that  time  political  pressure  had  caused  a 
general  silence  ;  all  souls  were  sunk  in  a  lethargy 
of  doubt  and  dread,  and  he  who  then  dared  to 
speak  must  express  himself  with  all  the  more 
passion,  the  more  he  despaired  of  the  victory  of 
freedom,  and  the  more  bitterly  the  priestly  and 
aristocratic  party  attacked  him.  I  here  use  the 
words  "  priestly  "  and  "  aristocratic  "  simply  from 
habit,  since  I  always  used  them  at  that  time  when 
I  alone  sustained  the  conflict  with  the  champions 
of  the  past.  These  words  were  intelligible  to 
every  one,  and  as  I  must  confess  I  still  retained 
at  that  time  the  twrminology  of  1789,  and  wasted 
a  vast  expenditure  of  words  against  the  clergy 
and  nobility,  or,  as  I  called  them,  "  priestdom  "  ^ 
and  "aristocracy."  But  I  have  advanced  since 
then  on  the  road  of  progress,  and  my  dear  Ger- 
mans, who,  awakened  from  sleep  by  the  cannons 
of  July,  followed  my  footsteps,  and  now  speak 
the  language  of  1789  or  even  of  1793,  ^^^  ^^^ 
80  far  away  as  to  have  lost  sight  of  me,  and  fancy 


1  Pfyffenthvm.  The  word  Pfaffe,  »  priest,  ia  used,  as  Professor 
Whitney  truly  and  succinctly  decl&res,  "gen'ly  comtemptly," 
i.e.,  not  ountemplatiTely  or  deliberately,  but  contemptuously 
— very  much  as  "  parson  "  often  is  in  England. 


Kvi  AUTHOR'S  PREFACE. 

that  I  am  far  behind.  I  am  accused  of  far  too 
great  moderation,  of  an  understanding  with  the 
aristocracy ,1  and  I  see  the  day  approaching  when 
an  inclination  towards  the  priesthood  will  be  urged 
against  me.  The  truth  is  that  I,  to-day,  under- 
stand by  the  word  aristocracy,  not  only  those 
who  are  noble  by  birth,  but  all,  however  called, 
who  live  at  the  expense  of  the  people.  The 
admirable  formula,  "  The  exploitation  of  mankind 
by  man,"  ^  for  which  we  are  indebted,  with  so  much 
that  is  excellent,  to  the  Saint-Simonians,  lifts 
us  above  all  declamation  regarding  privileges  of 
birth.  The  business  in  hand  is  not  to  break 
the  old  Church  by  force  to  fragments,  but  much 
more  to  build  up  a  new  one,  and  far  from  wishing 
to  destroy  the  priesthood,  we  ourselves  now  ear- 
nestly endeavour  at  present  to  become  priests. 

In  Germany,  doubtless,  the  time  of  negations 
or  contradictions  is  so  far  from  being  over,  that  it 


1  Not  altogether  without  cause.  It  might  truthfully  be  said 
of  Heine,  as  it  was  of  his  Socialist  friend  Lasalle,  that  there 
never  lived  a  man  who  would  as  gladly  have  written  de  or  von 
before  his  name.  At  the  time  the  above  was  written,  or  not 
long  after,  he  was  actuaUy  enjoying  a  pension  from  Louis 
Philippe,  and  living  "  at  the  expense  of  the  people." 

'  Atubeutujig  de»  Mentehen  dureh  den  Mensohen,  or  the 
robbery  of  man  by  man. 


AUTHOR'S  PREFACE.  xxvu 

rather  seems  to  have  recently  begun.  In  France, 
on  the  contrary,  it  seems  to  be  drawing  to  an 
end ;  at  least  it  seems  to  me  as  if  one  mast  here 
devote  himself  to  positive  efforts,  and  build  up  or 
restore  all  that  there  is  good  or  beautiful  which 
the  past  has  left  us  as  a  heritage. 

HEINEICH  HEINE. 
Pabb,  <Vay  ao,  1834* 


CONTENTS 

VOLUME  THREE 


PAGE 


The  Homeward  Journey  (1823-24)      .       .       .       ,        i 
The  Hartz  Journey  {1824) 58 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

Goethe Frontispiece 

From  a  Drawing  by  M.  Kraus,  1776. 

Thomas  Carlyle  .        .        .        .        .        .  To  face  page  12 

An  Engraving  from  a  Photograph. 

Chamisso „        .,      90 

From  an  Etching. 

Plato n       .,     136 

From  the  Bust  in  the  Vatican. 


•  1.  ,.''V. 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


THE  HOMEWARD  JOURNEY. 
(1823-1824.) 

••  Triviftl  half- way  joys  we  bate. 
Hate  all  childish  fancies : 
If  no  crime  weigh  down  the  soul, 
Why  should  we  endure  control 

And  groan  in  death-like  trances  t 
The  puling  wight  looks  down  and  n^iB, 
But  the  brave  man  lifts  his  eyes 

T7p  to  Heaven's  bright  glances." 

— Ikmbbkakh. 

I.- 

In  my  life  too  dark  and  dreary 

Once  there  gleamed  an  image  bright ; 

Now  that  lovely  form  has  vanished, 
I  am  wrapped  about  with  night. 

As  when  children  stray  in  darkness, 
And  dark  fears  around  them  throng, 

They,  to  drive  away  their  terror, 
Loudly  sing  a  cheering  song: 
VOL.  L  A 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL.  j 

-    '     i     ■ 
Like  a  foolish  child  I'm  singing  ' 

As  Life's  darker  shades  draw  near; 

And  although  my  lay  lack  music, 

Still  it  drives  away  my  fear.  j 

""   1 

2. 

i 

I  KNOW  not  what  sorrow  is  o'er  me. 
What  spell  is  upon  my  heart ; 

But  a  tale  of  old  times  is  before  me — 
A  legend  that  will  not  depart. 

i 

Night  falls  as  I  linger,  dreaming,  j 

And  calmly  flows  the  Ehine ; 
The  peaks  of  the  mountains  gleaming 
In  the  golden  sunset  shine. 

A  wondrous  lovely  maiden 

Sits  high  in  glory  there ;  j 

Her  robe  with  gems  is  laden, 

And  she  combs  out  her  golden  hair. 

And  she  spreads  out  the  golden  treasure, 

Still  singing  in  harmony ; 
And  the  song  has  a  mystical  measure, 

And  a  wonderful  melody. 

The  boatman,  when  once  she  has  bound  him, 

Is  lost  in  a  wild  sad  love : 
He  sees  not  the  black  rocks  around  him, 

He  sees  but  the  beauty  above. 


THE  HOMEWARD  JOURNEY. 

I  believe  that  the  billows  springing, 
The  boat  and  the  boatman  drown, 

And  that,  with  her  magical  singing. 
The  Lor^lay  has  done. 


My  heart,  my  heart  is  weary, 
Although  in  the  month  of  May, 

And  I  lean  against  the  linden, 
High  up  on  the  terrace  gray. 

The  town-moat  far  below  me 

Euns  silent  and  sad,  and  blue; 
A  boy  in  a  boat  floats  o'er  it. 

Still  fishing  and  whistling  too. 

And  a  beautiful  varied  picture 

Spreads  out  beyond  the  flood. 
Fair  houses,  and  gardens,  and  people, 

And  cattle,  and  meadow,  and  wood. 

Young  maidens  are  bleaching  the  linen. 
They  leap  as  they  go  and  come; 

And  the  mill-wheel  is  dripping  with  diamonds, 
I  list  to  its  far-away  hum. 

And  high  on  yon  old  grey  castle 

A  sentry-box  peeps  o'er; 
While  a  young  red-coated  soldier 

Is  pacing  beside  the  door. 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

He  plays  with  his  shining  mnsket, 
Which  gleams  in  the  sunlight  red, 

He  halts,  he  presents,  and  shoulders : — 
I  wish  that  he'd  shoot  me  dead ! 


4. 

Ik  the  woods  I  wander  weeping. 
The  thrush  sits  on  the  spray ; 
She  springs  and  sings  while  peeping: 
Oh,  why  so  sad  to-day  ?  " 


« 


Your  sister,  dear,  the  swallow, 

Knows  well  why  my  spirit  grieves. 

For  she  builds  her  nest  in  the  hollow, 
Beneath  my  darling's  eaves. 


5. 

The  night  is  wet  and  stormy, 

A  starless  heaven  above, 
Through  the  wood,  'neath  rustling  branches^ 

All  silently  I  rove.  1 

From  the  lonely  hunter's  cottage  ' 

A  light  beams  cheerily,  | 

But  it  will  not  tempt  me  thither. 

Where  all  is  sad  to  see.  i 


THE  HOMEWARD  JOVRNEY. 

The  blind  old  grandmother's  sitting 

Alone  in  the  leathern  chair; 
Uncanny  and  stern  as  an  image, 

And  speaking  to  no  one  there. 

The  red-headed  son  of  the  woodman 

"Walks  cursing  up  and  down. 
And  casts  in  a  comer  his  rifle, 

With  a  bitter  laugh  and  a  frown. 

A  maiden  is  spinning  and  weeping, 
And  moistens  the  flax  with  tears, 

While  at  her  small  feet  whimpering 
Lies  a  hound  with  drooping  earSb 

•■     6. 

As  I  once  by  chance  on  a  journey, 

My  lady-love's  family  found, 
Little  sister,  and  father,  and  mother. 

Came  joyfully  flocking  around. 

They  asked,  of  course,  "  How  I  found  me  ? " 
Hoping  my  health  would  not  fail;        . 

For  although  quite  the  same  as  ever. 
My  countenance  seemed  to  be  pale. 

I  asked  of  the  aunts  and  the  cousins. 
Of  the  many  bores  whom  we  know, 

And  then  of  the  little  greyhound. 
With  his  bark  so  soft  and  low. 


•*^^fr  .^*^^  Jtm'f>..'r'-^r---f^^l*f^^.X-^-i^A^r-^*-^i  -rr-*^ 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

Of  the  loved  one — long  since  married — 
Then  I  asked  by  the  way,  though  late  j 

And  her  father,  smiling,  whispered 
Of  her  "  interesting  state." 

And  I  smiled  congratulationB 

On  the  delicate  events 
And  to  her  and  to  aU  relations 

"  Best  remembrances  "  were  sent. 

But  the  little  sister  shouted 

That  the  dog  which  once  was  mine 

Had  gone  mad  in  early  summer, 

"  So  we  drowned  him  in  the  Rhine.** 

That  child  is  so  like  her  sister, 

Especially  when  they  smile ; 
She  has  the  same  soft  glances, 

Which  tortured  me  a  while 


7. 

We  sat  by  the  fisher*s  cottage. 
And  looked  at  the  stormy  tide; 

The  evening  mist  came  rising, 
And  floating  far  and  wide. 

One  by  one  in  the  lighthouse 
The  lamps  shone  out  on  high. 

And  far  on  the  dim  horizon 
A  ship  went  sailing  by. 


iV 


-1 


THE  HOMEWARD  yOURNEY.  f 

We  spoke  of  storm  and  shipwreck, 
Of  sailors  who  live  on  the  deep, 

And  how  between  sky  and  water 
And  terror  and  joy  they  sweep. 

We  spoke  of  distant  countries, 

In  regions  strange  and  fair, 
And  of  the  wondrous  beings 

And  curious  customs  there. 

Of  perfume  and  lights  on  the  Ganges, 
Where  trees  like  giants  tower, 

And  beautiful  silent  beings 

Still  worship  the  lotus  flower.       . 

Of  the  dirty  dwarfs  of  Lapland, 

Broad-headed,  wide-mouthed,  and  small, 
Who  crouch  round  their  oil-fires  cooking. 

And  chatter  and  scream  and  bawL 

And  the  maidens  earnestly  listened. 
Till  at  last  we  spoke  no  more; 

The  ship  like  a  shadow  had  vanished, 
And  darkness  fell  deep  on  the  shore. 

8. 

Thou  gentle  ferry-maiden. 
Gome,  draw  the  boat  to  land, 

And  sit  thee  down  beside  me, 
Garessing  with  hand  in  hand. 


¥  ..****■■' 


^r*^Jto*rfr-».)'»<**'''~^.-    f  '    ■  "^ ',' 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

Lay  thy  head  against  my  bosom 
And  have  no  fear  of  me ; 

Dost  thou  not  venture  boldly 
Each  day  on  the  roaring  sea  ? 

My  heart  is  like  the  ocean, 

It  hath  storm,  and  ebb,  and  flow ; 
And  many  a  pearl  is  hidden 

In  its  silent  depths  below. 


The  moon  is  high  in  heaven. 

And  shimmers  o'er  the  sea ; 
And  my  heart  throbs  like  my  dear  one's, 

As  she  silently  sits  by  me. 

With  my  arm  around  the  darling,  ; 

I  rest  upon  the  strand ;  | 

**  What  sound  is  in  the  night- wind  ?      ' 

Why  trembles  thy  snow-white  hand  ? " 


**  Those  are  no  evening  breezes. 
But  the  mermaids  singing  low — 

The  mermaids,  once  my  sisters. 

Who  were  drowned  long,  long  ago.** 


— '»-.  /...f-'vf,"'* -■■>•  •> 


THE  HOMEWARD  JOURNEY. 

The  quiet  moon  upon  the  clouds 
like  a  giant  orange  is  glowing, 

While,  far  beneath,  the  old  grey  sea, 
All  striped  with  silver,  is  flowing. 

Alone  I  wander  on  the  strand. 
Where  the  white  surf  is  broken. 

But  hear  full  many  a  gentle  word 
Amid  the  waves  soft  spoken. 

But,  oh !  the  night  is  far  too  long ; 

Silence  too  long  has  bound  me : 
Fair  water-fairies  come  to  me. 

And  dance  and  sing  around  me! 

Oh,  take  my  head  upon  your  lap. 
Take  body  and  soul  in  keeping  I 

But  sing  me  dead — caress  me  dead  I — 
And  kiss  me  to  endless  sleeping ! 

;":ii.  ;";:--;■ -■:-"/; 

All  wrapped  up  in  grey-cloud  garments. 
Now  the  great  gods  sleep  together ; 

And  I  hear  their  thunder-snoring. 
For  to-night  we've  dreadful  weather. 

Dreadful  weather  I  what  a  tempest 
Threats  our  ship  with  dire  disaster  I 

Who  will  check  the  mighty  storm-wind. 
And  the  waves  without  a  master  ? 


.,..>,-,*    r  .X?^r  ■  '^  -  •       "  *^:^Vi 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

Can't  be  helped,  though,  if  all  nature 
A  mad  holiday  is  keeping ; 

So  I'll  wrap  me  up  and  slumber, 
As  the  gods  above  are  sleeping. 


12.  , 

I 

The  wild  wind  puts  his  breeches  on—  ■ 
His  foam-white  water  breeches ; 

He  lashes  the  waves,  and  every  one 
Boars  out  and  howls  and  pitches. 

■    •       ^        i      ■ 
From  yon  wild  height,  with  furious  might, 

The  rain  comes  roaring  and  groaning, 

It  seems  as  if  the  old  black  Night         | 

The  old  dark  sea  were  drowning. 

The  snow-white  seagull  to  our  mast 
Clings,  screaming  hoarse  and  crying ; 

And  in  those  screams  I  hear  what  seems 
A  deathly  prophesying.  I 


13. 

Thb  wind  pipes  up  for  dancing, 
The  waves  in  white  are  clad ; 

Hurrah ! — how  the  ship  is  leaping ; 
And  the  night  is  merry  and  mad. 


.    <    k.    -•      1*  - 


,''-v'      4  Jk 


THE  HOMEWARD  JOURNEY.  jt. 

And  living  hills  of  water 

Sweep  up  as  the  storm-wind  calls ; 
Here  a  black  gulf  is  gaping, 

And  there  a  white  tower  falls. 

And  sounds  as  of  sickness  and  swearing 
From  the  depths  of  the  cabin  come ; 

I  keep  a  firm  hold  on  the  bulwarks, 
And  wish  that  I  now  were  at  hom& 


■     14.      ■ 

The  night  comes  stealing  o'er  me, 
And  clouds  are  on  the  sea, 

While  the  wavelets  rustle  before  me 
With  a  mystical  melody. 

The  mermaid  rises  singing. 
Sits  by  me,  fair  and  pale ; 

Her  snow-white  breasts  are  springing 
Like  fountains  from  her  veil. 

She  kissed  me  and  she  pressed  me. 
Till  I  wished  her  arms  away : 

Why  hast  thou  so  caressed  me, 
Thou  lovely  Water  Fay  ? 

"  Oh,  thou  need'st  not  alarm  thee, 
That  thy  arms  in  mine  I  fold ; 

For  I  only  seek  to  warm  me, 
And  the  night  is  black  and  cold." 


la  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

The  wind  to  the  waves  is  calling. 

The  moonlight  is  fading  awaj, 
And  tears  down  thj  cheeks  are  falling, 

Thou  beautiful  Water  Fay  I  j 

"The  wind  to  the  waves  is  calling, 

And  the  moonlight  grows  dim  on  the  rocks ; 

But  no  tears  from  mine  eyes  are  falling, 
'Tis  the  water  which  drips  from  my  locks." 

The  ocean  is  heaving  and  sobbing,  , 

The  seamews  scream  in  the  spray ; 

And  thy  heart  is  wildly  throbbing, 

Thou  beautiful  Water  Fay  I  j 

"  My  heart  is  wildly  swelling,  i 

And  it  beats  in  burning  truth ;  , 

For  I  love  thee,  past  all  telling — 
Thou  beautiful  mortal  youth.** 


15. 

"  When  early  in  the  morning 
I  pass  thy  window,  sweet, 

Oh,  what  a  thrill  of  joy  is  mine 
When  both  our  glances  meet ! " 

"  With  those  dark  flashing  eyeballs. 
Which  all  things  round  thee  scan. 

Who  art  thou,  and  what  ails  thee. 
Thou  strange  and  suffering  man  ? " 


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'  -■■■  '•■.^•' 


THE  HOMEWARD  JOURNEY. 

*  I  am  a  German  poet^ 

Well  known  in  the  German  land  : 
Where  the  first  names  are  written, 

Mine  own  may  rightly  stand. 

"  And  what  I  seek,  my  fairest, 
Is  that  for  which  many  pine ; 

And  where  men  speak  of  sorrows, 
Thoult  hear  them  speak  of  mina** 

i6. 

The  ocean  shimmered  far  around, 
As  the  last  sun-rays  shone ; 

We  sat  beside  the  fisher's  hut, 
Silent  and  all  alone. 

The  mist  swam  up— the  water  heaved — 
The  seamew  round  us  screamed. 

And  from  thy  dark  eyes,  full  of  love. 
The  scalding  tear-drops  streamed. 

I  saw  them  fall  upon  thy  hand ; 

Upon  my  knee  I  sank, 
And  from  that  white  and  yielding  hand 

The  glittering  tears  I  drank. 

And  since  that  hour  I  waste  away, 
'Mid  passion's  hopes  and  fears; 

Oh,  weary  heart !  that  wretched  girl 
Hath  poisoned  thee  with  tears. 


.■^■■'-:.'  ■ 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL, 
I/. 

High  up  on  yonder  mountain 

There  stands  a  lordly  hall, 
Where  dwell  three  gentle  maidens, 

And  I  was  loved  by  aU. 

On  Saturday  Hetty  loved  me, 

The  Sabbath  was  Julia's  day. 
And  on  Monday,  Kunigunda 

Half  kissed  my  breath  away.  | 

On  Tuesday,  in  their  castle 

My  ladies  gave  a  ball. 
And  thither,  with  coaches  and  horses. 

Went  my  neighbours,  their  wives  and  all, 

But  I  had  no  invitation —  , 

Which  puzzled  you,  by  the  by ! — 

And  the  gossiping  aunts  and  cousins 
Observed  it  and  laughed— on  the  sly ! 

i8. 

Fae  on  the  dim  horizon, 

As  in  a  land  of  dreams, 
Bises  a  white  tower'd  city. 

Fading  'mid  sunset  gleams. 

The  evening  breeze  is  wreathing 

The  water  where  I  float. 
And  in  solemn  measure  the  boatman 

Keeps  time  as  he  rows  my  boat. 


THE  HOMEWARD  JOURNEY.  15 

Once  more  the  sunlight  flashes 

In  wondrous  glory  round, 
And  lights  up  the  foaming  water, 

Where  she  I  loved  was  drowned. 


Once  more  in  solemn  ditty 

I  greet  thee,  as  I  melt 
In  tears,  thou  wondrous  city, 

Where  once  my  true  love  dwelt. 

Say  on,  ye  gates  and  tower, 

Does  she  I  loved  remain  ? 
I  gave  her  to  your  power — 

Give  me  my  love  again ! 

Blame  not  the  trusty  tower ! 

No  word  his  walls  could  say. 
As  a  pair,  with  their  trunks  and  luggage. 

So  silently  travelled  away. 

But  the  wicket-gate  was  faithless. 
Through  which  she  escaped  so  still: 

Oh,  a  wicket  is  always  ready 
To  ope  when  a  wicked  one  will.* 

*  Die  Thore  jedock,  die  Uesten 

Mein  Lid>chen  entvfitehen  gar  diU; 

Ein  Thar  uf  imnur  wiliig. 
Warn  eine  ThorinnvUL 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL, 


20. 


AoAiN  tlirongh  the  streets  well  known  of  old 
I  wander  with  footsteps  weary  ;  . 

Again  before  her  house  I  come, 

And  the  honse  is  empty  and  dreary. 

The  streets  are  all  so  narrow  here ! 

The  pavement  seems  to  tear  me  1 
The  roofs  are  falling  1     I  haste  away 

As  fast  as  my  feet  will  bear  me  1 


21. 


I  ENTEBED  her  home,  recalling  ] 

The  faith  she  had  pledged  while  weeping : 

Where  I  saw  her  tear-drops  falling,  . 
I  now  found  serpents  creeping.*  | 


^  This  b  the  same  metre  m  the  originaL 
■ion  WM  M  follows  : — 


My  original  Ter- 


I  wandered  through  the  silent  hall. 
Where  onoe  she  loved  and  wept, 

And  where  I  saw  the  false  tears  fall. 
Now  winding  serpents  crept. 

There  can  be  no  greater  mistake  than  to  believe  that  a  ver- 
sion in  the  same  metre  as  the  original  is  on  that  account  any 
better  or  nearer  its  spirit.  The  same  associations  or  emotions 
are  often  awakened  in  people  of  different  races  by  very  different 
melodies,  or  vice  vena ;  thus  the  measure  of  "  Unfortunate  Miss 
Bailey,"  which  is  comic  to  all  Anglo-Saxons,  is  grand  and  heroic 
to  a  modem  Greek.  This  same  principle  is  often  applicable 
even  in  languages  so  nearly  allied  as  English  and  German. 


THE  HOMEWARD  JOURNEY  x; 

22. 

Calm  is  the  night,  and  the  city  is  sleeping, — 
Once  in  this  house  dwelt  a  lady  fair ; 
Long,  long  ago,  she  left  it,  weeping 
But  still  the  old  house  is  standing  there. 

Yonder  a  man  at  the  heavens  is  staring, 

Wringing  his  hands  as  in  sorrowful  case : 

He    turns    to    the  moonlight,   his    countenance 

baring — 
Oh,  heaven !  he  shows  me  my  own  sad  face ! 

Shadowy  form,  with  my  own  agreeing, 
Why  mockest  thou  thus,  in  the  moonlight  cold, 
The  sorrows  which  here  once  vexed  my  being, 
Many  a  night  in  the  days  of  old  ? 


;;-     23.       '/■;-..  -:/-'■. 

How  canst  thou  sleep  so  calmly. 

While  I  alive  remain  ? 
Old  griefs  may  yet  be  wakened. 

And  then  I'll  break  my  chain. 

Know'st  thou  the  wild  old  ballad. 

How  a  dead,  forgotten  slave 
Came  to  his  silent  lady. 
And  bore  her  to  his  grave  ? 
VOL.  L  B 


^' 


i8  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

Believe  me,  gentle  maiden, 
Thou  child  so  wondrous  fair, 

I  live,  and  still  am  stronger 
Than  all  the  dead  men  are. 


24. 

The  maiden  sleeps  in  her  chamber, 
The  moonlight  steals  quivering  in  ; 

Without,  there's  a  ringing  and  singing,  , 
As  of  waltzing  about  to  begin.  ! 

"  I  will  see  who  it  is  'neath  my  window, 
That  gives  me  this  strange  serenade !  " 

She  saw  a  pale  skeleton  figure,  ' 

Who  fiddled,  and  sang  as  he  played : 

"  A  waltz  thou  once  didst  promise,  ' 

And  hast  broken  thy  word,  my  fair. 

To-night  there's  a  ball  in  the  churchyard, 
So  come — I  will  dance  with  thee  there  !  ** 

A  spell  came  over  the  maiden,  j 

She  could  neither  speak  nor  stay;       ' 

So  she  followed  the  Form,  which,  singing 
And  fiddling,  went  dancing  away. 

Fiddling,  and  dancing,  and  hopping,       i 
And  rattling  his  arms  and  spine, 

The  white  skull  grinning  and  nodding 
Away  in  the  dim  moonshine. 


THE  HOMEWARD  JOURNEY,  19 

25. 

I  STOOD  in  shadowy  dreaming, 

I  gazed  upon  her  form ; 
And  in  that  face,  so  dearly  loved. 

Strange  life  began  to  warm. 

And  on  her  soft  and  child-like  mouth 
There  played  a  heavenly  smile. 

Though  in  her  dark  and  lustrous  eyes 
A  tear-drop  shone  the  while. 

And  my  own  tears  were  flowing  too, 

In  silent  agony ; 
For  oh !  I  cannot  deem  it  true 

That  thou  art  lost  to  me. 


26. 

I,  A  most  wretched  Atlas,  who  a  world 
Of  bitterest  griefs  and  agonies  must  carry, 
And  bear  the  all-unbearable,  till,  breaking, 
The  heart  is  lost  within  me. 

Wild  daring  heart! — it  was  thine  own  mad 

choice ; 
Thou  would'st  be  happy,  infinitely  happy. 
Or  wretched  beyond  measure : — Daring  heart ! 
Now  thou  art  truly  wretched. 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 
27. 

Ages  may  come  and  vanish, 

Eaces  may  pass  away ;  ' 

But  the  love  which  I  have  cherished 
Within  can  ne'er  decay.  I 

Once  more  I  fain  would  see  thee,      ' 
And  kneel  where  e'er  thou  art ; 

And  dying,  whisper — "Madam, 
Be  pleased  to  accept  my  heart !  " 


28.  I 

It  seemed  that  the  pale  moon  sadly  shone, 
And  the  stars  were  sadly  gleaming ;      | 

I  was  borne  away  to  my  own  love's  town, 
A  hundred  leagues — while  dreaming. 

I  came  to  the  house  where  she  had  slept, 
I  kissed  the  stair,  while  weeping, 

Where  oft  her  little  foot  had  stept, 

Which  had  known  her  garments  sweeping. 

Long  was  the  night,  cold  was  the  night 

I  sat  there  chilled,  despairing ; 
From  the  window  looked  a  phantom  white. 

At  the  chilly  moonlight  staring.^ 


1  Obioinal  Ykbsion. 
I  dreamed  : — the  moon  shone  grimly  down. 

The  stars  seemed  sad  and  grey  ; 
And  I  was  in  my  true  love's  town. 

Full  many  a  league  away. 


THE  HOMEWARD  JOURNEY.  ax 

29.  ■[:'.':■ 

What  means  this  lonely  tear-drop 
Which  dims  mine  eye  to-day  ? 

It  is  the  last  now  left  me. 
Where  once  so  many  lay. 

It  had  many  a  shining  sister 
Which  rolled  in  glittering  light ; 

But  now,  with  my  smiles  and  sorrows, 
They're  lost  in  wind  and  night. 

And,  like  the  mists,  have  faded 
The  light-blue  sparkling  stars, 

Which  flashed  their  joys  or  sorrows 
Down  through  life's  prison-bars. 

Oh,  love — wild  love — where  art  thou  ? 

Fled  like  an  idle  breath : 
My  silent  lonely  tear-drop. 

Go  fade  in  misty  death ! 


I  stood  before  the  bouse  and  wept, 
I  kissed  the  shadowy  stone 

Where  oft  her  little  foot  had  stepped. 
Where  oft  her  robes  had  flown. 

The  cold  step  chilled  my  lip  and  arm, 

I  lay  in  shivering  swoon  ; 
While  from  above  a  phantom  form 

Looked  out  upon  the  moon. 


ti,i»»4l     •    ■  * '  • '''•if' i.    *♦  T^  -  *~-^  • 


32 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL, 


30. 

The  pale  half-moon  is  floating 

Like  a  boat  'mid  cloudy  waves, 
Lone  lies  the  pastor's  cottage 

Amid  the  silent  graves. 

The  mother  reads  in  the  Bible,  [ 

The  son  seems  weary  and  weak ;  | 

The  eldest  daughter  is  drowsy,  | 

While  the  youngest  begins  to  speak :  I 

"  Ah  me ! — how  every  minute  ■ 

Eolls  by  so  drearily ; 
Only  when  some  one  is  buried,  j 

Have  we  anything  here  to  see ! " 

The  mother  murmured  while  reading  :  ! 

"  Thou'rt  wrong — they've  brought  but  four 
Since  thy  poor  father  was  buried 

Out  there  by  the  churchyard  door." 

The  eldest  daughter  says,  gaping  : 
"  No  more  will  I  hunger  by  you ; 

I'll  go  to  the  Baron  to-morrow, 

He's  wealthy,  and  fond  of  me  too." 

The  son  bursts  out  into  laughter : 

"  Three  hunters  carouse  in  **  The  Sun ; " 

They  all  can  make  gold,  and  gladly 
Will  show  me  how  it  is  done." 


,- 


THE  HOMEWARD  JOURNEY. 

The  mother  holds  the  Bible 

To  his  pale  face  in  grief : 
"And  wilt  thou — wicked  fellow — 

Become  a  highway  thief  ? " 

A  rapping  is  heard  on  the  window, 
There  trembles  a  warning  hand ; 

Without,  in  the  priest's  black  surplice, 
They  see  their  dead  father  stand. 

31. 

To-NIGHT  we  have  dreadful  weather, 

It  rains  and  storms  and  snows, 
I  sit  at  my  window,  gazing 
Where  blacker  the  darkness  grows. 

There  glimmers  a  lonely  candle, 
Which  moves  to  weary  feet; 

An  old  dame  with  a  lantern 

Comes  hobbling  across  the  street. 

It  seems  that  for  eggs,  and  flour. 
And  butter,  she  forth  has  come. 

To  make  a  cake  for  her  daughter. 
Her  grown-up  darling  at  home. 

Who,  at  the  bright  lamp  blinking, 
In  an  arm-chair  lazily  lies. 

And  golden  locks  are  waving 
Above  her  beautiful  eyes. 


"'■■  '"X'i    **  •^   •T""'*  ■?  "^  '  '.-:*^..--  .*-;^— ^ 


r,.i>-^,,. 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 
32. 

They  say  that  my  heart  is  breaking 
With  love  and  sorrow  too ; 

And  at  last  I  shall  believe  it, 
As  other  people  do. 

Sweet  girl,  with  eyes  dark  beaming, 
I  have  ever  told  thee  this, 

That  my  heart  with  love  is  breaking. 
That  thou  wert  all  my  bliss. 

But  only  in  my  chamber 
Dared  I  thus  boldly  speak; 

Alas  !  when  thou  wert  present, 
My  words  were  sad  and  weak. 

For  there  were  evil  angels 

Who  quickly  hushed  my  tongue ; 
And  oh !  these  evil  angels 

My  heart  with  grief  have  wrung. 


33- 
Oh,  thy  lovely  lily-fingers ! 
If  I  once  again  could  kiss  them. 
Press  them  once  upon  my  heart. 
And  then  die  in  silent  weeping  I 

For  thy  clear  deep  eyes  like  violets 
Sweep  before  me  day  and  night ; 
And  I  vex  my  soul  in  guessing 
At  the  soft,  sweet,  blue  enigmas. 


THE  HOMEWARD  yOURNEY.  ^ 

Has  she  never  really  noticed 

That  you  long  with  love  were  burning  ? 
Saw  you  never  in  her  glances 

Any  sign  of  love  returning? 

Could  you  never  with  your  glances 

Wake  tTicU  look  which  thrills  and  flatters  ? 

You,  who  surely  are  no  donkey, 

Friend  of  mine,  in  these  small  matters.^ 

"  .  '^    35.  ^■■■■'  ; 

They  tenderly  loved,  and  yet  neither 
Would  venture  the  other  to  move ; 

They  met  as  if  hate  were  between  them, 
And  yet  were  half  dying  with  love. 

They  parted,  and  then  saw  each  other 
At  times  in  their  visions  alone; 

They  had  long  left  this  sad  life  together, 
Yet  scarcely  to  either  'twas  known. 

^  Thb  Obiqinal  Yebsion. 

And  hath  she  never  noticed 
That  thou  with  love  didat  bum  ? 

And  saw'st  thou  in  her  glances 
No  sign  of  love's  return  ? 

And  could'st  thou  then  read  nothing 

In  all  her  words  and  airs : 
Thou,  who  hast  such  experience. 

Dear  friend,  in  these  affairs? 


"^  ,♦  ,  •>  ^f  :..f':\"»  «~- ^'C-   '"^r    .■:rr:"''"-i^>'">'*r--:,«T 


26 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


36. 


When  first  my  afflictions  you  heard  me  rehearse, 
You  gaped  and  you  stared: — "God  be  praised 

'twas  no  worse ! " 
But  when  I  repeated  them  smoothly  in  rhyme. 
You    thought   it    was   "  wonderful,"   "  glorious," 

"sublime!" 


37-  ' 

I  CALLED  the  Devil,  and  he  came ;  j 

In  blank  amaze  his  form  I  scan ;  ! 

He  is  not  ugly,  is  not  lame, 

But  a  refined,  accomplished  man.  ; 

One  in  the  very  prime  of  life,  i 

At  home  in  every  cabinet  strife,  I 

"Who,  as  diplomatist,  can  tell 
Church  and  State  news  extremely  well. 
He  is  somewhat  pale,  and  no  wonder  either, 
Since  he  studies  Sanscrit  and  Hegel  together. 
His  favourite  poet  is  still  Fouqu^, 

Of  criticism  he  makes  no  mention ; 

Since  all  such  matters,  unworthy  attention. 
He  leaves  to  his  grandmother,  Hecate. 
He  praised  my  legal  efforts,  and  said 
That  he  also,  when  younger,  some  law  had  read. 
Remarking  that  friendship  like  mine  would  be 
An  acquisition,  and  bowed  to  me : — 


THE  HOMEWARD  JOURNEY.  af 

Then  asked  if  we  had  not  met  before 
At  the  Spanish  minister's  soir^  ? 

And  as  I  scanned  his  face  once  more, 

I  found  I  had  known  him  for  many  a  day ! 

38. 

Mortal  1 — sneer  not  at  the  Devil, 

Soon  thy  little  life  is  o'er. 
And  eternal  grim  damnation 

Is  no  idle  tale  of  yore. 

Mortal ! — pay  the  debts  thou  owest ; 

Long  'twill  be  ere  life  is  o'er ; 
Many  a  time  thou  yet  must  borrow, 

As  thou  oft  hast  done  before. 


39. 

"  Which  is  the  way  to  Bethlehem  ? 

Is  there  no  one  to  show  it  ? " 
So  asked   the  three  kings  from  the  Eastern 

land; 
'*  Dear  children,  do  you  know  it  ?  " 

Neither  old  nor  young  could  tell  them  the 
road. 

The  kings  went  on.     Before  them 
There  went  a  beautiful  golden  star, 

Which  gleamed  in  its  glory  o'er  them. 


.•.*-•• 


28  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


The  star  stood  still  over  Joseph's  house ; 

They  entered,  their  ofiferings  bringing, 
The  oxen  lowed,  the  Infant  cried,      .    ] 

While  the  three  wise  kings  were  singing.* 


40.  ! 

My  child,  ^e  once  were  children, 
Two  children  gay  and  small ; 

We  crept  into  the  hen-house. 

And  hid  ourselves,  heads  and  alL 

I 
We  clucked,  just  like  the  poultry. 

And  when  folks  came  by,  you  know — 
Kickery-kee  ! — they  started,  j 

And  thought  'twas  a  real  crow.  ! 


1  Thx  Original  YsBSioy. 
The  three  wise  monarchs  of  the  East 

Asked  in  each  city  near : 
"  Which  is  the  way  to  Bethlehem, 

Tell  us,  ye  children  dear  ?  " 

But  neither  old  nor  young  could  telL 
The  three  wise  kings  went  on : 

Still  following  a  golden  star 
Which  gleamed  in  glory  down, 

Until  it  paused  o'er  Joseph's  house, 
Before  the  shrine  they  bowed ; 

The  oxen  lowed,  the  infant  cried. 
The  three  kings  sang  aloud. 


<"•((• 


THE  HOMEWARD  JOURNEY. 

The  chests  which  lay  in  our  courtyard 
We  papered  so  smooth  and  nice ; 

We  thought  they  were  beautiful  houses, 
And  lived  in  them,  snug  as  mice. 

When  the  old  cat  of  our  neighbour 
Dropped  in  for  a  social  call; 

We  made  her  bows  and  courtesies, 
And  compliments  and  all. 

We  asked  of  her  health,  and  kindly 
Inquired  how  all  had  sped : — 

Since  then,  to  many  a  tabby 
The  self-same  things  we've  said. 

And  oft,  like  good  old  people, 
We  talked  with  sober  tongue, 

Declaring  that  all  was  better 

In  the  days  when  we  were  young. 

How  piety,  faith,  and  true  love 

Had  vanished  quite  away; 
And  how  dear  we  found  the  coffee, 

How  scarce  the  money  to-day. 

So  all  goes  roUing  onward. 
The  merry  days  of  youth, — 

Money,  the  world  and  its  seasons ; 
And  honesty,  love,  and  truth. 


30  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

41. 

My  heart  is  sad,  and  with  misgiving 

I  ponder  o'er  the  ancient  day, 
When  this  poor  world  was  fit  to  live  in. 

And  calmly  sped  the  time  away. 

Now  all  seems  changed  which  once  was  cherished. 
The  world  is  filled  with  care  and  dread ; 

As  if  the  Lord  in  Heaven  had  perished, 
And  down  below  the  Devil  were  dead. 

But  care  of  all  hath  so  bereft  us, 

So  little  pleasure  Life  doth  give ; 
That  were  not  some  faint  Love  still  left  us,      \  . 

No  more  I'd  wish  on  earth  to  live. 

42. 

As  the  summer  moon  shines  rising 

Through  the  dark  and  cloud-like  trees,     1 

So  my  soul  'mid  shadowy  memories 

Still  a  gleaming  picture  sees.  j 

All  upon  the  deck  were  seated, 

Proudly  sailing  on  the  Ehine, 
And  the  shores  in  summer  verdure  ■ 

Gleamed  in  sunset's  crimson  shine.  i 

And  I  rested,  gently  musing,  ' 

At  a  lovely  lady's  feet ;  i 

And  the  golden  sun  was  playing 

On  her  face  so  pale  and  sweet.  I 


THE  HOMEWARD  yOURNEY.  31 

Lutes  were  ringing,  boys  were  singing, 
Wondrous  rapture  o'er  me  stole ; 

Bluer,  bluer  grew  the  heavens, 
Fuller,  higher,  swelled  my  souL 

Like  a  legend,  wood  and  river, 
Hill  and  tower  before  me  flies ; 

And  I  see  the  whole  reflected 
In  the  lady's  lovely  eyes. 


43- 

Is  dreams  I  saw  the  loved  one, 
A  sorrowing,  wearied  form, 

Her  beauty  blanched  and  withered 
By  many  a  dreary  storm. 

A  little  babe  she  carried. 

Another  child  she  led. 
And  poverty  and  trouble 

In  glance  and  garb  I  read. 

She  trembled  through  the  market. 
And  face  to  face  we  met ; 

And  I  calmly  said,  while  sadly 
Her  eyes  on  mine  were  set : 

**  Come  to  my  house,  I  pray  thee. 
For  thou  art  pale  and  thin ; 

And  for  thee,  by  my  labour. 
Thy  meat  and  drink  I'll  win. 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

"And  to  thy  little  children 
I'll  be  a  father  mild ; 

But  most  of  all  thy  parent, 
Thou  poor  unhappy  child. 

"  Nor  will  I  ever  tell  thee 
That  once  I  held  thee  dear; 

And  if  thou  diest  before  me 
111  weep  upon  thy  bier." 


44-  I 

Feiend  of  mine,  why  are  you  ever 

Through  the  same  old  measures  moving 

Will  you,  brooding,  sit  for  ever 
On  the  same  old  eggs  of  loving  ? 

*Tis  an  endless  incubation :  ' 

From  their  eggs  the  chicks  scarce  risen, 

When  the  chirping  generation  | 

In  a  book  you  coop  and  prison. 


45- 

But,  I  pray,  be  not  impatient 

At  the  same  old  chords  still  ringing, 

If  you  find  the  same  old  sorrows 
In  the  newest  songs  I'm  singing. 


THE  HOMEWARD  JOURNEY,  33 

Wait;  for  ye  shall  yet  hear  fading 

All  this  echo  of  my  sorrow. 
When  a  fresher  spring  of  poems 

Bubbles  from  my  heart  to-morrow. 


46.    " 

Now  it's  time  that  my  mind  from  this  folly  I 
free, — 
Yes,  time  I  were  guided  by  reason : 
You've  been  playing  the  part  of  an  actress  with 
me, 
I  fear,  for  too  lengthened  a  season. 

In  the  warmest  style  of  the  highest  romance 

Our  scenery  all  was  new-fangled, 
I  thought  but  of  lady,  of  helmet  and  lance. 

And  my  armour  was  splendidly  spangled. 

But  I  sigh  now  to  think  that  such  parts  I  could 
fill 

With  this  frippery  lying  before  me ; 
And  a  feeling  as  though  I  played  comedy  still 

Comes  wretchedly  wandering  o'er  me. 

Ah!  Heaven,  I  spoke  what  in  secret  I  felt; 
Unconscious  I  did  it,  and  jesting ; 

As  the  Dying  Athlete  before  you  I  knelt, 
While  Death  in  my  own  heart  was  resting, 
VOL.  L  C 


34  PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 

47. 

The  great  King  Wiswa-miira 
Is  lost  in  trouble  now ; 

For  he  through  strife  and  penance 
Will  win  Wasischta's  cow. 

Oh,  great  King  Wiswa-mitra  / 
Oh,  what  an  ox  art  thou ! 

To  bear  such  strife  and  penance 
All  for  a  single  cow. 


48. 

Heabt,  my  heart ! — Oh,  be  not  shaken, 
And  still  calmly  bear  thy  pain ! 
For  the  spring  will  bring  again 

What  a  dreary  winter's  taken. 

And  how  much  is  still  remaining, 

And  how  bright  the  world  stiU  beams ; 
And,  my  heart,  what  pleasant  seems, 

Thou  may'st  love  with  none  complaining. 


f 


49. 

Thou'et  like  a  lovely  flower, 
So  fair,  and  pure,  and  sweet; 

I  gaze  on  thee,  and  sadly 
My  tender  heart  doth  beat. 


THE  HOMEWARD  yOURNEY.  35 

I  fain  would  lay  my  hands  ■ 

Upon  thy  head  in  prayer 
To  God,  that  He  will  keep  thee 
So  sweet,  and  pure,  and  fair. 


50. 

Child  ! — it  were  thine  utter  ruin, 

And  I  strive,  right  earnestly. 
That  thy  gentle  heart  may  never 

Glow  with  aught  like  love  for  me. 

But  the  thought  that  'twere  so  easy, 
Still  amid  my  dreams  will  move  me, 

And  I  still  am  ever  thinking 

That  'twere  sweet  to  make  you  love  ma 


51. 

When  on  my  bed  I'm  lying 
In  night  and  pillows  warm, 

There  ever  floats  before  me 
A  sweet  and  gentle  form. 

But  soon  as  sUent  slumber 
Has  closed  my  weary  eyes. 

Before  me,  in  a  vision, 
I  see  the  image  rise. 


•>^^>- 


3C  PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 

Yet  with  the  dream  of  morning 
It  will  not  pass  away, 

For  I  bear  it  in  my  bosom 
Around  the  live-long  day. 


52. 

Maedkn  with  a  mouth  of  roses, 
And  with  eyes  serene  and  bright  I 

Thou,  my  little  darling  maiden, 
Dearest  to  my  heart  and  sight  I 

Long  the  winter  nights  are  growing- 
Would  I  might  forget  their  gloom, 

By  thee  sitting — with  thee  chatting. 
In  thy  little  friendly  room. 

Often  to  my  lips,  in  rapture, 

I  would  press  thy  small  white  hand; 
Often  with  my  eyes  bedewing 

Silently  that  small  white  hand. 


53. 

Though  without  the  snow-drifts  tower, 
Though  hail  falls,  and  tempests  shower, 
On  the  window-pane  loud  rattling, 
Little  will  I  heed  their  battling. 
For  her  form  doth  ever  bring 
To  my  heart  the  joys  of  spring. 


THE  HOMEWARD  JOURNEY.  jf 

54.     ■:"•'■-"---- 

Maitt  pray  to  the  Madonna, 

Others  run  to  Paul  or  Peter; 

I  will  only  pray  to  you,  love, 
Fairest  sun  of  starry  women ! 

Grant  me  kisses — you  have  won  me ! — 

Oh,  be  merciful  and  gracious ! 

Fairest  sun  among  the  maidens  1 
'Neath  the  sun,  of  girls  the  fairest  I 

55. 

And  do  not  my  pale  cheeks  betray 
The  pains  at  heart  distressing  ? 

And  would  you  hear  so  proud  a  mouth 
The  beggar's  prayer  confessing  ? 

Ah  me !  this  mouth  is  far  too  proud ; 

It  knows  but  jests  and  kisses, 
And  may  have  spoken  mocking  words    • 

To  hide  the  heart's  distresses. 

'■-     56.    ■'  :::r  ,X- 

Dbaeest  friend  1  you  are  in  love ; 

Tighter  draws  the  chain  and  tighter ; 
In  your  head  'tis  growing  dark. 

While  your  heart  is  getting  lighter. 


38  PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 

Dearest  friend !  you  are  in  love ; 

Yet  from  confidence  you're  turning, 
When  I  see  your  glowing  heart 

Through  your  very  waistcoat  burning  I 

57. 

I  FAIN  would  linger  near  thee, 
But  when  I  sought  to  woo, 

There  was  no  time  to  hear  me. 
There  was  "  too  much  to  do." 

I  told  you,  shortly  after, 
That  all  your  own  I'd  be ; 

And,  with  a  peal  of  laughter. 
You  made  a  courtesy. 

At  last  you  did  confuse  me 

More  utterly  than  this ; 
For  you  did  e'en  refuse  me 

A  trifling  parting  kiss  I 

Fear  not  that  I  shall  languish, 
Or  shoot  myself — oh,  no  ! 

I've  gone  through  all  this  anguish. 
My  dear,  long,  long  ago. 

58. 

Bright  sapphires  are  thy  beaming  eyes. 
Dear  eyes,  so  soft  and  sweet ; 

Ah  me !  thrice  happy  is  the  man 
Whom  they  with  true  love  greet. 


THE  HOMEWARD  JOURNEY.  39 

Thy  heart's  a  diamond,  bright  and  clear, 
Whence  rays  of  splendour  flow  ; 

Ah  me !  thrice  happy  is  the  man 
For  whom  with  love  they  glow. 

Thy  lips  are  rubies  melting  red, 

No  brighter  need  we  seek. 
Ah  me !  thrice  happy  is  the  man 

To  whom  with  love  they  speak. 

Oh,  could  I  meet  that  happy  man 

But  once,  I'd  ask  no  more ; 
For  all  alone  in  the  gay  green  wood 

His  joys  would  soon  be  o'er. 

59. 

With  love  vows  I  long  have  bound  me, 

Firmly  tied  me  to  thy  heart ; 
Now,  with  my  own  meshes  round  me, 

Jesting  turns  to  pain  and  smart. 

But  if  thou, — with  right  before  thee, — 
Now  shouldst  turn  away  thy  head ; 

Then  the  devil  would  soon  come  o'er  me, 
And,  by  Jove,  I'd  shoot  me  dead. 

60. 

This  world  and  this  life  are  too  scattered,  we 

know. 
And  so  to  a  German  professor  I'll  go. 


40  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

He  can  well  put  all  the  fragments  together. 

Into  a  system  convenient  and  terse ; 
While  with  his   night-cap  and  dressing-robe 
tatters 
Hell  stop  up  the  chinks  of  the  wide  uni- 
verse. I 


i-r'^ 


6i. 

To-night  they  give  a  party. 

The  house  gleams  bright  above ; 

And  over  the  lighted  window 
I  see  thy  shadow  move. 

You  see  me  not  in  the  darkness, 

I  stand  alone,  apart ; 
Still  less  can  you  cast  your  glances 

Into  my  gloomy  heart. 

This  gloomy  heart  still  loves  you 
It  loves : — though  long  forgot. 

Breaking,  convulsed,  and  bleeding  ; 
Alas ! — you  see  it  not  1 


62. 

I  WOULD  I  could  pour  my  sorrows 

All  into  a  single  word ; 
It  should  fly  on  the  wilful  breezes, 

As  wildly  as  a  bird. 


THE  HOMEWARD  JOURNEY.  4t 

They  should  carry  to  thee,  my  loved  one, 

That  saddest,  strangest  word; 
At  every  hour  it  would  meet  thee. 

In  every  place  be  heard. 

And  as  soon  as  those  eyes  in  slumber 
Had  dimmed  their  starry  gleam. 

That  word  of  my  sorrow  should  follow 
Down  to  thy  deepest  dream. 


63.        ■ 

Thotj  hast  diamonds  and  dresses  and  jewels, 
And  all  that  a  mortal  could  crave;    - 

Thou  hast  eyes  that  are  fairer  than  any, 

My  dearest !  what  more  wouldst  thou  have  ? 

To  those  eyes  which  are  brighter  than  jewels, 
I  have  written,  both  lively  and  grave. 

An  army  of  poems  immortal, 

My  dearest  1  what  more  wouldst  thou  have  ? 

Ah!  those  eyes,  which  are   brighter   than  dia- 
monds, 

Have  brought  me  well-nigh  to  the  grave ; 
I  am  tortured,  tormented,  and  ruined, 

My  dearest !  what  more  wouldst  thou  have  ? 


ia  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

64. 

He  who  for  the  first  time  loves, 
Though  unloved,  is  still  a  god ; 
But  the  man  who  loves  a  second, 
And  in  vain,  must  be  a  fool. 

Such  a  fool  am  I,  now  loving 
Once  again,  without  return ; 
Sun  and  moon  and  stars  are  smiling, 
And  I  smile  with  them — and  perish. 

65. 

No,  the  tameness  and  the  sameness 
Of  your  soul  would  not  agree 

With  my  own  soul's  ruder  braveness. 
Which  o'er  rocks  went  leaping  free. 

Your  love- paths  were  graded  turnpikes ; 

Now  with  husband,  every  day. 
Arm  in  arm  I  see  you  walking 

Bravely, — in  the  family  way ! 


66. 

They  gave  me  advice  which  I  scarcely  heeded. 
Piled  on  me  praises  I  never  needed ; 
Said  that  I  only  should  "  wait  awhile." 
Offered  their  patronage,  too,  with  a  smile. 


THE  HOMEWARD  JOURNEY.  43 

But,  with  all  their  honour  and  approbation, 
I  should  long  ago  have  died  of  starvation, 
Had  there  not  come  an  excellent  man. 
Who  bravely  to  help  me  along  began. 

Good  fellow. — he  got  me  the  food  I  ate, 
His  kindness  and  care  I  shall  never  forget; 
Yet  I  cannot  embrace  him — though  other  folks  can, 
For  I  myself  am  this  excellent  man ! 

67. 

I  CAN  never  speak  too  highly 
Of  this  amiable  young  fellow ; 

Oft  he  treated  me  to  oysters, 

Good  old  hock  and  cordials  mellow. 

Neatly  fit  his  coat  and  trousers ; 

His  cravats  are  worth  admiring; 
And  he  sees  me  every  morning, 

Of  my  state  of  health  inquiring. 

Of  my  great  renown  still  speaking. 
Of  my  wit  and  condescension ; 

And  to  aid  me,  or  to  serve  me, 
Does  his  best  without  pretension. 

Every  evening,  to  the  ladies. 

In  the  tones  of  one  inspired, 
He  declaims  my  "  heavenly  poems. 

Which  the  world  has  so  admired." 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

Oh,  but  is  it  not  refreshing 

Still  to  find  such  persons  flying; 

And  in  times  like  these,  when  truly 
All  the  better  sort  seem  dying  ? 


68. 

I  DREAMED  that  I  was  Lord  of  all. 
High  up  in  Heaven  sitting, 

With  cherubim  who  praised  my  verse 
Around  in  glory  flitting. 

And  cakes  I  ate,  and  sugar-plums. 
Worth  many  a  shining  dollar. 

And  claret-punch  I  also  drank. 
With  never  a  bill  to  follow. 

And  yet  ennui  vexed  me  sore, 
I  longed  for  earthly  revels,    .  " 

And  were  I  not  the  Lord  himself, 
I  sure  had  been  the  Devil's. 

"  Come,  trot,  tall  Angel  Gabriel, 
To  thee  broad  wings  are  given ; 

Go  find  my  dearest  friend  Eug&ne, 
And  bring  him  up  to  Heaven ! 

"  Ask  not  for  him  in  lecture-rooms, 
But  where  Tokay  inspires ; 

Seek  him  not  in  the  Hedwig's  Church, 
Seek  him  at  Ma'msell  Meyer's !  ** 


THE  HOMEWARD  JOURNEY.  45 

Abroad  he  spreads  his  mighty  wings, 

To  earth  bis  course  descends ; 
He  catches  up  the  astonished  youth, 

Eight  from  among  his  friends. 

"  Yes,  youth,  I  now  am  Lord  of  all. 

The  earth  is  my  possession; 
I  always  told  you  I  was  bound 

To  rise  in  my  profession.     ; 

"  And  miracles  I  too  can  work, 
To  set  you  wild  with  pleasure ; 

And  now  I'll  make  the  town  Berlin 
Rejoice  beyond  all  measure : 

*•  For  every  stone  which  paves  the  street 

Shall  now  be  split  in  two; 
And  in  the  midst  shall  sparkle  bright 

An  oyster  fresh  as  dew. 

"A  gentle  shower  of  lemon-juice 

Shall  give  the  oysters  savour; 
The  gutters  of  the  streets  must  run 

"With  hock  of  extra  flavour." 

How  the  Berliners  go  to  work! 

What  cries  of  joy  they  utter ! 
The  council  and  the  aldermen 

Are  swilling  up  the  gutter. 


46  PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 

And  how  the  poets  all  rejoice, 
To  see  things  done  so  neatly ; 

The  ensigns  and  lieutenants,  too, 

Have  cleaned  the  streets  completely. 

The  wisest  are  the  officers, 

For,  speculation  scorning. 
They  sagely  say,  "  Such  miracles 

Don't  happen  every  morning." 


6g. 

From  sweetest  Jips  have  I  been  forced  and  driven, 
From  fairest  arms  and  beauty  captivating ; 

Long  had  I  gladly  rested  in  this  heaven, 

But  with  his  horses  stood  the  post-boy  waiting. 

And  such  is  life,  my  child — an  endless  plaining, 
A  long  adieu,  a  lasting  parting  hour. 

Could  not  your  heart  charm  mine  into  remaining  ? 
Could  not  your  glances   keep  me  by  their 
power?  I 


70. 

We  rode  in  the  dark  post-carriage, 
We  travelled  all  night  alone; 

We  slept  and  we  jested  together. 
We  laughed  until  morning  shone. 


THE  HOMEWARD  JOURNEY.  47 

But  as  daylight  came  dawning  o'er  us, 
My  dear,  how  we  started  to  find 

Between  us  a  traveller  named  Cupid, 
"Who  had  ventured  on  "  going  it  blind. 


>»i 


71. 

Lord  knows  where  the  wild  young  hussy 
Whom  I  seek  has  settled  down ; 

Swearing  at  the  rain  and  weather, 
I  am  scouring  all  the  town. 

I  have  run  from  inn  to  tavern — 

Ne'er  a  bit  of  news  I  gain ; 
And  of  every  saucy  waiter 

I've  inquired — and  all  in  vain. 


^  Doeh  alt  et  Morgena  tagte, 

Mein  Kind,  loie  ttaunten  mr/ 
Derm  zwischen  una  toss  Amor 
Der  hlinde  Pataagier. 

I  have  heard  "  a  blind  passenger  "  described  as  the  one  who 
Bits  at  the  end  of  the  Eilwagen  (or  Diligence),  where  there  ia  no 
window.  But  in  popular  parlance,  "  the  blind  passenger "  is 
one  who,  to  translate  a  bit  of  German  slang  by  its  American 
equivalent,  maybe  termed  a  "  self -elected  dead-head,"  or  an 
individual  who  slips  in  and  out  of  an  entertainment,  coach, 
steamboat,  or  the  like,  without  paying  for  his  admission. 

Literally  this  verse  reads : — "  But  when  day  dawned,  my 
child,  how  we  were  astonished,  for  between  us  sat  Amor,  the 
blind  passenger." — Note  by  Translator. 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


There  she  is ! — at  yonder  window — 
Smiling,  beckoning  to  me.     "Well  1 

How  was  I  to  know  yon  quartered. 
Miss,  in  such  a  grand  hotel  ? 


72. 

Like  dusky  dreams,  the  houses 

Stand  in  a  lengthened  row ; 
And  wrapped  in  my  Spanish  mantle, 

Through  the  shadow  I  silently  go. 

The  tower  of  the  old  cathedral 

Announces  that  midnight  has  come ; 

And  now,  with  her  charms  and  her  kisses. 
My  dearest  is  waiting  at  home. 

The  moon  is  my  boon  companion. 

She  cheerily  lights  my  way. 
Till  I  come  to  the  house  of  my  true  love. 

And  then  to  the  moon  I  say: 

Many  thanks  for  your  light,  old  comrade; 

Receive  my  parting  bow ; 
For  the  rest  of  the  night  I'll  excuse  you ; 

60  shine  upon  other  folks  now. 

And  if  you  should  "  light "  on  a  lover, 

"Who  drearily  sorrows  alone. 
Console  him  as  you  have  consoled  me. 

In  the  wearisome  times  long  gone. 


THE  HOMEWARD  yOURNBY. 
73. 

What  lies  are  hid  in  kisses, 
What  delight  in  mere  parade! 

To  betray  may  have  its  blisses. 
But  more  blest  is  the  betrayed. 

Say  what  thou  wilt,  my  fairest, 
Still  I  know  what  thou'lt  receive ; 

I'll  believe  just  what  thou  swearest. 
And  will  swear  what  thou'lt  believe. 


74. 

Upon  your  snowy  bosom 
I  laid  my  weary  head, 

And  secretly  I  listened 

To  what  thy  heart-throbs  said. 

The  blue  hussars  come  riding 
With  trumpets  to  the  gate, 

And  to-morrow  she  who  loves  me 
Will  seek  another  mate. 

But  though  you  leave  to-morrow 

To-day  you  still  may  rest. 
And  in  your  lovely  arms,  love, 
Will  I  be  doubly  blest. 
VOL.  I.  © 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


75.  ! 

Blue    hussars,    with    their    tmmpets    loud 
sounding, 

Through  the  town-gate  are  riding  away ; 
So  again  to  you,  darling,  I'm  bringing 

Fresh  roses — a  lovely  bouquet 

Oh,  that  was  the  craziest  business. 

Much  trouble  in  every  part ; 
And  many  a  fine  blade  was  "drawn,"  dear, 

And  "  quartered  "  besides  on — your  heart  I 


76. 

I  TOO,  in  life's  early  season, 
Had  my  pains  beyond  all  reason. 

From  love's  burning  mood. 
But  now  I  find  that  wood  is  dear, 
And  fire  burns  lower  every  year. 

Ma  foi  ! — and  that  is  good. 


Think  of  that,  my  dear  young  beauty ; 
Dry  your  tears,  since  joy  is  duty ;      j 

Heed  no  false  alarms.  | 

While  your  veins  with  young  love  quiver, 
Let  the  old  love  be  lost  forever. 

Ma  foi  ! — in  my  fond  arms. 


THE  HOMEWARD  JOURNEY. 

How  the  eunuchs  were  complaining 
At  the  roughness  of  my  song ; 

Complaining  and  explaining 

That  my  voice  was  much  too  strong. 

Then  delicately  thrilling, 

They  all  began  to  sing; 
Like  crystal  was  their  trilling, 

So  pure  it  seemed  to  ring. 

They  sang  of  passion  sweeping 
In  hot  floods  from  the  heart; 

The  ladies  all  were  weeping. 
In  a  rapturous  sense  of  Art ! 


78- 

'TWAS  just  in  the  midst  of  July  that  I  left  you, 
And  now  in  mid-winter  I  meet  you  once  more ; 
Then,  as  we  parted,  with  heat  ye  were  glowing. 
Now  ye  are  cool,  and  the  fever  is  o'er. 

Once  more  I  leave ! — should  I  come  again  hither, 
Then  you  will  be  neither  burning  nor  cold ; 
Over  your  graves, — well-a-day  ! — 111  be  treading, 
And  find  that  my  own  heart  is  weary  and  old. 


J. 
I 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 
79- 

Now,  then,  do  you  really  hate  me  f  ' 
Are  you  really  changed  so  sadly  ? 

Ill  complain  to  everybody  I 

That  you've  treated  me  so  badly. 

Oh,  ye  red  lips,  so  ungrateful  I  I 

Say,  how  could  you  speak  unkindly 

Of  the  man  who  kissed  so  fondly, 
And  of  him  who  loved  so  blindly  ? 


80.  I 

I 

Still  the  same  those  eyes  beguiling, 
Which  once  lent  to  love  completeness ; 
Still  the  same  those  soft  lips  smiling, 
Which  to  life  gave  all  its  sweetness. 

Still  the  same  that  voice,  whose  music 
I  have  listened  to  with  yearning : 
But  I  am  the  same  no  longer. 
Changed  as  strangely  since  returning. 

By  the  fair  white  arms  so  firmly, 
Passionately  now  surrounded, 
I  upon  her  heart  am  lying  [ 

Melancholy  and  confounded.* 

'  Thk  Obiqinal  Vebsion. 

And  those  are  still  the  heavenly  eyes. 
Which  mine  would  gently  greet ; 

And  those  are  still  the  coral  lips. 
Which  OQce  made  life  so  sweet. 


THE  HOMEWARD  JOURNEY,  53 

■   '       81/":-  :;;/:^;..::: 

Round  the  walls  of  Salamanca 
Soft  the  smnmer  breeze  is  blowing; 
There  I  wander  with  my  Donna, 
When  the  evening  red  is  glowing. 
Round  the  lady's  slender  body 
My  embracing  arm  still  lingers, 
And  I  feel  her  bosom  proudly 
Swelling  'neath  my  happy  fingers  I 

Yet  a  murmur  as  of  anguish 
Through  the  linden  flowers  comes  streaming. 
And  the  gloomy  stream  below  us 
Murmurs  as  if  evil  dreaming. 

Ah,  Sefiora !  dark  forebodings 

Of  "  expulsion  "  round  are  stalking ; 

On  the  walls  of  Salamanca 

We  no  more  can  then  go  walking. 


Tis  the  same  voice  of  melody, 

I  once  so  gladly  heatd ; 
I,  only,  am  no  more  the  same, 

But  changed  in  thought  and  word. 

Now  by  those  white  and  rounded  arms 

Fm  passionately  pressed ; 
And  lie  npon  her  heart  and  feel 

Qloomy  and  ill  at  rest. 


I..*  ^%.K9-^- 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


83. 

ScABCE   had  we   met,  when   in   tonee   and   in 

glances 
I  saw  that  you  liked  me,  and  nothing  I  missed ; 
And  had  not  your  mother  been  there  with  her 

fancies. 
Eight  certain  I  am  that  at  once  we'd  have  kissed. 

•      -     ,    .  1 

To-morrow  111  leave  while  the  world  will  be 

sleeping ;  i 

Away,  as  of  old,  in  my  journey  111  go ; 
And  then,  my  blonde  girl,  from  the  window'll 

be  peeping. 
And  glances  of  love  at  the  window  I'll  throw. 


83. 

The   sunlight    is   stealing   o'er   mountain    and 

river,  I 

The  cries  of  the  flocks  are  heard  over  the  plain ; 
My  love  and  my  lamb  and  my  darling  for  ever, 
How  glad  I  would  be  could  I  see  thee  again. 

Upwards  I  look,  and  with  glances  full  loving, 
"  Darling,  adieu  1  I  must  wander  from  thee." 
Vainly  I  wait,  for  no  curtain  is  moving ; 
She  lies  and  she  sleeps,  and  she's  dreaming  of 
me.  i 


--. i..^     ''-..  wi*-.».r'' 


THE  HOMEWARD  yOURNEY.  55 

84. 

In  the  market-place  of  Halle 
There  stand  two  mighty  lions ; 

Oh,  thou  lion-pride  of  Halle, 
How  greatly  art  thou  tamed! 

In  the  market-place  of  Halle 

There  stands  a  mighty  giant ; 
He  hath  a  sword,  yet  never  stirs, — 

He'ff  petrified  with  terror. 

In  the  market-place  of  Halle 

A  mighty  church  is  standing, 
Where  the  Burscherischaft  and  the  Zands- 
mannschaft  * 

Have  plenty  of  room  for  praying. 

85. 

Summer  eve  with  day  is  striving. 
Softly  gaining  wood  and  meadow ; 
'Mid  blue  heavens  the  golden  moonlight 

Gleams,  in  perfumed  air  reviving. 

Crickets  round  the  brook  are  cheeping, 
Something  stirs  amid  the  water; 
And  the  wanderer  hears  a  plashing, 

And  a  breath  amid  the  sleeping: 


*  Student  associations,  the  BurtchenseTiaft  being  general  and 
political  in  its  objects,  while  the  LandsmarmaehafUr  are  locaL — 
Notehy  Trandator. 


^4_rti— i,.^<i^«iy^Vi»  ii-^...!. 


$6  PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 

There  alone,  beside  the  river, 
See ! — a  fair  Undine  is  bathing. 
Arms  and  bosom,  white  and  lovely. 

In  the  shimmering  moon-rays  quiver. 


86. 

On  strange  roads  the  night  is  lying, 
Weariness  and  pain  before  me ! 

When,  like  blessings  softly  flying, 
The  sweet  moon-rays  quiver  o'er  ma 

Grentle  moon,  by  that  bright  gleaming, 
Nightly  terrors  soon  you  banish ; 

And  my  eyes  with  tears  are  streaming, 
As  my  fears  and  sorrows  vanish. 


87. 

Death  is  a  cool  and  pleasant  night, 

Life  is  a  sultry  day. 

"Tis  growing  dark — ^I'm  weary ; 
For  day  has  tired  me  with  his  light. 

Over  my  bed  a  fair  tree  gleams, 
There  sings  a  nightingale ; 
She  sings  of  naught  save  love ; 

I  hear  it  even  in  dreams. 


'■Si! 


-.s 


THE  HOMEWARD  JOURNEY. 


57 


88. 

Sat,  where  is  your  own  fair  darling. 
Whom  you  once  were  sweetly  singing. 

When  the  flames  of  magic  power 

Wildly  in  your  heart  were  springing  ? 

Ah  i  those  flames  no  more  are  burning, 
And  my  cold  heart  feels  no  flashes; 

And  this  book's  the  urn  containing. 
Of  that  love  the  dreary  ashes.* 

1  The  Obigtnal  Vkbsion. 

Say,  where  is  thine  own  sweet  love, 
Whom  thou  hast  so  sweetly  sung, 

When  the  flames  of  magic  power 

Strangely  through  thy  wild  heart  sprang  f 

Ah  !  those  flames  no  longer  bum, 
And  my  heart  is  slow  to  move  ; 

And  this  book's  the  burial  am. 
With  the  ashes  of  my  love. 


•K  »■   ■■    .-  ■,    .,-" 


::..^:iK  ^  ,.-  <.^4^-^.^  ^,.^:/v 


THE  HARTZ  JOURNEY. 

(1824.) 

"Nothing  is  permanent  but  change,  nothing  constant  but 
death.  Every  pulsation  of  the  heart  inflicts  a  wonnd,  and 
life  would  be  an  endless  bleeding,  were  it  not  f'^r  Poetry.  She 
secures  to  us  what  Nature  would  deny, — a  golden  age  without 
rust,  a  spring  which  never  fades,  cloudless  prosperity  and  eternal 
youth." — BOBNB. 

i 
Black  diess  coats  and  silken  stockings,  i 

Snowy  ruflQes  frilled  with  art,  | 

Gentle  speeches  and  embraces —  i 

Oh,  if  they  but  held  a  heart !  j 

Held  a  heart  within  their  bosom, 

Warmed  by  love  which  truly  glows ;         ' 

Ah  1  I'm  wearied  with  their  chanting 

Of  imagined  lovers'  woes !  ' 

I  will  climb  upon  the  mountains, 

Where  the  quiet  cabin  stands, 
Where  the  wind  blows  freely  o'er  us, 

Where  the  heart  at  ease  expands. 


I  will  climb  upon  the  mountains. 

Where  the  dark-green  fir-trees  grow  ; 

Brooks  are  rustling — birds  are  singing, 

And  the  wild  clouds  headlong  go. 
58 


■--  >.  .<« 


THB  HARTZ  JOURNEY.  J> 

Then  farewell,  ye  polished  ladies, 
Polished  men  and  polished  balll 

I  will  climb  upon  the  mountain, 
Smiling  down  upon  you  aU. 

The  town  of  Odttingen,  celebrated  for  its  sansages 
and  University,  belongs  to  the  King  of  Hano- 
ver, and  contains  nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine 
dwellings,  divers  churches,  a  lying-in-asylum,  an 
observatory,  a  prison,  a  library,  and  a  "  council- 
cellar,"  where  the  beer  is  excellent  The  stream 
which  flows  by  the  town  is  termed  the  Leine, 
and  is  used  in  summer  for  bathing,  its  waters 
being  very  cold,  and  in  more  than  one  place  so 
broad,  that  Luder*  was  obliged  to  take  quite  a 
run  ere  he  could  leap  across.  The  town  itself 
is  beautiful,  and  pleases  most  when  looked  at — 
backwards.  It  must  be  very  ancient,  for  I  well 
remember  that  five  years  ago,  when  I  matri- 
culated there  (and  shortly  after  "  summoned  "),  it 
had  already  the  same  grey,  old-fashioned,  wise 
look,  and  was  fully  furnished  with  beggars, 
beadles,  dissar^ations,  tea-parties,  with  a  little 
dancing,  washerwomen,  compendiums,  roEisted 
pigeons,  Guelphic  orders,  professors  ordinary  and 
extraordinary,  pipe-heads,  court-counsellors,  and 
law-counsellors.  Many  even  assert  that  at  the 
time  of  the  great  migration  of  races,  every  Ger- 

1  The  name  of  »  dog. 


>*.f^V 


60 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


man  tribe  left  a  badly  corrected  proof  of  its 
existence  in  the  town,  in  the  person  of  one  of 
its  members,  and  that  from  these  descended  all 
the  Vandals,  Frisians,  Suabians,  Teutons,  Saxons, 
Thuringians,  and  others,  who  at  the  present  day- 
abound  in  GOttingen,  where,  separately  distin- 
guished by  the  colour  of  their  caps  and  pipe- 
tassels,  they  may  be  seen  straying  singly  or  in 
hordes  along  the  Weender  Street.  They  still 
fight  their  battles  on  the  bloody  arena  of  the 
Rasenmill,  Eitschenknig,  and  Bovden,  still  pre- 
serve the  mode  of  life  peculiar  to  their  savage 
ancestors,  and  are  still  governed  partly  by  their 
Duces,  whom  they  call  "  chief  cocks,"  and  partly 
by  their  primcevally  ancient  law-book,  known  as 
the  "Comment,"  which  fully  deserves  a  place 
among  the  legibus  harbarorum. 

The  inhabitants  of  GOttingen  are  generally  and 
socially  divided  into  Students,  Professors,  Philis- 
tines, and  Cattle,  the  points  of  difference  between 
these  castes  being  by  no  means  strictly  defined. 
The  cattle  class  is  the  most  important  I  might 
be  accused  of  prolixity  should  I  here  enumerate 
the  names  of  all  the  students  and  of  all  the 
regular  and  irregular  professors ;  besides,  I  do 
not  just  at  present  distinctly  remember  the 
appellations  of  all  the  former  gentlemen ;  while 
among  the  professors  are  many  who  as  yet  have 
no  name  at  all     The  number  of  the  GOttingen 


•-'^IIm^-  .^<-.'- ■» '•ta-«i 


/ 


THE  HARTZ  JOURNEY.  6i 

Philistines  must  be  as  numerous  as  the  sands  (or, 
more  correctly  speaking,  as  the  mud)  of  the  sea ; 
indeed,  when  I  beheld  them  of  a  morning,  with 
their  dirty  faces  and  clean  bUls,  planted  before 
the  gate  of  the  collegiate  court  of  justice,  I  won- 
dered greatly  that  such  an  innumerable  pack  of 
rascals  should  ever  have  been  created. 

More  accurate  information  of  the  town  of 
GOttingen  may  be  very  conveniently  obtained 
from  its  "Topography,"  by  K  F.  H.  Marx. 
Though  entertaining  the  most  sacred  regard  for 
its  author,  who  was  my  physician,  and  manifested 
for  me  much  esteem,  still  I  cannot  pass  by  his 
work  with  altogether  unconditional  praise,  inas- 
much as  he  has  not  with  sufficient  zeal  combatted 
the  erroneous  opinion  that  the  ladies  of  Got- 
tingen  have  not  enormous  feet.  On  this  point  I 
speak  authoritatively,  having  for  many  years 
been  earnestly  occupied  with  a  refutation  of  this 
belief.  To  confirm  my  views,  I  have  not  only 
studied  comparative  anatomy,  and  made  copious 
extracts  from  the  rarest  works  in  the  library,  but 
have  also  watched  for  hours,  in  the  Weender 
Street,  the  feet  of  the  ladies  as  they  walked  by. 
In  the  fundamentally  erudite  treatise,  which 
forms  the  result  of  these  studies,  I  speak  Firstly, 
of  feet  in  general ;  Secondly,  of  the  feet  of  anti- 
quity ;  Thirdly,  of  elephants*  feet ;  Fourthly,  of 
the  feet  of  the  Gottingen  ladies ;  Fifthly,  I  col- 


«  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

lect  all  that  was  ever  said  in  Ulrich's  Garden  on 
the  subject  of  female  feet ;  Sixthly,  I  regard  feet 
in  their  connection  with  each  other,  availing  my- 
self of  the  opportunity  to  extend  my  observation 
to  ankles,  calves,  knees,  &c. ;  and  finally  and 
Seventhly,  if  I  can  manage  to  hunt  up  sheets  of 
paper  of  sufficient  size,  I  will  present  my  readers 
with  some  copperplate  facsimiles  of  the  feet  of 
the  fair  dames  of  Gottingen. 

It  was  as  yet  very  early  in  the  morning  when 
I  left  Gottingen,  and  the  learned  *  *  *,  beyond 
doubt  still  lay  in  bed,  dreaming  that  he  wandered 
in  a  fair  garden,  amid  the  beds  of  which  grew 
innumerable  white  papers  written  over  with  cita- 
tions. On  these  the  sun  shone  cheerily,  and  he 
plucked  them  and  planted  them  in  new  beds, 
while  the  sweetest  songs  of  the  nightingales 
rejoiced  his  old  heart. 

Before  the  Weender  G^te,  I  met  two  native 
and  diminutive  schoolboys,  one  of  whom  was 
saying  to  the  other,  "I  don't  intend  to  keep 
company  any  more  with  Theodore;  he  is  a  low 
little  blackguard,  for  yesterday  he  didn't  even 
know  the  genitive  of  Mensa."  Insignificant  as 
these  words  may  appear,  I  still  regard  them  as 
entitled  to  record — nay,  I  would  even  write  them 
as  town-motto  on  the  gate  of  GOttingen,  for  the 
young  birds  pipe  as  the  old  ones  sing,  and  the 
expression  accurately  indicates  the  narrow-minded 


THE  HARTZ  JOURNEY.  %i 

academic  pride  so  characteristic  of  the  "highly 
learned  "  Georgia  Augusta. 

Fresh  morning  air  blew  over  the  road,  the 
birds  sang  cheerily,  and  little  by  little,  with  the 
breeze  and  the  birds,  my  mind  also  became  fresh 
and  cheerfuL  Such  a  refreshment  was  needed 
for  one  who  had  long  been  imprisoned  in  a  stall 
of  legal  lore.  Eoman  casuists  had  covered  my 
soul  with  grey  cobwebs  ;  my  heart  was  cemented 
firmly  between  the  iron  paragraphs  of  selfish 
systems  of  jurisprudence ;  there  was  an  endless 
ringing  in  my  ears  of  such  sounds  as  **  Tribonian, 
Justinian,  Hermogenian,  and  Blockheadian,"  and 
a  sentimental  brace  of  lovers  seated  under  a  tree 
appeared  to  me  like  an  edition  of  the  Corpus 
Juris  with  closed  clasps.  The  road  began  to 
wear  a  more  lively  appearance.  Milkmaids  occa- 
sionally passed,  as  did  also  donkey-drivers  with 
their  grey  pupils.  Beyond  Weende,  I  met  the 
"  Shepherd  "  and  "  Doris."  This  is  not  the  idyllio 
pair  sung  by  Gessner,  but  the  well-matched  Uni- 
versity beadles,  whose  duty  it  is  to  keep  watch 
and  ward,  so  that  no  students  fight  duels  in 
Bovden,  and  above  all  that  no  new  ideas  (such 
as  are  generally  obliged  to  maintain  a  decennial 
quarantine  before  Gottingen)  are  smuggled  in  by 
speculative  private  teachers.  Shepherd  greeted 
me  very  coUegially  and  congenially,  for  he  too  is 
an  author,  who  has  frequently  mentioned  my 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


name  in  his  semi-annual  writings.  In  addition 
to  this,  I  may  mention  that  when,  as  was  fre- 
quently the  case,  he  came  to  summon  me  before 
the  university  court  and  found  me  "  not  at  home ;  '* 
he  was  always  kind  enough  to  write  the  citation 
with  chalk  upon  my  chamber  door.  Occasionally 
a  one-horse  vehicle  rolled  along,  well-packed  with 
students,  who  travelled  away  for  the  vacation — 
or  for  ever.  In  such  a  university  town  there  is 
an  endless  coming  and  going.  Every  three  years 
beholds  a  new  student-generation,  forming  an 
incessant  human  tide,  where  one  vacation-wave 
washes  along  its  predecessor,  and  only  the  old 
professors  remain  upright  in  the  general  flood, 
immovable  as  the  Pyramids  of  Egypt.  Unlike 
their  Oriental  cotemporaries,  no  tradition  declares 
that  in  them  treasures  of  wisdom  are  buried. 

From  amid  the  "  myrtle  leaves,"  by  Eauschen- 
wasser,  I  saw  two  hopeful  youths  appear.  A 
female,  who  there  carried  on  her  business,  accom- 
panied them  as  far  as  the  highway,  clapped  with 
a  practised  hand  the  meagre  legs  of  the  horses, 
laughed  aloud  as  one  of  the  cavaliers,  inspired 
with  a  very  peculiar  spirit  of  gallantry,  gave  her 
a  "  cut  behind  "  with  his  whip,  and  travelled  ofif 
for  Bovden.  The  youths,  however,  rattled  along 
towards  Norten,  trilling  in  a  highly  intelligent 
manner,  and  singing  charmingly  the  Eossinian 
lay  of  "  Drink  beer,  pretty,  pretty  'Liza ! "    These 


THE  HARTZ  JOURNEY.  65 

sounds  I  continued  to  hear  when  far  in  the  dis- 
tance, and  after  I  had  long  lost  sight  of  the 
amiahle  vocalists,  as  their  horses,  which  appeared 
to  be  gifted  with  characters  of  extreme  German 
deliberation,  were  spurred  and  lashed  in  a  most 
excruciating  style.  In  no  place  is  the  skinning 
alive  of  horses  carried  to  such  an  extent  as  in 
GOttingen  ;  and  often,  when  I  beheld  some  lame 
and  sweating  hack,  who,  to  earn  the  scraps  of 
fodder  which  maintained  his  wretched  life,  was 
obliged  to  endure  the  torment  of  some  roaring 
blade,  or  draw  a  whole  waggon-load  of  students, 
I  reflected :  "  Unfortunate  beast !  most  certainly 
thy  first  ancestors,  in  some  horse-paradise,  did 
eat  of  forbidden  oats." 

In  the  tavern  at  Norten  I  again  met  my  two 
vocalists.  One  devoured  a  herring-salad  and 
the  other  amused  himself  with  the  leathern-com- 
plexioned  waiting-maid,  Fusia  Canina,  also  known 
as  Stepping-Bird.*  He  passed  from  compliments 
to  caresses,  until  they  became  finally  "  hand-in- 
glove "  together.^  To  lighten  my  knapsack,  I 
extracted  from  it  a  pair  of  blue  pantaloons,  which 
were  somewhat  remarkable  in  a  historical  point 
of  view,  and  presented  them  to  the  little  waiter, 

^  Trittvogel,  or  "Step-bird,"  signifies,  in  German  student 
elang,  one  who  demands  money,  a  Manichean,  or  creditor,  &c.— 
Note  by  Trandator.     It  has  also  a  more  vulgar  signification. 

*  Hand-in-glove — Hand-gemetn. 
VOL.  L  E 


06  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

whom  we  called  Humming-Bird.  The  old  land- 
ladj,  Bussenia,  brought  me  bread  and  butter, 
and  greatly  lamented  that  I  so  seldom  visited 
her,  for  she  loved  me  dearly.  } 

Beyond  Norten  the  sun  flashed  high  in  heaven. 
He  evidently  wished  to  treat  me  honourably,  and 
warmed  my  heart  until  all  the  unripe  thoughts 
which  it  contained  came  to  full  growth.  The 
pleasant  Sun  Tavern  in  Norten  should  not  be 
passed  over  in  silence,  for  it  was  there  that  I 
breakfasted.  All  the  dishes  were  excellent,  and 
suited  me  far  better  than  the  wearisome,  acade- 
mical courses  of  saltless,  leathery  dried  fish  and 
cabbage  rechauffie,  which  characterised  both  our 
physical  and  mental  pabulum  at  Gottingen.  After 
I  had  somewhat  appeased  my  appetite,  I  remarked 
in  the  same  room  of  the  tavern  a  gentleman  and 
two  ladies,  who  appeared  about  to  depart  on  their 
journey.  The  cavalier  was  clad  entirely  in  green, 
even  to  his  eyes,  over  which  a  pair  of  green  spec- 
tacles cast  in  turn  a  verdigris  glow  upon  his 
copper-red  nose.  The  gentleman's  general  ap- 
pearance was  that  which  we  may  presume  King 
Nebuchadnezzar  to  have  presented  after  having 
passed  a  few  years  out  at  grass.  The  Green  One 
requested  me  to  recommend  him  to  a  hotel  in 
GSttingen,  and  I  advised  him  when  there  to  in- 
quire of  the  first  convenient  student  for  the  Hotel 
de  Briibach.     One  lady  was  evidently  his  wife : 


THE  HARTZ  JOURNEY.  67 

an  altogether  extensively  constructed  dame,  gifted 
mth  a  red  nule-stone  countenance,  with  dimples 
in  her  cheeks,  which  looked  like  hide-and-go-seek 
holes  for  well-grown  cupids.  A  copious  double- 
chin  appeared  below,  like  an  imperfect  continua- 
tion of  the  face,  while  her  high-piled  bosom, 
which  was  defended  by  stiff  points  of  lace  and  a 
many-cornered  collar,  as  if  by  turrets  and  bas- 
tions, reminded  one  of  a  fortress.  Still,  it  is  by 
no  means  certain  that  this  fortress  would  have 
resisted  an  ass  laden  with  gold,  any  more  than 
did  that  of  which  Philip  of  Macedon  spoke.  The 
other  lady,  her  sister,  seemed  her  extreme  anti- 
type. If  the  one  were  descended  from  Pharaoh's 
fat  kine,  the  other  was  as  certainly  derived  from 
the  lean.  Her  face  was  but  a  mouth  between 
two  ears ;  her  breast  was  as  inconsolably  com- 
fortless and  dreary  as  the  Llineburger  heath; 
while  her  altogether  dried-up  figure  reminded 
one  of  a  charity-table  for  poor  students  of  theo- 
logy. Both  ladies  asked  me,  in  a  breath,  if  re- 
spectable people  lodged  in  the  Hotel  de  Briibach  ? 
I  assented  to  this  question  with  certainty  and  a 
clear  conscience,  and  as  the  charming  trio  drove 
away,  I  waved  my  hand  to  them  many  times  from 
the  window.  The  landlord  of  the  Sun  laughed, 
however,  in  his  sleeve,  being  probably  aware  that 
the  Hotel  de  Briibach  was  a  name  bestowed  by  the 
students  of  GSttingen  upon  their  University  prison. 


68  PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 

Beyond  Nordheim  mountain  ridges  begin  to 
appear,  and  the  traveller  occasionally  meets  with 
a  picturesque  eminence.  The  wayfarers  whom 
I  encountered  were  principally  pedlars,  travelling 
to  the  Brunswick  fair,  and  among  them  were 
swarms  of  women,  every  one  of  whom  bore  on 
her  back  an  incredibly  large  pack,  covered  with 
linen.  In  these  packs  were  cages,  containing 
every  variety  of  singing  birds,  which  continually 
chirped  and  sung,  while  their  bearers  merrily 
hopped  along  and  sang  together.  It  seemed 
droll  to  thus  behold  one  bird  carrying  others  to 
market. 

The  night  was  dark  as  pitch  as  I  entered 
Osterode.  I  had  no  appetite  for  supper,  and  at 
once  went  to  bed.  I  was  as  tired  as  a  dog,  and 
slept  like  a  god.  In  my  dreams  I  returned  to 
Gottingen,  even  to  its  very  library.  I  stood  in 
a  comer  of  the  Hall  of  Jurisprudence,  turning 
over  old  dissertations,  lost  myself  in  reading,  and 
when  I  finally  looked  up,  remarked  to  my  asto- 
nishment that  it  was  night,  and  that  the  hall 
was  illuminated  by  innumerable  overhanging 
crystal  chandeliers.  The  bell  of  the  neighbour- 
ing church  struck  twelve,  the  hall  doors  slowly 
opened,  and  there  entered  a  superb  colossal  female 
form,  reverentially  accompanied  by  the  members 
and  hangers-on  of  the  legal  faculty.  The  giantess, 
though  advanced  in  years,  retained  in  her  coun- 


THE  HARTZ  yoURNEY.  69 

tenance  traces  of  extreme  beauty,  and  her  every 
glance  indicated  the  sublime  Titaness,  the  mighty 
Themis.  The  sword  and  balance  were  carelessly 
grasped  in  her  right  hand,  while  with  the  left 
she  held  a  roll  of  parchment.  Two  young 
Doctores  Juris  bore  the  train  of  her  faded  grey 
robe ;  by  her  right  side  the  lean  Court  Coun- 
sellor Rusticus,  the  Lycurgus  of  Hanover,  flut- 
tered here  and  there  like  a  zephyr,  declaiming 
extracts  from  his  last  legal  essay,  while  by  her 
lefTb,  her  cavaliere  servante,  the  privy  legal  coun- 
sellor Cajacius,  hobbled  gaily  and  gallantly  along, 
constantly  cracking  legal,  jokes,  laughing  himself 
BO  heartily  at  his  own  wit,  that  even  the  serious 
goddess  often  smiled  and  bent  over  him,  exclaim- 
ing as  she  tapped  him  on  the  shoulder  with  the 
great  parchment  roll,  "  Thou  little  scamp,  who 
cuttest  down  the  tree  from  the  top ! "  All  of 
the  gentlemen  who  formed  her  escort  now  drew 
nigh  in  turn,  each  having  something  to  remark 
or  jest  over,  either  a  freshly  worked  up  system, 
or  a  miserable  little  hypothesis,  or  some  similar 
abortion  of  their  own  brains.  Through  the  open 
door  of  the  hall  now  entered  many  strange 
gentlemen,  who  announced  themselves  as  the 
remaining  magnates  of  the  illustrious  order; 
mostly  angular  suspicious-looking  fellows,  who 
with  extreme  complacency  blazed  away  with 
their   definitions   and   hair-splittings,   disputing 


70  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL.  1 

over  every  scrap  of  a  title  to  the  title  of  a 
pandect.  And  other  forms  continually  flocked 
in,  the  forms  of  those  who  were  learned  in  law 
in  the  olden  time, — men  in  antiquated  costume, 
with  long  counsellor's  wigs  and  forgotten  faces, 
who  expressed  themselves  greatly  astonished  that 
they,  the  widely  famed  of  the  previous  century, 
should  not  meet  with  especial  consideration ; 
and  these,  after  their  manner,  joined  in  the 
general  chattering  and  screaming,  which  like 
ocean  breakers  became  louder  and  madder  around 
the  mighty  Goddess,  until  she,  bursting  from  im- 
patience, suddenly  cried,  in  a  tone  of  the  most 
agonised  Titanic  pain,  "  Silence !  Silence  !  I  hear 
the  voice  of  the  loved  Prometheus.  Mocking 
cunning  and  brute  force  are  chaining  the  Inno- 
cent One  to  the  rock  of  martyrdom,  and  all  your 
prattling  and  quarrelling  will  not  allay  his 
wounds  or  break  his  fetters  ! "  So  cried  the 
Goddess,  and  rivulets  of  tears  sprang  from  her 
eyes,  the  entire  assembly  howled  as  if  in  the 
agonies  of  death,  the  ceiling  of  the  hall  burst 
asunder,  the  books  tumbled  madly  from  their 
shelves,  and  in  vain  the  portrait  of  old  Miin- 
chausen  called  out  "  Order  "  from  his  frame,  for 
all  crashed  and  raged  more  wildly  around.  I 
sought  refuge  from  this  Bedlam  broke  loose  in 
the  Hall  of  History,  near  that  gracious  spot  where 
the  holy  images  of  the  Apollo  Belvedere  and  the 


'.•••'.i-^">t«*iJi 


THE  HARTZ  JOURNEY,'  ^       71 

Venus  de  Medici  stand  near  together,  and  I  knelt  at 
the  feet  of  the  Goddess  of  Beauty.  In  her  glance 
I  forgot  all  the  wearisome  barren  labour  which  I 
had  passed,  my  eyes  drank  in  with  intoxication 
the  symmetry  and  immortal  loveliness  of  her 
infinitely  blessed  form;  Hellenic  calm  swept 
through  my  soul,  while  above  my  head  Phoebus 
Apollo  poured  forth  like  heavenly  blessings  the 
sweetest  tones  of  his  lyre. 

Awaking,  I  continued  to  hear  a  pleasant 
musical  ringing.  The  flocks  were  on  their  way 
to  pasture,  and  their  bells  were  tinkling.  The 
blessed  golden  sunlight  shone  through  the  win- 
dow, illuminating  the  pictures  on  the  walls  of 
my  room.  They  were  sketches  from  the  War  of 
Independence,  and  among  them  were  placed  re- 
presentations of  the  execution  of  Louis  XVI.  on 
the  guillotine,  and  other  decapitations  which  no 
one  could  behold  without  thanking  God  that  he 
lay  quietly  in  bed  drinking  excellent  coffee,  and 
with  his  head  comfortably  adjusted  upon  neck 
and  shoulders. 

After  I  had  drunk  my  coffee,  dressed  myself, 
read  the  inscriptions  upon  the  window-panes,  and 
set  everything  straight  in  the  inn,  I  left  Osterode. 

This  town  contains  a  certain  quantity  of 
houses  and  a  given  number  of  inhabitants, 
among  whom  are  divers  and  sundry  souls,  as 
may  be  ascertained  in  detail  from  "  Gottschalk's 


.•>i\-  -  ■■-■  *i  A.:. 


7a  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

Pocket-Book  for  Hartz  Travellers."  Ere  I  struck 
into  the  highway  I  ascended  the  ruins  of  the 
very  ancient  Osteroder  Burg.  They  consisted  of 
merely  the  half  of  a  great,  thick- walled  tower, 
which  appeared  to  be  fairly  honeycombed  by  time. 
The  road  to  Clausthal  led  me  again  uphill,  and 
from  one  of  the  first  eminences  I  looked  back  into 
the  dale  where  Osterode  with  its  red  roofs  peeps 
out  from  among  the  green  fir  woods,  like  a  moss- 
rose  from  amid  its  leaves.  The  pleasant  sun- 
light inspired  gentle,  child-like  feelings.  From 
this  spot  the  imposing  rear  of  the  remaining  por- 
tion of  the  tower  may  be  seen  to  advantage. 

There  are  many  other  ruined  castles  in  this 
vicinity.  That  of  Hardenberg,  near  Norten,  ia 
the  most  beautiful.  When  one  has,  as  he  should, 
his  heart  on  the  left,  that  is,  the  liberal  side,  he 
cannot  banish  all  poetic  feeling  on  beholding 
the  rocky  nests  of  those  privileged  birds  of  prey, 
who  left  to  their  effete  descendants  only  their 
fierce  appetites.  So  it  happened  to  me  this 
morning.  My  heart  thawed  gradually  as  I  de- 
parted from  Gottingen ;  I  again  became  romantic, 
and  as  I  went  on  I  made  this  poem : — 

Rise  again,  ye  dreams  forgotten; 

Heart-gate,  open  to  the  sun ! 
Joys  of  song  and  tears  of  sorrow 

Sweetly  strange  from  thee  shall  run. 


THE  HARTZ  yOURNEY.  >j 

I  will  rove  the  fir-tree  forest, 
Where  the  merry  fountain  springs, 

Where  the  free  proud  stags  are  wandering, 
Where  the  thrush,  my  darling,  sings. 

I  will  climh  upon  the  mountain, 

■     On  the  steep  and  rocky  height, 

Where  the  grey  old  castle  ruins  ' 

Stand  in  rosy  morning  light. 

I  will  sit  awhile  reflecting 

On  the  times  long  passed  away. 

Lineages  which  once  were  famous. 
Glories  sunk  in  deep  decay. 

Grass  now  grows  upon  the  tilt-yard. 
Where  the  proud  and  daring  man 

Overcame  another  champion, 
And  the  prize  of  battle  wan. 

O'er  the  balcony  twines  ivy. 

Where  the  fairest  gave  the  prize. 

Conquering  the  haughty  warrior 

Who  had  conquered — with  her  eyes. 

Knightly  conqueror — lady  victor, 
Both  o'ercome  by  Death's  cold  hand ; 

So  the  scythe-knight,  dry  and  ghastly, 
Lays  us  all  low  in  the  sand.i 

^  The  preceding  passage,  from  "  There  are  manj  other  rained 
castles,"  including  the  ballad,  is  omitted  in  the  original  edition, 
and  also  in  the  American  version.  Apropos  of  the  poem,  which 
was  evidently  suggested  by  that  of  Groethe—       / 

"  Dort  droben  auf  jenem  Berge," 
I  may  remark  that  the  reis  no  RauhriUemett  in  all  Grermanj 
to  which  this  ballad  could  be  more  appropriately  applied  than 


74 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


After  proceeding  a  little  distance,  I  overtook 
and  went  along  with  a  travelling  journeyman, 
who  came  from  Brunswick,  and  related  to  me, 
that  it  was  generally  believed  in  that  city  that 
their  young  Duke  had  been  taken  prisoner  by 
the  Turks  during  his  tour  in  the  Holy  Land, 
and  could  only  be  ransomed  by  an  enormous 
sum.  The  extensive  travels  of  the  Duke  pro- 
bably originated  this  tale.  The  people  at  large 
still  preserve  that  traditional  fable-loving  train 
of  ideas  which  is  so  pleasantly  shown  in  their 
"  Duke  Ernst."  The  narrator  of  this  news  was 
a  tailor,  a  neat  little  youth,  but  so  thin,  that  the 
stars  might  have  shone  through  him  as  through 
Ossian's  misty  ghosts.  Altogether,  he  formed  an 
eccentric  mixture  of  affectation  and  lower-class 
melancholy.  This  was  peculiarly  expressed  in 
the  droll  and  affecting  manner  in  which  he  sang 
that  extraordinary  popular  ballad,  "  A  beetle  sat 
upon  the  hedge,  summ,  summl"  That  is  a 
pleasant  peculiarity  of  us  Germans.  No  one 
is  so  crazy  but  that  he  may  find  a  crazier  com- 
rade who  will  understand  him.  Only  a  German 
can  appreciate  that  song,  and  in  the  same  breath 


to  the  FalkeDBtein,  which  rises  before  me  as  I  translate.  It  ia 
famous  in  popular  songs  for  the  cruelty  of  its  ancient  possessors, 
M  in  the  one  beginning : — 

"  Ausritt  der  Herr  von  Falkenstein." 

— Note  by  the  Trandator, 


THE  HARTZ  y0URNEY»  ■  ^ 

laugh  and  cry  himself  to  death  over  it.  On  this 
occasion,  I  also  remark  the  depth  to  which  the 
words  of  Goethe  have  penetrated  into  the  national 
life.  My  lean  comrade  trilled  occasionally  as 
he  went  along.  "  Joyful  and  sorrowful,  thoughts 
are  free ! "  Such  a  corruption  of  a  text  is  usual 
among  the  multitude.  He  also  sang  a  song  in 
which  "  Lottie  by  the  grave  of  Werther "  wept. 
The  tailor  ran  over  with  sentimentalism  in  the 
words,  "Sadly  by  the  rose-beds  now  I  weep, 
where  the  late  moon  found  us  oft  alone  !  Moan- 
ing where  the  silver  fountains  sleep,  which 
rippled  once  delight  in  every  tone."  But  he 
soon  became  capricious  and  petulant,  remarking, 
that  "We  have  a  Prussian  in  the  tavern  at 
Cassel,  who  makes  exactly  such  songs  himself. 
He  can't  sew  a  single  decent  stitch.  When  he 
has  a  penny  in  his  pocket,  he  always  has  two- 
pence worth  of  thirst  with  it ;  and  when  he  has 
a  drop  in  his  eye,  he  takes  heaven  to  be  a  blue 
jacket,  weeps  like  a  roof-spout,  and  sings  a  song 
with  double  poetry."  I  desired  an  explanation  of 
this  last  expression,  but  my  tailoring  friend  hopped 
about  on  his  walking-cane  legs  and  cried  in- 
cessantly, "  Double  poetry  is  double  poetry,  and 
nothing  else."  Finally,  I  ascertained  that  he 
meant  doubly  rhymed  poems  or  stanzas.  Mean- 
while, owing  to  his  extra  exertion  and  an  adverse 
wind,  the  Knight  of  the  Needle  became  sadly 


.it.-'*.^-i  .  ^•.*-   -«^*^    .m'K  •■^^'.4 


76 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


weary.  It  is  true  that  he  still  made  a  great 
pretence  of  advancing,  and  blustered,  "  Now  I 
will  take  the  road  between  my  lega"  But  he 
immmediately  after  explained  that  his  feet  were 
blistered,  and  that  the  world  was  by  far  too 
extensive ;  and  finally  sinking  down  at  the  foot 
of  a  tree,  he  moved  his  delicate  little  head  like 
the  tail  of  a  troubled  lamb,  and  woefully  smil- 
ing, murmured,  "Here  am  I,  poor  vagabond, 
already  again  weary  ! "  1 

The  hills  here  became  steeper,  the  fir-woods 
below  like  a  green  sea,  and  white  clouds  above 
sailed  along  over  the  blue  sky.  The  wildness 
of  the  region  was,  however,  tamed  by  its  uni- 
formity and  the  simplicity  of  its  elements. 
Nature,  like  a  true  poet,  abhors  abrupt  transi- 
tions. Clouds,  however  fantastically  formed 
they  may  at  times  appear,  still  have  a  white, 
or  at  least  a  subdued  hue,  harmoniously  corre- 
sponding with  the  blue  heaven  and  the  green 
earth;  so  that  all  the  colours  of  a  landscape 
blend  into  each  other  like  soft  music,  and  every 
glance  at  such  a  natural  picture  tranquillises  and 
reassures  the  soul.  The  late  Hofifman  would  have 
painted  the  clouds  spotted  and  chequered.  And 
like  a  great  poet,  Nature  knows  how  to  produce 
the  greatest  effects  with  the  most  limited  means. 
There  she  has  only  a  sun,  trees  and  flowers,  water 
and  love.     Of  course,  if  the  latter  be  lacking  in 


..  .   Jr..  /— -r^, . 


THE  HARTZ  JOURNEY.     .  77 

the  heart  of  the  observer,  the  whole  will,  in  all 
probability,  present  but  a  poor  appearance ;  the 
sun  will  be  so  and  so  many  miles  in  diameter,  the 
''  trees  are  for  fire-wood,  the  flowers  are  classified 
according  to  their  stamens,  and  the  water  is  wet. 
A  little  boy  who  was  gathering  brushwood  in' 
the  forest  for  his  sick  uncle  pointed  out  to  me 
the  village  of  Lerrbach^  whose  little  huts  with 
g^^y  roofs  scatter  along  for  two  miles  through 
the  valley.  "There,"  said  he,  "live  idiots  with 
goitres,  and  white  negroes."     By  white  negroes 

f  the    people    mean    albinos.       The   little    fellow 

lived  on  terms  of  peculiar  understanding  with 
the  trees,  addressing  them  like  old  acquaint- 
ances, while  they  in  turn  seemed  by  their  waving 
and  rustling  to  return  his  salutations.  He 
chirped  like  a  thistle-finch;  many  birds  around 

I  answered  his  call,  and  ere  I  was  aware,  he  had 

1^  disappeared    with    his   little  bare   feet  and   his 

bundle  of  brush  amid  the  thickets.  "  Children," 
thought  I,  "  are  younger  than  we ;  they  can  per- 
haps remember  when  they  were  once  trees  or 
birds,  and  are  consequently  still  able  to  under- 

-  stand  them.     "We  of  larger  growth  are,  alas !  too 

old  for  that,  and  carry  about  in  our  heads  too 
much  legal  lore,  and  too  many  sorrows  and  bad 
verses."  But  the  time  when  it  was  otherwise 
recurred  vividly  to  me  as  I  entered  ClausthaL 
In  this  pretty  little  mountain  town,  which  the 


I'. ' 


■'S 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


traveller  does  not  behold  until  he  stands  directly 
before  it,  I  arrived  just  as  the  clock  was  striking 
twelve,  and  the  children  came  tumbling  merrily 
out  of  school.  The  little  rogues,  nearly  all 
red-cheeked,  blue-eyed,  flaxen-haired,  sprang  and 
shouted,  and  awoke  in  me  melancholy  and 
cheerful  memories — how  I  once  myself,  as  a  little 
boy,  sat  all  the  forenoon  long  in  a  gloomy 
Catholic  cloister  school  in  Diisseldorf,  without 
so  much  as  daring  to  stand  up,  enduring  mean- 
while such  a  terrible  amount  of  Latin,  whipping, 
and  geography,  and  how  I  too  hurrahed  and 
rejoiced  beyond  all  measure  when  the  old 
Franciscan  clock  at  last  struck  twelve.  The 
children  saw  by  my  knapsack  that  I  was  a 
stranger,  and  greeted  me  in  the  most  hospitable 
manner.  One  of  the  boys  told  me  that  they 
had  just  had  a  lesson  in  religion,  and  showed  me 
the  Eoyal  Hanoverian  Catechism,  from  which 
they  were  questioned  on  Christianity.  This  little 
book  was  very  badly  printed,  so  that  I  greatly 
feared  that  the  doctrines  of  faith  made  thereby  but 
an  unpleasant  blotting-paper  sort  of  impression 
upon  the  children's  minds.  I  was  also  shocked  at- 
observing  that  the  multiplication  table  contrasted 
with  the  Holy  Trinity  on  the  last  page  of  the  cate- 
chism, as  it  at  once  occurred  to  me  that  by  this 
means  the  minds  of  the  children  might,  even  in  . 
their  earliest  years,  be  led  to  the  most  sinful  scepti- 


THE  HARTZ  JOURNEY.  |f 

cism.  We  Prussians  are  more  intelligent,  and,  in 
our  zeal  for  converting  those  heathens  who  are 
familiar  with  arithmetic,  take  good  care  not  to 
print  the  multiplication  table  behind  the  catechism. 
I  dined  in  the  "Crown,"  at  Clausthal.  M7 
repast  consisted  of  spring-green  parsley-soup, 
violet-blue  cabbage,  a  pile  of  roast  veal,  which 
resembled  Chimborazo  in  miniature,  and  a  sort 
of  smoked  herrings,  called  Buckings,  from  their 
inventor,  William  Biicking,  who  died  in  1447, 
and  who,  on  account  of  the  invention,  was  so 
greatly  honoured  by  Charles  V.  that  the  great 
monarch  in  1556  made  a  journey  from  Middle- 
burg  to  Bievlied  in  Zealand  for  the  express  pur- 
pose of  visiting  the  grave  of  the  great  fish-drier. 
How  exquisitely  such  dishes  taste  when  we  are 
familiar  with  their  historical  associations !  Un- 
fortunately, my  after-dinner  coffee  was  spoiled  by 
a  youth,  who,  in  conversing  with  me  ran  on  in 
such  an  ourageous  strain  of  noise  and  vanity 
that  the  milk  was  soured.  He  was  a  counter- 
jumper,  wearing  twenty-five  variegated  waist- 
coats, and  as  many  gold  seals,  rings,  breast-pins, 
&c.  He  seemed  like  a  monkey,  who,  having  put 
on  a  red  coat,  had  resolved  within  himself  that 
clothes  make  the  man.  This  gentleman  had  got 
by  heart  a  vast  amount  of  charades  and  anecdotes, 
which  he  continually  repeated  in  the  most  inap- 
propriate   places.     He    asked  for  the  news  in 


8o  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

Gottingen,  and  I  informed  him  that  a  decree  had 
been  recently  published  there  by  the  Academical 
Senate,  forbidding  any  one  under  penalty  of  three 
dollars  to  dock  puppies'  tails,  because  during 
the  dog-days  mad  dogs  invariably  ran  with  their 
tails  between  their  legs,  thus  giving  a  warning 
indication  of  the  existence  of  hydrophobia,  which 
could  not  be  perceived  were  the  caudal  appendage 
absent  After  dinner  I  went  forth  to  visit  the 
mines,  the  mint,  and  the  silver  refineries. 

In  the  silver  refinery,  as  has  frequently  been 
my  luck  in  life,  I  could  get  no  glimpse  of  the 
precious  metal  In  the  mint  I  succeeded  better, 
and  saw  how  money  was  made.  Beyond  this  I 
have  never  been  able  to  advance.  On  such  occa- 
sions mine  has  invariably  been  the  spectator's 
part,  and  I  verily  believe  that  if  it  should  rain 
dollars  from  heaven,  the  coins  would  only  knock 
holes  in  my  head,  while  the  children  of  Israel 
would  merrily  gather  up  the  silver  manna.  With 
feelings  in  which  comic  reverence  was  blended 
with  emotion,  I  beheld  the  new-born  shining 
dollars,  took  one  as  it  came  fresh  from  the  stamp 
in  my  hand,  and  said  to  it,  "Young  Dollar! 
what  a  destiny  awaits  thee !  what  a  cause  wilt 
thou  be  of  good  and  of  evil !  How  thou  wilt 
protect  vice  and  patch  up  virtue !  how  thou  wilt 
be  beloved  and  accursed !  how  thou  wilt  aid  in 
debauchery,   pandering,    lying,    and    murdering ! 


THE  HARTZ  JOURNEY.  8i 

how  thou  wilt  restlessly  roll  along  through  clean 
and  dirty  hands  for  centuries,  until,  finally  laden 
with  trespasses  and  weary  with  sin,  thou  wilt  be 
gathered  again  unto  thine  own,  in  the  bosom 
of  an  Abraham,  who  will  melt  thee  down  and 
purify  thee,  and  form  thee  into  a  new  and  better 
being,  perhaps  to  an  innocent  little  tea-spoon, 
with  which  my  own  great-great-grandson  will 
mash  his  porridge." 

I  will  narrate  in  detail  my  visit  to  "  Dorothea  " 
and  "Caroline,"  the  two  principal  Clausthaler 
mines,  having  found  them  very  interesting. 

Half  a  German  mile  from  the  town  are  situ- 
ated two  large  dingy  buildings.  Here  the  tra- 
veller is  transferred  to  the  care  of  the  miners. 
These  men  wear  dark,  and  generally  steel-blue 
coloured  jackets,  of  ample  girth,  descending  to 
the  hips,  with  pantaloons  of  a  similar  hue,  a 
leather  apron  bound  on  behind,  and  a  rimless 
green  felt-hat,  which  resembles  a  decapitated 
nine-pin.  In  such  a  garb,  with  the  exception  of 
the  "  back-leather,"  the  visitor  is  also  clad,  and 
a  miner,  his  "leader,"  after  lighting  his  mine- 
lamp,  conducts  him  to  a  gloomy  entrance,  resem- 
bling a  chimney-hole,  descends  as  far  as  the 
breast,  gives  him  a  few  directions  relative  to 
grasping  the  ladder,  and  carelessly  requests  him 
to  follow.  The  affair  is  entirely  devoid  of  dan- 
ger, though  it  at  first  appears  quite  otherwise  to 

VOL.  I.  » 


8t  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

those  unacquainted  with  the  mysteries  of  mining. 
Even  the  putting  on  of  the  dark  convict-dress 
awakens  very  peculiar  sensations.  Then  one 
must  clamber  down  on  all  fours,^  the  dark  hole 
is  so  very  dark,  and  Lord  only  knows  how 
long  the  ladder  may  be !  But  we  soon  remark 
that  this  is  not  the  only  ladder  in  the  black 
eternity  around,  for  there  are  many  of  from 
fifteen  to  twenty  rounds  apiece,  each  standing 
upon  a  board  capable  of  supporting  a  man,  and 
from  which  a  new  hole  leads  in  turn  to  a  new 
ladder.  I  first  entered  the  Caroline,  the  dirtiest 
and  most  disagreeable  of  that  name  with  whom 
I  ever  had  the  pleasure  of  becoming  acquainted. 
The  rounds  of  the  ladders  were  covered  with 
wet  mud.  And  from  one  ladder  we  descended 
to  another  with  the  guide  ever  in  advance,  con- 
tinually assuring  us  that  there  is  no  danger  so 


1  In  this  the  "Hartz  Journey"  Heine  was  evidently  indebted  for 
many  ideas  or  expressions  to  a  very  rare  work,  the  Blockesberges 
Verrichtxtng,  by  M.  Johannes  Prsetorius  (Leipzig,  1669).  It 
would  appear  that  even  in  Heine's  time  the  entrance  to  the 
mine  had  not  been  improved  for  two  centuries,  for  Prsetorius 
tells  us  of  it  that :  "  The  leader,  providing  us  with  light,  went 
before.  The  entrance  to  the  hole  was  low  and  narrow,  so  that 
we  haJ  to  squeeze  down  into  it,  one  after  the  other,  on  hands 
and  feet ;  then  it  became  a  little  broader,  but  even  as  it  increased 
in  width,  so  it  did  in  steepness,  till  it  was  like  clambering  and 
descending  hills  bnd  precipices." 

Heine  had  read  this  work  by  Prsetorius,  as  he  cites  it  in  his 
"  Elementary  Spinta,"—NoU  by  Trantlator. 


THB  HARTZ  yOURNBY.  :il$ 

long  as  we  bold  firmly  to  the  rounds  and  do 
not  look  at  our  feet,  and  that  we  must  not 
for  our  lives  tread  on  the  side  plank,  where  the 
buzzing  barrel-rope  runs,  and  where  two  weeks 
ago  a  careless  man  was  knocked  down,  un- 
fortunately breaking  his  neck  by  the  fall.  Far 
below  is  a  confused  rustling  and  humming,  and 
we  continually  bump  against  beams  and  ropes 
which  are  in  motion,  winding  up  and  raising 
barrels  of  broken  ore  or  of  water.  Occasionally 
we  pass  galleries  hewn  in  the  rock,  called 
"stulms,"  where  the  ore  may  be  seen  growing, 
and  where  some  solitary  miner  sits  the  livelong 
day,  wearily  hammering  pieces  from  the  walls. 
I  did  not  descend  to  those  deepest  depths  where 
it  is  reported  that  the  people  on  the  other  side 
of  the  world,  in  America,  may  be  heard  crying, 
**  Hurrah  for  Lafayette ! "  Where  I  went  seemed 
to  me,  however,  deep  enough  in  all  conscience ; 
amid  an  endless  roaring  and  rattling,  the  mys- 
sterious  sounds  of  machinery,  the  rush  of  sub- 
terranean streams,  the  sickening  clouds  of  ore 
dust  continually  rising,  water  dripping  on  all 
sides,  and  the  miner's  lamp  gradually  growing 
dimmer  and  dimmer.  The  effect  was  really 
benumbing,  I  breathed  with  difficulty,  and  held 
with  trouble  to  the  slippery  rounds.  It  was  not 
fright  which  overpowered  me,  but  oddly  enough, 
down  there  in  the  depths,  I  remembered  that  a 


•A/.-V 


84  PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 

year  before,  about  the  same  time,  I  had  been  in 
a  storm  on  the  North  Sea,  and  I  now  felt  that  it 
would  be  an  agreeable  change  could  I  feel  the 
rocking  of  the  ship,  hear  the  wind  with  its 
thunder-trumpet  tones,  while  amid  its  lulls 
sounded  the  hearty  cry  of  the  sailors,  and  all 
above  was  freshly  swept  by  God's  own  free  air. 
Yes,  air ! — Panting  for  air,  I  rapidly  climbed 
several  dozens  of  ladders,  and  my  guide  led  me 
through  a  narrow  and  very  long  gallery  towards 
the  Dorothea  mine.  Here  it  is  airier  and 
fresher,  and  the  ladders  are  cleaner,  though  at 
the  same  time  longer  and  steeper,  than  in  the 
Caroline.  I  felt  revived  and  more  cheerful, 
particularly  as  I  observed  indications  of  human 
beings.  Far  below  I  saw  wandering,  wavering 
lights;  miners  with  their  lamps  came  one  by 
one  upwards,  with  the  greeting,  "  Good  luck  to 
you  ! "  and  receiving  the  same  salutation  from  us, 
went  onwards  and  upwards.  Something  like  a 
friendly  and  quiet,  yet  at  the  same  time  terrific 
and  enigmatical,  recollection  flitted  across  my 
mind  as  I  met  the  deep  glances  and  earnest  pale 
faces  of  these  men,  mysteriously  illuminated 
by  their  lanterns,  and  thought  how  they  had 
worked  all  day  in  lonely  and  secret  places  in 
the  mines,  and  how  they  now  longed  for  the 
blessed  light  of  day,  and  for  the  glances  of  wives 
and  children. 


THE  HARTZ  JOURNEY.  % 

My  guide  himself  was  a  thoroughly  honest, 
honourable,  blundering  German  being.^  With 
inward  joy  he  pointed  out  to  me  the  "  stulm  " 
where  the  Duke  of  Cambridge,  when  he  visited 
the  mines,  dined  with  all  his  train,  and  where  the 
long  wooden  table  yet  stands,  with  the  accom- 
panying great  chair,  made  of  ore,  in  which  the 
Duke  sat.  "This  is  to  remain  as  an  eternal 
memorial,"  said  the  good  miner,  and  he  related 
with  enthusiasm  how  many  festivities  had  then 
taken  place,  how  the  entire  "  stulm "  had  been 
adorned  with  lamps,  flowers,  and  decorations  of 
leaves;  how  a  miner  boy  had  played  on  the 
cithern  and  sung ;  how  the  dear,  delighted  fat 
Duke  had  drained  many  healths,  and  what  a 
number  of  miners  (himself  especially)  would 
cheerfully  die  for  the  dear,  fat  Duke,  and  for  the 
whole  house  of  Hanover.  I  am  moved  to  my 
very  heart  when  I  see  loyalty  thus  manifested 
in  all  its  natural  simplicity.  It  is  such  a  beau- 
tiful sentiment !  And  such  a  purely  German 
sentiment!  Other  people  may  be  more  in- 
telligent and  wittier,  and  more  agreeable,  but 
none  are  so  faithful  as  the  real  German  race. 
Did  I  not  know  that  fidelity  is  as  old  as  the 
world,  I  would  believe  that  a  German  had  in- 
vented it.     German  fidelity  is  no  modern  "  yours 

^  PvdddeuUche  Natur,  "poodle  German,"  implying  blind, 
doglike  fidelity. — Note  by  Trandator. 


^^  -  •»i-    i 


86  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL, 

very  truly,"  or  "  I  remain  your  humble  servant." 
In  your  courts,  ye  German  princes,  ye  should 
cause  to  be  sung,  and  sung  again,  the  old  ballad 
of  The  trusty  Eekhart  and  the  lose  Burgund  who 
slew  Eckhart's  seven  children,  and  still  found 
him  faithful.  Ye  have  the  truest  people  in  the 
world,  and  ye  err  when  ye  deem  that  the  old, 
intelligent,  trusty  hound  has  suddenly  gone  mad, 
and  snaps  at  your  sacred  calves ! 

And  like  German  fidelity,  the  little  mine-lamp 
has  guided  us  quietly  and  securely,  without 
much  flickering  or  flaring,  through  the  labyrinth 
of  shafts  and  stulms.  We  jump  from  the  gloomy 
mountain -night  —  sunlight  flashes  around :  — 
*  Luck  to  you  ! "  * 

Most  of  the  miners  dwell  in  Clausthal,  and  in 
the  adjoining  small  town  of  Zellerfeld.  I  visited 
several  of  these  brave  fellows,  observed  their 
little  household  arrangements,  heard  many  of 
their  songs,  which  they  skilfully  accompany 
with  their  favourite  instrument,  the  cithern,  and 
listened  to  old  mining  legends,  and  to  their 
prayers,    which    they  are    accustomed    to   daily 

*  "And  as  W6  left  the  cave,  where  we  suffered  from  cold, 
holding  in  our  hands  the  burning  lights — two  only  of  ours  had 
been  extinguished  (which  is  doubtless  done  bj  the  spirits  of 
earth)— and  relighted,  we  came  forth  into  great  heat,  owing  to 
the  clear  sunlight,  aa  if  we  had  gone  from  cool  air  into  a  warm 
bath." — /.  Prcetorius,  Appendix  Swnmaria,  Bloeketherge  Ver- 
richtung. 


■■-«-'  >    »-■;.       I 


THE  HARTZ  JOURNEY,  p 

ofifer  in  company  ere  they  descend  the  gloomy 
shaft.  And  many  a  good  prayer  did  I  ofifer  up 
with  them.  One  old  climber  even  thought  that 
I  ought  to  remain  among  them,  and  become  a 
man  of  the  mines ;  and  as  I,  after  all,  departed, 
he  gave  me  a  message  to  his  brother,  who  dwelt 
near  Goslar,  and  many  kisses  for  his  darling 
niece. 

Immovably  tranquil  as  the  life  of  these  men 
may  appear,  it  is,  notwithstanding,  a  real  and 
vivid  life.  That  ancient  trembling  crone  who  sits 
before  the  great  clothes-press  and  behind  a  stove, 
may  have  been  there  for  a  quarter  of  a  century, 
and  all  her  thinking  and  feeling  is,  beyond  a 
doubt,  intimately  blended  with  every  corner  of 
the  stove  and  the  carvings  of  the  press.  And 
clothes-press  and  stove  livej — for  a  human  being 
hath  breathed  into  them  a  portion  of  its  soul. 

Only  a  life  of  this  deep-looking  into  phe- 
nomena and  its  "  immediateness  "  could  originate 
the  German  popular  tale  whose  peculiarity  con- 
sists in  this, — that  in  it  not  only  animals  and 
plants,  but  also  objects  apparently  inanimate, 
speak  and  act.  To  thinking,  harmless  beings, 
who  dwelt  in  the  quiet  homeness  of  their  lowly 
mountain  cabins  or  forest  huts,  the  inner  life 
of  these  objects  was  gradually  revealed ;  they 
acquired  a  necessary  and  consequential  character, 
a  sweet  blending  of  fantasy  and  pure  human 


,..,.>^— — -r.:,,y^_.-'f-^'yr~^r'-: — ~^-vv.;\v. :-;  ;-^*-*-^^r-»«-.  -^-^ 


.rf    *— i 


18  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL, 

reflection.  This  is  the  reason  why,  in  such 
fables,  we  find  the  extreme  of  singularity  allied 
to  a  spirit  of  perfect  self-intelligence,  as  when 
the  pin  and  the  needle  wander  forth  from  the 
tailor's  home  and  are  bewildered  in  the  dark; 
when  the  straw  and  the  coal  seek  to  cross  the 
brook  and  are  destroyed ;  ^  when  the  dust-pan 
and  broom  quarrel  and  fight  on  the  stairs ;  whet 
the  interrogated  mirror  of  "  Snow-drop "  shows 
the  image  of  the  fairest  lady,  and  when  even 
drops  of  blood  begin  to  utter  dark  words  of  the 
deepest  compassion.  And  this  is  the  reason  why 
our  life  in  childhood  is  so  infinitely  significant^ 
for  then  all  things  are  of  the  same  importance, 
nothing  escapes  our  attention,  there  is  equality 
in  every  impression ;  while,  when  more  advanced 
in  years,  we  must  act  with  design,  busy  ourselves 
more  exclusively  with  particulars,  carefully  ex- 
change the  pure  gold  of  observation  for  the  paper 
currency  of  book  definitions,  and  win  in  the 
breadth   of    life    what   we    have    lost  in   depth. 

'  This  story  of  the  straw,  the  ooal,  and  the  bean  is  curiously 
Latinised  in  the  NugcB  JUnales  : — 

"  Pruna,  Faba,  et  Stramen  rivum  transire  laborant,  seque 
idio  in  ripis  Stramen  utrimque  locat.  Sic  quasi  per  pontem 
Faba  transit,  Pruna  sed  urit  Stramen,  et  in  madias  prsecipitatur 
aquas.  Hoc  cemens  nimio  risu  faba  rumpitur  imo  parte  sui, 
hancque  quasi  tacta  pudore  tegit." 

Heine's  remarks  on  the  subject  of  the  origin  of  attributing 
mind  to  inanimate  objects  deserve  serious  attention  from  all 
students  of  Folk- Lore. — Note  by  TrantUUor, 


,-"■  \ 


.:,^  ^., /•■-'■•-  ■■-•--ii^". -,*>_,, i.-.  • "'-.-  -...r  t.^:-^'--^'f'-  "'"' "  ■••-"-—*-      -'^"^ 


THE  HARTZ  yoURNBY.  if. 

I^ow,  we  are  grown-up,  respectable  people,  we 
often  inhabit  new  dwellings;  the  house-maid 
daily  cleans  them,  and  changes  at  her  will  the 
position  of  the  furniture,  which  interests  us  but 
little,  as  it  is  either  new,  or  may  belong  to-day 
to  Jack,  to-morrow  to  Isaac.  Even  our  very 
clothes  are  strange  to  us,  we  hardly  know  how 
many  buttons  there  are  on  the  coat  we  wear, — 
for  we  change  our  garments  as  often  as  possible, 
and  none  of  them  remain  deeply  identified  with 
our  external  or  inner  history.  We  can  hardly  re- 
member how  that  brown  vest  once  looked,  which 
attracted  so  much  laughter,  and  yet  on  the  broad 
stripes  of  which  the  dear  hand  of  the  loved  one 
so  gently  rested ! 

The  old  dame  who  sat  before  the  clothes-press 
and  behind  the  stove  wore  a  flowered  dress  of 
some  old-fashioned  material,  which  had  been  the 
bridal-robe  of  her  long-buried  mother.  Her  great- 
grandson,  a  flashing-eyed  blonde  boy,  clad  in  a 
miner's  dress,  knelt  at  her  feet,  and  counted  the 
flowers  on  her  dress.  It  may  be  that  she  has 
narrated  to  him  many  a  story  connected  with 
that  dress ;  seriously  pretty  stories,  which  the 
boy  will  not  readily  forget,  which  will  often 
recur  to  him  when  he,  a  grown-up  man,  works 
alone  in  the  midnight  galleries  of  the  Caroline, 
and  which  he  in  turn  will  narrate  when  the  dear 
grandmother  has  long  been  dead,  and  he  him- 


90  PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 

self,  a  silver-haired,  tranquil  old  man,  sits  amid 
the  circle  of  his  grandchildren  before  the  great 
clothes-press  and  behind  the  oven. 

I  lodged  that  night  in  "The  Crown,"  where 
I  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  and  paying  my 

respects  to  the  old  Court  Counsellor  B ,  of 

Gottingen.  Having  inscribed  my  name  in  the 
book  of  arrivals,  I  found  therein  the  honoured 
autograph  of  Adalbert  von  Chamisso,  the  bio- 
grapher of  the  immortal  Schlemihl.  The  landlord 
remarked  of  Chamisso  that  the  gentleman  had 
arrived  during  one  terrible  storm  and  departed 
in  another. 

Finding  the  next  morning  that  I  must  lighten 
my  knapsack,  I  threw  overboard  the  pair  of  boots, 
and  arose  and  went  forth  unto  Goslar.  There  I 
arrived  without  knowing  how.  This  much  alone 
do  I  remember,  that  I  sauntered  up  and  down 
hill,  gazing  upon  many  a  lovely  meadow  vale. 
Silver  waters  rippled  and  rustled,  sweet  wood- 
birds  sang,  the  bells  of  the  flocks  tinkled,  the 
many  shaded  green  trees  were  gilded  by  the  sun, 
and  over  all  the  blue  silk  canopy  of  heaven  was 
so  transparent  that  I  could  look  through  the 
depths  even  to  the  Holy  of  Holies,  where  angels 
sat  at  the  feet  of  God,  studying  sublime  thorough- 
bass in  the  features  of  the  eternal  countenance. 
But  I  was  all  the  time  lost  in  a  dream  of  the 
previous  night,  and  which  I  could  not  banish. 


■.fiP-^r^* , 


;<.«ii(,«.-f*-'^" - "',' ..." "  '»"•'"  •••'•  *-  * ~  'r.—  *•**• 


CHAMLSSV 

from  an  Ekbiug 


THE  HARTZ  yovRNEY.  :  91 

It  was  an  echo  of  the  old  legend,  how  a  knight 
descended  into  a  deep  fountain,  beneath  which 
the  fairest  princess  of  the  world  lay  buried  in  a 
death-like  magic  slumber.  I  myself  was  the 
knight,  and  the  dark  mine  of  Clausthal  was  the 
fountain.  Suddenly  innumerable  lights  gleamed 
around  me,  wakeful  dwarfs  leapt  from  every 
cranny  in  the  rocks,  grimacing  angrily,  cutting 
at  me  with  their  short  swords,  blowing  terribly 
on  horns,  which  ever  summoned  more  and  more 
of  their  comrades,  and  frantically  nodding  their 
great  heads.  But  as  I  hewed  them  down  with 
my  sword,  and  the  blood  flowed,  I  for  the  first 
time  remarked  that  they  were  not  really  dwarfs, 
but  the  red-blooming  long-bearded  thistle-tops, 
which  I  had  the  day  before  hewed  down  on  the 
the  highway  with  my  stick.  At  last  they  all 
vanished,  and  I  came  to  a  splendid  lighted  hall, 
in  the  midst  of  which  stood  my  heart's  loved 
one,  veiled  in  white,  and  immovable  as  a  statue. 
I  kissed  her  mouth,  and  then — 0  Heavens ! — I 
felt  the  blessed  breath  of  her  soul  and  the  sweet 
tremor  of  her  lovely  lips.  It  seemed  that  I 
heard  the  divine  command,  "  Let  there  be  light ! " 
and  a  dazzling  flash  of  eternal  light  shot  down, 
but  at  the  same  instant  it  was  again  night,  and 
all  ran  chaotically  together  into  a  wild  desolate 
seal  A  wild  desolate  sea,  over  whose  foaming 
waves  the  ghosts  of  the  departed  madly  chased 


-.-iKi- .•f'*'*' '".'r' '  ^  ■"•-••  *^  -' '  ■    '     '     *.*'"■  '    ■'.  I  *  -        \  i ' '"^ .  4  ^' *  .  ■  .-■■<■* It  *\  ^yri 


9» 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


each  other,  the  white  shrouds  floating  on  the 
wind,  while  behind  all,  goading  them  on  with 
cracking  whip,  ran  a  many-coloured  harlequin, 
— and  I  was  the  harlequin.  Suddenly  from 
the  black  waves  the  sea-monsters  raised  their 
misshapen  heads,  and  yawned  towards  me,  with 
extended  jaws,  and  I  awoke  in  terror. 

Alas !  how  the  finest  dreams  may  be  spoiled  I 
The  knight,  in  fact,  when  he  has  found  the  lady, 
ought  to  cut  a  piece  from  her  priceless  veil,  and 
after  she  has  recovered  from  her  magic  sleep,  and 
sits  again  in  glory  in  her  hall,  he  should  approach 
her  and  say,  "  My  fairest  princess,  dost  thou  not 
know  me  ? "  Then  she  will  answer,  "  My  bravest 
knight,  I  know  thee  not ! "  And  then  he  shows 
her  the  piece  cut  from  her  veil,  exactly  fitting 
the  deficiency,  and  she  knows  that  he  is  her 
deliverer,  and  both  tenderly  embrace,  and  the 
trumpets  sound,  and  the  marriage  is  cele- 
brated 1 

It  is  really  a  very  peculiar  misfortune  that 
my  love-dreams  so  seldom  have  so  fine  a  con- 
clusion. 

The  name  of  Goslar  rings  so  pleasantly,  and 
there  are  so  many  very  ancient  and  imperial 
associations  connected  therewith,  that  I  had 
hoped  to  find  an  imposing  and  stately  town. 
But  it  is  always  the  same  old  story  when  we 
examine  celebrities  too  closely.     I  found  a  nest 


THE  HARTZ  yoURNEY.  fj 

of  houses,  drilled  in  every  direction  with  narrow 
streets  of  labyrinthine  crookedness,  and  amid 
which  a  miserable  stream,  probably  the  Gose, 
winds  its  flat  and  melancholy  way.  The  pave- 
ment of  the  town  is  as  ragged  as  Berlin  hexa- 
meters. Only  the  antiquities  which  are  imbedded 
in  the  frame  or  mounting  of  the  city — that  is 
to  say,  its  remnants  of  walls,  towers  and  battle- 
ments— give  the  place  a  piquant  look.  One  of 
these  towers,  known  as  the  Zwinger,  or  donjon- 
keep,  has  walls  of  such  extraordinary  thickness 
that  entire  rooms  are  excavated  therein.^  The 
open  place  before  the  town,  where  the  world- 
renowned  shooting  matches  are  held,  is  a  beautiful 
large  plain  surrounded  by  high  mountains.  The 
market  is  small,  and  in  its  midst  is  a  spring 
fountain,  the  water  from  which  pours  into  a  great 
metallic  basin.  When  an  alarm  of  fire  is  raised, 
they  strike  strongly  on  this  cup-formed  basin, 
which  gives  out  a  very  loud  vibration.  Nothing 
is  known  of  the  origin  of  this  work.  Some  say 
that  the  devil  placed  it  once  during  the  night  on 
the  spot  where  it  stands.     In  those  days  people 

^  Of  the  Reirutein  Prsetorins  writes  :  "  It  is  a  quaint,  strange 
building,  in  which  many  rooms  .  .  .  are  hewn  out  of  the  stone  ; 
go  where  you  will  in  them,  there  is  naught  save  stone."  He 
then  describes  the  tremendous  echo  or  vibration  ot  the  air  pro- 
duced by  firing  a  gun  there,  and  then  a  pit,  which  the  devil 
keeps  full  of  pebbles.  Though  there  be  no  plagiarism  here,  the 
suggested  sequence  of  thought  is  interesting. — Note  by  Trandator. 


94  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

were  as  yet  fools,  nor  was  the  devil  any  wiser, 
and  they  mutually  exchanged  gifts. 

The  town-hall  of  Goslar  is  a  white-washed 
police-station.  The  Guildhall,  hard  by,  has  a 
somewhat  better  appearance.  In  this  building, 
equidistant  from  roof  and  ceiling,  stand  the 
statues  of  the  German  emperors.  Partly  gilded, 
and  altogether  of  a  smoke-black  hue,  they  look, 
with  their  sceptres  and  globes  of  empire,  like 
roasted  college  beadles.  One  of  the  emperors 
holds  a  sword  instead  of  a  sceptre.  I  cannot 
imagine  the  reason  of  this  variation  from  the 
established  order,  though  it  has  doubtless  some 
occult  signification,  as  Germans  have  the  remark- 
able peculiarity  of  meaning  something  in  what- 
ever they  do.  ] 

In  Gottschalk*s  "  Handbook  "  I  had  read  much 
of  the  very  ancient  Dom  or  cathedral,  and  of 
the  far-famed  imperial  throne  at  Goslar.  But 
when  I  wished  to  see  these  curiosities,  I  was 
informed  that  the  church  had  been  torn  down, 
and  that  the  throne  had  been  carried  to  Berlin. 
We  live  in  deeply  significant  times,  when  mil- 
lennial churches  are  shattered  to  fragments,  and 
imperial  thrones  are  tumbled  into  the  lumber- 
room. 

A  few  memorials  of  the  late  cathedral  of 
happy  memory  are  still  preserved  in  the  church 
of  St.  Stephen.     These  consist  of  stained  glass 


THE  HARTZ  yOURNBY.  ^ 

pictures  of  great  beauty,  a  few  indifferent  paint- 
ings, including  a  Lucas  Cranach,  a  wooden 
Christ  crucified,  and  a  heathen  altar  of  some 
unknown  metal.  This  latter  resembles  a  long 
square  box,  and  is  supported  by  four  caryatides, 
which,  in  a  bowed  position,  hold  their  hands 
over  their  heads,  and  make  the  most  hideous 
grimaces.  But  far  more  hideous  is  the  adjacent 
wooden  crucifix  of  which  I  have  just  spoken. 
This  head  of  Christ,  with  its  real  hair  and  thorns 
and  blood-stained  countenance,  represents,  in  the 
most  masterly  manner,  the  death  of  a  manj — 
but  not  of  a  divinely-born  Saviour.  Nothing  but 
physical  suffering  is  portrayed  in  this  image, — 
not  the  sublime  poetry  of  pain.  Such  a  work 
would  be  more  appropriately  placed  in  a  hall  of 
anatomy  than  in  a  house  of  the  Lord. 

The  sacristan's  wife — deeply  artistic — who 
led  me  about,  showed  me  a  special  rarity.  This 
was  a  many-cornered,  well-planed'  black  board 
covered  with  white  numerals,  which  hung  like 
a  lamp  in  the  middle  of  the  building.  Oh,  how 
brilliantly  does  the  spirit  of  invention  manifest 
itself  in  the  Protestant  Church !  The  numbers 
on  this  board  are  those  of  the  Psalms  for  the 
day,  which  are  generally  chalked  on  a  common 
black  tablet,  and  have  a  very  sobering  effect  on 
an  aesthetic  mind,  but  which  in  the  form  above 
described  even  ornament  the  church,  and  fully 


96  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

make  up  the  want  of  pictures  by  Eaphael.  Such 
progress  delights  me  infinitely,  since  I,  as  Pro- 
testant, and,  in  fact,  Lutheran,  am  ever  deeply 
annoyed  when  Catholic  opponents  ridicule  the 
empty,  God-forsaken  appearance  of  Protestant 
churches. 

I  lodged  in  a  tavern  near  the  market,  where 
I  should  have  enjoyed  my  dinner  much  better 
if  the  landlord,  with  his  long  superfluous  face, 
and  his  still  longer  questions,  had  not  planted 
himself  opposite  to  me.  Fortunately  I  was  soon 
relieved  by  the  arrival  of  another  stranger,  who 
was  obliged  to  run  in  turn  the  gauntlet  of  quis  ? 
quid  ?  ttibi  ?  quibus  auxiliis  ?  cur  ?  quomodo  ? 
quando  ?  ^  This  stranger  was  an  old,  weary, 
worn-out  man,  who,  as  it  appeared  from  his  con- 
versation, had  been  all  over  the  world,  had 
resided  very  long  in  Batavia,  had  made  much 
money,  and  lost  it  all,  and  who  now,  after  thirty 
years'  absence,  was  returning  to  Quedlinburg,  his 


^  Pnetorius  gives  this  series  amusingly,  as  follows,  applying 
it  to  inqniries  as  to  the  names  of  witches : — 

1.  Person — Quitf  < 

2.  Journey — Quidf  | 

3.  Place— J^»? 

4.  Vehicle — Quibut  auxtUit  t  * 

5.  Intentions — Curt 

6.  Place  and  kind — Quomodo? 

7.  Time  when — Qtumdof 

8.  Extent  of  time — Quamdiu  ? 

— Blocketbtrtjei  Verriclitu,n{j.     Translator, 


THE  HARTZ  yOURNEY.  ,0 

native  city, — ^"for,"  said  he,  "our  family  has 
there  its  hereditary  tomb."  The  landlord  here 
made  the  highly  intelligent  remark  that  it  was 
all  the  same  thing  to  the  soul  where  the  body 
was  buried.  "Have  you  scriptural  authority 
for  that  ?"  retorted  the  stranger,  while  mysterious 
and  crafty  wrinkles  circled  around  his  pinched 
lips  and  faded  eyes.  "But,"  he  added,  as  if 
nervously  desirous  of  conciliating,  "I  mean  no 
harm  against  graves  in  foreign  lands, — oh,  no ! 
The  Turks  bury  their  dead  more  beautifully 
than  we  ours ;  their  churchyards  are  perfect 
gardens,  and  there  they  sit  by  their  white  turbaned 
gravestones  under  cypress  trees,  and  stroke  their 
grave  beards  and  calmly  smoke  their  Turkish 
tobacco  from  their  long  Turkish  pipes  ;  and  then 
among  the  Chinese  it  is  a  real  pleasure  to  see 
how  genteely  they  walk  around,  and  pray  and 
drink  tea  among  the  graves  of  their  ancestors, 
and  play  the  violin ;  and  how  beautifully  they 
bedeck  the  beloved  tombs  with  all  sorts  of  gilt 
lacquered  work,  porcelain  images,  bits  of  coloured 
silk,  fresh  flowers  and  variegated  lanterns — all 
very  fine  indeed.  How  far  is  it  yet  to  Quedlin- 
burg  ? " 

The  churchyard  at  Goslar  did  not  appeal  very 
strongly  to  my  feelings ;  but  a  certain  very 
pretty  blonde-ringletted  head  which  peeped 
smilingly  from  a  parterre  window  did.      After 

VOL.  L  G 


98  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

dinner  I  again  took  an  observation  of  this 
fascinating  window,  but  instead  of  a  maiden,  I 
beheld  a  vase  containing  white  bell-flowers.  I 
clambered  up,  stole  the  flowers,  put  them  neatly 
in  my  cap  and  descended,  unheeding  the  gaping 
mouths,  petrified  noses,  and  goggle  eyes  with  which 
the  street  population,  and  especially  the  old 
women,  regarded  this  qualified  theft.  As  I,  an 
hour  later,  passed  by  the  same  house,  the  beauty 
stood  by  the  window,  and  as  she  saw  the  flowers 
in  my  cap,  she  blushed  like  a  ruby  and  started 
back.  This  time  I  had  seen  the  beautiful  face 
to  better  advantage ;  it  was  a  sweet  transparent 
incarnation  of  summer  evening  air,  moonshine, 
nightingale  notes,  and  rose  perfume.  Later,  in 
the  twilight  hour,  she  was  standing  at  the  door. 
I  came — ^I  drew  near — she  slowly  retreated  into 
the  dark  entry.  I  followed,  and  seizing  her 
hand,  said,  "  I  am  a  lover  of  beautiful  flowers  and 
of  kisses,  and  when  they  are  not  given  to  me  I 
steal  them."  Here  I  quickly  snatched  a  kiss,  and 
as  she  was  about  to  fly,  I  whispered  apologeti- 
cally, "  To-morrow  I  leave  this  town,  and  never 
return  again."  Then  I  perceived  a  faint  pressure 
of  the  lovely  lips  and  of  the  little  hand,  and  I — 
went  smiling  away.  Yes,  I  must  smile  when 
I  reflect  that  this  was  precisely  the  magic  for- 
mula by  which  our  red  and  blue-coated  cavaliers 
more  frequently  win  female  hearts  than  by  their 


THE  HARTZ  JOURNEY.  99 

mustachioed  attractiveness.    "  To-morrow  I  leave, 
and  never  return  again  ! " 

My  chamber  commanded  a  fine  view  towards 
Eammelsberg.  It  was  a  lovely  evening.  Night 
was  out  hunting  on  her  black  steed,  and  the 
long  cloud  mane  fluttered  on  the  wind,  I  stood 
at  my  window  watching  the  moon.  Is  there 
really  a  "  man  in  the  moon  "  ?  The  Slavonians 
assert  that  there  is  such  a  being  named  Clotar, 
and  he  causes  the  moon  to  grow  by  watering  it. 
When  I  was  little,  they  told  me  that  the  moon 
was  a  fruit,  and  that  when  it  was  ripe  it  was 
picked  and  laid  away,  amid  a  vast  collection  of 
old  full  moons,  in  a  great  bureau,  which  stood  at 
the  end  of  the  world,  where  it  is  nailed  up  with 
boards.  As  I  grew  older,  I  remarked  that  the 
world  was  not  by  any  means  so  limited  as  I  had 
supposed  it  to  be,  and  that  human  intelligence 
had  broken  up  the  wooden  bureau,  and  with  a 
terrible  "Hand  of  Glory"  had  opened  all  the 
seven  heavens.  Immortality  —  dazzling  idea! 
who  first  imagined  thee !  Was  it  some  jolly 
burgher  of  Nuremburg,  who  with  nightcap  on 
his  head  and  white  clay  pipe  in  mouth  sat  on 
some  pleasant  summer  evening  before  his  door, 
and  reflected  in  all  his  comfort  that  it  would  be 
right  pleasant  if,  with  unextinguishable  pipe  and 
endless  breath,  he  could  thus  vegetate  onwards  for 
a  blessed  eternity  ?    Or  was  it  a  lover  who  in  the 


100  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

arms  of  his  loved  one  thought  the  immortality- 
thought,  and  that  because  he  could  think  and 
feel  naught  beside  ?  Love  1  Immortality !  it 
speedily  became  so  hot  in  my  breast  that  I 
thought  the  geographers  had  misplaced  the 
equator,  and  that  it  now  ran  directly  through  my 
heart.  And  from  my  heart  poured  out  the  feeling 
of  love ; — it  poured  forth  with  wild  longing  into 
the  broad  night.  The  flowers  in  the  garden  be- 
neath my  window  breathed  a  stronger  perfume. 
Perfumes  are  the  feelings  of  flowers,  and  as  the 
human  heart  feels  most  powerful  emotions  in  the 
night  when  it  believes  itself  to  be  alone  and 
unperceived,  so  also  do  the  flowers,  soft-minded, 
yet  ashamed,  appear  to  await  for  concealing  dark- 
ness that  they  may  give  themselves  wholly  up  to 
their  feelings  and  breathe  them  out  in  sweet 
odours.  Pour  forth,  ye  perfumes  of  my  heart, 
and  seek  beyond  yon  blue  mountain  for  the  loved 
one  of  my  dreams !  Now  she  lies  in  slumber ; 
at  her  feet  kneel  angels,  and  if  she  smiles  in 
sleep,  it  is  a  prayer  which  angels  repeat;  in 
her  breast  is  heaven  with  all  its  raptures,  and 
as  she  breathes,  my  heart,  though  afar,  throbs 
responsively.  Behind  the  silken  lids  of  her 
eyes  the  sun  has  gone  down,  and  when  they 
are  raised,  the  sun  rises,  the  birds  sing,  and  the 
bells  of  the  flock  tinkle,  and  I  strap  on  my 
knapsack  and  depart. 


THE  HARTZ  JOURNEY.  !•• 

During  these  philosophical  reflections  I  was 
surprised  by  a  visit  from  Court  Councillor  B., 
who  had  recently  arrived  in  Goslar.  I  had 
never  before  felt  so  sensibly  the  benevolent 
good-nature  of  this  man.  I  honour  him  greatly 
for  his  remarkable  and  practically  successful 
clevemesSj^  and  yet  more  for  his  modesty,  I 
found  him  unusually  cheerful,  fresh,  and  active. 
That  he  is  the  last,  he  recently  proved  by  his 
new  book,  "  The  Eeligion  of  the  Future,"  a  work 
which  so  much  delighted  the  Eationalists,  vexed 
the  Mystics,  and  set  the  great  public  astir.  I 
myself  am  just  at  present  a  Mystic,  following 
the  advice  of  my  physician  to  avoid  all  stimu- 
lants to  thought.  Still  I  do  not  fail  to  appreciate 
the  inestimable  value  of  Paulus,  Gurlitt,  Krug, 
Eichhom,  Bouterwek,  Wegscheider,  and  others. 
By  chance  it  is  greatly  to  my  advantage  that 
these  people  clear  away  so  much  ancient  rubbish, 
particularly  the  old  ecclesiastical  ruins  and  refuse 
which  shelter  so  many  snakes  and  stinks.  The 
air  in  Grermany  is  too  dense  and  sultry,  and  I 
often  fear  lest  I  smother  or  am  strangled  by  my 
beloved  fellow-mystics  in  their  heat  of  love. 
Therefore  I  will  have  anything  but  ill-feeling 
towards  my  good  rationalists,  even  if  they  cool 
the    air   a   little    too    much.       Fundamentally, 

^  Erfolgreiehen  teharfainnt.     The  quickness  of  perception  of 
ahrewdness  which  Ib  followed  by  useful  results. 


>    \,  JiiiiA^i_ 


I02 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL, 


Natnre  has  appointed  limits  even  to  rationalism 
itself ;  man  cannot  exist  under  an  air-pump  or 
at  the  North  Pole.^ 

During  the  night  which  I  passed  at  Goslar, 
a  remarkably  curious  occurrence  befell  me.  Even 
now  I  cannot  think  of  it  without  terror.  I  am 
not  by  nature  cowardly,  but  I  fear  ghosts  almost 
as  much  as  the  "  Austrian  Observer."  What  is 
fear  ?  Does  it  come  from  the  understanding  or 
from  the  natural  disposition  ?  This  was  a  point 
which  I  frequently  disputed  with  Dr.  Saul  Ascher, 
when  we  accidentally  met  in  the  Ca/^  Royal  in 
Berlin,  where  I  for  a  long  time  dined.  The 
Doctor  invariably  maintained  that  we  feared 
anything,  because  we  recognised  it  as  fearful, 
owing  to  certain  determinate  conclusions  of  the 
reason.  Only  the  reason  was  an  active  power, 
— not  the  disposition.  While  I  ate  and  drank 
to  my  heart's  content,  the  Doctor  demonstrated 
to  me  the  advantages  of  reason.  Towards  the 
end  of  his  dissertation,  he  was  accustomed  to  look 
at  his  watch  and  remark  conclusively,  "  Keason 
is  the  highest  principle  ! "  Keason  !  Never  do 
I  hear  this  word  without  recalling  Dr.  Saul 
Ascher,  with  his  abstract  legs,  his  tight-fitting 
transcendental   grey  long    coat,  his  immovably 

^  This  passage,  which  forms  an  essential  introduction  to  what 
follows,  is  not  to  be  found  in  the  early  editions,  nor  in  the 
American  translation. 


THE  HARTZ  JOURNEY.  ,      103 

icy  face,  which  resembled  a  confused  amalgam 
of  geometrical  problems.  This  man,  deep  in  the 
fifties,  was  a  personified  straight  line.  In  his 
striving  for  the  positive,  the  poor  man  had 
philosophised  everything  beautiful  out  of  ex- 
istence, and  with  it  everything  like  sunshine, 
religion,  and  flowers,  so  that  there  remained 
nothing  for  him  but  a  cold  positive  grave.  The 
Apollo  Belvedere  and  Christianity  were  the  two 
especial  objects  of  his  maKce,  and  he  had  even 
published  a  pamphlet  against  the  latter,  in  which 
he  had  demonstrated  its  unreasonableness  and 
untenableness.  In  addition  to  this,  he  had,  how- 
ever, written  a  great  number  of  books,  in  all  of 
which  Reason  shone  forth  in  all  its  peculiar 
excellence,  and  as  the  poor  Doctor  meant  what 
he  said  in  all  seriousness,  they  were,  so  far, 
deserving  of  respect.  But  the  great  joke  con- 
sisted precisely  in  this,  that  the  Doctor  invariably 
cut  such  a  seriously  absurd  figure  in  not  com- 
prehending that  which  every  child  comprehends, 
simply  because  it  is  a  child.  I  visited  the 
Doctor  several  times  in  his  own  house,  where 
I  found  him  in  company  with  very  pretty  girls; 
for  Keason,  it  seems,  however  abstract,  does  not 
prohibit  the  enjoyment  of  the  things  of  this 
world.  Once,  however,  when  I  called,  his  servant 
told  me  that  the  "  Herr  Doctor "  had  just  died. 
I  experienced  as  much  emotion  on  this  occasion 


I04  PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 

as  if  I  had  been  told  that  the  "  Herr  Doctor " 
had  just  stepped  out.  1 

To  return  to  Goslar.  "The  highest  principle 
is  Eeason,"  said  I,  consolingly  to  myself  as  I 
slid  into  bed.  But  it  availed  me  nothing.  I 
had  just  been  reading  in  Varnhagen  von  Ense's 
"  German  Narrations,"  which  I  had  brought  with 
me  from  Clausthal,  that  terrible  tale  of  a  son, 
who  went  about  to  murder  his  father,  and  was 
warned  in  the  night  by  the  ghost  of  his  mother. 
The  wonderful  truthfulness  with  which  this 
story  is  depicted,  caused  while  reading  it  a 
shudder  of  horror  in  all  my  veins.  Ghost-stories 
invariably  thrill  us  with  additional  horror  when 
read  during  a  journey,  and  by  night  in  a  town,  in 
a  house,  and  in  a  chamber  where  we  have  never 
before  been.  We  involuntarily  reflect,  "How 
many  horrors  may  have  been  perpetrated  on  this 
very  spot  where  I  now  lie  ? "  Meanwhile,  the 
moon  shone  into  my  room  in  a  doubtful,  sus- 
picious manner ;  all  kinds  of  uncalled  for  shapes 
quivered  on  the  walls,  and  as  I  laid  me  down 
and  glanced  fearfully  around,  I  beheld —         | 

There  is  nothing  so  uncanny  as  when  a  man 
sees  his  own  face  by  moonlight  in  a  mirror. 
At  the  same  instant  there  struck  a  deep-booming, 
yawning  bell,  and  that  so  slowly  and  wearily, 
that  I  firmly  believed  that  it  had  been  full 
twelve  hours  striking,  and  that  it  was  now  time 


THE  HARTZ  JOURNEY.  105 

to  begin  over  again.  Between  the  last  and  next 
to  the  last  tones,  there  struck  in  very  abruptly, 
as  if  irritated  and  scolding,  another  bell,  who 
was  apparently  out  of  patience  with  the  slowness 
of  her  friend.  As  the  two  iron  tongues  were 
silenced,  and  the  stillness  of  death  sank  over  the 
whole  house,  I  suddenly  seemed  to  hear,  in  the 
corridor  before  my  chamber,  something  halting 
and  waddling  along,  like  the  unsteady  steps  of 
a  man.  At  last  the  door  slowly  opened,  and 
there  entered  deliberately  the  late  departed  Dr. 
Saul  Ascher.  A  cold  fever  drizzled  through 
marrow  and  vein — I  trembled  like  an  ivy  leaf, 
and  scarcely  dared  I  gaze  upon  the  ghost.  He 
appeared  as  usual,  with  the  same  transcendental- 
grey  long  coat,  the  same  abstract  legs,  and  the 
same  mathematical  face ;  only  this  latter  was 
a  little  yellower  than  usual,  and  the  mouth, 
which  formerly  described  two  angles  of  22^' 
degrees,  was  pinched  together,  and  the  circles 
around  the  eyes  had  a  somewhat  greater  radius. 
Tottering,  and  supporting  himself  as  usual  upon 
his  Malacca  cane,  he  approached  me,  and  said, 
in  his  usual  drawling  dialect,  but  in  a  friendly 
manner,  "  Do  not  be  afraid,  nor  believe  that 
I  am  a  ghost.  It  is  a  deception  of  your 
imagination,  if  you  believe  that  you  see  me 
as  a  ghost.  What  is  a  ghost?  Define  one. 
Deduce  for  me  the  conditions  of  the  possibility 


io6 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


of  a  ghost.  In  what  reasonable  connection  does 
such  an  apparition  coincide  with  reason  itself  ? 
Reason^  I  say,  reason  t**  Here  the  ghost  pro- 
ceeded to  analyse  reason,  cited  from  Kant's 
"Critic  of  Pure  Eeason,"  part  2,  1st  sect.,  chap. 
3,  the  distinction  between  phenomena  and  nou- 
mena,  then  proceeded  to  construct  a  hypothetical 
system  of  ghosts,  piled  one  syllogism  on  another, 
and  concluded  with  the  logical  proof  that  there 
are  absolutely  no  ghosts.  Meanwhile  the  cold 
sweat  beaded  over  me,  my  teeth  clattered  like 
castanets,  and  from  very  agony  of  soul  I  nodded 
an  unconditional  assent  to  every  assertion  which 
the  phantom  doctor  alleged  against  the  absurdity 
of  being  afraid  of  ghosts,  and  which  he  de- 
monstrated with  such  zeal,  that  finally,  in  a 
moment  of  abstraction,  instead  of  his  gold  watch, 
he  drew  a  handful  of  grave-worms  from  his  vest- 
pocket,  and  remarking  his  error,  replaced  them 
with   a   ridiculous    but    terrified    hasta       "The 

reason  is  the  highest !  "     Here  the  clock 

struck  one,  and  the  ghost  vanished. 

I  wandered  forth  from  Goslar  the  next  morn- 
ing, half  at  random,  and  half  intending  to  visit 
the  brother  of  the  Clausthaler  miner.  I  climbed 
hill  and  mount,  saw  how  the  sun  strove  to 
drive  afar  the  mists,  and  wandering  merrily 
through  the  trembling  woods,  while  around  my 
dreaming  head  rang  the  bell-flowers  of  Goslar. 


THB  HARTZ  yOURNBY.  107 

The  mountains  stood  in  their  white  night-robes, 
the  fir  trees  were  shaking  sleep  out  of  their 
branching  limbs,  the  fresh  morning  wind  curled 
their  down-drooping  green  locks,  the  birds  were 
at  morning  prayers,  the  meadow- vale  flashed  like 
a  golden  surface  sprinkled  with  diamonds,  and 
the  shepherd  passed  over  it  with  his  bleating 
flock.  I  had  gone  astray.  Men  are  ever  strik- 
ing out  short  cuts  and  bye-paths,  hoping  to 
abridge  their  journey.  It  is  in  life  as  in  the 
Hartz.  However,  there  are  good  souls  every- 
where to  bring  us  again  to  the  right  way.  This 
they  do  right  willingly,  appearing  to  take  a 
particular  satisfaction,  to  judge  from  their  self- 
gratified  air  and  benevolent  tones,  in  pointing 
out  to  us  the  great  wanderings  which  we 
have  made  from  the  right  road,  the  abysses  and 
morasses  into  which  we  might  have  sunk,  and, 
finally,  what  a  piece  of  good  luck  it  was  for  us 
to  encounter  betimes  people  who  knew  the  road 
as  well  as  themselves.  Such  a  guide-post  I 
found  not  far  from  the  Hartzburg,  in  the  person 
of  a  well-fed  citizen  of  Goslar — a  man  of  shin- 
ing, double-chinned,  slow-cunning  countenance, 
who  looked  as  if  he  had  discovered  the  murrain. 
We  went  along  for  some  distance  together,  and 
he  narrated  many  ghost-stories,  which  would 
have  all  been  well  enough  if  they  had  not  all 
concluded  with  an  explanation  that  there  was  no 


io8 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


real  ghost  in  the  case,  but  that  the  spectre  in 
white  was  a  poacher,  that  the  wailing  sound  was 
caused  by  the  new-born  farrow  of  a  wild  sow, 
and  that  the  rapping  and  scraping  on  the  roof 
was  caused  by  cats.  "  Only  when  a  man  is 
sick,"  observed  my  guide,  "  does  he  ever  believe 
that  he  sees  ghosts ; "  and  to  this  he  added  the 
remark,  that  as  for  his  own  humble  self,  he  was 
but  seldom  sick, — only  at  times  a  little  wrong 
about  the  head,  and  that  he  invariably  relieved 
this  by  dieting.  He  then  called  my  attention 
to  the  appropriateness  and  use  of  all  things  in 
nature.  Trees  are  green,  because  green  is  good  for 
the  eyes.  I  assented  to  this,  adding  that  the  Lord 
had  made  cattle  because  beef-soup  strengthened 
man;  that  jackasses  were  created  for  the  purpose 
of  serving  as  comparisons,  and  that  man  existed 
that  he  might  eat  beef-soup,  and  realise  that  he 
was  no  jackass.  My  companion  was  delighted  to 
meet  with  one  of  sympathetic  views  ;  his  face 
glowed  with  a  greater  joy,  and  on  parting  from 
me  he  appeared  to  be  sensibly  moved.  ! 

As  long  as  he  was  with  me,  Nature  seemed 
benumbed,  but  when  he  departed  the  trees  began 
again  to  speak,  the  sun-rays  flashed,  the  meadow- 
flowers  danced  once  more,  and  the  blue  heavens 
embraced  the  green  earth.  Yes,  I  know  better. 
God  hath  created  man  that  he  may  admire  the 
beauty  and  the  glory  of  the  world.    Every  author, 


THE  HARTZ  yOURNBY.  109 

be  he  ever  so  great,  desires  that  his  work  may 
be  praised.  And  in  the  Bible,  that  great  memoir 
of  God,  it  is  distinctly  written  that  he  hath 
made  man  for  his  own  honour  and  praise. 

After  long  wandering  here  and  there,  I  came 
to  the  dwelling  of  the  brother  of  my  Clausthaler 
friend.  Here  I  staid  all  night  and  experienced 
the  following  beautiful  poem  : — 

'-■  I.  '  '-^  ■  ■  ■  ' 
On  yon  rock  the  hut  is  standing 

Of  the  ancient  mountaineer ; 
There  the  dark-green  fir-trees  rustle, 

And  the  moon  is  shining  clear. 

In  the  hut  there  stands  an  arm-chair, 
Which  quaint  carvings  beautify ; 

He  who  sits  therein  is  happy, 
And  that  happy  man  am  L 

On  the  footstool  sits  a  maiden, 

On  my  lap  her  arms  repose. 
With  her  eyes  like  blue  stars  beaming. 

And  her  mouth  a  new-bom  rose. 

And  the  dear  blue  stars  shine  on  me, 

Full  as  heaven  is  their  gaze. 
And  her  little  Hly  finger 

Archly  on  the  rose  she  laya 

"Nay,  thy  mother  cannot  see  us. 
For  she  spins  the  whole  day  long; 

And  thy  father  plays  the  cithern 
As  he  sings  a  good  old  song." 


I 


no  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

And  the  maiden  softly  whispers, 
So  that  none  around  may  hear ; 

Many  a  solemn  little  secret 
Hath  she  murmured  in  my  ear : 

**  Since  I  lost  my  aunt  who  loved  me, 

Now  we  never  more  repair 
To  the  shooting-ground  at  Goslar, 

And  it  is  so  pleasant  there  1  i 

And  up  here  it  is  so  lonely, 

On  the  rocks  where  cold  winds  blow; 
And  in  winter  we  are  ever 

i 

Deeply  buried  in  the  snow.  j 

And  I'm  such  a  timid  creature, 
And  I'm  frightened  like  a  child 

At  the  evil  mountain  spirits, 
"Who  by  night  are  raging  wild." 

At  the  thought  the  maid  was  silent, 
As  if  terror  thrilled  her  breast, 

And  the  small  hands,  white  and  dimpled, 
To  her  sweet  blue  eyes  she  pressed. 

Loud  without  the  fir-trees  rustle. 
Loud  the  spinning-wheel  still  rings, 

And  the  cithern  sounds  above  them, 
While  the  father  softly  sings : 

*•  Dearest  child !  no  evil  spirits 

Should  have  power  to  cause  thee  dread ; 

For  good  angels  still  are  watching 
Night  and  day  around  thy  head." 


THE  HARTZ  JOURNEY.  m 

--■■■'    «, 

Fir-tree  with  his  dark-green  fingers 

Taps  upon  the  window  low, 
And  the  moon,  a  yellow  listener,  , 

Casts  within  her  sweetest  glow. 

Father,  mother,  both  are  sleeping, 
Near  at  hand  their  rest  they  take; 

But  we  two,  in  pleasant  gossip, 
Keep  each  other  long  awake. 

**  That  thou  prayest  much  too  of tei^ 

Seems  unlikely,  I  declare ; 
On  thy  lips  there's  a  contraction 

Which  was  never  bom  of  prayer. 

Ah!  that  heartless,  cold  expression  1 

Terrifies  me  as  I  gaze, 
Though  a  solemn  sorrow  darkens 

In  thine  eyes  their  gentle  rays. 

And  I  doubt  if  thou  belie  vest 
What  is  held  for  truth  by  most; 

Hast  thou  faith  in  God  the  Father 
In  the  Son  and  Holy  Ghost  1" 

"  Ah,  my  darling !  when  an  infant 

By  my  mother's  knee  I  stood, 
I  believed  in  God  the  Father, 

He  who  ruleth  great  and  good. 

He  who  made  the  world  so  lovely, 
Gave  man  beauty,  gave  him  force. 

And  to  sun  and  moon  and  planets 
Pre-appointed  each  their  course. 


TIS 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL, 


As  I  older  grew,  my  darling, 
And  my  way  in  wisdom  won, 

I  in  reason  comprehended, 
And  believe  now  in  the  Son. 

In  the  well-loved  Son,  who,  loving, 
Oped  the  gates  of  Love  so  wide ; 

And  for  thanks, — as  is  the  custom, — 
By  the  world  was  crucified. 

Now,  at  man's  estate  arriving, 

Full  experience  I  boast ; 
And  with  heart  expanded,  truly 

I  believe  in  the  Holy  Ghost, 

Who  hath  worked  the  greatest  wonders, 
Greater  still  he'll  work  again  ; 

He  hath  broken  tyrants'  strongholds, 
And  he  breaks  the  vassal's  chain. 

Ancient  deadly  wounds  he  healeth. 
He  renews  man's  ancient  right ; 

All  to  him,  bom  free  and  equal, 
Are  as  nobles  in  his  sight.   . 

Clouds  of  evil  flee  before  him, 
And  those  cobwebs  of  the  brain 

Which  forbade  us  love  and  pleasure, 
Scowling  grimly  on  our  pain. 

And  a  thousand  knights  well  weaponed 
Hath  he  chosen,  and  required 

To  fulfil  his  holy  bidding, 
All  with  noblest  zeal  inspired. 


THE  HARTZ  JOURNEY.  113 

Lo  1  their  precious  swords  are  gleaming, 
And  their  banners  wave  in  fight ! 

What  1  thou  fain  wouldst  see,  my  darling, 
Such  a  proud  and  noble  knight  % 

Well,  then,  gaze  upon  me,  dearest ; 

I  am  of  that  lordly  host. 
Kiss  me !     I  am  an  elected 

True  knight  of  the  Holy  Ghost ! " 

3- 

Silently  the  moon  goes  hiding 
Down  behind  the  dark-green  trees, 

And  the  lamp  which  lights  our  chamber 
Flickers  in  the  evening  breeze. 

But  the  star-blue  eyes  are  beaming 

Softly  o'er  the  dimpled  cheeks, 
And  the  purple  rose  is  gleaming, 

While  the  gentle  maiden  speaks. 

"  Little  people — fairy  goblins — 
Steal  away  our  meat  and  bread ;    . 

In  the  chest  it  lies  at  evening, 
In  the  morning  it  has  fled. 

From  our  milk  the  little  people 
Steal  the  cream  and  all  the  best; 

Then  they  leave  the  dish  uncovered, 
And  our  cat  drinks  up  the  rest 

And  the  cat's  a  witch,  I'm  certain. 
For  by  night,  when  storms  arise. 
Oft  she  glides  to  yonder  '  Ghost-Rock,* 
Where  the  fallen  tower  lies. 
TOL.  L  H 


114  PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 

There  was  once  a  splendid  castle, 
Home  of  joy  and  weapons  bright, 

Where  there  swept  in  stately  torch-danoe 
Lady,  page,  and  armed  knight 

Bat  a  sorceress  charmed  the  castle, 
With  its  lords  and  ladies  fair ; 

Now  it  is  a  lonely  ruin, 

And  the  owls  are  nestling  there. 

But  my  aunt  hath  often  told  me,  | 

Could  I  speak  the  proper  word, 

In  the  proper  place  up  yonder. 
When  the  proper  hour  occurred, 

Then  the  walls  would  change  by  magic 
To  a  castle  gleaming  bright, 

And  I'd  see  in  stately  dances 

Dame  and  page  and  gallant  knight 

He  who  speaks  the  word  of  power 

Wins  the  castle  for  his  own. 
And  the  knight  with  drum  and  trumpet 

Loud  will  hail  him  lord  alone."  i 

.j 
Thus  sweet  legendary  pictures  | 

From  the  little  rose-mouth  bloom,        | 
And  the  gentle  eyes  are  shedding  | 

Star-blue  lustre  through  the  gloom. 

Round  my  hand  the  little  maiden 

Winds  her  gold  locks  as  she  will,  , 

Gives  a  name  to  every  finger,  ] 

Kisses,  smiles,  and  then  is  stilL  ' 


THE  HARTZ  yOURNEY.  115 

All  things  in  the  silent  chamber 

Seem  at  once  familiar  grown, 
As  if  e'en  the  chairs  and  clothes-press 

Well  of  old  to  me  were  known. 

Now  the  clock  talks  kindly,  gravely, 
And  the  cithern,  as  'twould  seem, 

Of  itself  is  faintly  chiming, 
And  I  sit  as  in  a  dream. 

Now  the  proper  hour  is  o'er  ua^ 

Here's  the  place  where't  should  be  heard; 
Child !  how  thou  wouldst  be  astonished 

Should  I  speak  the  magic  word ! 

If  I  spoke  that  word,  then  fading 
Night  would  thrill  in  fearful  strife  ; 

Trees  and  streams  would  roar  together 
As  the  castle  woke  to  life. 

Binging  lutes  and  goblin  ditties 
From  the  clefted  rock  would  sound, 

lake  a  mad  and  merry  spring-tide 
Flowers  grow  forest-high  around. 

Flowers — startling,  wondrous  flowers, 

Leaves  of  vast  and  fabled  form. 
Strangely  perfumed,  wildly  quivering, 

As  if  thrilled  with  passion's  storm. 

Roses,  wild  as  crimson  flashes, 

O'er  the  busy  tumult  rise; 
Giant  lilies,  white  as  crystal, 

Shoot  like  columns  to  the  skies. 


lltf  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

Great  as  suns,  the  stars  above  us 
Gaze  adown  with  burning  glow ; 

In  the  lilies'  giant  calyx 

All  their  floods  of  flashes  flow. 

We  ourselves,  my  little  maiden, 
"Would  be  changed  more  than  all ; 

Torchlight  gleams  o'er  gold  and  satin 
Round  us  merrily  would  fall. 

Thou  thyself  wouldst  be  the  princess, 

And  this  hut  thy  castle  high ; 
Ladies,  lords,  and  graceful  pages 

Would  be  dancing,  singing  by. 

I,  however,  I  have  conquered 

Thee,  and  all  things,  with  the  word : — 

Serfs  and  castle : — lo  !  with  trumpet 
Loud  they  hail  me  as  their  lord  !  I 

The  sun  rose.  Clouds  flitted  away  like  phantoms 
at  the  third  crow  of  the  cock.  Again  I  wandered 
up  hill  and  down  dale,  while  overhead  swept  the 
fair  sun,  ever  lighting  up  new  scenes  of  beauty. 
The  Spirit  of  the  Mountain  evidently  favoured 
me,  well  knowing  that  a  "  poetical  character " 
has  it  in  his  power  to  say  many  a  fine  thing 
of  him,  and  on  this  morning  he  let  me  see  his 
Hartz  as  it  is  not,  most  assuredly,  seen  by  every 
one.  But  the  Hartz  also  saw  me  as  I  am  seen 
by  few,  and  there  were  as  costly  pearls  on  my 
eyelashes  as  on  the  grass  of  the  valley.  The 
morning-dew    of    love  wetted    my   cheeks ;  the 


THE  HARTZ  yOURNEY.  ttf 

rustling  pines  understood  me;  their  parting  twigs 
waved  up  and  down,  as  if,  like  mute  mortals, 
they  would  express  their  joy  with  gestures  of 
their  hands,  and  from  afar  I  heard  beautiful  and 
mysterious  chimes,  like  the  bell-tones  of  some 
long-lost  forest  church.  People  say  that  these 
sounds  are  caused  by  the  cattle-bells,  which  in 
the  Hartz  ring  with  remarkable  clearness  and 
purity. 

It  was  noon,  according  to  the  position  of  the 
sun,  as  I  chanced  upon  such  a  flock,  and  its 
herd,  a  friendly,  light-haired  young  fellow,  told 
me  that  the  great  hill  at  whose  base  I  stood  was 
the  old  world-renowned  Brocken.  For  many 
leagues  around  there  is  no  house,  and  I  was 
glad  enough  when  the  young  man  invited  me 
to  share  his  meal.  We  sat  down  to  a  cUjeuner 
dinatoire,  consisting  of  bread  and  cheese.  The 
sheep  snatched  up  our  crumbs,  while  pretty  shin- 
ing heifers  jumped  around,  ringing  their  bella 
roguishly,  and  laughing  at  us  with  great  merry 
eyes.  We  made  a  royal  meal,  my  host  appear- 
ing to  me  altogether  a  king;  and  as  he  is  the 
only  monarch  who  has  ever  given  me  bread,  I 
will  sing  him  right  royally. 

Every  shepherd  is  a  monarch. 

And  a  hillock  is  his  throne, 
While  the  sun  above  him  shining 

Is  his  heavy  golden  crown. 


llS  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

Sheep  before  his  feet  are  lying, 
Softest  flatterers,  crossed  with  red, 

And  the  calves  are  "  cavalieros," 

Bound  they  strut  with  haughty  head. 

Court-players  are  the  he-goats, 
And  the  wild  bird  and  the  cow, 

With  their  piping  and  their  herd-bell, 
Are  the  king's  musicians  now. 

Ah  !  they  ring  and  sing  so  sweetly, 
And  so  sweetly  chime  around  i 

Rustling  waterfall  and  fir-trees. 

While  the  monarch  slumbers  sound. 

As  he  sleeps,  his  trusty  sheep-dog 
As  prime  minister  must  reign ; 

How  his  snarling  and  his  barking 
Echo  over  hiU  and  plain. 

Dozing  still,  the  monarch  murmurs, 
"  Sure  such  work  was  never  seen 

As  this  reigning :  I  were  happier 
Snug  at  home  beside  my  queen  t 


There  my  royal  head,  when  weary, 
In  my  queen's  arms  softly  lies, 

And  my  endless  broad  dominion 
In  her  deep  and  gentle  eye&" 


We  took  leave  of  each  other  in  a  friendly 
manner,  and  with  a  light  heart  I  began  to  ascend 


THE  HARTZ  JOURNEY.  119 

the  mountain.  I  was  soon  welcomed  by  a  grove 
of  stately  firs,  for  whom  I  in  every  respect  enter- 
tain the  most  reverential  regard ;  for  these  trees 
in  particular  have  not  found  growing  to  be 
such  an  easy  business,  and  during  the  days  of 
their  youth  it  fared  hard  with  them.  The  moun- 
tain is  here  sprinkled  with  a  great  number  of 
blocks  of  granite,  and  most  of  the  trees  are 
obliged  either  to  twine  their  roots  over  the 
stones,  or  split  them  in  two,  that  they  may  thus, 
with  trouble,  get  at  a  little  earth  to  nourish 
them.  Here  and  there  stones  lie  on  each  other, 
forming,  as  it  were,  a  gate,  and  over  all  rise 
the  trees,  their  naked  roots  twining  down  over 
the  wild  portals,  and  first  reaching  the  ground 
at  its  base,  so  that  they  appear  to  be  growing  in 
the  air.  And  yet  they  have  forced  their  way 
up  to  that  startling  height,  and  grown  into  one 
with  the  rocks,  they  stand  more  securely  than 
their  easy  comrades,  who  are  rooted  in  the  tame 
forest  soil  of  the  level  country.  So  it  is  in  life 
with  those  great  men  who  have  strengthened  and 
established  themselves  by  resolutely  subduing  the 
obstacles  which  oppressed  their  youth.  Squirrels 
climbed  amid  the  fir-twigs,  while  beneath  yellow- 
brown  deer  were  quietly  grazing.  I  cannot  com- 
prehend, when  I  see  such  a  noble  animal,  how 
educated  and  refined  people  can  take  pleasure  in 
its  chase  or  death.     Such  a  creature  was  once 


Ka£»^w 


120  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

more  merciful  than  man,  and  suckled  the  longing 
"  Schmerzenreich  "  of  the  holy  Genofeva.^ 

Most  beautiful  were  the  golden  sun-rays  shoot- 
ing through  the  dark-green  of  the  fira  The  roots 
of  the  trees  formed  a  natural  stairway,  and  every- 
where my  feet  encountered  swelling  beds  of  moss, 
for  the  stones  are  here  covered  foot-deep,  as  if 
with  light-green  velvet  cushions.  Everywhere 
a  pleasant  freshness  and  the  dreamy  murmur  of 
8tre£ims.  Here  and  there  we  see  water  rippling 
silver-clear  amid  the  rocks,  washing  the  bare  roots 
and  fibres  of  trees.  Bend  down  to  the  current 
and  listen,  and  you  may  hear  at  the  same  time 
the  mysterious  history  of  the  growth  of  the  plants, 
and  the  quiet  pulsations  of  the  heart  of  the 
mountain.  In  many  places,  the  water  jets 
strongly  up  amid  rocks  and  roots,  forming  little 
cascades.^     It  is  pleasant  to  sit  in  such  places. 


^  According  to  the  legend  of  Genofeva  (chap.  t.  ),  when  the 
fair  saint  and  her  little  son,  Schmerzenreich  (abounding  in  sor- 
rows), were  starving  in  the  wilderness,  they  were  suckled  by  a 
doe.  This  most  exquisite  and  touching  tale  has  been  parodied 
with  inconceivable  vulgarity  in  the  Genevieve  dt  Brahant  of 
Offenbach. — Note  by  Trarulator. 

^  "  Higher  on  the  mountain  were  no  trees  whatever,  but  all 
overgrown  with  long  grass,  weeds,  and  roots,  all  marsh-like 
and  full  of  moss,  yet  just  over  leapt  out  a  beautiful,  clear  and 
healthy  spring,  and  here  grows  the  so-called  crab-root,  which 
is  like  a  crab  in  form  and  colour,  and  is  very  useful  and  costly. 
.  .  .  And  we  found  it  intolerably  cold." — F&filOBius,  Blocket- 
berge,  1669. 


■■r  r  ■ 


THE  HARTZ  JOURNEY.  ■        i2t 

All  murmurs  and  rustles  so  sweetly  and  strangely, 
the  birds  carol  broken  strains  of  love-longing,  the 
trees  whisper  like  a  thousand  girls,  odd  flowers 
peep  up  like  a  thousand  maidens'  eyes,  stretching 
out  to  us  their  curious,  broad,  droll-pointed  leaves ; 
the  sun-rays  flash  here  and  there  in  sport;  the 
Boft-souled  herbs  are  telling  their  green  legends ; 
all  seems  enchanted,  and  becomes  more  secret 
and  confidential ;  an  old,  old  dream  is  realised — 
the  loved  one  appears.  Alas  that  all  so  quickly 
vanishes ! 

The  higher  we  ascend,  so  much  the  shorter 
and  more   dwarf-like   do    the  fir-trees   become, 
shrinking  up,  as  it  were,  within  themselves,  until 
finally  only  whortle-berries,  bilberries,  and  moun- 
tain herbs  remain.     It  is  also  sensibly  colder. 
Here,  for  the   first  time,  the  granite   boulders 
which  are  frequently  of  enormous  size,  become 
|£ully  visible.      These  may  well  have  been  the 
play-balls  which  evil  spirits  cast  at  each  other 
on  the  Walpurgis  night,  when  the  witches  come 
riding  hither  on  brooms  and  pitchforks,  when  the 
^'mad,  unhallowed  revelry  begins,  as  our  believing 
nurses  have  told  us,  and  as  we  may  see  it  repre- 
sented in  the  beautiful  Faust  pictures  of  Master 
^etsch.     Yes,  a  young  poet,  who,  in  journeying 
[from  Berlin  to  Gottingen,  on  the  first  evening  in 
/  May,  passed  the  Brocken,  remarked  how  certain 
(1  belles-lettered  ladies  held  their  aesthetic  tea-circle 


isa  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

in  a  rocky  corner,  how  they  comfortably  read  the 
Evening  Journal,  how  they  praised  as  an  universal 
genius  their  pet  billy-goat,  who,  bleating,  hopped 
around  their  table,  and  how  they  passed  a  final 
judgment  on  all  the  manifestations  of  German 
literature.  But  when  they  at  last  fell  upon 
"  Ratcliff "  and  "  Almansor,"  utterly  denying  to 
the  author  aught  like  piety  or  Christianity,  the 
hair  of  the  youth  rose  on  end,  terror  seized  him 
— I  spurred  my  steed  and  rode  onwards  I 

In  fact,  when  we  ascend  the  upper  half  of  the 
Brocken,  no  one  can  well  help  thinking  of  the 
attractive  legends  of  the  Blocksberg,  and  espe- 
cially of  the  great  mystical  German  national 
tragedy  of  Doctor  Faust.  It  ever  seemed  to  me 
that  I  could  hear  the  cloven  foot  scrambling 
along  behind,  and  some  one  inhaling  an  atmos- 
phere of  humour.  And  I  verily  believe  that 
"  Mephisto  "  himself  must  breathe  with  diflficulty 
when  he  climbs  his  favourite  mountain,  for  it 
is  a  road  which  is  to  the  last  degree  exhausting, 
and  I  was  glad  enough  when  I  at  last  beheld 
the  long-desired  Brocken  house.  '  I 

This  house,  as  every  one  knows  from  nume- 
rous pictures,  consists  of  a  single  storey,  and  was 
erected  in  the  year  1800  by  Count  Stollberg 
Wemigerode,  for  whose  profit  it  is  managed  as  a 
tavern.  On  account  of  the  wind  and  cold  in 
winter  its  walls  are  incredibly  thick.     The  roof 


THE  HARTZ  JOURNEY.  123 

is  low.  From  its  midst  rises  a  tower-like  obser- 
vatory, and  near  the  house  lie  two  little  out- 
buildings, one  of  which  in  earlier  times  served  as 
shelter  to  the  Brocken  visitors. 

On  entering  the  Brocken  house,  I  experienced 
a  somewhat  unusual  and  legend-like  sensation. 
After  a  long  solitary  journey  amid  rocks  and 
pines,  the  traveller  suddenly  finds  himself  in  a 
house  amid  the  clouds.  Far  below  lie  cities, 
hills,  and  forests,  while  above  he  encounters  a 
curiously-blended  circle  of  strangers,  by  whom 
he  is  received,  as  is  usual  in  such  assembUes, 
almost  like  an  expected  companion — half  inquisi- 
tively and  half  indifferently.  I  found  the  house 
full  of  guests,  and,  as  becomes  a  wise  man,  I 
first  reflected  on  the  night,  and  the  discomfort  of 
sleeping  on  straw.  My  part  was  at  once  deter- 
mined on.  With  the  voice  of  one  dying  I  called 
for  tea,  and  the  Brocken  landlord  was  reasonable 
enough  to  perceive  that  the  sick  gentleman  must 
be  provided  with  a  decent  bed.  This  he  gave 
me  in  a  narrow  room,  where  a  young  merchant 
— a  long  emetic  in  a  brown  overcoat — had  already 
established  himself. 

In  the  public  room  I  found  a  full  tide  of 
bustle  and  animation.  There  were  students  from 
different  universities.  Some  of  the  newly-arrived 
were  taking  refreshments.  Others,  preparing  for 
departure,   buckled  on   their    knapsacks,   wrote 


124  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

their  names  in  the  album,  and  received  Brocken 
bouquets  from  the  housemaids.  There  was  jesting, 
singing,  springing,  trilling,  some  questioning,  some 
answering,  fine  weather,  footpath,  ^wost^/ — luck  be 
with  you  !  Adieu  !  Some  of  those  leaving  were 
also  partly  drunk,  and  these  derived  a  twofold 
pleasure  from  the  beautiful  scenery,  for  a  tipsy 
man  sees  double. 

After  recruiting  myself  I  ascended  the  observa- 
tory, and  there  found  a  little  gentleman  with 
two  ladies,  one  of  whom  was  young  and  the 
other  elderly.  The  young  lady  was  very  beauti- 
ful— a  superb  figure,  flowing  locks,  surmounted 
by  a  helm-like  black  satin  chajpeau,  amid  whose 
white  plumes  the  wind  played;  fine  limbs,  so 
closely  enwrapped  by  a  black  silk  mantle  that 
their  exquisite  form  was  made  manifest,  and 
great  free  eyes,  calmly  looking  down  into  the 
great  free  world. 

"When  as  yet  a  boy,  I  thought  of  naught  save 
tales  of  magic  and  wonder,  and  every  fair  lady 
who  had  ostrich  feathers  on  her  head  I  regarded 
as  an  elfin  queen.  If  I  observed  that  the  train 
of  her  dress  was  wet,  I  believed  at  once  that  she 
must  be  a  water-fairy.^     Now  I   know  better, 

^  It  is  an  accepted  tradition  in  fairy  mythology  that  Undines, 
Water-Nixies,  and  other  aqueous  spirits,  however  they  may 
disguise  themselves,  can  always  be  detected  by  the  fact  that  a 
portion  of  their  dress  invariably  appears  to  be  wet.  — Note  by 
Trandator. 


THE  HARTZ  JOURNEY.  tay 

having  learned  from  natural  history  that  those 
symbolical  feathers  are  found  on  the  most  stupid 
of  birds,  and  that  the  skirt  of  a  lady's  dress  may 
be  wetted  in  a  very  natural  way.  But  if  I  had, 
with  those  boyish  eyes,  seen  the  aforesaid  young 
lady  in  the  aforesaid  position  on  the  Brocken,  I 
would  most  assuredly  have  thought  "  that  is  the 
fairy  of  the  mountain,  and  she  has  just  uttered 
the  charm  which  has  caused  all  down  there  to 
appear  so  wonderful."  Yes,  at  the  first  glance 
from  the  Brocken  everything  appears  in  a  high 
degree  marvellous.  New  impressions  throng  in 
on  every  side,  and  these,  varied  and  often  contra- 
dictory, unite  in  our  soul  to  an  overpowering  and 
confusing  sensation.  If  we  succeed  in  grasping 
the  idea  of  this  sensation,  we  shall  comprehend 
the  character  of  the  mountain.  This  character 
is  entirely  German  as  regards  not  only  its  advan- 
tages but  also  its  defects.  The  Brocken  is  a 
German.  With  German  thoroughness  he  points 
out  to  us — sharply  and  accurately  defined  as  in 
a  panorama — the  hundreds  of  cities,  towns,  and 
villages,  which  are  principally  situated  to  the 
north,  and  all  the  mountains,  forests,  rivers,  and 
plains  which  lie  infinitely  far  around.^     But  for 

^  The  remarks  of  Prsetorius  on  the  same  view  are  as  follows  : — 
"  Now  when  the  sun  had  devoured  the  mists  and  driven  away 
the  clouds,  we  could  behold  afar  all  places  until  our  sight  failed. 
For  it  seemed  not  otherwise  than  as  if  we  from  heaven  looked 


ia6 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


this  very  cause  everything  appears  like  an  accu- 
rately designed  and  perfectly  coloured  map,  and 
nowhere  is  the  eye  gratified  by  really  beautiful 
landscapes — just  as  we  German  compilers,  owing 
to  the  honourable  exactness  with  which  we  at- 
tempt to  give  all  and  everything,  never  appear 
to  think  of  giving  integral  parts  in  a  beautiful 
manner.  The  mountain  in  consequence  has  a 
certain  calm,  German,  intelligent,  tolerant  char- 
acter, simply  because  he  can  see  things  so  distant 
yet  so  distinctly.  And  when  such  a  mountain 
opens  his  giant  eyes,  it  may  be  that  he  sees 
somewhat  more  than  we  dwarfs,  who  with  our 
weak  eyes  climb  over  him.  Many  indeed  assert 
that  the  Blocksberg  is  very  Philistine-like,  and 
Claudius  once  sang  "  The  Blocksberg  is  the  lengthy 
Sir  Philistine."  But  that  was  an  error.  On 
account  of  his  bald  head,  which  he  occasionally 
covers  with  a  cloud-cap,  the  Blocksberg  has  indeed 
something  of  a  Philistine-like  aspect,^  but  this 


down  on  and  beheld  all  the  world  ...  bo  that  our  sight  could 
hardly  comprehend  the  yaat  extent.  And  it  is  not  only  that 
from  so  high  a  mountain  we  can  with  satisfaction  behold  the 
great  and  wondrous  works  of  God,  since  as  in  the  same  instant 
one  can  see  so  many  lands,  principalities,  and  provinces  of  the 
Holy  Empire  and  Germany,  but  there  is  also  the  effect  of  the  air 
and  the  streaming  of  the  clouds." — Blockesberge,  1669. 

^  PhaUtroMe,  "  Philistine-like,"  ».«.,  "old  fogyish,  vnlgar, 
non  -  student  -  like,  citizenish,  snobbish  ; "  hourgeoit,  "  slow." 
The  term  is  generally  applied  by  wild  students  to  those  "  out- 
siders "  who  lead  a  settled-down  life  in  the  world.     "  A  Philis- 


THE  HARTZ  JOVRNBY.  127 

with  him,  as  with  many  other  great  Germans,  is 
the  result  of  pure  irony ;  for  it  is  notorious  that 
he  has  his  wild  student  and  fantastic  times,  as 
for  instance  on  the  first  night  of  May.  Then  he 
casts  his  cloud-cap  uproariously  and  merrily  on 
high,  and  becomes,  like  the  rest  of  us,  real  German 
romantic  mad. 

I  soon  sought  to  entrap  the  beauty  into  a  con- 
versation, for  we  only  begin  to  fully  enjoy  the 
beauties  of  nature  when  we  talk  about  them  on 
the  spot.  She  was  not  spirituelle,  but  attentively 
intelligent.  Both  were  perfect  models  of  gen-^ 
tility.  I  do  not  mean  that  commonplace,  sti£f, 
negative  respectability,  which  knows  exactly  what 
must  not  be  done  or  said,  but  that  rarer,  inde- 
pendent, positive  gentility,  which  inspires  an 
accurate  knowledge  of  what  we  may  venture  on, 
and  which  amid  all  our  ease  and  abandon  inspires 
the  utmost  social  confidence.  I  developed,  to 
my  own  amazement,  much  geographical  know- 
ledge, detailed  to  the  curious  beauty  the  names 
of  all  the  towns  which  lay  before  us,  and  sought 

tine,"  says  Amdt,  "  ia  a  lazy,  muoh-speaking,  more-asking, 
nothing-daring  man  ;  Buch  a  one  who  makes  the  small  great 
and  the  great  small,  becanse  in  the  great  he  feels  his  littleness 
and  insignificance.  Great  passions,  great  enjoyments,  great 
dangers,  great  virtues — all  these  the  Philistine  styles  nonsense 
and  frenzy."  The  base  of  Philistinism  is  the  forming  all  our 
ideas  according  to  those  of  other  people  of  the  average  type.— 
Note  by  Trandator. 


128 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


them  out  for  her  on  the  map,  which  with  all  the 
solemnity  of  a  teacher  I  had  spread  out  on  the 
stone  table  which  stands  in  the  centre  of  the 
tower.  I  could  not  find  many  of  the  towns, 
possibly  because  I  sought  them  more  with  my 
fingers  than  with  my  eyes,  which  latter  were 
scanning  the  face  of  the  fair  lady,  and  discover- 
ing in  it  fairer  regions  than  those  of  "  Schierke  " 
and  "  Elend."  *  This  countenance  was  one  of 
those  which  never  excite,  and  seldom  enrap- 
ture, but  which  always  please.  I  love  such  faces, 
for  they  smile  my  evilly  agitated  heart  to  rest. 

The  lady  was  as  yet  unmarried,  although  in 
the  full  bloom  so  perfectly  adapted  to  the  wedded 
state.  But  it  is  a  matter  of  daily  occurrence  that 
the  most  beautiful  girls  seem  to  be  slowest  in  find- 
ing husbands.  This  was  the  case  of  yore — it  is 
well  known  that  the  three  Graces  remained  maids. 

I  could  not  divine  the  relation  in  which  the 
little  gentleman  stood  to  the  ladies  whom  he 
accompanied.  He  was  a  spare  and  remarkable 
figure.  A  head  sprinkled  with  grey  hair,  which 
fell  over  his  low  forehead  down  to  his  dragon-fly 
eyes,  and  a  round,  broad  nose,  which  projected 
boldly  forwards,  while  his  mouth  and  chin  seemed 
retreating  in  terror  back  to  his  ears.  His  face 
looked  as  if  formed  of  the  soft  yellowish  clay 

^  Schierke  {Schtirke),  "  rascal,"  and  Elend,  or  "  misery,"  are 
the  names  of  two  places  near  the  Brocken.  ] 


THE  HARTZ  yoURNBY.  129 

with  which  sculptors  mould  their  first  models, 
and  when  the  thin  lips  pinched  together,  thou- 
sands of  semicircular  and  faint  wrinkles  appeared 
on  his  cheeks.  The  little  man  never  spoke  a 
word,  only  at  times  when  the  elder  lady  whis- 
pered something  friendly  in  his  ear,  he  smiled 
like  a  lapdog  which  has  taken  cold. 

The  elder  lady  was  the  mother  of  the  younger, 
and  she  too  was  gifted  with  an  air  of  extreme 
respectability  and  refinement.  Her  eyes  betrayed 
a  sickly,  dreamy  depth  of  thought,  and  about  her 
mouth  there  was  an  expression  of  confirmed  piety, 
yet  withal  it  seemed  to  me  that  she  had  once 
been  very  beautiful,  and  often  smiled,  and  taken 
and  given  many  a  kiss.  Her  countenance  re- 
sembled a  codex  pcdimpsestVjS,  in  which,  from 
beneath  the  recent  black  monkish  writing  of 
some  text  of  a  Church  father,  there  peeped  out 
the  half-obliterated  verse  of  an  old  Greek  love- 
poet.  Both  ladies  had  been  that  year  with  their 
companion  in  Italy,  and  told  me  many  things  of 
the  beauties  of  Eome,  Florence,  and  Venice.  The 
mother  had  much  to  say  of  the  pictures  of  Eaphael 
in  St.  Peter's,  the  daughter  spoke  more  of  the 
opera  in  La  Fenice. 

Both  were  enraptured  with  the  art  of  the  im- 
provisatores.  Nuremberg  was  the  native  t^wn 
of  these  ladies,  but  they  had  little  to  say,  or 
knew  little,  of  its  ancient  glory.     The  charming 

VOL.  L  ■-.'^■;:"t:  ■■■■■■-' 


I3» 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


skill  of  the  "  master-song,"  ^  of  which  the  good 
Wagenseil  has  kept  the  last  chords,is  extinguished, 
and  the  dames  of  Nuremberg  are  enraptured  by 
Italian'  extemporised  nonsense  and  capon-sing- 
ing. Oh,  Saint  Sebaldus,  truly  thou  art  a  poor 
patron ! 

While  we  conversed,  the  sun  sank  lower  and 
lower,  the  air  grew  colder,  twilight  stole  over  us, 
and  the  tower  platform  was  filled  with  students, 
travelling  mechanics,  and  a  few  honest  citizens 
with  their  spouses  and  daughters,  all  of  whom 
were  desirous  of  witnessing  the  sunset.  That  is 
truly  a  sublime  spectacle,  which  elevates  the  soul 
to  prayer.  For  a  full  quarter  of  an  hour  all 
stood  in  solemn  silence,  gazing  on  the  beautiful 
fire-ball  as  it  sank  in  the  west ;  faces  were  rosy 
in  the  evening  red ;  hands  were  involuntarily 
folded ;  it  seemed  as  if  we,  a  silent  congregation, 
stood  in  the  nave  of  a  giant  church,  that  the 
priest  raised  the  body  of  the  Lord,  and  that 
Palestrina's  everlasting  choral  song  poured  forth 
from  the  organ.  I 

As  I  stood  thus  lost  in  piety,  I  heard  some 
one  near  me  exclaim,  "  Ah  !  how  beautiful  Nature 


'  Meistergeaangs. 

■  Wdich.  A  rather  contemptuous  word  for  Italians  or  any 
of  Latin  blood  ;  hence  the  English  slang  Welsker.  The  English 
have  no  corresponding  term  for  Italians,  but  the  Americans  call 
them  "  Dogos." — Note  by  Trandator, 


THE  HARTZ  JOURNEY.  •!« 

is,  as  a  general  thing  ! "  These  words  came  from 
the  full  heart  of  my  room-mate,  the  young  shop- 
man. This  brought  me  back  to  my  week-day 
state  of  mind,  and  I  found  myself  in  tune  to  say 
a  few  neat  things  to  the  ladies  about  the  sunset, 
and  to  accompany  them,  as  calmly  as  if  nothing 
had  happened,  to  their  room.  They  permitted 
me  to  talk  an  hour  longer  with  them.  Our 
conversation,  like  the  earth's  course,  was  about 
the  sun.  The  mother  declared  that  the  sun,  as 
it  sunk  in  the  snowy  clouds,  seemed  like  a  red 
glowing  rose,  which  the  gallant  heaven  had  thrown 
upon  the  white  and  spreading  bridal- veil  of  his 
loved  earth.  The  daughter  smiled,  and  thought 
that  a  frequent  observation  of  such  phenomena 
weakened  their  impression.  The  mother  corrected 
this  error  by  a  quotation  from  Goethe's  "  Letters 
of  Travel,"  and  asked  me  if  I  had  read  "  Werther." 
I  believe  that  we  also  spoke  of  Angora  cats, 
Etruscan  vases,  Turkish  shawls,  maccaroni,  and 
Lord  Byron,  from  whose  poems  the  elder  lady, 
while  daintily  lisping  and  sighing,  recited  several 
sunset  quotations.  To  the  younger  lady,  who 
did  not  understand  English,  and  who  wished  to 
become  familiar  with  those  poems,  I  recommended 
the  translation  of  my  fair  and  gifted  country- 
woman, the  Baroness  Elise  von  Hohenhausen. 
On  this  occasion,  as  is  my  custom  when  talking 
with  young  ladies,  I  did  not  neglect  to  speak  of 


Ijt  PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 

Byron's  impiety,  heartlessness,  cheerlessness,  and 
heaven  knows  what  beside,  I 

After  this  business  I  took  a  walk  on  the 
Brocken,  for  there  it  is  never  quite  dark.  The 
mist  was  not  heavy,  and  I  could  see  the  outlines 
of  the  two  hills  known  as  the  Witch's  Altar  and 
the  Devil's  Pulpit.  I  fired  my  pistol,  but  there 
was  no  echo.^  But  suddenly  I  heard  familiar 
voices,  and  found  myself  embraced  and  kissed. 
The  new-comers  were  fellow-students  from  my 
own  part  of  Germany,  and  had  left  GSttingen 
four  days  later  than  I.  Great  was  their  astonish- 
ment at  finding  me  alone  on  the  Blocksberg. 
Then  came  a  flood-tide  of  narrative,  of  astonish- 
ment, and  of  appointment-making,  of  laughing, 
and  of  recollection,  and  in  the  spirit  we  found 
ourselves  again  in  our  learned  Siberia,  where  re- 
finement is  carried  to  such  an  extent  that  bears 
are  "  bound  by  many  ties  "  in  the  taverns,  and 
sables  wish  the  hunter  good  evening.*  I 

^  "When  a  fire-arm  u  discharged  on  the  sammit  of  the 
Brocken,  it  gives  but  little  sound  and  no  echo." — P&£T0BIU8, 
Bloekesberge,  1669. 

*  According  to  that  dignified  and  emdite  work,  the  BurtelU- 
kotes  Wiirtei-buch,  or  Student-Slang  Dictionary,  "  to  bind  a 
bear  "  signifies  to  contract  a  debt.  The  term  is  most  frequently 
applied  to  tavern  scores.  In  "The  Landlord's  Twelve  Com- 
mandments," a  sheet  frequently  pasted  up  in  German  beer- 
houses, I  have  observed,  "Thou  shalt  not  bind  any  bears  in 
this  my  house."  The  definitions  of  a  sable  (Zobd),  as  given  in 
th«  Dictionary  above  cited,  are^i.  A  finely  furred  animal;  a. 


THE  HARTZ  JOURNEY,  ijj 

In  the  great  room  we  had  supper.  There  was 
a  long  table,  with  two  rows  of  hungry  students. 
At  first  we  had  only  the  usual  subject  of  uni- 
versity conversation — duels,  duels,  and  once  again 
duels.  The  company  consisted  principally  of 
Halle  students,  and  Halle  formed  in  consequence 
the  nucleus  of  their  discourse.  The  window- 
panes  of  Court-Counsellor  Schutz  were  exegeti- 
cally  lighted  up.  Then  it  was  mentioned  that 
the  King  of  Cyprus's  last  levee  had  been  very 
brilliant ;  that  the  monarch  had  appointed  a  natu- 
ral son  ;  that  he  had  married — over  the  left — a 
princess  of  the  house  of  Lichtenstein ;  that  the 
State-mistress  had  been  forced  to  resign,  and  that 
the  entire  ministry,  greatly  moved,  had  wept  ac- 
cording to  rule.  I  need  hardly  explain  that  this 
all  referred  to  certain  beer  dignitaries  in  Halle. 
Then  the  two  Chinese,  who  two  years  before  had 
been  exhibited  in  Berlin,  and  who  were  now  ap- 
pointed professors  of  Chinese  aesthetics  in  Halle, 
yrere  discussed.  Then  jokes  were  made.  Some 
one  supposed  a  case  in  which  a  live  German 
might  be  exhibited  for  money  in  China.    Placards 


A  young  lady  anxious  to  please ;  3.  A  "broom"  (*.«.,  house- 
maid, or  female  in  general) ;  4.  A  lady  of  pleasure ;  5.  A 
wench ;  6.  A  njrmph  of  the  pave ;  7.  A  "  buckle,"  &a,  ko. 
The  table  hunt  is  synonymous  with  the  Betenjagd,  or  "  broom 
chase."  I  have,  however,  heard  it  asserted  in  Heidelberg  that 
the  term  tablt  wm  strictly  applicable  only  to  ladies'  nuuda. 


»34 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


would  be  pasted  up,  in  which  the  Mandarins 
TscMng-Tschang-Tschung  and  Hi-Ha-Ho  certified 
that  the  man  was  a  genuine  Teuton,  including 
a  list  of  his  accomplishments,  which  consisted 
principally  of  philosophising,  smoking,  and  end- 
less patience.  As  a  finale,  visitors  might  be 
prohibited  from  bringing  any  dogs  with  them  at 
twelve  o'clock  (the  hour  for  feeding  the  captive), 
as  these  animals  would  be  sure  to  snap  from  the 
poor  German  all  his  tit-bits. 

A  young  Burschenschafter,  who  had  recently 
passed  his  period  of  purification  in  Berlin,  spoke 
much,  but  very  partially,  of  this  city.  He  had 
been  constant  in  his  attendance  on  Wisotzki  and 
the  theatre,  but  judged  falsely  of  both.  "  For 
youth  is  ever  ready  with  a  word,"  &c.  He  spoke 
of  wardrobe  expenditures,  theatrical  scandal,  and 
similar  matters.  The  youth  knew  not  that  in 
Berlin,  where  outside  show  exerts  the  greatest 
influence  (as  is  abundantly  evidenced  by  the 
commonness  of  the  phrase  "  so  people  do  "),  this 
apparent  life  must  first  of  all  flourish  on  the  stage, 
and  consequently  that  the  especial  care  of  the 
direction  must  be  for  "  the  colour  of  the  beard 
with  which  a  part  is  played,"  and  for  the  truth- 
fulness of  the  dresses,  which  are  designed  by 
sworn  historians,  and  sewed  by  scientifically  in- 
structed tailors.  And  this  is  indispensable.  For  if 
Maria  Stuart  wore  an  apron  belonging  to  the  time 


THE  HARTZ  3^0URNEY.    ^^^^^^^^^         j^ 

of  Queen  Anne,  the  banker,  Christian  Gumpel, 
would  with  justice  complain  that  the  anachron- 
ism destroyed  the  illusion ;  and  if  Lord  Burleigh 
in  a  moment  of  forgetfulness  should  don  the  hose 
of  Henry  the  Fourth,  then  Madam  the  War-Coun- 
sellor Von  Steinzopf's  wife,  nde  Lilienthau,  would 
not  get  the  error  out  of  her  head  for  the  whole 
evening.  And  this  delusive  care  on  the  part  of 
the  general  direction  extends  itself  not  only  to 
aprons  and  pantaloons,  but  also  to  the  within 
enclosed  persons.  So  in  future  Othello  will 
be  played  by  a  real  negro,  for  whom  Professor 
Lichtenstein  has  already  written  to  Africa;  in 
"  Misanthropy  and  Eemorse,"  the  part  of  Eulalia 
is  to  be  sustained  by  a  lady  who  has  really  wan- 
dered from  the  paths  of  virtue ;  Peter  will  be 
played  by  a  real  blockhead,  and  the  Stranger  by 
a  genuine  mysterious  wittol — for  which  last  three 
characters  it  will  not  be  necessary  to  send  to 
Africa.  In  "  The  Power  of  Circumstances  "  there 
is  to  be  a  real  author,  who  has  had  his  face 
slapped,  to  play  the  part  of  the  hero.  In  "  The 
Ancestress  "  the  artist  who  "  gives  "  Jaromir  must 
have  robbed  in  earnest,  or  at  least  stolen  some- 
thing ;  and  Lady  Macbeth  be  sustained  by  a  lady 
who  is,  as  Tieck  required,  naturally  very  charm- 
ing, and  yet  to  a  certain  degree  familiar  with 
the  sanguinary  sight  of  murderous  stabbing ;  and 
finally,  to  set  forth  in  full  force  a  shallow-brained, 


136  PICTURES  OF  TRAVBL. 

senseless,  vulgar  fellow,  the  great  Warm  should 
be  engaged — he  who  enchants  his  like  when  he 
rises  in  his  real  greatness,  high,  high,  "  every 
inch  a  blackguard."  But  little  as  this  young 
man  had  comprehended  the  relations  of  the  Berlin 
drama,  still  less  was  he  aware  that  the  Spontini 
Janissary  opera,  with  its  kettle-drums,  elephants, 
trumpets,  and  gongs,  is  a  heroic  means  of  inspir- 
ing with  valour  our  sleeping  race — a  means  once 
shrewdly  recommended  by  Plato  and  Cicero. 
Least  of  all  did  the  youth  comprehend  the  diplo- 
matic inner  meaning  of  the  ballet.  It  was  with 
great  trouble  that  I  finally  made  him  understand 
that  there  was  really  more  political  science  in 
Hoguet's  feet  than  in  Buckholtz's  head,  that  all 
his  tours  de  danse  signified  diplomatic  negotia- 
tions, and  that  his  every  movement  hinted  at 
state  matters ;  as,  for  instance,  when  he  bent  for- 
ward anxiously,  widely  grasping  out  with  his 
hands,  he  meant  our  Cabinet;  that  a  hundred 
pirouettes  on  one  toe  without  quitting  the  spot 
alluded  to  the  alliance  of  deputies ;  that  he  was 
thinking  of  the  lesser  princes  when  he  tripped 
around  with  his  legs  tied ;  that  he  described  the 
European  balance  of  power  when  he  tottered 
hither  and  thither  like  a  drunken  man ;  that  he 
hinted  at  a  Congress  when  he  twisted  his  bended 
arms  together  like  a  skein ;  and  finally,  that  he 
sets  forUi  our  altogether  too  great  friend  in  the 


^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^i^v'v.'.  "^"^^H^^^^^^^^^^^^^^H 

^^^^v              ■-'^'^'^^is&l^/^^^^^^^^^^^ 

I^H 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^Pdf     r^)^-              !f"*MllMflKdiflBk^HHi^^^^^^^^^^H^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^B 

^^^^H%  "^  -  '^i^SiSP^^sR^^^B^^^^^^^^^^ 

^^^^'/.y'    /yA^^i^^^^H 

^11^^ 

^^il^^^p  ^  ^  ^^^H 

HHhHHHHII^^ 

I 


•:S- ; 


\-.r 


^i 


*^^» 


THE  HARTZ  yOURNBY.    •  i|r 

East,  when,  very  gradually  unfolding  himself,  he 
rises  on  high,  stands  for  a  long  time  in  this  ele- 
vated position,  and  then  all  at  once  breaks  out 
into  the  most  terrifying  leaps.     The  scales  fell 
from  the  eyes  of  the  young  man,  and  he  now 
saw  how  it  was  that  dancers  are  better  paid  than 
great  poets,  and  why  the  ballet  forms  in  diplo- 
matic circles  an  inexhaustible  subject  of  conver-  v 
sation.     By  Apis!  how  great  is  the  number  of 
the  exoteric,  and  how  small  the   array  of    the 
esoteric  frequenters  of  the  theatre!     There  sit. 
the  stupid  audience,  gaping  and  admiring  leaps    . 
and  attitudes,  studying  anatomy  in  the  positions 
of   Lemiere,   and   applauding    the    entrechats   of 
Efihnisch,  prattling  of  "  grace,"  "  harmony,"  and 
"limbs" — no  one  remarking  meanwhile  that  he  " 
has  before  him  in  choregraphic  ciphers  the  des- 
tiny of  the  German  Fatherland. 

While  such  observations  flitted  hither  and 
thither,  we  did  not  lose  sight  of  the  practical, 
and  the  great  dishes  which  were  honourably  piled 
up  with  meat,  potatoes,  et  cetera,  were  industriously 
disposed  of.  The  food,  however,  was  of  an  in- 
different quality.  This  I  carelessly  mentioned 
to  my  next  neighbour  at  table,  who,  however, 
with  an  accent  in  which  I  recognised  the  Swiss, 
very  impolitely  replied  that  Germans  knew  as  ^ 

little  of  true  content  as  of  true  liberty.    I  shrugged 
my  shoulders,  remarking  that  all  the  world  over  . 


138 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


the  humblest  vassals  of  princes,  as  well  as  pastry- 
cooks and  confectioners,  were  Swiss,  and  known 
as  a  class  by  that  name.  I  also  took  the  liberty 
of  stating  that  the  Swiss  heroes  of  liberty  of  the 
present  day,  who  chatter  so  much  that  is  politi- 
cally daring  to  the  public,  reminded  me  of  those 
tame  hares  which  we  see  on  market-days  in 
public  places,  where  they  fire  ofif  pistols  to  the 
great  amazement  of  peasants  and  children,  yet 
remain  hares  as  before. 

The  son  of  the  Alps  had  really  meant  nothing 
wicked ;  "  he  was,"  as  Cervantes  says,  "  a  plump 
man,  and  consequently  a  good  man."  But  my 
neighbour  on  the  other  side,  a  Greifswalder,  was 
deeply  touched  by  the  assertion  of  the  Swiss. 
Energetically  did  he  assert  that  German  ability 
and  simplicity  were  not  as  yet  extinguished, 
struck  in  a  threatening  manner  on  his  breast, 
and  gulped  down  a  tremendous  flagon  of  white 
beer.  The  Swiss  said,  "Nu!  nu!"  But  the 
more  appeasingly  and  apologetically  he  said  this, 
80  much  the  faster  did  the  Greifswalder  get  on 
^  with  his  riot  He  was  a  man  of  those  days 
when  haircutters  came  near  dying  of  starvation. 
He  wore  long  locks,  a  knightly  cap,  a  black  old 
German  coat,  a  dirty  shirt,  which  at  the  same 
time  did  duty  as  a  waistcoat,  and  beneath  it  a 
medallion,  with  a  tassel  of  the  hair  of  Bliicher's 
grey  horse.     His  appearance  was  that  of  a  fall- 


THE  HARTZ  yoURNEY.  ^^  139 

grown  fooL  I  am  always  ready  for  something 
lively  at  supper,  and  consequently  held  with  him 
a  patriotic  strife.  He  was  of  the  opinion  that 
Germany  should  be  divided  into  thirty-three  dis- 
tricts. I  asserted,  on  the  contrary,  that  there 
should  be  forty-eight,  because  it  would  then  be 
possible  to  write  a  more  systematic  guide-book 
for  Germany,  and  because  it  is  essential  that  life 
should  be  blended  with  science.  My  Greifswald 
friend  was  also  a  German  bard,  and,  as  he  in- 
formed me  in  confidence,  was  occupied  with  a 
national  heroic  poem  in  honour  of  Hermann  and 
the  Hermann  battle.  Many  an  advantageous  hint 
did  I  give  him  on  this  subject.  I  suggested  to 
him  that  the  morasses  and  crooked  paths  of  the 
Teutobergian  forest  might  be  very  onomatopoi- 
cally  indicated  by  means  of  watery  and  ragged 
verse,  and  that  it  would  be  a  patriotic  refine- 
ment should  the  Romans  in  his  poem  chatter 
the  wildest  nonsense.  I  hope  that  this  bit  of 
art  will  succeed  in  his  works,  as  in  those  of 
other  Berlin  poets,  even  to  the  minutest  par- 
ticular. 

The  company  around  the  table  gradually  be- 
came better  acquainted  and  much  noisier.  Wine 
banished  beer,  punch-bowls  steamed,  and  drink- 
ing, schmolliren,^  and  singing  were  the  order  of  the 

^  Contracted  from  the  Latin  tibi  moLire  amieum.   SehmoUiren 
■ignifies  to  gain  a  friend,  to  drink  brotherhood  with  him,  to 


140  PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL, 

night  The  old  "  Landsfather  "  and  the  beantifol 
gongs  of  W.  MuUer,  Eiickert,  Uhland,  and  others 
rang  around,  with  the  exquisite  airs  of  MethfesseL 
Best  of  all  sounded  our  own  Arndt's  German 
words,  "  The  Lord,  who  bade  iron  grow,  wished 
for  no  slaves."  And  out  of  doors  it  roared  as  if 
the  old  mountain  sang  with  us,  and  a  few  reeling 
friends  even  asserted  that  he  merrily  shook  his 
bald  head,  which  caused  the  great  unsteadiness 
of  our  floor.  The  bottles  became  emptier  and 
the  heads  of  the  company  fuller.  One  bellowed 
like  an  ox,  a  second  piped,  a  third  declaimed 
from  "  The  Crime,"  a  fourth  spoke  Latin,^  a  fifth 
preached  temperance,  and  a  sixth,  assuming  the 
chair,  learnedly  lectured  as  follows :  "  Gentlemen, 
the  world  is  a  round  cylinder,  upon  which  human 

give  and  take  the  "  brother-kiss,"  and  finally,  to  Duzen,  or  call 
the  friend  Du  or  thou,  equivalent  to  the  French  tutoyer.  The 
act  of  MehmoUiren  is  termed  SchmoUis,  from  the  Latin  tit  mihi 
moUit  amicut,  "  Be  my  good  friend."  The  tchmoUii  in  univer- 
■ities  is  accompanied  by  a  variety  of  ceremonies  more  or  less 
imposing.  The  Crown  Schmollis,  sung  at  a  Commert  or  general 
meeting,  involves  a  vast  amount  of  singing,  &c.  To  refuse  a 
tcJuawUis  is  equivalent  to  a  challenge.  It  is  generally  asserted 
that  to  break  the  tchmoUit,  or  to  call  the  friend  in  a  moment  of 
forgetf ulness  "  you  "  instead  of  "  thoo,"  calls  for  the  forfeit  of 
a  bottle  of  wine,  but  I  have  never  observed  that  this  rule  was 
enforced  against  any  save  foxet  or  freshmen,  and  the  like.— 
Note  by  Tranilator. 

^  Was  tipsy.  Wein  tpricht  LaUin,  "  Wine  speaks  Latin," 
says  an  old  proverb,  folly  illustrated  by  Rabelais. — Note  by 
Trandaior, 


■fc  :'■' 


^^  THE  HARTZ  JOURNEY.       ;  141 

'beings  as  individual  pins  are  scattered  apparently 
at  random.  But  the  cylinder  revolves,  the  pins 
knock  together  and  give  out  tones,  some  very 
frequently  and  others  but  seldom ;  all  of  which 
causes  a  remarkably  complicated  sound,  which  is 
generally  known  as  universal  history.  We  will, 
in  consequence,  speak  first  of  music,  then  of  the 
world,  and  finally  of  history,  which  latter  we 

divide  into  positive  and  Spanish  flies "   And 

80  sense  and  nonsense  went  rattling  on. 

A  jolly  Mechlenburger,  who  held  his  nose  to 
his  punch-glass,  and,  smiling  with  happiness, 
snuffed  up  the  perfume,  remarked  that  it  caused 
in  him  a  sensation  as  if  he  were  standing  again 
before  the  refreshment  table  in  the  Schwerin 
Theatre !  Another  held  his  wine-glass  like  a 
lorgnette  before  his  eye,  and  appeared  to  be  care- 
fully studying  the  company,  while  the  red  wine 
trickled  down  over  his  cheek  into  his  projecting 
mouth.  The  Greifswalder,  suddenly  inspired, 
cast  himself  upon  my  breast,  and  shouted  wildly, 
•*  Oh,  that  thou  couldst  understand  me,  for  I  am 
a  lover,  a  happy  lover;  for  I  am  loved  again, 
and  G — d  d — n  me,  she's  an  educated  girl,  for 
she  has  a  full  bosom,  wears  a  white  gown,  and 
plays  the  piano ! "  But  the  Swiss  wept,  and 
tenderly  kissed  my  hand,  and  ever  whimpered, 
"  Oh,  Molly  dear !  oh,  Molly  dear ! " 

During  this  crazy  scene,  in  which  plates  learned 


y 


143 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


to  dance  and  glasses  to  fly,  there  sat  opposite  me 
two  youths,  beautiful  and  pale  as  statues,  one 
resembling  Adonis,  the  other  Apollo.  The  faint 
rosy  hue  which  the  wine  spread  over  their  cheeks 
was  scarcely  visible.  They  gazed  on  each  other 
with  infinite  affection,  as  if  the  one  could  read 
in  the  eyes  of  the  other,  and  in  those  eyes  there 
was  a  light  as  though  drops'  of  light  had  fallen 
therein  from  the  cup  of  burning  love,  which  an 
angel  on  high  bears  from  one  star  to  the  other. 
They  conversed  softly  with  earnest,  trembling 
voices,  and  narrated  sad  stories,  through  all  of 
which  ran  a  tone  of  strange  sorrow.  "  Lora  is 
also  dead ! "  said  one,  and  sighing,  proceeded  to 
tell  of  a  maiden  of  Halle  who  had  loved  a  student, 
and  who,  when  the  latter  left  Halle,  spoke  no 
more  to  any  one,  ate  but  little,  wept  day  and 
night,  gazing  ever  on  the  canary-bird  which  her 
lover  had  given  her.  "  The  bird  died,  and  Lora 
did  not  long  survive  it,"  was  the  conclusion,  and 
both  the  youths  sighed,  as  though  their  hearts 
would  break.  Finally,  the  other  said,  "  My  soul 
is  sorrowful ;  come  forth  with  me  into  the  dark 
night !  Let  me  inhale  the  breath  of  the  clouds 
and  the  moon-rays.  Partake  of  my  sorrows  !  I 
love  thee ;  thy  words  are  musical,  like  the  rustling 
of  reeds  and  the  flow  of  rivulets ;  they  re-echo  in 
my  breast,  but  my  soul  is  sorrowful ! " 

Both  of  the  young  men  arose.    One  threw  his 


THE  HARTZ  JOURNEY.  ^^ 

ann  around  the  neck  of  the  other,  and  thus  left 
the  noisy  room.  I  followed,  and  saw  them  enter 
a  dark  chamber,  where  the  one  by  mistake,  instead 
of  the  window,  threw  open  the  door  of  a  large 
wardrobe,  and  that  both,  standing  before  it  with 
outstretched  arms,  expressing  poetic  rapture,  spoke 
alternately.  "  Ye  breezes  of  darkening  night," 
cried  the  first,  "  how  ye  cool  and  revive  my  cheeks  1 
How  sweetly  ye  play  amid  my  fluttering  locks  1 
I  stand  on  the  cloudy  peak  of  the  mountain, 
far  below  me  lie  the  sleeping  cities  of  men,  and 
blue  waters  gleam.  List !  far  below  in  the  valley 
rustle  the  fir-trees  !  Far  above  yonder  hills  sweep 
in  misty  forms  the  spirits  of  my  fathers.  Oh, 
that  I  could  hunt  with  ye  on  your  cloud-steeds 
through  the  stormy  night,  over  the  rolling  sea, 
upwards  to  the  stars !  Alas !  I  am  laden  with 
grief,  and  my  soul  is  sad ! "  Meanwhile,  the 
other  had  also  stretched  out  his  arms  towards 
the  wardrobe,  while  tears  fell  from  his  eyes  as 
he  cried  to  a  broad  pair  of  yellow  pantaloons 
which  he  mistook  for  the  moon,  "  Fair  art  thou, 
daughter  of  heaven !  lovely  and  blessed  is  the 
calm  of  thy  countenance.  Thou  walkest  lonely 
in  thy  loveliness.  The  stars  follow  thy  blue 
path  in  the  east !  At  thy  glance  the  clouds 
rejoice,  and  their  dark  brows  gleam  with  light. 
Who  is  like  unto  thee  in  heaven,  thou  the  night- 
born  ?    The  stars  are  ashamed  before  thee,  and 


X 

1 

1 

\ 

J: 

I  -  : 


»44 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


turn  away  their  green  sparkling  eyes.  Whither, 
ah  1  whither,  when  morning  pales  thy  face,  doat 
thou  flee  from  thy  path  ?  Hast  thou,  like  me, 
thy  hall  ?  Dwellest  thou  amid  shadows  of  sor- 
row ?  Have  thy  sisters  fallen  from  heaven  ?  Are 
they  who  joyfully  rolled  with  thee  through  the 
night  now  no  more  ?  Yea,  they  fell  adown,  oh  I 
lovely  light,  and  thou  hidest  thyself  to  bewail 
them !  Yet  the  night  must  at  some  time  come 
when  thou  too  must  pass  away,  and  leave  thy 
blue  path  above  in  heaven.  Then  the  stars,  who 
were  once  ashamed  in  thy  presence,  will  raise  their 
green  heads  and  rejoice.  Now  thou  art  clothed 
in  thy  starry  splendour  and  gazest  adown  from 
the  gate  of  heaven.  Tear  aside  the  clouds,  oh !  ye 
winds,  that  the  night-born  may  shine  forth  and 
the  bushy  hills  gleam,  and  that  the  foaming  waves 
of  the  sea  may  roll  in  light  I " 

A  well-known  and  not  remarkably  thin  friend, 
who  had  drunk  more  than  he  had  eaten,  though 
he  had  already  at  supper  devoured  a  piece  of 
beef  which  would  have  dined  six  lieutenants  of 
the  guard  and  one  innocent  child,  here  came 
rushing  into  the  room  in  a  very  jovial  manner, 
that  is  to  say,  4  la  swine,  shoved  the  two  elegiac 
friends  one  over  the  other  into  the  wardrobe, 
stormed  through  the  house-door,  and  began  to 
roar  around  outside,  as  if  raising  the  devil  in 
earnest.     The  noise  in  the  hall  grew  more  con- 


THE  HARTZ  JOURNEY.  145 

fused  and  duller ;  the  two  moaning  and  weeping 
friends  lay,  as  they  thought,  crushed  at  the  foot 
of  the  mountain  ;  from  their  throats  ran  noble  red 
wine,  and  the  one  said  to  the  other,  "  Farewell  I  I 
feel  that  I  bleed.  Why  dost  thou  waken  me,  oh  ! 
breath  of  spring  ?  Thou  caressest  me,  and  sayst, 
'  I  bedew  thee  with  drops  from  heaven.  But  the 
time  of  my  withering  is  at  hand — at  hand  the 
storm  which  will  break  away  my  leaves.  To- 
morrow the  Wanderer  will  come— come — he  who  • 
saw  me  in  my  beauty — his  eyes  will  glance,  as 

of  yore,  around  the  field — in  vain '"     But 

over  all  roared  the  well-known  basso  voice  with- 
out, blasphemously  complaining,  amid  oaths  and 
whoops,  that  not  a  single  lantern  had  been 
lighted  along  the  entire  Weender  Street,  and 
that  one  could  not  even  see  whose  window-panes 
he  had  smashed. 

I  can  bear  a  tolerable  quantity — modesty  for- 
bids me  to  say  how  many  bottles — and  I  conse- 
quently retired  to  my  chamber  in  tolerably  good 
condition.  The  young  merchant  already  lay  in 
bed,  enveloped  in  his  chalk- white  nightcap  and 
yellow  Welsh  flannel.  He  was  not  asleep,  and 
sought  to  enter  into  conversation  with  me.  He 
was  a  Frankfort-on-Mainer,  and  consequently; 
spoke  at  once  of  the  Jews,  declared  that  they 
had  lost  all  feeling  for  the  beautiful  and  noble, 
and  that  they  sold  English  goods  twenty-five  per 

VOL.  L  K 


146 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


cent  under  manufacturers'  prices.  A  fancy  to 
humbug  him  came  over  me,  and  I  told  him  that 
I  was  a  somnambulist,  and  must  beforehand  beg 
his  pardon  should  I  unwittingly  disturb  his  slum- 
bers. This  intelligence,  as  he  confessed  the  fol- 
lowing day,  prevented  him  from  sleeping  a  wink 
through  the  whole  night,  especially  since  the  idea 
had  entered  his  head  that  I,  while  in  a  somnam- 
bulistic crisis,  might  shoot  him  with  the  pistol 
which  lay  near  my  bed.  But  in  truth  I  fared 
no  better  myself,  for  I  slept  very  little.  Dreary 
and  terrifying  fancies  swept  through  my  brain. 
A  pianoforte  extract  from  Dante's  HelL  Finally 
I  dreamed  that  I  saw  a  law  opera,  called  the 
Falcidia,^  with  libretto  on  the  right  of  inheritance 
by  Gans,  and  music  by  Spontini.  A  crazy  dream ! 
I  saw  the  Eoman  Forum  splendidly  illuminated. 
In  it  Servius  Asinius  Goschenus  sitting  as  prcBtor 
on  his  chair,  and  throwing  wide  his  toga  in  stately 
folds,  burst  out  into  raging  recitative ;  Marcus 
Tullius  Elversus,  manifesting  as  prima  donna 
legataria  all  the  exquisite  feminineness  of  his 
nature,  sang  the  love-melting  bravura  of  Qui- 
cunque  civis  Bomanus ;   Referees^  rouged  red  as 


1  The  "  Falcidian  law  "  was  so  called  from  its  proposer,  Fai- 
eidiiu.  According  to  it,  the  testator  was  obliged  to  leave  at 
least  the  fourth  part  of  his  fortune  to  the  person  whom  he  named 
his  heir.     Vide  Pandects  of  Justinian. 


THE  HARTZ  JOVRNBY.  Hf 

sealing-wax,  bellowed  in  choras  as  minors;  pri- 
vate tutors,  dressed  as  genii,  in  flesh-coloured 
stockinets,  danced  an  anti-Justinian  ballet,  crown- 
ing with  flowers  the  "Twelve  Tables,"  while, 
amid  thunder  and  lightning,  rose  from  the  ground 
the  abused  ghost  of  Eoman  Legislation,  accom- 
panied by  trumpets,  gongs,  fiery  rain,  citm  omni 
causa. 

From  this  confusion  I  was  rescued  by  the 
landlord  of  the  Brocken,  when  he  awoke  me  to 
see  the  sun  rise.  Above,  on  the  tower,  I  found 
several  already  waiting,  who  rubbed  their  freezing 
hands ;  others,  with  sleep  still  in  their  eyes, 
stumbled  up  to  us,  until  finally  the  whole  silent 
congregation  of  the  previous  evening  was  re- 
assembled, and  we  saw  how,  above  the  horizon, 
there  rose  a  little  carmine-red  ball,  spreading 
a  dim,  wintry  illumination.  Far  around,  amid 
the  mists,  rose  the  mountains,  as  if  swimming 
in  a  white  rolling  sea,  only  their  summits  being 
visible,  so  that  we  could  imagine  ourselves  stand- 
ing on  a  little  hill  in  the  midst  of  an  inundated 
plain,  in  which  here  and  there  rose  dry  clods  of 
earth.  To  retain  that  which  I  saw  and  felt,  I 
sketched  the  following  poem : — 

In  the  east 'tis  ever  brighter. 
Though  the  sun  gleams  cloudily ; 

Far  and  wide  the  mountain  summits 
Swim  above  the  misty  sea. 


148  PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 

Had  I  seven-mile  boots  for  travel, 
Like  the  fleeting  winds  I'd  rove, 

Over  valley,  rock,  and  river, 
To  the  home  of  her  I  love. 

From  the  bed  where  now  she's  sleeping, 
Soft  the  curtain  I  would  slip ; 

Softly  kiss  her  child-like  forehead. 
Soft  the  ruby  of  her  lip. 

And  yet  softer  would  I  whisper 

In  the  little  lily  ear, 
*•  Think  in  dreams  we  still  are  loving. 

Think  I  never  lost  thee,  dear." 


Meanwhile  my  desire  for  breakfast  greatly 
increased,  and  after  paying  a  few  attentions  to 
my  ladies,  I  hastened  down  to  drink  cofifee  in 
the  warm  public  room.  It  was  full  time,  for  all 
within  me  was  as  sober  and  as  sombre  as  in  the 
St.  Stephen's  Church  of  Goslar.  But  with  the  Ara- 
bian beverage,  the  warm  Orient  thrilled  through 
my  Umbs,  Eastern  roses  breathed  forth  their 
perfumes,  the  students  were  changed  to  camels,^ 

^  A  "  camel "  in  German  student  dialect  signifies,  according 
to  the  erudite  Dr.  Vollman  {Burtchik.  Worterb.,  p.  lOO),  ist,  A 
student  not  in  any  regular  club ;  2nd,  A  savage  ;  3rd,  A  finch ; 
4th,  A  badger ;  5th,  A  stag  ;  6tfa,  A  bare  ;  7th,  .  .  . ;  8th,  An 
"  outsider  ; "  9th,  A  Jew  ;  loth,  A  nigger ;  i  ith,  A  Bedouin ; 
12th,  One  who  neither  drinks,  smokes,  fights  duels,  cares  for 
girls,  nor  renovmt  it.  To  renown  it  {rermotniren)  is  equivalent 
to  the  American  phrase  "  spreads  himself."    The  sum  total  of 


THE  HARTZ  JOURNEY/       ."^ 

the  Brocken  housemaids,  with  their  Congreve- 
rocket-glances,  became  houris,  the  Philistine-roses, 

minarets -    :  :i\::-rr-.\:y\:-j--,;'::i:^ 

But  the  book  which  lay  near  me,  though  full 
of  nonsense,  was  not  the  Koran.  It  was  the  so- 
called  BrocJcen-hook,  in  which  all  travellers  who 
ascend  the  mountain  write  their  names — many 
inscribing  their  thoughts,  or  in  default  thereof 
their  "  feelings."  Many  even  express  themselves 
in  verse.  In  this  book  one  may  observe  the 
horrors  which  result  when  the  great  Philistine 
Pegasus  at  convenient  opportunities,  such  as  this 
on  the  Brocken,  becomes  poetic.  The  palace  of 
the  Prince  of  Pallagonia  never  contained  such 
absurdities  and  insipidities  as  are  to  be  found  in 
this  book.  Those  who  shine  in  it  with  especial 
splendour  are  Messrs.  the  excise  collectors,  with 
their  mouldy  "  high  inspirations ; "  counter-jump- 
ers, with  their  pathetic  outgushings  of  the  soul ; 
old  German  revolution  dilettanti  with  their  Tumer- 
TJnion-phrases,^  and  Berlin  schoolmasters  with 
their  imsuccessful  efforts  at  enthusiasm.  Mr. 
Snobbs  will  also  for  once  show  himself  as  author. 


Dr.  Vollman's  definitions  amount,  according  to  Grerman  student 
ideas,  to  what  an  Englishman  would  call  a  "  muff  "  or  a  "  slow 
coach." — Note  by  Translator. 

^  The  Turner  Unions  are  associations  organised  for  the  pur* 
pose  of  gymnastic  exercise.  They  may  also  be  regarded  as  revo< 
Intionary  political  clubs. — Note  by  Trcmdator. 


laiTf 1 


ISO 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


In  one  page  the  majestic  splendour  of  the  snn  is 
described,  in  another  complaints  occur  of  bad 
weather,  of  disappointed  hopes,  and  of  the  clouds 
which  obstruct  the  view.  A  Caroline  writes  that 
in  climbing  the  mountain  her  feet  were  wetted, 
to  which  a  naive  Nanny,  who  was  impressed  by 
this,  adds, "  I  too  got  wet  in  this  thing."  "  Went 
up  wet  without  and  came  down  '  wet  within,'  "* 
is  a  standing  joke,  repeated  in  the  book  hundreds 
of  times.  The  whole  volume  smells  of  beer, 
tobacco,  and  cheese;  we  might  fancy  it  one  of 
Clauren's  romances.  I 

While  I  drank  the  coffee  aforesaid  and  turned 
over  the  Brocken-book,  the  Swiss  entered,  his 
cheeks  deeply  glowing,  and  described  with  enthu- 
siasm the  sublime  view  which  he  had  just  en- 
joyed in  the  tower  above,  as  the  pure  calm  light 
of  the  sun,  that  symbol  of  truth,  fought  with  the 
night  mists,  and  that  it  appeared  like  a  battle  of 
spirits,  in  which  raging  giants  brandished  their 
long  swords,  where  harnessed  knights  on  leaping 
steeds  chased  each  other,  and  war  chariots,  flut- 
tering banners,  and  extravagant  monster  forms 
sank  in  the  wildest  confusion,  till  all  finally  en- 


^  Benebdt  herauf  gekomnun  urut  henebtU  hirnvrnter  gegangen, 
"Came  up  in  a  cloud  and  went  down  eloudy."  The  word 
"  cloudy  "  occnrs  as  an  English  synonym  for  intoxication  in  a 
list  of  such  terms  which  I  have  seen  in  print. — Note  btf  Trant' 
lator.  , 


THE  HARTZ  JOURNEY,  151 

twined  in  the  maddest  contortions,  melted  into 
dimness  and  vanished,  leaving  no  trace.  This 
demagogical  natural  phenomenon  I  had  neglected, 
and,  should  the  curious  affair  be  ever  made  the 
subject  of  investigation,  I  am  ready  to  declare 
on  oath  that  all  I  know  of  the  matter  is  the 
flavour  of  the  good  brown  coffee  I  was  then 
tasting. 

Alas  1  this  was  the  guilty  cause  of  my  neglect- 
ing my  fair  lady,  and  now,  with  mother  and  friend, 
she  stood  before  the  door,  about  to  step  into  her 
carriage.  I  had  scarcely  time  to  hurry  to  her, 
and  assure  her  that  it  was  cold.  She  seemed 
piqued  at  my  not  coming  sooner,  but  I  soon 
drove  the  clouds  from  her  fair  brow  by  present- 
ing to  her  a  beautiful  flower,  which  I  had  plucked 
the  day  before,  at  the  risk  of  breaking  my  neck, 
from  a  steep  precipice.  The  mother  inquired  the 
name  of  the  flower,  as  if  it  seemed  to  her  not 
altogether  correct  that  her  daughter  should  place 
a  strange,  unknown  flower  before  her  bosom — 
for  this  was,  in  fact,  the  enviable  position  which 
the  flower  attained,  and  of  which  it  could  never 
have  dreamed  the  day  before  when  on  its  lonely 
height.  The  silent  friend  here  opened  his 
mouth,  and  after  counting  the  stamina  of  the 
flower,  dryly  remarked  that  it  belonged  to  the 
eighth  class.  ^..'  :  ^-:': '.-.■■:'.•' \-,-^' :^.^-'^-^' 

It  vexes  me  every  time  when  I  remember  that 


«s* 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


even  the  dear  flowers  which  God  hath  made  have 
been,  like  us,  divided  into  castes,  and,  like  us,  are 
distinguished  hj  those  external  names  which  indi- 
cate descent  as  in  a  family-tree.  If  there  mtist 
be  such  divisions,  it  were  better  to  adopt  those 
suggested  by  Theophrastus,  who  wished  that 
flowers  might  be  divided  according  to  souls,  that 
is,  their  perfumes.  As  for  myself,  I  have  my 
own  system  of  natural  science,  according  to  which 
all  things  are  divided  into  those  which  may  or 
may  not  be  eaten  !  I 

The  secret  and  mysterious  nature  of  flowers 
was,  however,  anything  but  a  secret  to  the  elder 
lady,  and  she  involuntarily  remarked  that  she 
felt  happy  in  her  very  soul  when  she  saw  flowers 
growing  in  the  garden  or  in  a  room,  while  a  faint, 
dreamy  sense  of  pain  invariably  afiected  her  on 
beholding  a  beautiful  flower  with  broken  stalk — 
that  it  was  really  a  dead  body,  and  that  the  deli- 
cate pale  head  of  such  a  flower-corpse  hung  down 
like  that  of  a  dead  infant.  The  lady  here  became 
alarmed  at  the  sorrowful  impression  which  her 
remark  caused,  and  I  flew  to  the  rescue  with  a 
few  Voltairean  verses.  How  quickly  two  or  three 
French  words  bring  us  back  into  the  conventional 
concert-pitch  of  conversation.  We  laughed,  hands 
were  kissed,  gracious  smiles  beamed,  the  horses 
neighed,  and  the  waggon  jolted  heavily  and  slowly 
adown  the  hill. 


■•J    -.*^tf*^*..-.i.fc--jU. 


THE  HARTZ  JOURNEY.  '      ^ 

And  now  the  students  prepared  to  depart. 
Knapsacks  were  buckled,  the  bills,  which  were 
moderate  beyond  all  expectation,  were  settled, 
the  two  susceptible  housemaids,  upon  whose 
pretty  countenances  the  traces  of  successful 
amours  were  plainly  visible,  brought,  as  is  their 
custom,  their  Brocken-bouquets,  and  helped  some 
to  adjust  their  caps ;  for  all  of  which  they  were 
duly  rewarded  with  either  coppers  or  kisses. 
Thus  we  all  went  "  down-hill,"  albeit  one  psirty, 
among  whom  were  the  Swiss  and  Greifswalder, 
took  the  road  towards  Schierke,  and  the  other,  of 
about  twenty  men,  among  whom  were  my  "  land's 
people  "  and  I,  led  by  a  guide,  went  through  the 
so-called  "  Snow  Holes  "  down  to  Ilsenburg. 

Such  a  head-over-heels,  break-neck  piece  of 
business !  Halle  students  travel  quicker  than 
the  Austrian  militia.  Ere  I  knew  where  I  was, 
the  bald  summit  of  the  mountain,  with  groups  of 
stones  strewed  over  it,  was  behind  us,  and  we 
went  through  the  fir-wood  which  I  had  seen  the 
day  before.  The  sun  poured  down  a  cheerful 
light  on  the  merry  Burschen,  in  gaily  coloured 
garb,  as  they  merrily  pressed  onward  through 
the  wood,  disappearing  here,  coming  to  light 
again  there,  running  in  marshy  places,  across  on 
shaking  trunks  of  trees,  climbing  over  shelving 
steeps  by  grasping  the  projecting  tree-roots,  while 
they  trilled  all  the  time  in  the  merriest  manner, 


^ 


»54 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


and  were  answered  in  as  merry  echoes  by  the 
invisibly  plashing  rivulets,  and  the  resounding 
echo.  When  cheerful  youth  and  beautiful  nature 
meet,  they  mutually  rejoice.  | 

The  lower  we  descended  the  more  delightfully 
did  subterranean  waters  ripple  around  us;  only 
here  and  there  they  peeped  out  amid  rocks  and 
bushes,  appearing  to  be  reconnoitring  if  they 
might  yet  come  to  light,  until  at  last  one  little 
spring  jumped  forth  boldly.  Then  followed  the 
usual  show — the  bravest  one  makes  a  beginning, 
and  then  the  great  multitude  of  hesitators,  sud- 
denly inspired  with  courage,  rush  forth  to  join 
the  first.  A  multitude  of  springs  now  leaped  in 
haste  from  their  ambush,  united  with  the  leader, 
and  finally  formed  quite  an  important  brook, 
which,  with  its  innumerable  waterfalls  and  beau- 
tiful windings,  ripples  adown  the  valley.  This 
is  now  the  Ilse — the  sweet,  pleasant  Use.  She 
flows  through  the  blest  Ilse  vale,  on  whose  sides 
the  mountains  gradually  rise  higher  and  higher, 
being  clad  even  to  their  base  with  beech-trees, 
oaks,  and  the  usual  shrubs,  the  firs  and  other 
needle-covered  evergreens  having  disappeared; 
for  that  variety  of  trees  prevails  upon  the  "  Lower 
Hartz,"  as  the  east  side  of  the  Brocken  is  called 
in  contradistinction  to  the  west  side  or  Upper 
Hartz,  being  really  much  higher  and  better  adapted 
to  the  growth  of  evergreens. 


THE  HARTZ  yOURNBY.  155 

No  pen  can  describe  the  merriment,  simplicity, 
and  gentleness  with  which  the  Use  leaps  or  glides 
amid  the  wildly  piled  rocks  which  rise  in  her 
path,  so  that  the  water  strangely  whizzes  or  foams 
in  one  place  amid  rifted  rocks,  and  in  another 
wells  through  a  thousand  crannies,  as  if  from  a 
giant  watering-pot,  and  then  in  collected  stream 
trips  away  over  the  pebbles  like  a  merry  maiden. 
Yes,  the  old  legend  is  true ;  the  Ilse  is  a  princess, 
who,  laughing  in  beauty,  runs  adown  the  mountain. 
How  her  white  foam  garment  gleams  in  the  sun- 
shine !  How  her  silvered  scarf  flutters  in  the 
breeze !  How  her  diamonds  flash  !  The  high 
beech-tree  gazes  down  on  her  like  a  grave  father 
secretly  smiling  at  the  capricious  self-will  of  a 
darling  child;  the  white  birch-trees  nod  their 
heads  around  like  delighted  aunts,  who  are,  how- 
ever, anxious  at  such  bold  leaps ;  the  proud  oak 
looks  on  like  a  not  over-pleased  uncle,  as  though 
he  must  pay  for  all  the  fine  weather ;  the  birds 
in  the  air  sing  their  share  in  their  joy ;  the  flowers 
on  the  bank  whisper,  "  Oh,  take  us  with  thee ! 
take  us  with  thee,  dear  sister!"  but  the  wild 
maiden  may  not  be  withheld,  and  she  leaps  on- 
ward, and  suddenly  seizes  the  dreaming  poet,  and 
there  streams  over  me  a  flower-rain  of  ringing 
gleams  and  flashing  tones,  and  all  my  senses  are 
lost  in  beauty  and  splendour,  as  I  hear  only  the 
voice,  sweet  pealing  as  a  flute — 


^ 


156  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

I  am  the  Princess  Hse, 
And  dwell  in  Ilsenstein ; 

Come  with  me  to  my  castle, 
Thou  shalt  be  blest — and  mine  i 

With  ever-flowing  fountains 
I'll  cool  thy  weary  brow ; 

Thou'lt  lose  amid  their  rippling 
The  cares  which  grieve  thee  now. 

In  my  white  arms  reposing, 
And  on  my  snow-white  breast, 

Thou'lt  dream  of  old,  old  legends, 
And  sink  in  joy  to  rest. 

I'll  kiss  thee  and  caress  thee, 

As  in  the  ancient  day 
I  kissed  the  Emperor  Henry, 

Who  long  has  passed  away. 

The  dead  are  dead  and  silent, 

Only  the  living  love ; 
And  I  am  fair  and  blooming, 

— Dost  feel  my  wild  heart  move  I 

And  as  my  heart  is  beating, 
My  crystal  castle  rings, 

Where  many  a  knight  and  lady 
In  merry  measure  springs. 

Silk  trains  are  softly  rustling, 
Spurs  ring  from  night  to  mom, 

And  dwarfs  are  gaily  drumming, 
And  blow  the  golden  horn. 


THE  HARTZ  JOURNEY.  I^ 

As  round  the  Emperor  Henry, 
My  arms  round  thee  shall  fall ; 

I  held  his  ears — he  heard  not 
The  trumpet's  warning  calL 

We  feel  infinite  happiness  when  the  outer 
world  blends  with  the  world  of  our  own  soul, 
and  green  trees,  thoughts,  the  songs  of  birds, 
gentle  melancholy,  the  blue  of  heaven,  memory, 
and  the  perfume  of  flowers,  run  together  in  sweet 
arabesques.  Women  best  understand  this  feel- 
ing, and  this  may  be  the  cause  that  such  a  sweet, 
incredulous  smile  plays  around  their  lips  when 
we,  with  school-pride,  boast  of  our  logical  deeds ; 
how  we  have  classified  everything  so  nicely  into 
subjective  and  objective  ;  how  our  heads  are  pro- 
vided, apothecary-like,  with  a  thousand  drawers, 
one  of  which  contains  reason,  another  understand- 
ing, a  third  wit,  the  fourth  bad  wit,  and  the  fifth 
nothing  at  all,  that  is  to  say,  the  idea. 

As  if  wandering  in  dreams,  I  scarcely  observed 
that  we  had  left  the  depths  of  the  Esethal  and 
were  now  again  climbing  up  hill.  This  was  steep 
and  difficult  work,  and  many  of  us  lost  our  breath ; 
but,  like  our  late  lamented  cousin,  who  now  lies 
buried  at  Moling  we  constantly  kept  in  mind  the 
ease  with  which  we  should  descend,  and  were 


^  Tyll  Eulenspiegel,  the  old  Grerman  jester.    The  same  8ay> 
ing  ia  attributed  to  George  Buchanan. — Note  by  Trandator. 


158  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

much  the  better  off  in  consequence.      Finally, 
we  reached  the  Ilsenstein.  j 

This  is  an  enormous  granite  rock,  which  rises 
high  and  boldly  from  a  glen.  On  three  sides  it 
is  surrounded  by  woody  hills,  but  from  the  fourth, 
the  north,  there  is  an  open  view,  and  we  gaze 
upon  the  Ilsenburg  and  the  Use  lying  far  below, 
and  our  glances  wander  beyond  into  the  lower 
land.  On  the  tower-like  summit  of  the  rock 
stands  a  great  iron  cross,  and  in  case  of  need  there 
is  also  here  a  resting-place  for  four  human  feet. 

As  Nature,  through  picturesque  position  and 
form,  has  adorned  the  Ilsenstein  with  strange 
and  beautiful  charms,  so  has  also  Legend  poured 
over  it  her  rosy  light.  According  to  Gottschalk, 
"  the  people  say  that  there  once  stood  here  an 
enchanted  castle,  in  which  dwelt  the  fair  Princess 
Use,  who  yet  bathes  every  morning  in  the  Dae. 
He  who  is  so  fortunate  as  to  hit  upon  the  exact 
time  and  place,  will  be  led  by  her  into  the  rock 
where  her  castle  lies,  and  receive  a  royal  reward." 
Others  narrate  a  pleasant  legend  of  the  loves  of 
the  Lady  Dse  and  of  the  Knight  of  Westenburg, 
which  has  been  romantically  sung  by  one  of  our 
most  noted  poets  in  the  Evening  Journal.  Others 
again  say  that  it  was  the  old  Saxon  Emperor 
Henry  who  passed  in  pleasure  his  imperial  hours 
with  the  water-nymph  Hse  in  her  enchanted 
castle.     A  later  author,  one  Niemann,  Esq.,  who 


THE  HARTZ  JOURNEY.  159 

has  written  a  Hartz  guide,  in  whicli  tlie  heights 
of  the  hills,  variations  of  the  compass,  town 
finances,  and  similar  matters  are  described  with 
praiseworthy  accuracy,  asserts,  however,  that 
"  what  is  narrated  of  the  Princess  Ilse  belongs 
entirely  to  the  realm  of  fable."  So  aU  men  to 
whom  a  beautiful  princess  has  never  appeared 
assert ;  but  we  who  have  been  especially  favoured 
by  fair  ladies  know  better.  And  this  the  Em- 
peror Henry  knew  too !  It  was  not  without 
cause  that  the  old  Saxon  emperors  held  so  firmly 
to  their  native  Hartz.  Let  any  one  only  turn 
over  the  leaves  of  the  fair  Lunenburg  Chronicle, 
where  the  good  old  gentlemen  are  represented  in 
wondrously  true-hearted  woodcuts  as  well-wea- 
poned,  high  on  their  mailed  war-steeds,  the  holy 
imperial  crown  on  their  blessed  heads,  sceptre 
and  sword  in  firm  hands ;  and  then  in  their  dear 
moustached  and  bearded  faces  he  can  plainly  read 
how  they  often  longed  for  the  sweet  hearts  of  their 
Hartz  princesses,  and  for  the  familiar  rustling  of 
the  Hartz  forests,  when  they  lingered  in  distant 
lands.  Yes,  even  when  in  the  orange  and  poison- 
gifted  Italy,  whither  they,  with  their  followers, 
were  often  enticed  by  the  desire  of  becoming 
Boman  emperors,  a  genuine  German  lust  for  title, 
which  finally  destroyed  emperor  and  realm. 

I,  however,  advise  every  one  who  may  here- 
after stand  on  the  summit  of  the  Hsenburg  to 


i6o 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


think  neither  of  emperor  and  crown  nor  of  the 
fair  Use,  but  simply  of  his  own  feet.  For  as  I 
stood  there,  lost  in  thought,  I  suddenly  heard  the 
subterranean  music  of  the  enchanted  castle,  and 
saw  the  mountains  around  begin  to  stand  on  their 
heads,  while  the  red-tiled  roofs  of  Ilsenburg  were 
dancing,  and  green  trees  flew  through  the  air, 
until  all  was  green  and  blue  before  my  eyes,  and 
I,  overcome  by  giddiness,  would  assuredly  have 
fallen  into  the  abyss,  had  I  not,  in  the  dire  need 
of  my  soul,  clung  fast  to  the  iron  cross.  No  one 
who  reflects  on  the  critically  ticklish  situation 
in  which  I  was  then  placed  can  possibly  find 
fault  with  me  for  having  done  this. 


The  Hartz  journey  is  and  remains  a  fragment, 
and  the  variegated  threads  which  were  so  neatly 
wound  through  it,  with  the  intention  to  bind  it 
into  a  harmonious  whole,  have  been  suddenly 
snapped  asunder  as  if  by  the  shears  of  the  im- 
placable destinies.  It  may  be  that  I  wiU  one 
day  weave  them  into  new  songs,  and  that  that 
which  is  now  stingily  withheld  will  then  be 
spoken  in  full.  But  when  or  what  we  have 
spoken  will  all  come  to  one  and  the  same  thing 
at  last,  provided  that  we  do  but  speak.  The 
single  works  may  ever  remain  fragments  if  they 
only  form  a  whole  by  their  union. 


THE  HARTZ  JOURNEY,  x6i 

By  such  a  connection  the  defective  may  here 
and  there  be  supplied,  the  rough  be  polished 
down,  and  that  which  is  altogether  too  harsh  be 
modified  and  softened.  This  is  perhaps  especially 
applicable  to  the  first  pages  of  the  Hartz  journey, 
and  they  would  in  all  probability  have  caused  a 
far  less  unfavourable  impression  could  the  reader 
in  some  other  place  have  learned  that  the  ill- 
humour  which  I  entertain  for  Gottingen  in  general, . 
although  greater  than  I  have  here  expressed  it,  is 
still  far  from  being  equal  to  the  respect  which  I 
entertain  for  certain  individuals  there.  And  why 
should  I  conceal  the  fact  that  I  here  allude  parti- 
cularly to  that  estimable  man  who,  in  earlier  years, 

\  received  me  so  kindly,  inspiring  me  even  then 
with  a  deep  love  for  the  study  of  history ;  who 

■  strengthened  my  zeal  for  it  later  in  life,  and  thus 
led  my  soul  to  calmer  paths ;  who  indicated  to  my 
peculiar  disposition  a  healthier  direction,  and  who 
finally  gave  me  those  historical  consolations,  with- 
out which  I  should  never  have  been  able  to  sup- 

^  port  the  painful  events  of  the  present  day.  I 
speak  of  George  Sartorius,  the  great  investigator 
of  history  and  of  humanity,  whose  eye  is  a  bright 
star  in  our  dark  times,  and  whose  hospitable  heart 
is  ever  open  to  all  the  griefs  and  joys  of  others — 
for  the  needs  of  the  beggar  or  the  king,  and  for 
the  last  sighs  of  nations  perishing  with  their  gods. 
I  cannot  here  refrain  from  remarking  that  the 
VOL.  I.  !• 


tfia 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


Upper  Hartz,  that  portion  of  which  I  described  as 
far  as  the  beginning  of  the  Ilsethal,  did  not  by  any 
means  make  so  favourable  an  impression  on  me  as 
the  romantic  and  picturesque  Lower  Hartz,  and 
in  its  wildly-steep  dark  fir-tree  beauty  contrasts 
strangely  with  the  other,  just  as  the  three  valleys 
formed  by  the  Use,  the  Bode,  and  the  Selke,  beau- 
tifully contrast  with  each  other,  when  we  are  able 
to  personify  the  character  of  each.  They  are 
three  beautiful  women,  of  whom  it  is  impossible 
to  determine  which  is  the  fairest 

I  have  already  spoken  and  sung  of  the  fair 
sweet  Ilse,  and  how  sweetly  and  kindly  she  re- 
ceived me.  The  darker  beauty,  the  Bode,  was  not 
so  gracious  in  her  reception,  and  as  I  first  beheld 
her  in  the  smithy-dark,  turnip-land,  she  appeared 
to  me  to  be  altogether  ill-natured,  and  hid  herself 
beneath  a  silver-grey  rain- veil;  but  with  impa- 
tient love  she  suddenly  threw  it  off;  as  I  ascended 
the  summit  of  the  Eosstrappe,  her  coimtenance 
gleamed  upon  me  with  the  sunniest  splendour, 
from  every  feature  beamed  the  tenderness  of  a 
giantess,  and  from  the  agitated,  rocky  bosom  there 
was  a  sound  as  of  sighs  of  deep  longing  and  melt- 
ing tones  of  woe.  Less  tender  but  far  merrier 
did  I  find  the  pretty  Sdke,  an  amiable  lady,  whose 
noble  simplicity  and  calm  repose  held  at  a  distance 
all  sentimental  familiarity,  but  who,  by  a  half- 
concealed  smile,  betrayed  her  mocking  mood.    It 


THE  HARTZ  JOURNEY.  163 

was  perhaps  to  this  secret  merry  spirit  that  I 
might  have  attributed  the  many  "  little  miseries  " 
which  beset  me  in  the  Selkethal ;  as,  for  instance, 
when  I  sought  to  spring  over  the  rivulet,  I  plunged 
in  exactly  up  to  my  middle ;  how  when  I  con- 
tinued my  wet  campaign  with  slippers,  one  of 
them  was  soon  "  not  at  hand,"  or  rather  "  not  at 
foot,"  for  I  lost  it ;  how  a  pufif  of  wind  bore  away 
my  cap;  how  thorns  scratched  me,  "and  wale 
away,  et  cetera"  Yet  do  I  forgive  the  fair  lady 
all  this,  for  she  is  fair.  And  even  now  she  stands 
before  the  gates  of  Imagination,  in  all  her  silent 
loveliness,  and  seems  to  say,  "  Though  I  laugh,  I 
mean  no  harm,  and  I  pray  you  sing  of  me ! "  The 
magnificent  Bode  also  sweeps  into  my  memory, 
and  her  dark  eye  says,  "  Thou  art  like  me  in  pride 
and  in  pain,  and  I  will  that  thou  lovest  me."  Also 
the  fair  Use  comes  merrily  springing,  deUcate  and 
fascinating  in  mien,  form,  and  motion,  in  all 
things  like  the  dear  being  who  blesses  my  dreams, 
and  like  her  she  gazes  on  me  with  unconquerable 
indifference,  and  is  withal  so  deeply,  so  eternally, 
80  manifestly  true.  Well,  I  am  Paris,  and  I  award 
the  apple  to  the  fair  Use. 

It  is  the  first  of  May,  and  spring  is  pouring 
like  a  sea  of  life  over  the  earth,  a  foam  of  white 
blossoms  covers  the  trees,  the  glass  in  the  town 
windows  flashes  merrily,  sparrows  are  c^ain  build- 
ing on  the  roofs,  people  saunter  along  the  street, 


164 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


wondering  that  the  air  affects  them  so  much,  and 
that  they  feel  so  cheerful ;  the  oddly  dressed  Vier- 
lander  girls  are  selling  bouquets  of  violets ;  found- 
ling children,  with  their  blue  jackets  and  dear 
little  illegitimate  faces,  run  along  the  Jungfemstieg 
as  happily  as  if  they  had  all  found  their  fathers ; 
the  beggar  on  the  bridge  looks  as  jolly  as  though 
he  had  won  the  first  lottery-prize,  and  even  on  the 
grimy  and  as  yet  unhung  pedlar,  who  scours  about 
with  his  rascally  "  manufactory  goods "  counte- 
nance, the  sun  shines  with  his  best-natured  rays. 
I  will  take  a  walk  beyond  the  town  gate. 

It  is  the  first  of  May,  and  I  think  of  thee,  thou 
fair  Use ;  or  shall  I  call  thee  by  the  name  which 
I  better  love,  of  Agnes  ?  I  think  of  thee,  and 
would  fain  see  once  more  how  thou  leapest  in 
light  adown  thy  hill.  But  best  of  all  were  it 
could  I  stand  in  the  valley  below  and  hold  thee 
in  my  arms.  It  is  a  lovely  day!  Green,  the 
colour  of  hope,  is  everywhere  around  me.  Every- 
where flowers  are  blooming  like  beautiful  miracles, 
and  my  heart  will  bloom  again  also.  This  heart 
is  also  a  flower  of  strange  and  wondrous  sort.  It 
is  no  modest  violet,  no  smiling  rose,  no  pure  lily, 
or  similar  flower,  which  with  good  gentle  loveli- 
ness makes  glad  a  maiden's  soul,  and  may  be 
fitly  placed  before  her  pretty  breast,  and  which 
withers  to-day,  and  to-morrow  blooms  again.  No, 
this  heart  rather  resembles  that  strange,  heavy 


THE  HARTZ  JOURNEY.  r 

flower  from  the  woods  of  Brazil,  which,  according 
to  the  legend,  blooms  but  once  in  a  century.  I 
remember  well  that  I  once,  when  a  boy,  saw  such 
a  flower.  During  the  night  we  hewd  an  explosion 
as  of  a  pistol,  and  the  next  morning  a  neighbour's 
children  told  me  that  it  was  their  **  aloe  "  which 
had  bloomed  with  the  shot.  They  led  me  to  their 
garden,  where  I  saw  to  my  astonishment  that  the 
low,  hard  plant,  with  ridiculously  broad,  sharp- 
pointed  leaves,  which  were  capable  of  inflicting 
wounds,  had  shot  high  in  the  air,  and  bore  aloft 
beautiful  flowers,  like  a  golden  crown.  We  chil- 
dren could  not  see  so  high,  and  the  old  grinning 
Christian,  who  liked  us  all  so  well,  built  a  wooden 
stair  around  the  flower,  upon  which  we  scrambled 
like  cats,  and  gazed  curiously  into  the  open  calyx, 
from  which  yellow  threads,  like  rays  of  light,  and 
strange  foreign  odours  pressed  forth  in  unheard-of 
splendour. 

Yes,  Agnes,  this  flower  blooms  not  often,  not 
without  effort;  and  according  to  my  recollection 
it  has  as  yet  opened  but  once,  and  that  must  have 
been  long  ago— certainly  at  least  a  century  since, 
and  I  believe  that,  gloriously  as  it  then  unfolded 
its  blossoms,  it  must  now  miserably  pine  for  want 
of  sunshine  and  warmth,  if  it  is  not  indeed  shat- 
tered by  some  mighty  wintry  storm.  But  now  it 
moves,  and  swells,  and  bursts  in  my  bosom— dost 
thou  hear  the  explosion?     Maiden,  be  not  terri- 


i66 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


tied !  I  have  not  shot  myself,  but  my  love  has 
burst  its  bud  and  shoots  upwards  in  gleaming 
songs,  in  eternal  dithyrambs,  in  the  most  joyful 
fulness  of  poesy ! 

But  if  this  high  love  has  grown  too  high,  then, 
young  lady,  take  it  comfortably,  climb  the  wooden 
steps,  and  look  from  them  down  into  my  bloom- 
ing heart. 

It  is  as  yet  early ;  the  sun  has  hardly  left  half 
his  road  behind  him,  and  my  heart  already  breathes 
forth  so  powerfully  its  perfumed  vapour  that  it 
bewilders  my  brain,  and  I  no  longer  know  where 
irony  ceases  and  heaven  begins,  or  that  I  people 
the  air  with  my  sighs,  and  that  I  myself  would 
fain  dissolve  into  sweet  atoms  in  the  uncreated 
Divinity.  How  will  it  be  when  night  comes  on, 
and  the  stars  shine  out  in  heaven,  "  the  unlucky 
stars,  who  could  tell  thee "  • 

It  is  the  first  of  May,  the  lowest  errand-boy  has 
to-day  a  right  to  be  sentimental,  and  would  you 
deny  the  privilege  to  a  poet  ? 


V 


VOLU 


f 


The  person  charging  this  material  is  re- 
sponsible for  its  return  to  the  library  from 
which  it  was  withdrawn  on  or  before  the 
Latest  Date  stamped  below. 

Theft,  mutilation,  and  underlining  of  books 
are  reasons  for  disciplinary  action  and  may 
result  in  dismissal  from  the  University. 

UNIVERSITY    OF    ILLINOIS    LIBRARY    AT    URBANA-CHAMPAIGN 


JUN    6 

DEC  0  7 


979 
1979 

\m 


L161  — O-1096 


THE  PROSE  AND  POETICAL  WORKS 

HEINRICH  HEINE 


Translated  ivith  Introductions  by 

CHARLES  GODFREY  LELAND 


IN  TWENTY  VOLUMES 


^  ^      ""w^  ^M^  ^1^  'm^  ^B^  ^fr*  fS^  ^"B^  ^1^  ^B^  ^w^  ^H^  ^H^  ^O^  ^A^  '^B^  ^Q^  ^B^  ^w^  ^H^  'B^  '^^      '^  ^ 


HEINRICH    HEINE 


ifeMtion  De  Xusc 

jTAm  Edition  of  the  Works  of  HuNRlCH  HuNE  m  lim'tUd 
to  One  Thoutand  numbered  and  registered  copies  for 
America. 

•      .     I 


^'  \. 


This  is  Copy  No .:.  ')  ? 


,.1. 


.  -■  •  ;■•■  r. 


sS--.-  ' 


■.';'^••-'■?''%'^'t; 


C"-   v- 


' '"     '"  '*'"""i""  ' 


BONAPARTE, 

AS    FIRST    CONSUL     OF    THE     FRCNCH     RePUBLIC. 


i. 


i 


^i 


1: 


-*<- 


r\ 


The    Works    of.,,. 

t±  einrich    iieine 

Translated  by 

Charles    Godfrey    he  land 


Pictures  of  Travel 

1825-1826         '   >      ■ 


VOLUME   FOUR 


ILLUSTRATED   WITH  PORTRAITS 


Printed  for  Subscribers  only  by 

CROSCUP  AND  STERLING  COMPANY 
NEW   YORK 


^ 


# 


Printed  by 

Ballanttne,  Hansom  A*  Ca 

Edinburgh 


LLS3 


CONTENTS 

VOLUME  FOUR  . 

The  North  Sea,  Part  I.  (1825-26) — 

Twilight ,       ,  167 

Sunset 168 

Night  on  thb  Sea-Shore 170 

Poseidon *       .       .  I7J 

Homage ,       ,       .  175 

Explanation .       .  176 

Night  in  the  Cabin 178 

Storm •       •       .ill 

Calm  AT  Sea *       .       .  tifcl 

A  Sea-Phantom «  ^9$ 

Purification 186 

Peace ,       .  187 

The  North  Sea,  Part  II.  (1826)— 

Sea-Greeting ,       .       .191 

Storm 194 

The  Shipwrecked ,       .  195 

Sunset 197 

The  Song  of  the  Oceanides       ....  199 

The  Gods  of  Greece 203 

Questioning 207 


»W>yv»<it:>..<»«*»i»>»   ..aw^  ■"•'«■.<.  ^>>>»-«r»v^i^i«>»»i^'^;.->*»**yy-<.  —■»-•-»•'».. •v-*. 


CONTENTS. 
The  North  Sea,  Part  II.  (1S26)— continued. 

'  FAGS 

The  Phcenix 208 

Echo 208 

Sea-Sickness 209 

In  Port 212 

Epilogue 215 

The  North  Sea,  Part  III.  (1826)—  i 
Written  on  the  Island  Norderney  .        .        .216 

The  Poetic  Man  of  Letters       ....  269 

The  Dramatist 270 

Oriental  Poets 271 

Bell-Tones 272 

Orbis  Pictcs 272 

Ideas.    Book  Le  Grand  (1826) 276 

A  New  Spring 375 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


Bonaparte  as  First  Consul       .        .        .  FrotUispiec* 

From  the  Portrait  by  Appiant.  "; .     .    I 

Dante To  face  page  278 

From  a  Painting  by  Giotto  Dl  Bordone.  ; 

Homer »       ..    312 

From  an  old  Engraving. 

The  Laocoon .,       ,,    368 

From  the  Sculpture  in  the  Vatican. 


.■^rf    f" 


.l^f\  •A*  -.. 


THE    NORTH    SEA, 

(1825-1826.) 

Motto :  Xenopbon's  Anabasis,  lY.  7. 


PART   FIRST. 
(1825.) 

TWILIGHT.* 

On  the  white  strand  of  Ocean 

Sat  I,  sore  troubled  with  thought  and  alone ; 

The  sun  sank  lower  and  lower,  and  cast 

Red  glowing  shadows  on  the  water, 

And  the  snow-white  rolling  billows, 

By  the  flood  impelled, 

Foamed  up  while  roaring  nearer  and  nearer, 

A  wondrous  tumult,  a-whistling  and  whispering, 

A-laughing  and  murmuring,  sighing  and  washing, 

^  The  Translator  does  not  venture  to  hope  that  he  has  suo- 

oeeded  in  giving,  in  all  respects,  a  perfect  version  of  the  extra- 

ordinary  series  of  poems  which  form  the  first  part  of  "  The  North 

Sea."    Those  familiar  with  the  original  will  possibly  be  lenient 

167 


'  w4^«.,;iM»»«««^iM!»i.j^;»^Vv*->'»««*-i'-ni;^i**i-*'-;^ 


Vf^-^'*^*:^-':"  "■■'•-'"*•••  •      .fS 


i68  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL.     ,;'•-. 

And  'mid  them  a  lullaby  known  to  me  only. 

It  seemed  that  I  thought  upon  legends  forgotten, 

World-old  and  beautiful  stories, 

Which  I  once,  when  little,  v^ 

From  the  neighbours'  children  had  heard, 

When  we,  of  summer  evenings, 

Sat  on  the  steps  before  the  house-door, 

Bending  us  down  to  the  quiet  narrative. 

With  little  hearts  a-listening. 

And  curious  cunning  glances ; — 

While  near  the  elder  maidens, 

Close  by  sweet-smelling  pots  of  roses, 

At  the  windows  were  calmly  leaning, 

Eosy-hued  faces, 

Smiling  and  lit  by  the  moon. 

2. 

SUNSET. 

The  sun  in  crimsoned  glory  falls 

Down  to  the  ever-quivering 

Grey  and  silvery  ocean  world  ; 

Airy  figures,  warm  in  rosy  light, 

Wave-like  roll  after,  while  eastward  rising, 

From  autumn-like  darkening  veils  of  vapour. 

With  sorrowful  death-pale  features, 

Breaks  the  silent  moon  ; 

Like  sparks  of  light  behind  her. 

Cloud-distant,  glimmer  the  planets. 


ij'i!.'j<l  »!*;^'*  ••'■''■" '^•■'■'*  ""'''"■'•>■>■*'*""''' ■■■  -   ■  '■"''■'   '""'  .-"■*. ■^"^'**-''"^'^'*""'''*' ''•<»'<»->-'|. 


THE  NORTH  SEA,  169 

Once  there  shone  in  heaveni  :  \ 

Nobly  united, 

Luna  the  goddess  and  Sol  the  god, 

And  the  bright  thronging  stars  in  light  swam 

round  them,  r    •^"    -   .r    . 

Their  little  and  innocent  children. 

But  evil  tongues  came  whisp'ring  quarrels, 

And  they  parted  in  anger. 

The  mighty,  light-giving  spouses. 

Now,  but  by  day,  in  loneliest  lights 

The  sun-god  walks  yonder  in  glory,    ■  v^ 

All  for  his  lordliness 

Ever  prayed  to  and  sung  by  many, 

By  haughty,  heartless,  prosperous  mortals; 

But  still  by  night 

In  heaven  wanders  Luna, 

The  wretched  mother, 

With  aU  her  orphaned  starry  children. 

And  she  shines  in  silent  sorrow,  ^^^;  ;.     ,      . 

And  soft-loving  maidens  and  gentle  poets 

Offer  their  songs  and  their  sorrows. 

The  tender  Luna !  woman  at  heart. 
Ever  she  loveth  her  beautiful  lord. 
And  at  evening,  trembling  and  pale. 
Out  she  peeps  from  light  cloud  curtains. 
And  looks  to  the  lost  one  in  sorrow ; 
Fain  would  she  cry  in  her  anguish,  "  Come, 


^«#^  .M'^-'.'f  A'Vy 


'.■i.  i*-«^'-*>-*-»'i'*.it'*Vn>'7.»_^..*'"'^^«- t^ 


tfo  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL.' 

Come,  the  children  are  longing  for  love !  " 

In  vain  the  haughty-souled  god  of  fire 

Flashes  forth  at  the  sight  of  pale  Luna 

In  doubly  deep  purple. 

For  rage  and  pain, 

And  yielding,  he  hastens  him  down 

To  his  ocean-chilled  and  lonely  bed. 

•  •  •  •  • 

Spirits  whispering  evil 

By  their  power  brought  pain  and  destmctioii 

Even  to  great  gods  eternal ; 

And  the  poor  deities,  high  in  the  heavens, 

Travel  in  sorrow — 

Endless,  disconsolate  journeys. 

And  they  are  immortal, 

Still  bearing  with  them 

Theip- bright-gleaming  sorrow. 

But  I,  the  mortal, 

Planted  so  lowly,  with  death  to  bless  me, 

I  sorrow  no  longer. 


NIGHT  ON  THE  SEA-SHOBE. 

Starless  and  cold  is  the  night, 

The  wild  sea  foams ; 
And  over  the  sea,  flat  on  his  face. 

Lies  the  monstrous  terrible  North  Wind, 


■J;^«»-*~.«-  ~.._,.  ^,  ■  _-<^^....  Wf-  .  .«i-..v«^~ii*<i._,^^ 


THE  NORTH  SEA.  ■  «71 

Sighing  and  sinking  his  voice  as  in  secret, 
Like  an  old  grumbler,  for  once  in  good-humour. 

Unto  the  ocean  he  talks, 
And  he  tells  her  wonderful  stories — 

Giant-legends,  murderous-humoured, 

Very  old  sagas  of  Norway, 
And  midst  them,  far  sounding,  he  howls  while 
laughing  v   ^    ^'^  >        ,: 

Sorcery-songs  from  the  Edda, 
Grey  old  Eunic  sayings, 

So  darkly-stirring  and  magic-inspiring, 
That  the  snow-white  sea-children 
High  are  springing  and  shouting, 

Drunk  with  wanton  joy. 

Meanwhile,  on  the  level  white  sea-beach, 
Over  the  sand  ever  washed  by  the  flood, 
Wanders  a  stranger  with  wild-storming  spirit, 
And  fiercer  far  than  wind  and  billow. 
Go  where  he  may. 

Sparks  are  flashing  and  sea-shells  are  cracking, 
And  he  wraps  him  well  in  his  iron-grey  mantle, 
And  quickly  treads  through  the  dark-waving 
■.       night,    :  .:-.,:.,;,.:  ^j.  ,;>-.:  . 

Safely  led  by  u  distant  taper, 
Which  guiding  and  gladdening  glimmers 
From  the  fisherman's  lonely  hovel. 

Father  and  brother  are  on  the  sea, 
And  all  alone  and  sad  there  sits 


<Hil»inr  <t    III    «»  ir«>--:  >'~:7*  *«.  v»T«»  %  .^^r-fy.  ^f  »■■ 


17a  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

Ill  the  hovel  the  fisher's  daughter, 

The  wondrous-lovely  fisher's  daughter ; 

She  sits  by  the  hearth, 

Listening  to  the  boiling  kettle's 

Sweet  prophetic,  domestic  humming ; 

Scattering  light  crackling  wood  on  the  fire. 

And  blows  on  it,  ' 

Till  the  flashing  ruddy  flame  rays 

Shine  again  in  magic  lustre 

On  her  beautiful  features, 

On  her  tender,  snow-white  shoulder, 

Which  moving,  comes  peeping 

Over  heavy,  dark  grey  linen, 

And  on  the  little  industrious  hand, 

Which  more  firmly  binds  her  under  garment 

Eound  her  well-formed  figure. 

But  lo !  at  once  the  door  springs  wide, 

And  there  enters  in  haste  the  benighted  stranger; 

Love-assuring  rest  his  glances 

On  the  foam-white  slender  maiden, 

Who  trembling  near  him  stands, 

Like  a  storm-terrified  lily ; 

And  he  casts  on  the  floor  his  mantle, 

And  laughs  and  speaks : 

"  Seest  thou,  my  child,  I  keep  my  word, 
For  I  seek  thee,  and  with  me  comes 
The  olden  time,  when  the  bright  gods  of  heaven 
Came  once  more  to  the  daughters  of  mortals. 


_r,_jji^-»jVv»^lJ>»i:.»^..«»./»». »-"-•««•••-.?-.  rt.:;|  j.««».*  ♦  *>•  <■'  ^"'     '  '"'    f   <»•"••*'"*   ■  ""■■»i.|W»/i(*»it* 


THE  NORTH  SEA.  ^~  ifS 

And  the  daughters  of  mortals  embraced  them, 

And  from  them  gave  birth  to 

Sceptre-carrying  races  of  monarchs, 

And  heroes  astounding  the  world. 

Yet  stare  not,  my  child,  any  longer 

At  my  divinity, 

And  I  entreat  thee,  make  some  tea  with  rum, 

For  without  it  is  cold. 

And  by  such  a  night  air 

We  too  often  freeze,  yes,  we  the  undying, 

And  easily  catch  the  divinest  catarrhs 

And  coughs,  which  may  last  us  for  ever." 

POSEIDON. 

The  sun's  bright  rays  were  playing 

Over  the  far-away  rolling  sea; 

Far  in  the  harbour  glittered  the  ship. 

Which  to  my  home  ere  long  should  bear  me ; 

But  we  wanted  favourable  breezes. 

And  I  still  sat  calm  on  the  snow-white  sea-beacb, 

Alone  on  the  strand. 

And  I  read  the  song  of  Odysseus, 

The  ancient,  ever  new-bom  song, 

And  from  its  ocean-rippled  pages,  • 

Friendly  there  arose  to  me 

The  breath  of  immortals. 

And  the  light-giving  human  spring-tide,  ' 

And  the  soft  blooming  heaven  of  Hellas. 


174  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

My  noble  heart  accompanied  truly 

The  son  of  Laertes  in  wand'ring  and  sorrow, 

Set  itself  with  him,  troubled  in  spirit, 

By  bright  gleaming  firesides. 

By  fair  queens,  winning,  purple  spinning, 

And  helped  him  to  lie  and  escape,  glad  singing 

From  giant  caverns  and  nymphs  seducing, 

Followed  behind  in  fear-boding  night, 

And  in  storm  and  shipwreck, 

And  thus  suffered  with  him  unspeakable  sorrow. 

Sighing  I  spoke :  "  Thou  evil  Poseidon, 

Thy  wrath  is  fearful, 

And  I  myself  dread 

For  my  own  voyage  homeward." 

The  words  were  scarce  spoken. 
When  up  foamed  the  sea. 
And  from  the  sparkling  waters  rose 
The  mighty  bulrush-crownM  sea-god. 
And  scornful  he  cried : 

'*  Be  not  afraid,  small  poet ! 

I  will  not  in  leastwise  endanger 

Thy  wretched  vessel. 

Nor  put  thy  precious  being  in  terror. 

With  all  too  significant  shaking ; 

For  thou,  small  poet,  hast  troubled  me  not, 

Thou  hast  no  turret — though  triflings-destroyed 


THE  NORTH  SBA.      ;.  iy$ 

In  the  great  sacred  palace  of  Priam, 
Nor  one  little  eyelash  hast  thou  e'er  sii^d 
In  the  eye  of  my  son  Polyphemus ;     , 
Thee  with  her  counsels  did  never  protect 
The  goddess  of  wisdom,  Pallas  Ath^nd.** 
And  so  spake  Poseidon, 
And  sank  him  again  in  the  sea;    V 
And  over  the  vulgar  sailor's  joke 
There  laughed  under  the  water 
Amphitrite,  the  fat  old  fishwife,      ■ 
And  the  stupid  daughters  of  Kerens. 


S.^'.  ,_:/■^:V•V 
HOMAGlE.v'■    ■' 

Ye  poems  I  ye  mine  own  valiant  poems  I 

Up,  up  and  weapon  ye  1 

Let  the  loud  trump  be  ringing, 

And  lift  upon  my  shield 

The  fair  young  maiden, 

Who,  now  my  heart  in  full 

Shall  govern  as  a  sovereign  queen. 

All  hail  to  thee,  thou  fair  young  queen ! 

From  the  sun  above  me 
I  tear  the  flashing,  ruddy  gold, 
And  weave  therefrom  a  diadem 
For  thy  all  holy  head. 


lf$  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

"J 

From  the  fluttering,  blue-silken  heaven's  curtain. 

Wherein  night's  bright  diamonds  glitter, 

I  cut  a  costly  piece, 

To  hang  as  coronation-mantle 

Upon  thy  white,  imperial  shoulders. 

I  give  to  thee,  dearest,  a  city 

Of  stiffly  adorned  sonnets, 

Proud  triple  verses  and  courteous  stanzas ; 

My  wit  thy  courier  shall  be,  j 

And  for  court-fool  my  fantasy. 

As  herald,  the  soft  smiling  tears  in  my  escutcheon, 

And  with  them  my  humour ; 

But  I  myself,  O  gentle  queen, 

I  bow  before  thee  lowly. 

And  kneeling  on  scarlet  velvet  cushions, 

I  here  offer  to  thee 

The  fragments  of  reason. 

Which  from  sheer  pity  once  were  left  to  me 

By  her  who  ruled  before  thee  in  the  realm. 


6. 

EXPLANATION. 

Adown  and  dimly  came  the  evening, 

Wilder  tumbled  the  waves, 

And  I  sat  on  the  strand  regarding 

The  swan-like  dance  of  the  billows. 

And  then  my  breast  swelled  up  like  the  sea, 


:  THE  NORTH  SEA.  J77 

And  longing,  there  sei2ed  me  a  deep  home-sickness 

For  thee,  thou  lovely  form, 

Who  everywhere  art  by  me. 

And  everywhere  dost  call. 

Everywhere,  everywhere, 

In  the  rustling  of  breezes,  the  roaring  of  ocean. 

And  in  the  sighing  of  this,  my  sad  hearts 

With  a  light  reed  I  wrote  in  the  sand, 

"  Agnes,  I  love  but  thee ! " 

But  wicked  waves  came  washing  fast 

Over  the  tender  confession, 

And  bore  it  away. 

Thou  too  fragile  reed,  thou  false  shifting  sand, 

Ye  swift  flowing  waters,  I  trust  ye  no  more ! 

The  heaven  grows  darker,  my  heart  grows  wilder, 

And,  with  strong  right  hand,  from  Norway's  forests 

I'll  tear  the  highest  fir-tree. 

And  dip  it  adown 

Into  -ZEtna's  hot  glowing  gulf,  and  with  such  a      . , 

Fiery,  flaming,  giant  graver, 

I'll  inscribe  on  heaven's  jet-black  cover, 

"  Agnes,  I  love  but  thee  1" 

And  every  night  I'll  witness,  blazing 
Above  me,  the  endless  flaming  verse, 
And  even  the  latest  races  born  from  me 
Will  read,  exulting,  the  heavenly  motto, 
"  Agnes,  I  love  but  thee ! " 

VOL.  I.  M 


178  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

7- 

NIGHT  IN  THE  CABIN. 

The  sea  has  many  pearl-drops, 
The  heaven  has  many  planets. 
But  this  fond  heart,  my  heart. 
My  heart  has  tender  true-love. 

Great  is  the  sea  and  the  heaven, 
Yet  greater  is  my  heart ; 
And  fairer  than  pearl-drops  or  planets 
Flashes  the  love  in  my  bosom. 

Thou  little  gentle  maiden, 

Come  to  my  beating  heart ; 

My  heart,  and  the  sea,  and  the  heaven. 

Are  lost  in  loving  frenzy. 

•  •  •  •  • 

On  the  dark  blue  heaven  curtain, 
Where  the  lovely  stars  are  gleaming, 
Fain  would  I  my  lips  be  pressing. 
Press  them  wildly,  storm-like  weeping. 

And  those  planets  are  her  bright  eyes. 
But  a  thousand  times  repeated ; 
And  they  shine  and  greet  me  kindly, 
From  the  dark  blue  heaven's  curtain. 


THE  NORTH  SEA.  179 

To  the  dark  blue  heavenly  curtain. 
To  the  eyes  I  love  so  dearly, 
High  my  hands  I  raise  devoutly, 
And  I  pray  and  I  entreat  her: 

Lovely  eyes,  ye  lights  of  mercy !       j 
Oh,  I  pray  ye,  bless  my  spirit; 
Let  me  perish,  and  exalt  me 
Up  to  ye,  and  to  your  heaven. 

From  the  heavenly  eyes  above  me 
Snow-light  sparks  are  trembling,  falling 
Through  the  night,  and  all  my  spirit. 
Wide  in  love,  flows  forth  and  wider. 

Oh,  ye  heavenly  eyes  above  me! 
Weep  your  tears  upon  my  spirit. 
That  those  living  tears  of  starlight 
O'er  my  soul  may  gently  ripple. 

Cradled  calm  by  waves  of  ocean. 
And  by  wondrous  dreaming,  musing 
Still  I  lie  within  the  cabin. 
In  my  gloomy  corner  hammock. 

Through  the  open  hatchway  gazing, 
Yonder  to  the  gleaming  starlight. 
To  the  dearest,  sweetest  glances 
Of  my  sweetest,  much-loved  maiden. 


>8o 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


Yes,  those  sweetest,  best-loved  glances 
Calm  above  my  head  are  shining ; 
rhey  are  ringing,  they  are  peeping, 
From  the  dark  blue  vault  of  heaven. 

To  the  dark  blue  vault  of  heaven 
Many  an  hour  I  gaze  in  rapture. 
Till  a  snow-white  cloudy  curtain 
Hides  from  me  the  best-loved  glances. 

On  the  planking  of  the  vessel. 

Where  my  light-dreaming  head  lies. 

Leap  up  the  waters — the  wild,  dark  waters — 

They  ripple  and  murmur 

Eight  stndght  in  my  ear :  j 

"  Thou  crazy  companion ! 

Thy  arm  is  short,  and  the  heaven  is  far,  ' 

And  the  stars  up  yonder  are  nailed  down  firmly  ; 
In  vain  is  thy  longing,  in  vain  is  thy  sighing, 
The  best  thou  canst  do  is  to  go  to  sleep."  j 

•  •  •  •  •  •  j. 

And  I  was  dreaming  of  a  heath  so  dreary,  j 

For  ever  mantled  with  the  sad  white  snow, 
And  'neath  the  sad  white  snow  I  lay  deep  buried. 
And  slept  the  lonely  ice-cold  sleep  of  death. 

And  yet  on  high  from  the  dark  heaven  were  gazing 
Adown  upon  my  grave  the  starlight  glances, 
Those  sad  sweet  glances  1  and  they  gleamed  vic- 
torious, 
So  calmly  cheerful  and  yet  full  of  true  love. 


THE  NORTH  SEA.  i8t 


STORM. 

Loud  rages  the  storm,  ^ 

And  he  whips  the  waves. 

And  the  waters,  rage-foaming  and  leaping, 

Tower  on  high,  and  with  life  there  come  rolling 

The  snow-white  water-mountains. 

And  the  vessel  ascends  them, 

Earnest  striving. 

Then  quickly  it  darts  adown, 

In  jet  black,  wide  opening,  wat'ry  abysses. 

Oh,  Seal 

Mother  of  Beauty,  born  of  the  foam-billow ! 
Great  Mother  of  all  Love  I  be  propitious  I 
There  flutters,  corpse  foreboding. 
Around  us  the  spectre-like  seagull. 
And  whets  his  sharp  bill  on  the  topmast, 
And  yearns  with  hunger-lust  for  the  life-blood 
Of  him  who  sounded  the  praise  of  thy  daxighter. 
And  whom  thy  grandson,  the  little  rogue. 
Chose  for  a  plaything. 

In  vain  my  entreaties  and  tears ! 
My  plainings  are  lost  in  the  terrible  storm ; 
*Mid  war-cries  of  north  winds. 
There's  a  roaring  and  whistling,  a  crackling  and 
howling. 


'-.,.. .»  .    -. — ^. 


1 82  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

Like  a  madhouse  of  noises ! 
And  amid  them  I  hear  distinctly 
Sweet  enticing  harp  tones, 
Melody  mad  with  desire, 
Spirit-melting  and  spirit-rending: 
Well  I  remember  the  voices. 

Far  on  the  rocky  coast  of  Scotland, 

Where  the  old  grey  castle  towers 

Over  the  wild  breaking  sea, 

In  a  lofty  archM  window 

There  stands  a  lovely  sickly  dame, 

Softly  transparent  and  marble  pale. 

And  she  plays  the  harp  and  sings ; 

Through  her  locks  the  wind  is  waving, 

And  bears  her  gloomy  song 

Over  the  broad,  white  storm-rolling  sea. 


CALM  AT  SEA. 

Ocean  silence !  rays  are  falling 
From  the  sun  upon  the  water ; 
like  a  train  of  quivering  jewels 
Sweeps  the  ship's  green  wake  behind  us. 

Near  the  rudder  lies  our  boatswain, 
On  his  face,  and  deeply  snoring ; 
By  the  mast  his  canvas  sewing. 
Sits  a  little  tarry  sailor. 


^^j>- .  ^. 


. .  ■*'iMi..jM.  .  J  ^.B^:  .A«'t*iK*i.-*  &1   *■» 


THE  NORTH  SEA.  183 

But  o'er  all  his  dirty  features 
Glows  a  blush,  and  fear  is  twitching 
Eound  his  full-sized  mouth,  and  sadly 
Gaze  his  large  and  glittering  eyeballs. 

For  the  captain  stands  before  him, 
Fumes  and  swears  and  curses,  "  Rascal ! 
Rascal ! — there's  another  herring 
Which  you've  stolen  from  the  barrel !" 

Ocean  silence !    From  the  water 
Up  a  little  fish  comes  shooting, 
Warms  its  head  in  pleasant  sunlight. 
With  its  small  tail  merry  paddling. 

But  the  seagull,  sailing  o'er  us, 
Darts  him  headlong  on  the  swimmer, 
And,  with  claws  around  his  booty, 
Flies,  and  fades  far,  far  above  ma 


la  ■ 

A  SEA-PHANTOM. 

But  I  still  leaned  on  the  edge  of  the  vessel, 

Gazing  with  sad-dreaming  glances, 

Down  at  the  crystal-mirror  water, 

Looking  yet  deeper  and  deeper — 

Till  in  the  sea's  abysses, 

At  first  like  quivering  vapours, 


^'ft.feitar&^y.i^^Jy-"  *- » ■. 


^a^HJm 


l84  PICTURES  0,F  TRAVEL. 

Then  slowly, — slowly, — deeper  in  colour, 

Domes  of  churches  and  towers  seemed  rising, 

And  then,  as  clear  as  day  a  city  grand, 

Quaint,  old-fashioned, — Netherlandish, 

And  living  with  men, — 

Men  of  high  standing,  wrapped  in  black  mantles, 

With  snowy-white  neck-ruffs  and  chains  of  honour, 

And  good  long  rapiers,  and  good  long  faces. 

Treading  in  state  o'er  the  crowded  market, 

To  the  high  steps  of  the  town-hall. 

Where  stone-carved  statues  of  Elaisers 

Kept  watch  with  their  swords  and  sceptres. 

Nor  distant,  near  houses  in  long  array, 

With  windows  clear  as  mirrors, 

Stand  lindens,  cut  in  pyramidal  figures, 

And  maidens  in  silk-rustling  garments  wander, 

A  golden  zone  round  the  slender  waist, 

With  flower-like  faces  modestly  curtained 

In  jet-black  velvet  coverings. 

From  which  a  ringlet-fulness  comes  pressing. 

Quaint  cavalieros  in  old  Spanish  dress. 

Sweep  proudly  along  and  salute  them. 

Elderly  ladies 

In  dark-brown  old-fashioned  garments. 

With  prayer-book  and  rosary  held  in  their  hands. 

Hasten,  tripping  along, 

To  the  great  cathedral. 

Attracted  by  bells  'loud  ringing, 

And  fuU-sounding  organ-tones. 


•■-.*  AtB  -r-'iy  •■'»-<•  .*>f  ■-".••.  ^"i^v'"'  *'  ♦  **>  • 


THE  NORTH  SEA.     r  185 

E'en  I  am  seized,  at  that  far  sound, 
"With  strange,  mysterious  trembling ; 
Infinite  longing,  wondrous  sorrow, 
Steal  through  my  heart, 
My  heart  as  yet  scarce  healed; 
It  seems  as  though  its  wounds,  forgotten. 
By  loving  lips  again  were  kissed, 
And  once  again  were  bleeding 
Drops  of  burning  crimson. 
Which  long  and  slowly  trickle  down 
Upon  an  ancient  house  below  there 
In  the  deep,  deep  sea-town. 
On  an  ancient,  high-roofed,  curious  house. 
Where,  lone  and  melancholy. 
Below  by  the  window  a  maiden  sits. 
Her  head  on  her  arm  reclined, 
Like  a  poor  and  uncared-for  child, 
And  I  know  thee,  thou  poor  and  long-sorrow- 
ing child  1 

Thou  didst  hide  thus,  my  dear, 

So  deep,  so  deep  from  me, 

In  infant-like  humour. 

And  couldst  not  arise  again. 

And  sittest  strange  amid  stranger  people, 

For  full  five  hundred  years, 

And  I  meanwhile,  my  spirit  all  grief, 

Over  the  whole  broad  world  have  sought  thee, 

And  ever  have  sought  thee. 


Its 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


Thou  dearly  beloved. 

Thou  the  long-lost  one, 

Thou  finally  found  one — 

At  last  I  have  found  thee,  and  now  am  gazing 

Upon  thy  sweet  face, 

With  earnest,  faithful  glances, 

Still  sweetly  smiling — 

And  never  will  I  again  on  earth  leave  thee. 

I  am  coming  adown  to  thee. 

And  with  longing,  wide-reaching  embraces, 

Love,  I  leap  down  to  thy  heart  1 

But  just  at  the  right  instant 

The  captain  caught  and  held  me  safe. 

And  drew  me  from  danger. 

And  cried  half-angrily,  laughing, 

"  Doctor !  is  Satan  in  you  ? " 


It. 


PURIFICATION. 

Stay  thou  in  gloomy  ocean  caverns, 

Maddest  of  dreams. 

Thou  who  hast  so  many  a  night 

My  heart  with  treacherous  joy  tormented  ; 

And  now,  as  ocean  sprite, 

Even  by  sun-bright  day  dost  annoy  me — 

Eest  where  thou  art  to  eternity. 

And  I  will  cast  thee  as  offering  down 


. -»•*  >»--•«♦••  ,i.v.*  s.->-'^*^- 


iT.t':sr:rim^,: 


THE  NORTH  SEA.  ;  liy 

All  my  long- worn  sins  and  my  sorrows. 

And  the  cap  and  bells  of  my  folly, 

Which  so  long  round  my  head  have  been  ringing, 

And  the  ice-cold  shining  serpent-skin 

Of  hypocrisy, 

Which  so  long  round  my  soul  has  been  twining, 

The  sad,  sick  spirit. 

The  God  disbelieving  and  angel  denying, 

Miserable  spirit — 

ffillo  ho  !  hallo  ho  !    There  comes  the  wind ! 

Up  with  the  sails !  they  flutter  and  bellow ; 

Over  the  silent,  treacherous  surface 

Hastens  the  ship, 

And  loud  laughs  the  spirit  set  free. 


12.     ■ 
PEACE. 

High  in  heaven  the  sun  was  standing, 

By  cold  white  vapours  bedimmed; 

The  sea  was  still. 

And  musing,  I  lay  by  the  helm  of  the  vessel 

Dreamily  musing,  and  half  in  waking 

And  half  in  slumber,  I  saw  in  vision 

The  Saviour  of  earth. 

In  flowing  snow-white  garments 

He  wandered  giant-high 

Over  land  and  sea; 


■^•r*'"' 


i88  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

He  lifted  his  head  unto  heaven, 

His  hands  were  stretched  forth  in  blessing 

Over  land  and  sea ; 

And  as  a  heart  in  His  breast 

He  bore  the  sun  orb, 

The  ruddy,  radiant  sun  orb, 

And  the  ruddy,  radiant,  burning  heart 

Poured  forth  its  beams  of  mercy 

And  its  gracious  and  love-bless6d  light, 

Enlight'ning  and  warming. 

Over  land  and  sea. 

Sweetest  bell-tones  drew  us  gaily 
Here  and  there,  like  swans  soft  leading 
By  bands  of  roses  the  smooth-gliding  ship. 
And  swam  with  it  sporting  to  a  verdant  sea 

shore, 
Where  men  were  living  in  a  high  towering 
And  stately  town. 

Oh,  peaceful  wonder !    How  still  the  city 
Where  the  sounds  of  this  world  were  silent. 
Of  prattling  and  sultry  employment, 
And  o'er  the  clean  and  echoing  highways        ' 
Mortals  were  walking  in  pure  white  garments. 
Bearing  palm  branches ; 
And  whenever  two  met  together, 
They  saw  each  other  with  ready  feeling, 
And  thrilling  with  true-love  and  sweet  self 
denial. 


.*>,r.:— ■*'»rff^.-;i»-*^^-.  '    «    -        .     »•   «  0'm  i <i  n  f/m  •••m'»v  F  »-<r.. 


THE  NORTH  SEA.     X  ,  189 

Each  pressed  a  kiss  on  the  forehead. 

And  looked  up  on  high 

To  the  bright  sun-heart  of  the  Saviour, 

Which,  gladly  atoning  His  crimson  blood, 

Flashed  down  upon  them, 

And,  trebly  blessed,  thus  they  spoke : 

•  Blessed  be  Jesus  Christ ! " 


If  thou  hadst  but  imagined  this  vision, 

What  wouldst  thou  have  given,        : 

My  excellent  friend  ? 

Thou  who  in  head  and  limbs  art  so  weak. 

But  in  faith  still  so  mighty. 

And  in  single  simplicity  honourest  the  Trinity, 

And  the  lapdog  and  cross  and  fingers 

Of  thy  proud  patroness  daily  kissest, 

And  by  piety  hast  worked  thyself  up 

To  "  Eofrath"  and  then  to  "  Justizrath," 

And  now  art  councillor  under  Grovernment 

In  the  pious  town 

Where  sand  and  true  faith  are  at  home. 

And  the  patient  Spree,  with  its  holy  water, 

Purifies  souls  and  weakens  their  tea. 

If  thou  hadst  but  imagined  this  vision, 

My  excellent  friend! 

Thou'dst  take  it  to  some  noble  quarter  for  sale ; 

Thy  pale,  white,  quivering  features 

Would  all  be  melting  in  pious  humility ; 

And  his  gracious  Highness, 


I90 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


Enchanted  and  enraptured, 

Praying  would  sink,  like  thee,  on  his  knee,  | 

And  his  eyes,  so  sweetly  beaming,  ; 

Would  promise  thee  an  augmented  pension  j 

Of  a  hundred  current  Prussian  dollars,  ' 
And  thou  wouldst  stammer,  thy  hands  enfolding,. 

"  Blessed  be  Jesus  Christ  I"      "  i 


PART   SECOND. 
(1826.) 

SEA-GREBTINa 

Thalatta!  Thalatta! 

Be  thou  greeted !  thou  infinite  sea ! 

Be  thou  greeted  ten  thousand  times 

With  heart  wild  exulting. 

As  once  thou  wert  greeted 

By  ten  thousand  Grecian  spirits, 

Striving  with  misery,  longing  for  home  again, 

Great,  world-famous  Grecian  true-hearts. 

The  wild  waves  were  rolling. 

Were  rolling  and  roaring, 

The  sunl^ht  poured  headlong  upon  them 

His  flickering  rosy  radiance. 

The  frightened  fluttering  trains  of  sea-gulls 

Went  flitting  up,  sharp  screaming; 

Loud  stamped  their  horses,  loud  rung  their  armour, 

And  far  it  re-echoed,  like  victor's  shout : 

Thalatta!  Thalatta! 


192 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


Greeting  to  thee,  thou  infinite  sea ! 
Like  the  tongue  of  my  country  ripples  thy  water ; 
Like  dreams  of  my  childhood  seems  the  glimmer 
On  thy  wild-wavering  watery  realm,  I 

And  ancient  memories  again  seemed  telling 
Of  all  my  pleasant  and  wonderful  playthings, 
Of  all  the  bright-coloured  Christmas  presents, 
Of  all  the  branches  of  crimson  coral, 
Small'gold-fish,  pearls  and  beautiful  sea-shells, 
Which  thou  in  secret  ever  keep'st 
Beneath  in  thy  sky-clear  crystal  home.         I 


Oh  !  how  have  I  yearned  in  desolate  exile  1 

Like  to  a  withered  floweret 

In  a  botanist's  tin  herbarium 

Lay  the  sad  heart  in  my  breast ; 

Or  as  if  I  had  sat  through  the  weary  winter. 

Sick  in  a  hospital  dark  and  gloomy ;  j 

And  now  I  had  suddenly  left  it. 

And  all-bewildering  there  beams  before  me 

Spring, — green  as  emerald,  waked  by  the  sun 

rays. 
And  white  tree-blossoms  are  rustling  around  me, 
And  the  young  flowerets  gaze  in  my  face 
With  eyes  perfuming  and  coloured,  I 

Perfuming  and  humming,  and  breathing  and 

smiling, 
And  in  the  blue  heaven  sweet  birds  are  singing — 
Thalatta !  Thalatta ! 


THE  NORTH  SEA.  y  '  153 

Thou  brave,  retreating  heart ! 

How  oft,  how  bitter  oft 

The  barbarous  dames  of  the  North  have  pressed 

thee  round ! 
From  blue  eyes,  great  and  conquering, 
They  shot  their  burning  arrows ; 
With  artful-polished  phrases. 
Often  they  threatened  to  cleave  my  bosom ; 
With  arrow-head  letters  full  oft  they  shot  * 
At  my  poor  brain,  bewildered  and  lost 
All  vainly  held  I  my  shield  against  them; 
Their  arrows  hissed,  and  their  blows  rang  round 

me; 
And  by  the  cold  North's  barbarous  ladies 
Then  was  I  driven  e'en  to  the  sea;     ■ 
And  freely  breathing  I  hail  thee,  0  Sea  1 
Thou  dearest,  rescuing  Sea ! 
Thalatta !  Thalatta ! 


^  Keil-tchrifi.  Cuneiform  letters,  in  allusion  to  the  Assyrian 
character.  Keil  is,  however,  in  German  a  wedge  or  bolt,  and 
in  the  original  Heine  says  that — 

"  Mit  Keilschrift  billets  Zerschlugen  sie  mir," 

"  They  beat  me  with  wedge-hand  billets." 

But  "  arrow-head  "  is  also  applied  to  these  characters.  Scheffel 
in  his  Oavideamus  has  taken  this  hint  from  Heine,  where  be 
makes  the  waiters  in  the  Whale  Tavern  bring  in  the  bill  to  the 
Prophet  Jonas  in  cuneiform  writing  on  six  cylinders  1 — Note  by 
Trandaior. 

VOL.  I.  If 


194  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

2. 
I 

BTOEM. 


Dabe  broods  a  storm  on  the  ocean. 

And  throngh  the  deep  black  wall  of  clouds 

Gleams  the  zigzag  lightning  flash, 

Quickly  darting  and  quick  departing. 

lake  a  joke  from  the  head  of  Elronion. 

Over  the  dreary,  ■wild-waving  water. 

Thunder  afar  is  rolling, 

And  the  snow-white  steeds  of  the  waves  are 

springing. 
Which  Boreas  himself  begot 
On  the  beautiful  mares  of  Erichthon ; 
And  ocean  birds  in  their  fright  are  fluttering. 
Like  shadowy  ghosts  o'er  the  Styx, 
Which  Charon  sent  back  from  his  shadowy 

boat 


Little  ship,  wretched  yet  merry, 
Which  yonder  art  dancing  a  terrible  dance ! 
^olus  sends  thee  the  fastest  companions. 
Wildly  they're  playing  the  merriest  dances ; 
The  first  pipes  soft,  the  next  blows  loud. 
The  third  growls  out  a  heavy  basso,  I 

And  the  tottering  sailor  stands  by  the  rudder. 
And  looks  incessantly  on  the  compass, 


THE  NORTH  SBA.       ^  tf$ 

The  quivering  soul  of  the  ship, 

lifting  his  hands  in  prayer  to  Heaven, 

"  Oh,  save  me,  Castor,  giant-like  hero, 

And  thoa  who  fight'st  with  fist,  Poljdeaces !" 


THE  SHIPWRECKED. 

Lost  hope  and  lost  love !    All  is  in  ruins  I 

And  I  myself,  like  a  dead  body 

Thrown  back  by  the  angry  sea, 

Lie  on  the  sea-beach ; 

On  the  waste,  barren  sea-beach, 

Before  me  rolls  a  waste  of  water, 

Behind  me  lies  starvation  and  sorrow. 

And  above  me  go  rolling  the  storm-clouds, 

The  formless,  dark-grey  daughters  of  air,  ■  , 

Which  from  the  sea,  in  cloudy  buckets. 

Scoop  up  the  water, 

Ever  wearied,  lifting  and  lifting, 

And  then  pour  it  again  in  the  sea: 

A  mournful,  wearisome  business. 

And  useless  too  as  this  life  of  mine. 

The  waves  are  murm'ring,the  seagulls  screaming, 
Old  recollections  seem  floating  around. 
Long- vanished  visions,  long-faded  pictures. 
Torturing,  yet  sweet,  seem  rising  once  more ! 


#  PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 

There  lives  a  maid  in  Norland, 

A  lovely  maid,  right  queenly  fair  I 

Her  slender  cypress-like  figure 

Is  clasped  by  a  passionate  snowy-white  robe; 

The  dusky  ringlet  fulness, 

Like  a  too  happy  night,  ! 

From  the  lofty  braid-crowned  forehead  comes 

pouring. 
Twining  all  dreamily  sweet 
Round  the  lovely  snow-pale  features, 
And  from  the  sweet  and  snow-pale  features, 
Great  and  wondrous,  gleams  a  dark  eye, 
Like  a  sun  of  jet-black  fire. 

Oh,  thou  bright,  black  sun !  how  oft, 

Enraptured  oft,  I  drank  from  thee 

Wild  glances  of  inspiration, 

And  stood  all  quivering,  drunk  with  their  fire. 

And  then  swept  a  smile  all  mild  and  dove-like, 

Eound  the  lips  high  mantling,  proud  and  lovely ; 

And  the  lips  high  mantling,  proud  and  lovely, 

Breathed  forth  words  as  sweet  as  moonlight^ 

Soft  as  the  perfume  of  roses ; 

Then  my  soul  rose  up  in  rapture 

And  flew  like  an  eagle  high  up  to  heaven  I 

Hush  I  ye  billows  and  seamews ! 

All  is  long  over,  hope  and  fortune, 

Fortune  and  true  love !     I  lie  on  the  sea-beach. 


THE  NORTH  SSA.  ||^ 


A  weary  and  wreck-mined  man. 
Still  pressing  my  face,  hot  glowing. 
In  the  cold,  wet  sand. 


-      SUNSET. 

The  beautiful  sun 

Has  calmly  sunk  down  to  his  rest  in  the  sea ; 

The  wild  rolling  waters  already  are  dyed 

With  night's  dark  shade, 

Though  still  the  evening  crimson 

Strews  them  with  light  as  yet  bright  golden, 

And  the  stem  roaring  might  of  the  flood 

Crowds  to  the  sea-beach  the  snowy  billows, 

All  merrily  quickly  leaping. 

Like  white  woolly  flocks  of  lambkins. 

Which  youthful  shepherds  at  evening,  singing, 

Drive  to  their  homes.  " 

"  How  fair  is  the  sun !  ** 

Thus  spoke,  his  silence  breaking,  my  friend. 

Who  with  me  on  the  sea-beach  loitering. 

And  jesting  half,  and  half  in  sorrow. 

Assured  me  that  the  bright  sun  was 

A  lovely  dame,  whom  the  old  Ocean-god  ; 

For  •*  convenience  "  once  had  married. 

And  in  the  daytime  she  wanders  gaily 

Through  the  high  heaven,  purple  arrayed, 


-.»J««jti*^.,^--%.*,,l»r'^(^l,J-..At.^jii,8,»»--y»^  ^(l*;ji.  , !*»",■♦»  -^'f' •■*■''*   »■»-,  - 


■98 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


And  all  in  diamonds  gleaming, 

And  all  beloved  and  all  amazing 

To  every  worldly  being ; 

And  every  worldly  being  rejoicing 

With  warmth  and  splendour  from  her  glances ; 

Alas  1  at  evening,  sad  and  unwilling, 

Back  must  she  bend  her  slow  steps 

To  the  dripping  home,  to  the  barren  embrace 

Of  grisly  old  aga 


"  Believe  me,"  added  to  this  my  friend, 
And  smiling  and  sighing,  and  smiUng  again, 
"They're    leading  below  there  the  lovingest 

life! 
For  either  they're  sleeping  or  they  are  scolding, 
Till  high  uproars  above  here  the  sea, 
And  the  fisher  in  watery  roar  can  hear 
How  the  Old  One  his  wife  abuses. 
"  Plump  drab  of  the  universe ! 
Wooing  with  radiance ! 

All  the  long  day  shinest  thou  for  other  loves ; 
By  night,  to  me,  thou  art  freezing  and  weary." 
At  such  a  stem  curtain  lecture, 
Of  course  the  Sun-bride  falls  to  weeping,       | 
Falls  to  weeping,  and  waib  her  sorrow,  t 

And  cries  so  wretchedly  that  the  Sea-god       | 
Quickly,  all  desperate  leaps  from  his  bed. 
And  straight  to  the  ocean  surface  comes  rising. 
To  get  to  fresh  air — and  his  senses. 


THE  NORTH  SBA.  199 

**  So  I  beheld  him  but  yesternight 
Eising  breast-high  up  from  the  ocean ; 
He  wore  a  long  jacket  of  yellow  flannel. 
And  a  new  nightcap,  white  as  a  lily. 
And  a  wrinkled,  faded  old  faca" 


-  5-' 

THE  SONG  OF  THB  OCBANIDES. 

Colder  the  twilight  falls  on  the  ocean, 
And  lonely,  with  his  own  lonelier  spirit, 
There  sits  a  man  on  the  barren  strand. 
And  casts  death-chilling  glances  on  high. 
To  the  wide-spread,  death-chilling  vault  of  heaven. 
And  looks  on  the  broad,  wide  wavering  sea ; 
And  over  the  broad,  white  wavering  sea, 
like  air-borne  sailors,  his  sighs  go  sweeping, 
Eetuming  once  more  in  sadness. 
But  to  discover,  firm  fastened,  the  heart. 
Wherein  they  fain  would  anchor ; 
And  he  groans  so  loud  that  the  snow-white  sea- 
mews. 
Frightened  up  from  their  nests  in  the  sand  heaps, 
In  white  clouds  flutter  round  him. 
And  he  speaks  unto  them  the  while,  and  laugh- 
ing:— 

"  Ye  black-legged  sesrf owl. 

With  yoor  white  pinions  o'er  the  sea  fluttering, 


'^tt,*'r\f' 


200 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


With  crooked  dark  bills  drinking  the  sea-water, 
And  rank,  oily  seal-blubber  devouring  1 
Your  wild  life  is  bitter,  e'en  as  your  food  is,      ' 
While  I  here,  the  fortunate,  taste  only  sweet 

things !  ^      ■  1 

I  taste  the  sweetest  breath  of  roses,  ! 

The  nourished  with  moonshine  nightingale  bride ; 
I  eat  the  most  delicate  sugar  m^ngues. 
Filled  with  delicious  whipped  cream  ; 
And  the  sweetest  of  all  I've  tasted : 
Sweetest  true  love  and  sweetest  returned  love. 

"  Sfie  loves  me !  she  loves  me !  the  lovely  maiden  I 
She  now  stands  at  home — perhaps  at  the  window. 
And  looks  through  the  twilight  afar  on  the  high- 
way, 
And  looks  and  longs  but  for  me — that's  certain ! 
All  vainly  she  gazes  around,  still  sighing ; 
Then  sighing,  she  walks  adown  in  the  garden, 
Wandering  in  moonlight  and  perfume. 
And  speaks  to  the  sweet  flowers — oft  telling  them 
How  I,  the  beloved  one,  deserve  her  love, 
And  am  so  agreeable — that's  certain  I 
In  bed  reposing,  in  slumber,  in  dreams, 
There  flits  round  her,  happy,  my  well-loved  form ; 
E'en  in  the  morning  at  breakfast, 
On  the  glittering  bread  and  butter 
She  sees  my  dear  features  sweet  smiling, 
And  she  eats  it  up  out  of  love — that's  certain ! 


•..•,Vm 


f>  V    -    T»^-.—  * 


,}f,M^yt:ji,4*^'^\'$j  \ 


THE  NORTH  SEA. 


(MM 


Thus  he's  boasting  and  boasting. 
And  'mid  it  all  loud  scream  the  seagulls, 
Like  old  and  ironical  tittering. 
The  evening  vapours  are  climbing  up ; 
From  clouds  of  violet,  strange  and  dream-like, 
Out  there  peeps  the  grass-yellow  moon ; 
High  are  roaring  the  ocean  billows. 
And  deep  from  the  high  uproaring  sea. 
All  sadly  as  whispering  breezes, 
Sounds  the  lay  of  the  Oceanides, 
The  beautiful,  kind-hearted  water-fairies, 
,  And  clearest  among  them  the  sweet  notes  are 


nnging 


Of  the  silver-footed  bride  of  Peleus, 
And  they  sigh  and  are  singing : — 

"  Oh,  fool !  thou  fool !  thou  weak,  boasting  fool ! 

Thou  tortured  with  sorrows! 

Vanished  and  lost  are  the  hopes  thou  hast  che- 
rished, 

The  light  sporting  babes  of  thy  heart's  love ; 

And  ah !  thy  heart,  thy  Niobe  heart. 

Is  by  grief  turned  to  stone  I 

And  in  thy  wild  brain  'tis  night. 

And  through  it  is  darting  the  lightning  of  mad- 
ness, ■  -  .,  z^--:-' -'^::: -v-"  '-' 

And  thou  boastest  from  anguish ! 

Oh,  fool !  thou  fool  1  thou  weak,  boasting  fool ! 

Stiff-necked  art  thou,  like  thy  first  parent. 


*%w  #!*»»««>.  ,  ,»<s»  K  .»-«.,«.-».«'<«.v.  »*  ♦»*<>«»»  ; 


■.  *-•••*■«-♦.-*■*•  »»»->-i»..' 


lA    »,i^,^«i^- 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL.  ■ 

The  noblest  of  Titans,  who  from  the  immortali 
Stole  heavenly  fire,  and  on  man  bestowed  it^ 
And  eagle-tortured,  to  rocks  firm  fettered. 
Defied  Olympus,  enduring  and  groaning. 
Until  we  heard  it  deep  down  in  the  sea, 
And  gathered  around  him  with  songs  consoling. 


"  Oh,  fool  I  thou  fool !  thou  weak,  boasting  fool ! 

Thou  who  art  weaker  by  far  than  he, 

Hadst  thou  thy  reason,  thou'dst  honour  th'  im- 
mortals, 

And  bear  with  more  patience  the  burden  of  suf- 
fering, 

And  bear  it  in  patience,  in  silence,  in  sorrow, 

Till  even  Atlas  his  patience  had  lost,  I 

And  the  heavy  world  from  his  shoulders  was 
thrown 

Into  endless  night." 

So  rang  the  deep  song  of  the  Oceanides, 

The  lovely  compassionate  water-spirits, 

Until  the  wild  waters  had  drowned  their  music. 

Behind  the  dark  clouds  down  sank  the  moon. 

Tired  night  was  yawning, 

And  I  sat  yet  awhile  in  darkness  and  weeping. 


^f*^:;  .v>V-»'-':f^'  -, 


^    ■• 


v%  ,n 


■»>. 


] 


THS  NORTH  SSA,  ao3 


THE  GK)DS  OF  GBBECI.     ' 

Thou  fnll-blooming  moon !  in  thy  soft  light, 
like  wavering  gold,  bright  shines  the  sea; 
like  mom's  first  radiance,  yet  dimly  enchanted, 
It  lies  o'er  the  broad  wide  strand's  horizon ; 
And  in  the  pure  blue  starless  heaven 
The  snowy  clouds  are  sweeping, 
like  giant-towering  shapes  of  immortals 
Of  white  gleaming  marble. 

Nay,  but  I  err;  no  clouds  are  those  yonder  I 
Those  are  in  person  the  great  gods  of  Hellas, 
Who  once  so  joyously  governed  the  world, 
But  now  long  banished,  long  perished. 
As  monstrous  terrible  spectres  are  sweeping 
Along  o'er  the  midnight  heaven. 

Gazing  and  strangely  bewildered,  I  see 
The  airy  Pantheon, 

The  awfully  silent,  fearful  far-sweeping 
Giant-like  spectres. 

Me  there  is  E[ronion,  the  king  of  heaven; 
Snow-white  are  the  locks  of  his  head. 
The  far-famed  locks  which  send  throbs  through 
Olympus; 


-li^'W  -■  V,^;',-.>  ♦  ^^*,    *^-f:   ■  -    I  • /.  ^  ?    ■'  ^•^f^-.« 


«H 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


He  holds  in  his  hand  the  extinguished  bolt ; 

Sorrow  and  suffering  sit  stern  on  his  brow. 

Yet  still  it  hath  ever  its  ancient  pride. 

Once  there  were  lordlier  ages,  0  Zeus, 

When  thou  didst  revel  divinely,  ; 

'Mid  fair  youths  and  maidens  on  hecatombsmany ! 

But  e'en  the  immortals  may  not  reign  for  ever ; 

The  younger  still  banish  the  elder,  .    .. 

As  thou  thyself  didst  thy  grey  father, 

And  drove  from  their  kingdom  thy  Titan  uncles, 

Jupiter  Parricida ! 

Thee  too  I  know  well,  haughty  Juno  1 

Spite  of  all  thy  fearful  jealousy, 

Though  from  thee  another  thy  sceptre  hath 

taken, 
And  thou  art  no  more  the  Queen  of  Heaven, 
And  thy  wondrous  eyes  seem  frozen, 
And  even  thy  lily-white  arms  are  powerless. 
And  never  more  can  fall  thy  vengeance 
On  the  god-impregnated  maiden. 
And  the  wonder-working  son  of  Jove, 
Well  too  I  know  thee,  Pallas  Ath&i\6 ! 
With  shield  and  wisdom  still  thou  couldst  not 
Avert  the  sad  fall  of  immortals ! 
Thee  too  I  know  now,  yes,  thee,  Aphrodite ! 
Once  the  golden  one,  now  the  silver  one ! 
E'en  yet  the  charm  of  thy  girdle  adorns  thee ; 
But  I  shudder  in  secret  before  thy  beauty. 
And  could  I  enjoy  thy  burning  embraces, 


f*  ,^^ 


k\4   ><K*-r»  '   r**'^^  '" 


THE  NORTH  SEA.  Mg 

Like  the  ancient  heroes,  Td  perish  with  fear ; 

As  the  goddess  of  corpses  thou  seem'st  to  me, 

Venus  Libitina ! 

No  more  in  fond  love  looks  on  thee, 

There,  the  terrible  Ares; 

Sadly  now  gazeth  Phcebus  Apollo, 

The  youthful;  his  lyre  sounds  no  more, 

Which  once  rang  with  joy  at  the  feasts  of  the 

gods. 
And  sadder  still  looks  Hephaistos, 
And — truly  the  limping  one ! — never  more 
Will  he  fill  the  office  of  Hebe, 
And  busily  pour  out  in  the  assembly 
The  sweet-tasting  nectar.     And  long  hath  been 

silent 
The  ne'er  to  be  silenced  laugh  of  immortals. 

Gods  of  old  time,  I  never  have  loved  ye ! 

For  the  Greeks  did  never  chime  with  my  spirit, 

And  e'en  the  Eomans  I  hate  at  heart ; 

But  holy  compassion  and  shudd'ring  pity 

Stream  through  my  soul 

As  I  now  gaze  upon  ye  yonder, 

Gods  long  neglected. 

Death-like,  night-wandering  shadows, 

Weak  as  clouds  which  the  wind  hath  scattered ; 

And  when  I  remember  how  weak  and  windy 

The  gods  now  are  who  o'er  you  triumphed. 

The  new  and  the  sorrowful  gods  now  ruling, : 


w6 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


The  joy-destrojers  in  sheep-skins  of  meekness. 
Then  there  comes  o'er  me  gloomiest  rage ; 
Fain  would  I  shatter  the  modem  temples. 
And  battle  for  ye,  ye  ancient  immortals. 
For  ye  and  your  good  old  ambrosial  right ; 
And  before  your  lofty  altars,  ' 

Once  more  erected,  with  incense  sweet  smoking, 
Would  I,  once  more  kneeling,  adoring. 
Raise  up  my  arms  to  you  in  prayer. 


For  constantly,  ye  old  immortals, 
Was  it  your  custom  in  mortal  battles 
Ever  to  lend  your  aid  to  the  conqueror; 
Therefore  is  man  now  far  nobler  than  ye. 
And  in  the  contest  I  now  take  part 
With  the  cause  of  the  conquered  immortals. 


'Twas  thus  I  spoke,  and  blushes  were  visible 
Over  the  cold  white  aerial  figures ; 
Gazing  upon  me  like  dying  ones,  ' 

With  pain  transfigured,  they  quickly  vanished. 
The  moon  concealed  her  features  j 

Behind  a  cloud,  which  darkly  went  sweeping : 
Loudly  the  sea  rose  foaming. 
And  the  beautiful  calm  beaming  stars  victorious 
Shone  out  o'er  heaven. 


THE  NORTH  SBA.  HT 

QTTESnONIlWJ. 

By  the  sea,  by  the  dreary,  darkening  sea 
A  youthful  man  is  standing. 
His  heart  all  sorrowing,  his  head  all  doubting,     „ 
And  with  gloomiest  accent  he  questions  the  bil- 
lows:— 

"  Oh,  solve  me  Life's  riddle,  I  pray  ye, 

The  torturing  ancient  enigma, 

O'er  which  full  many  a  brain  hath  long  puzzled. 

Old  heads  in  hieroglyph  marked  mitres. 

Heads  in  turbans  and  caps  medisBval, 

Wig-covered  pates  and  a  thousand  others. 

Sweating,  wearying  heads  of  mortals, 

Tell  me  what  signifies  Manf 

Whence  came  he  hither  ?    Where  goes  he  hence  ? 

Who  dwells  there  on  high  in  the  radiant  planets  ?  " 

The  billows  are  murmuring  their  murmur  unceas- 
ing. 
Wild  blows  the  wind,  the  dark  clouds  are  fleeting, 
The  stars  are  still  gleaming,  so  calmly  and  cold. 
And  a  fool  awaits  an  answer 


ao8  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL, 

8. 

THE  PHCENIX.  .  1 

A  BIRD  from  the  far  west  his  way  came  winging ; 
Still  flying  eastward  j 

To  the  beautiful  land  of  gardens, 
Where  spicy  perfumes  are  breathing  and  growing, 
And  palm-trees  rustle  and  brooks  are  rippling, 
And  flying  sings  the  bird  so  wondrous : — 

'*  She  loves  him !  she  loves  him ! 

She  bears  his  form  in  her  little  bosom. 

And  wears  it  sweetly  and  secretly  hidden, 

Yet  she  knows  it  not  yet ! 

Only  in  dreams  he  comes  to  Jier, 

And  she  prays  and  weeps,  his  hand  oft  kissing. 

His  name  often  calling,  j 

And  calling  she  wakens,  and  lies  in  terror, 

And  presses  in  wonder  those  eyes,  soft  gleaming — 

She  loves  him  I  she  loves  him  I " 


9. 

ECHO. 

I  LEAITED  on  the  mast ;  on  the  lofty  ship's  deck 
Standing,  I  heard  the  sweet  song  of  a  bird. 
Like  steeds  of  dark  green,  with  their  manes  of 
bright  silver, 


THE  NORTH  SEA.  :  S09 

Sprang  np  the  white  and  wild  curling  billows. 

lake  trains  of  wild  swans  went  sailing  past  us 

With  shimmering  canvas  the  Heligolanders, 

The  daring  nomades  of  the  North  Sea.    ;. 

Over  my  head,  in  the  infinite  blue, 

Went  sailing  a  snowy  white  cloud. 

Bright  shone  the  eternal  sun-orb, 

The  rose  of  heaven,  the  fire  blossoming, 

Who,  joyful,  mirrored  his  rays  in  ocean, 

Till  heaven  and  sea,  and  my  heart  besides, 

Eang  back  with  the  echo, 

*'  She  loves  him  I  she  loves  him  I" 


10. 

SEA-SICKNESS. 

The  dark-grey  vapours  of  evening 
Are  sinking  deeper  adown  on  the  sea. 
Which  rises  darkling  to  their  embrace, 
And  'twixt  them  on  drives  the  ship. 
Sea-sick,  I  sit  as  before  by  the  main-mast. 
Making  reflections  of  personal  nature, 
World-ancient,  ashy-grey  observations. 
Which  Father  Lot  first  made  of  old, 
When  he  too  much  enjoyed  life's  good  things, 
And  afterwards  found  that  he  felt  unwelL  - 
Meanwhile  I  think,  too,  on  other  old  legends : 
How  cross-   and   scrip-bearing  pilgrims,  long 
perished, 

VOL.  L  O 


SIO 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


In  stormiest  voyage  the  comforting  image 
Of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  confiding,  kissed  ; 
How   knights,   when    sea-sick,   in    dole    and 
sorrow,  I 

The  little  glove  of  some  fair  lady  [ 

Pressed  to  their  lips,  and  soon  were  calm ; — 
But  here  I'm  sitting  and  munching  in  sorrow 
A  wretched  herring,  the  salted  refreshment 
Of  drunken  sickness  and  heavy  sorrow  I 


While  I'm  groaning,  lo  !  our  ship 

Fights  the  wild  and  terrible  flood ; 

As  a  capering  war-horse  now  she  bounds, 

Leaping  on  high  till  the  rudder  cracks, 

Now  darting  head-forward  adown  again 

To  the  sad,  howling,  watery  gulf ; 

Then,  as  if  all  careless — weak  with  love — 

It  seems  as  though  'twould  slumber 

On  the  gloomy  breast  of  the  giantess  Ocean, 

Who  onward  comes  foaming, 

When  sudden  a  mighty  sea-waterfall 

In  snowy  foam-curls  together  rolls. 

Wetting  all  and  me  with  foam. 

This  tottering,  and  trembling,  and  shaking  for 

ever 
Is  not  to  be  borne  with ! 
But  vainly  sweep  my  glances  and  seek 
The  German  coast-Une.     Alas  1  but  water. 
And  once  again  water — wild  waving  water  1 


THE  NORTH  SEA.        '  an 

As  the  winter  wanderer,  at  evening,  oft  longs 
For  one  good  warm  and  comforting  cup  of  tea, 
Even  so  now  longs  my  heart  for  thee, 
My  German  Fatherland ! 

Though  for  all  time  thy  fair  soil  should  be  covered 

With  madness,  hussars,  and  wretched  verses. 

And  little  tracts,  lukewarm  and  watery; 

Though  from  this  time  forth  all  thy  zebras 

Should  be  nourished  with  roses  instead  of  thistles, 

And  though  for  ever,  too,  thy  noble  monkeys 

In  a  garb  of  leisure  go  grandly  strutting, 

And  think  themselves  better  than  all  the  other 

Low-plodding,  stupid,  mechanical  cattle. 

Though  for  all  time,  too,  thy  snail-like  assemblies 

Should  deem  themselves  immortal 

Because  they  so  slowly  go  creeping. 

And  though  they  daily  go  on  deciding 

If  the  maggots  of  cheeses  belong  to  the  cheese; 

And  long  be  lost  in  deliberation 

How  breeds  of  Egyptian  sheep  may  be  bettered. 

That  their  wool  may  be  somewhat  improved. 

And  the  shepherd  may  shear  them  like  any 

other, 
iSans  difference ! 

And  though  for  ever  injustice  and  folly 
Should  cover  thee  over,  0  Germany  I 
Nevertheless  I  am  longing  for  thee. 
For  e'en  at  the  worst  thou  art  solid  land.  , 


ait 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL, 


II. 


IN   POBT. 

Happy  the  man  who  is  safe  in  his  haven. 
And  has  left  far  behind  the  sea  and  its  sorrows, 
And  now  so  warm  and  calmly  sits 
In  the  cosy  Town  Cellar  of  Bremen. 

Oh,  how  the  world  so  home-like  and  sweetly 
In  the  wine-cup  is  mirrored  again, 
And  how  the  wavering  microcosmos 
Sunnily  flows  through  the  thirstiest  heart ! 
All  things  I  behold  in  the  glass — 
Ancient  and  modern  histories  by  myriads, 
Grecian  and  Ottoman,  Hegel  and  Gans, 
Forests  of  lemon-trees,  watches  patrolling, 
Berlin  and  Schilda,  and  Tunis  and  Hamburg ; 
But  above  all  the  form  of  the  loved  one, 
An  angel's  head  on  a  Rhine-wine  gold  ground. 

Oh,  how  fair !  how  fair  art  thou,  beloved ! 

Thou  art  as  fair  as  roses ! 

Not  like  the  roses  of  Shiraz, 

The  brides  of  the  nightingale  sung  by  old  Hafiz ; 

Not  like  the  Rose  of  Sharon,  ( 

Holily  blushing  and  hallowed  by  prophets ; 

Thou  art  like  the  Rose  in  the  cellar  of  Bremen !  * 


»  In  the  Rathskeller— Council  Cellar  or  Town-Hall  Cellar— 
of  Bremen  there  is  kept  a  celebrated  tun  called  Thb  Ross, 


THE  NORTH  SEA^/^;  ''^^aiiif 

That  is  the  Hose  of  Boses ; 

The  older  she  grows  the  sweeter  she  blossoms, 

And  her  heavenly  perfume  hath  made  me  happy ; 

It  has  inspired  me — has  made  me  tipsy, 

And  were  I  not  held  by  the  shoulder  fast 

By  the  Town  Cellar  Master  of  Bremen, 

I  had  gone  rolling  over  I  ■ 

The  noble  soul !  we  sat  there  together. 
And  drank,  too,  like  brothers. 
Discoursing  of  lofty  mysterious  matters. 
Sighing  and  sinking  in  solemn  embraces. 
He  made  me  a  convert  to  Love's  holy  doctrine. 
I  drank  to  the  health  of  my  bitterest  enemy, 
And  I  forgave  the  worst  of  all  poets, 
As  I  myself  some  day  shall  be  forgiven ; 
Till  piously  weeping  before  me, 
Silently  opened  the  gates  of  redemption, 
Where  the  Twelve  Apostles,  the  holy  barrels, 
Preach  in  silence  and  yet  so  distinctly 
Unto  all  nations. 


containing  wine  three  hundred  years  old.  Around  it  are  the 
TwKLVK  Apostles,  or  hogsheads  filled  with  wine  of  »  lesser  age. 
When  a  bottle  is  drawn  from  the  Rose,  it  is  supplied  from  one 
of  the  Apostles,  and  by  this  arrangement  the  contents  of  the 
Boae  are  thus  kept  up  to  the  requisite  standard  of  antiquity. 
Those  who  are  familiar  with  the  writings  of  Hauff  will  remem- 
ber the  exquisite  and  genial  sketch  entitled,  "  A  Fantasy  in  the 
Rathskeller  of  Bremen." — Note  by  Translator. 


«I4 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


Those  are  the  fellows ! 

Invisihle  outwards  in  sound  oaken  garments, 

Yet  they  within  are  lovely  and  radiant, 

Than  all  the  proudest  priests  of  the  Temple, 

And  the  lifeguardsmen  and  courtiers  of  Herod, 

Glittering  in  gold  and  arrayed  in  rich  purple  j 

Still  I  have  ever  maintained 

That  not  amid  common  vulgar  people, 

No — but  in  the  dite  of  society 

Constantly  lived  the  monarch  of  heaven. 

Hallelujah  !    How  sweetly  wave  round  me 

The  palm-trees  of  Bath-El ! 

How  sweet  breathe  the  myrrh  shrubs  of  Hebron ! 

How  Jordan  ripples  and  tumbles  with  gladness, 

And  my  own  immortal  spirit  tumbleth. 

And  I  tumble  with  it,  and  tumbling 

I'm  helped  up  the  stairway  into  broad  daylight 

By  the  brave  Council  Cellar  Master  of  Bremen ! 

yhou  brave  Council  Cellar  Master  of  Bremen ! 

Seest  thou  upon  the  roofs  of  the  houses  sitting 

Lovely  tipsy  angels  sweetly  singing ;  | 

The  radiant  sun,  too,  yonder  in  heaven, 

Is  only  a  crimson  wine-coloured  proboscis, 

The  nose  of  the  World-Soul, 

And  round  the  red  nose  of  the  World-Soul 

Circles  the  whole  of  the  tipsyfied  world. 


M^ 


THE  NORTH  SEA. 


«i5 


12.      ■ 
EPILOGUE. 

As  in  the  meadow  the  wheat  is  growing, 
So,  sprouting  and  waving  in  mortal  souls, 
Thoughts  are  growing. 
Aye;  but  the  soft  inspirations  of  love 
Are  like  the  blue  and  crimson  flowerets. 
Blossoming  amid  them. 

Blue  and  crimson  blossoms ! 
The  ill-natured  reaper  rejects  ye  as  useless, 
Blockheaded  simpletons  scorn  ye  while  thresh- 
ing; 
Even  the  penniless  wanderer, 

Who  by  your  sight  is  made  glad  and  inspired, 

Shakes  his  head 

And  calls  ye  weeds,  though  lovely. 

Only  the  fair  peasant  maiden. 

The  one  who  twines  her  garlands, 

Honours  you  truly  and  plucks  you, 

And  decks  with  you  her  lovely  tresses, 

And  when  thus  adorned  to  the  dance  hastens, 

Where  the  pipe  and  the  viol  are  merrily  pealing ; 

Or  to  the  tranquil  beech-tree, 

Where  the  voice  of  the  loved  one  more  plear- 

santly  sounds 
Than  the  pipe  or  the  viol.   '; 


■ti^. 


'->^  #'«»»'-^-.— - 


PART   THIRD. 

(1826.) 

liotto :  Varahagen  von  Enae's  Biographische  Denkmalfl^ 
Part  I.  pp.  I,  2. 

WRITTEN   ON   THE  ISLAND   NORDEENEY. 

The  natives  are  generally  poor  as  crows,  and  live 
by  their  fishery,  which  begins  in  the  stormy 
month  of  October.  Many  of  these  islanders  also 
serve  as  sailors  in  foreign  merchant-vessels,  and 
remain  for  years  absent  from  home  without  being 
heard  from  by  their  friends.  Not  unfreqnently 
they  perish  at  sea.  I  have  met  upon  the  island 
poor  women,  all  the  male  members  of  whose 
families  had  thus  been  lost — a  thing  which  is 
likely  enough  to  occur,  as  the  father  generally 
accompanies  his  sons  on  a  voyage. 

Maritime  life  has  for  these  men  an  indescrib- 
able attraction,  and  yet  I  believe  that  they  are 
happiest  when  at  home.  Though  they  may  have 
arrived  in  their  ships  at  those  southern  lands 
where  the  sun  shines  brighter  and  the  moon  glows 
with  more  romance,  still  all  the  flowers  there  do 
not  fill  the  leak  in  their  hearts,  and  in  the  per- 
fumed  home  of  spring  they  still  long  for  their 

ai6 


._^.  *— -»  ^-•-•-*-*'. t*^  ..^« 


^.^n 


„.f-*-l,^';'' 


THE  NORTH  SEA.  217 

sand  island,  for  their  little  huts,  and  for  the  blaz- 
ing hearth,  where  their  loved  ones,  well  protected 
in  woollen  jackets,  crouch,  drinking  a  tea  which 
differs  from  sea-water  only  in  name,  and  gabble  a 
jargon  of  which  the  real  marvel  is  that  they  can 
understand  it  themselves. 

That  which  connects  these  men  so  firmly  and 
contentedly  is  not  so  much  the  inner  mystical 
sentiment  of  love  as  that  of  custom — that  mutual 
**  through-and-above-living  "  ^  according  to  nature, 
or  that  of  social  directness.  They  enjoy  an 
equal  elevation  of  soul,  or,  to  speak  more  cor- 
rectly, an  equal  depression,  from  which  result 
the  same  needs  and  the  same  desires,  the  same 
experiences  and  the  same  reflections.  Conse- 
quently, they  more  readily  understand  each  other, 
and  sit  socially  together  by  the  fire  in  their  little 
huts,  crowd  up  together  when  it  is  cold,  see  the 
thoughts  in  each  other's  eyes  before  a  word  is 
spoken,  all  the  conventional  signs  of  daily  life  are 
readily  intelligible,  and  by  a  single  sound  or  a 
single  gesture  they  excite  in  each  other  that 
laughter,  those  tears,  or  that  pious  feeling  which 
we  could  not  awaken  in  our  like  without  long 
preliminary  explanations,  expectorations,  and  de- 
clamations. For  at  bottom  we  live  spiritually  alone, 

^  '*J)a»  natttrgemdtte  Ineinander-HinHberleben."  Living  ia 
»nd  along  in  a  natural  way,  or  as  things  cume.  Heine  is  no* 
often  80  German  as  this. — Note  by  Trandaior. 


r" 


ai8 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


and,  owing  to  peculiar  methods  of  education  and 
peculiar  reading,  -we  have  each  formed  a  diffe- 
rent individual  character.  Each  of  us,  spiritually 
masked,  thinks,  feels,  and  acts  differently  from 
his  fellow;  and  misunderstandings  are  so  fre- 
quent, that  even  in  roomy  houses  life  in  common 
costs  an  effort,  and  we  are  everywhere  limited, 
everywhere  strange,  and  everywhere,  so  to  speak, 
in  a  strange  land. 

Entire  races  have  not  un  frequently  lived  for 
ages,  as  equal  in  every  particular  in  thought  and 
feeling  as  these  islanders.  The  Eomish  Church 
in  the  Middle  Age  seemed  to  have  desired  to 
bring  about  a  similar  condition  in  the  corporate 
members  of  all  Europe,  and  consequently  took 
under  its  protection  every  attribute  of  life,  every 
power  and  development — in  short,  the  entire  phy- 
sical and  moral  man.^  It  cannot  be  denied  that 
much  tranquil  happiness  was  thereby  effected, 
that  life  bloomed  more  warmly  and  inli/,  and  that 
Art,  calmly  developing  itself,  unfolded  that  splen- 
dour at  which  we  are  even  yet  amazed,  and  which, 
with  all  our  dashing  science,  we  cannot  imitate. 
But  the  soul  hath  its  eternal  rights ;  it  will  not 
be  darkened  by  statutes,  nor  lullabied  by  the 


*  The  ancient  Egyptians  lived  also  for  several  thousand  years, 
with  little  or  no  real  change,  under  a  theocracy.  The  b^n- 
aing  of  civilisation  was  like  the  starting  a  locomotive,  with  long 
iutervalB  between  the  first  puffs  of  steam. — Note  bjf  Trantlutor, 


&■ 


'*-~'— •»^,^>-"*^t,.»*>5vf>v*':' 


* 
* 


THE  NORTH  SEA.  119 

music  of  bells.  It  broke  from  its  prison,  shatter- 
ing the  iron  leading-strings  by  which  Mother 
Church  trained  it  along ;  it  rushed  in  a  delirium 
of  joyous  liberty  over  the  whole  earth,  climbed 
the  highest  mountain  peaks,  sang  and  shouted  for 
wantonness,  recalled  ancient  doubts,  pored  over 
the  wonders  of  day,  and  counted  the  stars  by  night 
We  know  not  as  yet  the  number  of  the  stars ;  we 
have  not  yet  solved  the  enigmas  of  the  marvels 
of  the  day ;  the  ancient  doubts  have  grown  mighty 
in  our  souls — are  we  happier  than  we  were  before  ? 
We  know  that  this  question,  as  far  as  the  multi- 
tude are  concerned,  cannot  be  lightly  assented  to ; 
but  we  know,  also,  that  the  happiness  which  we 
owe  to  a  lie  is  no  true  happiness,  and  that  we,  in 
the  few  and  far-between  moments  of  a  god-like 
condition,  experience  a  higher  dignity  of  soul  and 
more  happiness  than  in  the  long,  onward,  vegetat- 
ing life  of  the  gloomy  faith  of  a  coal-burner. 

In  every  respect  that  Church  government  was 
a  tyranny  of  the  worst  sort.  Who  can  be  bail  for 
those  good  intentions  as  I  have  described  them  ? 
Who  can  prove,  indeed,  that  evil  intentions  were 
not  mingled  with  them  ?  Eome  would  always 
rule,  and  when  her  legions  fell  she  sent  dogmas 
into  the  provinces.  Like  a  giant  spider,  she  sat 
in  the  centre  of  the  Latin  world,  and  spun  over  it 
her  endless  web.  Generations  of  people  lived 
beneath  it  a  peaceful  life,  for  they  believed  that 


^:■•.$^>^:^^^;:^O^v,^.J'  ■■  ■■  '-'\M..,^rr.^-.  '>  '    • 


sao 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


to  be  a  heaven  near  them  which  was  only  a  Koman 
web.  Only  the  higher  striving  spirits,  who  saw 
through  its  meshes,  felt  themselves  bound  down 
and  wretched,  and  when  they  strove  to  break  away, 
the  crafty  spider  easily  caught  them  and  sucked 
the  bold  blood  from  their  hearts ; — and  was  not 
the  dreamy  happiness  of  the  purblind  multitude 
purchased  too  dearly  by  such  blood  ?  The  days 
of  spiritual  serfdom  are  over ;  weak  with  age,  the 
old  cross^  spider  sits  between  the  broken  pillars 
of  her  Coliseum,  ever  spinning  the  same  old  web, 
— but  it  is  weak  and  brittle,  and  catches  only 
butterflies  and  bats,  and  no  longer  the  wild  eagles 
of  the  North. 

It  is  right  laughable  to  think  that  just  as  I  was 
in  the  mood  to  expand  with  such  good-will  over 
the  intentions  of  the  Eoman  Church,  the  accus- 
tomed Protestant  feeling  which  ever  ascribes  to 
her  the  worst  suddenly  seized  upon  me ;  and  it  is 
this  very  difference  of  opinion  in  myself  which 
again  supplies  me  with  an  illustration  of  the  in- 
congruities of  the  manner  of  thinking  prevalent 
in  these  days.  What  we  yesterday  admired  we 
hate  to-day,  and  to-morrow,  perhaps,  we  ridicule 

it  with  perfect  indifference.*  ' 

. 

'  Krevxtpinne,  "  Cross-spider,"  so  called  from  a  common  kind 
of  large  spider  which  is  marked  with  a  cross. — Note  by  Trtma- 
lator. 

*  Having  one  day  mildly  reproached  one  of  the  most  dia« 
tingoished  "  .^Isthetes"  of  our  tim«  for  having  distinctly  show  a 

^ 


'•»'*r"r 


■4'..«'" 


■'V/^i 


THE  NORTH  SEA.  m 

Considered  from  a  certain  point,  all  is  equally 
great  or  small,  and  I  thus  recurred  to  the  great 
European  revolutions  of  ages,  while  I  looked  at 
the  little  life  of  our  poor  islanders.  Even  they 
stand  on  the  margin  of  such  a  new  age,  and  their 
old  unity  of  soul  and  simplicity  will  be  disturbed 
by  the  success  of  the  fashionable  watering-place 
recently  established  here,  inasmuch  as  they  every 
day  pick  up  from  the  guests  some  new  bits  of 
knowledge  which  they  must  find  difficult  to  recon- 
cile with  their  ancient  mode  of  life.  If  they  stand 
of  an  evening  before  the  lighted  windows  of  the 
conversation-hall,  and  behold  within  the  conduct 
of  the  gentlemen  and  ladies,  the  meaning  glances, 
the  longing  grimaces,  the  voluptuous  dances,  the 
full  contented  feasting,  the  avaricious  gambling, 
et  cetera,  it  is  morally  certain  that  evil  results  must 
ensue  which  can  never  be  counterbalanced  by  the 
money  which  they  derive  from  this  bathing  estab- 
lishment. This  money  will  never  suffice  for  the 
consuming  new  wants  which  they  conceive,  and 
from  this  must  result  disturbances  in  life,  evil 
enticements,  and  greater  sorrows.  When  but  a 
boy,  I  always  experienced  a  burning  desire  when 

himself  as  a  Hegelian,  a  disciple  of  Schopenhaner,  a  Christian 
Mediaeval  mystic,  and  an  Agnostic,  all  within  half-an-hour,  he 
replied,  "  True  ;  but,  my  dear  fellow,  what  would  you  have  ?  It 
is  this  horrid  age  in  which  we  live  which  forces  ua  into  incon- 
■iatency." 


aa 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


beautiful  freshly-baked  tarts,  which  I  could  not 
obtain,  were  carried  past  me,  reeking  in  delicious 
fragrance  and  exposed  to  view.  Later  in  life  I 
was  goaded  by  the  same  feeling  when  I  beheld 
fashionably  tmdressed  beautiful  ladies  walk  by 
me;  and  I  often  reflect  that  the  poor  islanders, 
who  have  hitherto  lived  in  such  a  state  of  blessed 
innocence,  have  here  unusual  opportunities  for 
similar  sensations,  and  that  it  would  be  well  if  the 
proprietors  of  the  beautiful  tarts,  and  the  ladies  in 
question,  would  cover  them — or  themselves — up 
a  little  more  carefully.  These  numerous  and  ex- 
posed delicacies,  on  which  the  natives  can  only 
feed  with  their  eyes,  must  terribly  whet  their 
appetites ;  and  if  the  poor  female  islanders,  when 
enceinte,  conceive  all  sorts  of  sweet-baked  fancies, 
and  even  go  so  far  as  to  bring  forth  children 
which  strongly  resemble  the  aristocratic  guests, 
the  matter  is  easily  enough  understood.  I  do  not 
wish  to  be  here  understood  as  hinting  at  any 
immodest  or  immoral  connections.  The  virtue  of 
the  islanderesses  is  amply  protected  by  their  ugli- 
ness, and  still  more  so  by  an  abominably  fishy 
odour,  which  to  me  at  least  is  insupportable. 
Moreover,  they  have  transplanted  hither  for  the 
bathing  season,  from  the  Continent,  a  person  who 
takes  all  the  sins  of  the  visitors  or  boarders  on 
himself,  and  thereby  ensures  the  islanderesses 
from  every  evil  influence.    That  is,  however,  a 


THE  NORTH  SEA.  aaj 

bad  rule  which  works  only  for  a  little  island,  and 
not  as  well,  at  any  rate,  for  a  great  sea-side  city, 
where  public  characters  are  at  the  same  time  the 
lightning-rods  and  bulwarks  by  which  the  morality 
of  the  citizens'  daughters  is  protected ;  as  I  was 
shown,  in  fact,  in  Hamburg  a  tremendously 
broadly-built  woman  who  in  such  fashion  covered 
half  the  Wandrahm,  and  also  a  lean  lightning-rod 
of  a  female,  by  means  of  whom  the  great  Johannis 
Strasse  was  protected  in  summer.  Should,  in  fact, 
children  with  fashionable  boarder-faces  be  here 
born  into  the  world,  I  should  much  prefer  to 
recognise  in  it  a  psychological  phenomenon,  and 
explain  it  by  those  material-mystical  laws  which 
Goethe  has  so  beautifully  developed  in  his  Elec- 
tive Afl&nities. 

The  number  of  enigmatical  appearances  in 
nature  which  can  be  explained  by  these  laws  is 
truly  astonishing.  When  I  last  year,  owing  to 
a  storm  at  sea,  was  cast  away  on  another  East 
Frisian  island,  I  there  saw  hanging  in  a  boatman's 
hut  an  indijSerent  engraving,  bearing  the  title.  La 
Tentation  du  Vieillard,  and  representing  an  old  man 
disturbed  in  his  study  by  the  appearance  of  a 
woman,  who,  naked  to  the  hips,  rose  from  a  cloud ; 
and  singular  to  relate,  the  boatman's  daughter  had 
exactly  the  same  wanton  pug-dog  face  as  the  woman 
in  the  picture !  To  cite  another  example :  In  the 
house  of  a  money-changer,  whose  wife  attended  to 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 

the  business,  and  carefully  examined  coins  from 
morning  till  night,  I  found  that  the  children  had 
in  their  countenances  a  startling  likeness  to  all  the 
greatest  monarchs  of  Europe,  and  when  they  were 
all  assembled,  fighting  and  quarrelling,  I  could 
almost  fancy  that  I  beheld  a  congress  of  sove- 
reigns ! 

On  this  account  the  impression  on  coins  is  for 
politicians  a  matter  of  no  small  importance;  for 
as  people  so  often  love  money  from  their  very 
hearts,  and  doubtlessly  gaze  lovingly  on  it,  their 
children  often  receive  the  likeness  of  their  prince 
impressed  thereon,  and  thus  the  poor  prince  is 
suspected  of  being  in  sober  sadness  the  father  of 
his  subjects.  The  Bourbons  had  good  reasons  for 
melting  down  the  Napoleons  cCor^  not  wishing  to 
behold  any  longer  so  many  Napoleon  heads  among 
their  subjects.  Prussia  has  carried  it  further  than 
any  other  in  her  specie  politics,  for  they  there 
understand  by  a  judicious  intermixture  of  copper 
to  so  make  their  new  small  change,  and  changes, 
that  a  brazen  blush  very  soon  appears  on  the 
cheeks  of  the  monarch.  In  consequence,  the  chil- 
dren in  Prussia  have  a  far  healthier  appearance 
than  of  old,  and  it  is  a  real  pleasure  to  gaze  upon 
their  blooming  little  silver  groschen  faces. 

I  have,  while  pointing  out  the  destruction  of 
morals  with  which  the  islanders  are  threatened, 
made  no  mention  of  their  spiritual  defences,  the 


THE  NORTH  SEA. 


«■$ 


pastor  and  church.  The  first  is  a  strong  man  with 
a  great  head,  who  does  not  appear  to  have  dis- 
covered either  Bationalism  or  Mysticism,  and  his 
greatest  merit  is  that  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
women  in  the  world  had  lodgings  in  his  house. 
What  his  church  looks  like  is  beyond  my  powers 
of  description,  as  I  was  never  in  it.  The  Lord 
knows  I  am  a  good  Christian,  and  even  often  get 
so  far  as  to  intend  to  make  a  call  at  His  house,  but 
by  some  mishap  I  am  invariably  hindered  in  my 
good  intentions.  Generally  this  is  done  by  some 
long-winded  gentleman  who  holds  me  by  the 
button  in  the  street,  and  even  if  I  get  to  the  gate 
of  the  temple,  some  jesting,  irreverent  thought 
comes  over  me,  and  then  I  regard  it  as  sinful  to 
enter.  Last  Sunday  something  of  the  sort  hap- 
pened, when  just  before  the  door  of  the  church 
there  came  into  my  head  an  extract  from  Gk>ethe's 
"Faust,"  where  the  hero  passing  with  Mephis- 
topheles  by  a  cross,  asks  the  latter — 

"  Mephisto,  art  in  haste  1 
Why  casfst  thou  at  the  cross  adown  thy  glances  ?  " 

To  which  Mephistopheles  replies — 

"  I  know  right  well  it  shows  a  wretched  taste, 
But  crosses  never  ranked  among  my  fancies."  . 

These  verses,  as  I  remember,  are  not  printed  in 
any  edition  of  "  Faust,"  and  only  the  late  Hofrath 
VOL.   1.  P 


ta6  PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 

Moritz,  who  had  read  them  in  Goethe's  manuscript, 
gave  them  to  the  world  in  his  "  Philip  Reiser,"  a 
long  out-of-print  romance,  which  contains  the  his- 
tory of  the  author,  or  rather  the  history  of  several 
hundred  dollars  which  his  pocket  did  not  contain, 
and  owing  to  which  his  entire  life  became  an  array 
of  self-denials  and  economies,  while  his  desires 
were  anything  but  presuming — namely,  to  go  to 
"Weimar  and  become  a  servant  in  the  house  of  the 
author  of  Werther.  His  only  desire  in  life  was  to 
live  in  the  vicinity  of  the  man  who  of  all  man- 
kind had  made  the  deepest  impression  on  his  soul. 

Wonderful !  even  then  Goethe  had  awoke  such 
inspiration,  and  yet  it  seems  that  "  our  third  after- 
growing  race"  is  first  in  condition  to  appreciate 
his  true  greatness. 

But  this  race  has  also  brought  forth  men  into 
whose  hearts  only  foul  water  trickles,  and  who 
would  fain  dam  up  in  others  the  springs  of  fresh 
healthy  life-blood ;  men  whose  powers  of  enjoy- 
ment are  extinguished,  who  slander  life,  and  who 
would  render  all  the  beauty  and  glory  of  this 
world  disgusting  to  others,  representing  it  as  a 
bait  which  the  Evil  One  has  placed  here  simply 
to  tempt  us,  just  as  a  cunning  housewife  leaves 
during  her  absence  the  sugar-bowl  exposed,  with 
every  lump  duly  counted,  that  she  may  test  the 
honesty  of  the  maid.  These  men  have  assembled 
a  virtuous  mob  around  them,  preaching  to  their 


THE  NORTH  SEA.  zrj 

adherents  a  crusade  against  the  Great  Heathen 
and  against  his  naked  images  of  the  gods,  which 
they  would  gladly  replace  with  their  disguised 
dumb  devils.  '  -  ^  ;    ■ 

Masks  and  disguises  are  their  highest  aim,  the 
naked  and  divine  is  fatal  to  them,  and  a  satyr  has 
always  good  reasons  for  donning  pantaloons  and 
persuading  Apollo  to  do  the  same.  People  then 
call  him  a  moral  man,  and  know  not  that  in  the 
Clauren-smiles  of  a  disguised  satyr  there  is  more 
which  is  really  repulsive  than  in  the  entire  nudity 
of  a  Wolfgang- Apollo,  and  that  in  those  very  times 
when  men  wore  puff- breeches,  which  required  in 
make  sixty  yards  of  cloth,  morals  were  no  better 
than  at  present. 

But  will  not  the  ladies  be  offended  at  my  say- 
ing breeches  instead  of  trousers  ?  Oh,  the  refined 
feelings  of  ladies !  In  the  end  only  eunuchs  will 
dare  to  write  for  them,  and  their  spiritual  servants 
in  the  West  must  be  as  harmless  as  their  body 
servants  in  the  East  , 

Here  a  fragment  from  Berthold's  diary  comes 
into  my  head. 

"  If  we  only  reflect  on  it,  we  are  all  naked  under 

our  clothes,"  said  Doctor  M to  a  lady  who  was 

offended  by  a  rather  cynical  remark  to  which  he 
had  given  utterance. 

The  Hanoverian  nobility  is  altogether  discon- 
tented with  Goethe,  asserting  that  he  disseminates 


»a8 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


iireligion,  and  that  this  may  easily  bring  forth 
false  political  views ;  in  fine,  that  the  people  must 
by  means  of  the  old  faith  be  led  back  to  their 
ancient  modesty  and  moderation.  I  have  also 
recently  heard  much  discussion  of  the  question 
whether  Goethe  were  greater  than  Schiller.  But 
lately  I  stood  behind  the  chair  of  a  lady,  from 
whose  very  back  at  least  sixty-four  descents  were 
evident,  and  heard  on  the  Goethe  and  Schiller 
theme  a  warm  discourse  between  her  and  two 
Hanoverian  nobles,  whose  origin  was  depicted  on 
the  Zodiac  of  Dendera.  One  of  them,  a  long  lean 
youth,  full  of  quicksilver,  and  who  looked  like  a 
barometer,  praised  the  virtue  and  purity  of  Schiller, 
while  the  other,  also  a  long  up-sprouted  young 
man,  lisped  verses  from  the  "  Dignity  of  Woman," 
smiling  meanwhile  as  sweetly  as  a  donkey  who 
has  stuck  his  head  into  a  pitcher  of  molasses  and 
delightedly  licks  his  lips.  Both  of  the  youths 
confirmed  their  assertions  with  the  refrain,  "  But 
he  is  still  greater.  He  is  really  greater,  in  fact. 
He  is  the  greater,  I  assure  you  upon  my  honour, 
he  is  greater."  The  lady  was  so  amiable  as  to 
bring  me  into  this  aesthetic  conversation  and  in- 
quire,  "  Doctor,  what  do  you  think  of  Goethe  ? " 
I,  however,  crossed  my  arms  on  my  breast,  bowed 
my  head  as  a  believer,  and  said,  "Za  Ulah  ill 
Allah  wa  Mohammed  rastU  Allah  !"  I 

The  lady  had,  without  knowing  it,  put  the 


THE  NORTH  SEA.  tij 

shrewdest  of  questions.  It  is  not  possible  to 
directly  inquire  of  a  man,  "  What  thinkest  thou 
of  heaven  and  earth  ?  what  are  thy  views  of  man 
and  human  life?  art  thou  a  reasonable  being 
or  a  poor  dumb  devil  ? "  Yet  aU  these  delicate 
queries  lie  in  the  by  no  means  insidious  question, 
"What  do  you  think  of  Goethe?"  For  while 
Goethe's  works  lie  before  our  eyes,  we  can  easily 
compare  the  judgment  which  another  pronounces 
with  our  own,  and  thus  obtain  an  accurate  stan- 
dard whereby  to  measure  all  his  thoughts  and 
feelings.  Thus  has  he  unconsciously  passed  his 
own  sentence.  But  as  Goethe  himself,  like  a 
common  world,  thus  lies  open  to  the  observation 
of  all,  and  gives  us  opportunities  to  learn  man- 
kind, so  can  we  in  turn  best  learn  to  know  him 
by  his  own  judgment  of  objects  which  are  exposed 
to  all,  and  on  which  the  greatest  minds  have  ex- 
pressed opinions.  In  this  respect  I  would  prefer 
to  point  to  Goethe's  "  Italian  Journey,"  as  we  are 
all  familiar  with  the  country  in  question  either 
from  personal  experience  or  from  what  we  have 
learned  from  others.  Thus  we  can  remark  how 
every  writer  views  it  with  subjective  eyes,  one  with 
Archenholzern,  dull,  displeased  looks,^  which  be- 
held only  the  worst ;  another,  with  the  inspired 

^  A  play  on  the  name  of  Archenholtz,  HoUem  meaning 
wooden.  ArchenhSiUseme$t,  "  seriotu  stare,"  also  gives  the  form 
and  spirit  of  this  "  split  pun." — Note  by  Trandator. 


no 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


eyes  of  Corinna,  seeing  everywhere  the  gloriotis; 
while  Goethe  with  his  clear  Greek  glances  sees 
all  things,  the  dark  and  the  light,  colours  nothing 
with  his  individual  feelings,  and  pictures  the  land 
and  its  people  in  the  true  outlines  and  true  colours 
in  which  God  clothed  it  I 

This  is  a  merit  of  Goethe's,  which  will  not  be 
appreciated  until  later  times,  for  we,  as  we  are 
nearly  all  invalids,  remain  too  firm  in  our  sickly 
ragged  romantic  feelings,  which  we  have  brought 
together  from  all  lands  and  ages,  to  be  able  to  see 
plainly  how  sound,  how  uniform,  and  how  plastic 
Goethe  displays  himself  in  his  works.  He  him- 
self as  little  remarks  it;  in  his  naive  uncon- 
sciousness of  his  own  ability,  he  wonders  when 
"  a  reflection  on  present  things "  or  "  objective 
thought"  is  ascribed  to  him;  and  while  in  his 
autobiography  he  seeks  to  supply  us  with  a  criti- 
cal aid  to  comprehend  his  works,  he  still  gives 
us  no  measure  of  judgment,  but  only  new  facts 
whereby  to  judge  him.  Which  is  all  natural 
enough,  for  no  bird  can  fly  over  itself.^ 

Later  times  will  also,  in  addition  to  this  ability 
of  plastic  perception,  feeling,  and  thinking,  dis- 
cover much  in  Goethe  of  which  we  have  as  yet  no 
shadow  of  an  idea.     The  works  of  the  soul  are 


1  This  simile  of  the  bird  oconn  in  Ficbte's  "  Transcendental 
Idealism." — Note  by  Trandator. 


THE  NORTH  SEA.  231 

immutably  firm,  but  criticism  is  somewhat  vola- 
tile ;  she  is  born  of  the  views  of  the  age,  is  signi- 
ficant only  for  it,  and  if  she  herself  is  not  of  a  sect 
which  involves  artistic  value,  as,  for  example, 
that  of  Schlegel,  she  passes  with  her  time  to  the 
grave.  Every  age,  when  it  gets  new  ideas,  gets 
with  them  new  eyes,  and  sees  much  that  is  new  in 
the  old  efforts  of  mind  which  have  preceded  it. 
A  Schubarth  now  sees  in  the  Iliad  something  else 
and  something  more  than  all  the  Alexandrians ; 
and  critics  will  yet  come  who  will  see  more  than 
a  Schubarth  in  Goethe. 

And  so  I  finally  prattled  with  myself  to 
Goethe !  But  such  digressions  are  natural  enough, 
when,  as  on  this  island,  the  roar  of  the  ocean 
thrills  our  ears  and  tunes  the  soul  according  to 
its  wiU. 

There  is  a  strong  north-east  wind  blowing,  and 
the  witches  have  once  again  mischief  in  their 
heads.  There  are  many  strange  legends  current 
here  of  witches  who  know  how  to  conjure  storms 
— for  on  this,  as  on  all  northern  islands,  there  is 
much  superstition.  The  sea-folks  declare  that 
certain  islands  are  secretly  governed  by  peculiar 
witches,  and  that  when  mishaps  occur  to  vessels 
passing  them,  it  is  to  be  attributed  entirely  to  the 
evil  will  of  these  mysterious  guardians.  While 
I  last  year  was  some  time  at  sea,  the  steersman 
of  our  ship  told  me  one  day  that  witches  were 


232 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


remarkably  powerful  on  the  Isle  of  Wight,  and 
sought  to  delay  every  ship  which  went  past  during 
the  day,  that  it  might  then  by  night  be  dashed  to 
pieces  on  the  rocks  or  driven  ashora  At  such 
times  the  witches  are  heard  whizzing  so  sharply 
through  the  air  and  howling  so  loudly  around  the 
ship  that  the  Klahotermann  can  with  difficulty 
withstand  them.  When  I  asked  who  the  Klahoter- 
mann was,  the  sailor  answered  very  earnestly  that 
he  was  the  good  invisible  guardian  angel  of  the 
ship,  who  takes  care  lest  ill-luck  befall  honest 
and  orderly  skippers,  who  look  after  everything 
themselves  and  provide  for  proper  ordering  of 
things,  as  well  as  a  good  voyage.  The  brave 
steersman  assured  me,  in  a  more  confidential  tone, 
that  I  could  easily  hear  this  spirit  in  the  hold 
of  the  vessel,  where  he  willingly  busied  himself 
with  stowing  away  the  cargo  more  securely,  and 
that  this  was  the  cause  of  the  creaking  of  the 
barrels  and  the  boxes  when  the  sea  rolled  high,  as 
well  as  of  the  groaning  of  the  planks  and  beams. 
It  was  also  true  that  the  Klahotermann  often  ham- 
mered without  on  the  ship,  and  this  was  a  warn- 
ing to  the  carpenter  to  repair  some  unsound  spot 
which  had  been  neglected.  But  his  favourite 
fancy  is  to  sit  on  the  topsail,  as  a  sign  that  a  good 
wind  blows  or  will  blow  ere  long.  In  answer  to 
my  question  if  he  were  ever  seen,  he  replied, "  No, 
that  he  was  never  seen,  and  that  no  man  wished 


THE  NORTH  SEA.  »3i 

to  see  him,  for  he  only  showed  himself  when  there 
was  no  hope  of  being  saved."  The  steersman 
could  not  vouch  from  his  own  experience,  but  he 
had  heard  others  say  that  the  Klabotermann  was 
often  heard  giving  orders  from  the  topsail  to  his 
subordinate  spirits ;  and  that  when  the  storm  be- 
came too  powerful  for  him,  and  utter  destruction 
was  unavoidable,  he  invariably  took  a  place  at 
the  helm — showing  himself  for  the  first  time— 
and  then  breaking  it,  vanished.  Those  who  be- 
held him  at  this  terrible  moment  were  always 
engulphed  the  moment  after. 

The  captain,  who  had  listened  with  me  to  this 
narration,  smiled  more  graciously  than  I  could 
have  anticipated  from  his  rough  countenance, 
hardened  by  wind  and  weather,  and  afterwards 
told  me  that  fifty  or  a  hundred  years  ago  the 
faith  in  the  Klabotermann  was  so  strongly  im- 
pressed on  the  sailors'  minds  that  at  me^  they 
always  reserved  for  him  the  best  morsels,  and 
that  on  some  vessels  this  custom  was  still 
observed.^ 


1  In  the  last  generation  many  sailors,  English  and  American, 
believed  in  a  spirit  who  dwelt  in  the  main-top  and  whistled  his 
orders.  This  was  told  me  by  a  young  "Lowth  officer,"  who 
seemed  to  be  rather  proud  of  not  believing  in  such  a  tradition, 
and  declared  that  he  had  found  out  a  certain  hole  through 
which  the  wind  blew,  which  caused  the  spirit-sound. — Note  Ay 
TraniUUor. 


234 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


I  often  walk  alone  on  the  beach,  thinking  over 
these  marvellous  sea-legends.  The  most  attractive 
of  them  all  is  that  of  the  Flying  Dutchman,  who 
is  seen  in  a  storm  with  all  sail  set,  and  who  occa- 
sionally sends  out  a  boat  to  ships,  giving  them 
letters  to  carry  home,  but  which  no  one  can  deli- 
ver, as  they  are  all  addressed  to  persons  long  since 
dead.  And  I  often  recall  the  sweet  old  story  of 
the  fisher-boy,  who  one  night  listened  securely  on 
the  beach  to  the  music  of  the  water-nixies,  and 
afterwards  wandered  through  the  world  casting 
all  into  enchanted  raptures  who  listened  to  the 
melody  of  the  sea-nymph  waltz.  This  legend  was 
once  told  me  by  a  dear  friend  as  we  were  at  a 
concert  in  Berlin.  I  once  heard  just  such  an  air 
played  by  the  wondrous  boy,  Felix  Mendelssohn- 
Bartholdi.  I 

There  is  an  altogether  peculiar  charm  in  excur- 
sions around  th6  island.  But  the  weather  must 
be  fair,  the  clouds  must  assume  strange  forms,  we 
must  lie  on  our  backs  on  deck,  gazing  into  heaven, 
and  at  the  same  time  have  a  piece  of  heaven  in  our 
hearts.  Then  the  waves  will  murmur  all  manner 
of  strange  things,  all  manner  of  words  in  which 
sweet  memories  flutter,  all  manner  of  names  which, 
like  sweet  associations,  re-echo  in  the  soul — 
"  Evelina ! "  Then  ships  come  sailing  by,  and  we 
greet  them  as  if  we  could  see  them  again  every 
day.     But  at  night  there  is  something  uncanny 


THE  NORTH  SEA.  235 

and  mysterious  in  thus  meeting  strange  ships  at 
sea ;  and  we  imagine  that  our  best  friends,  whom 
we  have  not  seen  for  years,  sail  silently  by,  and 
that  we  are  losing  them  for  ever.^ 

I  love  the  sea  as  my  own  soul. 

I  often  feel  as  if  the  sea  were  really  my  own 
soul  itself,  and  as  there  are  in  it  hidden  plants, 
which  only  rise  at  the  instant  in  which  they 
bloom  above  the  water,  and  sink  again  at  the 
instant  in  which  they  fade,  so  from  time  to  time 
there  rise  wondrous  flower  forms  from  the  depths 
of  my  soul,  and  breathe  forth  perfume,  and  gleam, 
and  vanish — "  Evelina ! " 

They  say  that  on  a  spot  not  far  from  this  island, 
where  there  is  now  nothing  but  water,  there  once 
stood  the  fairest  villages  and  towns,  which  were 
all  suddenly  overwhelmed  by  the  sea,  and  that 
in  clear  weather  sailors  yet  see  in  the  ocean,  far 
below,  the  gleaming  pinnacles  of  church  spires, 
and  that  many  have  often  heard,  early  on  quiet 
Sabbath  mornings,  the  chime  of  their  bells.  The 
story  is  true,  for  the  sea  is  my  own  souL 


^  This  remark,  in  nearly  the  same  words,  was  made  to  me  by 
the  captain  of  an  American  packet,  who  had  certainly  never 
read  Heine,  in  1846.  It  was  on  the  occasion  of  meeting  another 
ship,  which  came  near  us  in  darkness. 

•*  A  moment  white,  then  lost  for  ever." 

— Note  by  TrandcUor. 


«36  PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 

"  There  a  wondrous  world  to  ooean  given, 
Ever  hides  from  daylight's  searching  gleam ; 
Bat  it  shines  at  night  like  rays  from  heaven, 
In  the  magic  mirror  of  my  dream."  ^ 


Awakening  them,  I  hear  the  echoing  tones 
of  bells  and  the  song  of  holy  voices — "  Eve- 
lina!" 

If  we  go  walking  on  the  Strand,  the  ships  sail- 
ing by  present  a  beautiful  sight.  When  in  full 
sail  they  look  like  great  swans.  But  this  is  par- 
ticularly beautiful  when  the  sun  sets  behind  some 
passing  ship,  and  this  seems  to  be  rayed  round  as 
with  a  giant  glory. 

Shooting  on  this  beach  is  also  said  to  present 
many  very  great  attractions.  As  far  as  I  am  con- 
cerned, I  am  not  particularly  qualified  to  appre- 
ciate its  charms.  A  love  for  the  sublime,  the 
beautiful,  and  the  good  is  often  inspired  in  men 
by  education,  but  a  love  for  hunting  lies  in  blood. 
When  ancestors  in  ages  beyond  recollection  killed 
stags,  the  descendant  still  finds  pleasure  in  this 
legitimate  occupation.  But  my  ancestors  did  not 
belong  to  the  hunters  so  much  as  to  the  hunted, 
and  the  idea  of  attacking  the  descendants  of  those 
who  were  our  comrades  in  misery  goes  against 


1  From  "  The  Sanken  City,"  a  very  beautiful  poem  by  W. 
Miiller.  A  book  might  be  written  on  the  legends  of  submerged 
citiM  in  every  part  of  the  world. — Note  by  Trcmdator. 


THE  NORTH  SEA.  237 

my  grain.  Yes,  I  know  right  well  from  expe- 
rience and  from  moral  conviction  that  it  would 
be  much  easier  for  me  to  let  fly  at  a  hunter  who 
wishes  that  those  times  were  again  here  when 
human  beings  were  a  higher  class  of  game.  God 
be  praised !  those  days  are  over  1  If  such  hunters 
now  wish  to  chase  a  man,  they  must  pay  him  for 
it,  as  was  the  case  with  a  runner  whom  I  saw  two 
years  ago  in  Gottingen.  The  poor  being  had  already 
run  himself  weary  in  the  heat  of  a  sultry  Sunday, 
when  some  Hanoverian  aristocrats,  who  there 
studied  humaniora,  offered  him  a  few  dollars  if  he 
would  run  the  whole  course  over  again.  The  man 
did  it.  He  was  deathly  pale,  and  wore  a  red  jacket, 
and  close  behind  him,  in  the  whirling  dust,  galloped 
the  well-fed,  noble  youths,  on  high  horses,  whose 
hoofs  occasionally  struck  the  goaded,  gasping  being, 
— and  he  was  a  man  1 

For  the  sake  of  the  experiment,  for  I  must 
accustom  my  blood  to  a  better  state,  I  went  hunt- 
ing yesterday.  I  shot  at  a  few  seagulls,  which 
flew  too  confidently  around,  and  could  not,  of 
course,  know  that  I  was  a  bad  shot.  I  did  not 
wish  to  shoot  them,  but  only  to  warn  them  from 
going  another  time  so  near  persons  with  loaded 
guns ;  but  my  gun  shot  "  wrong,"  and  I  had  the 
bad  luck  to  kill  a  young  gull.  It  was  well  that 
it  was  not  an  old  one,  for  what  would  then  have 
become  of  the  poor  little  gulls  which,  as  yet  un- 


£38  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

fledged,  lie  in  their  sand-nests  on  the  great  downs, 
and  which,  without  their  mother,  must  starve  to 
death.  Before  I  went  out  I  had  a  presentiment 
that  something  unfortunate  would  happen,  for  a 
hare  run  across  my  path.^ 

But  I  am  in  an  altogether  strange  mood  when 
I  wander  alone  by  twilight  on  the  strand — behind 
me  the  flat  downs,  before  me  the  waving,  immea- 
surable ocean,  and  above  me  heaven,  like  a  giant 
crystal  dome — for  I  then  appear  to  myself  so  ant- 
like small,  and  yet  my  soul  expands  so  world- 
wide. The  lofty  simplicity  of  nature,  as  she  here 
surrounds  me,  at  the  same  time  subdues  and  ele- 
vates my  heart,  and  indeed  in  a  higher  degree 
than  in  any  other  scene,  however  exalting.  Never 
did  any  dome  as  yet  appear  great  enough  to  me ; 
my  soul,  with  its  Titan  prayer,  ever  strove  higher 
than  the  Gothic  pillars,  and  would  ever  fain  pierce 
the  vaulted  roof.  On  the  peaks  of  the  Rosstrappe, 
at  first  sight  the  colossal  rocks  in  their  bold  group- 
ings, had  a  tolerably  imposing  efiect  on  me ;  but 
this  impression  did  not  long  endure,  my  soul  was 
only  startled,  not  subdued,  and  those  monstrous 
masses  of  stone  became,  little  by  little,  smaller 
in  my  eyes,  and  finally  they  merely  appeared 

1  This  passage  is  very  Buggestive  of  a  certain  sentimental 
yonng  lady,  who  often  whipped  and  pinched  younger  girls  till 
they  cried,  that  she  might  have  the  pleasure  of  pitying  and 
weeping  with  them.— iVbte  by  TixmtUUor. 


THE  NORTH  SEA.      ^^^  239 

like  the  little  ruins  of  a  giant  palace,  in  which 
perhaps  my  soul  would  have  found  itself  comfort- 
ably at  home,  r   \  -: /::::^:-'\i^^^:  ■■.^. /'■';■ 

Eidiculous  as  it  may  sound,  I  cannot  conceal 
it,  but  the  disproportion  between  soul  and  body 
torments  me  not  a  little,  and  here  on  the  sea,  in 
the  sublimest  natural  scenery,  it  becomes  very 
significant,  and  the  metempsychosis  is  often  the 
subject  of  my  reflection.  Who  knows  the  divine 
irony  which  is  accustomed  to  bring  forth  all  man- 
ner of  contradictions  between  soul  and  body  ? 
Who  knows  in  what  tailor's  body  the  soul  of 
Plato  now  dwells,  and  in  what  schoolmaster  the 
soul  of  Caesar  may  be  found  ?  Who  knows  if  the 
soul  of  Gregory  VII.  may  not  sit  in  the  body  of 
the  Great  Turk,  and  feel  itself,  amid  the  caressing 
hands  of  a  thousand  women,  more  comfortable 
than  of  old  in  its  purple  celibate's  cowl?  On 
the  other  hand,  how  many  true  Moslem  souls, 
of  the  days  of  Ali,  may,  perhaps,  be  now  found 
among  our  anti-Hellenic  statesmen?  The  souls 
ot  the  two  thieves  who  were  crucified  by  the 
Saviour's  side,  now  hide,  perhaps,  in  fat  consis- 
torial  bodies,  and  glow  with  zeal  for  orthodox 
doctrine.  The  soul  of  Ghengis-khan  lives,  it  may 
be,  in  some  literary  reviewer,  who  daily,  without 
knowing  it,  sabres  down  the  souls  of  hig  truest 
Baschkirs  and  Calmucks  in  a  critical  journal! 
Who  knows  ?  who  knows  ?     The  soul  of  Pytha- 


MO 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


goras  hath  travelled,  mayhap,  into  some  poor  can- 
didate for  a  university  degree,  and  who  is  plucked 
at  examination  because  he  cannot  explain  the 
Pythagorean  doctrines,  while  in  his  examiners 
dwell  the  souls  of  those  oxen  which  Pythagoras 
once  offered  to  the  immortal  gods  for  joy  at  dis- 
covering the  doctrines  in  question.^  The  Hindoos 
are  not  so  stupid  as  our  missionaries  think.  They 
honour  animals  for  the  human  souls  which  they 
suppose  dwell  in  them,  and  if  they  found  hospi- 
tals for  invalid  monkeys,  after  the  manner  of  our 
academies,  nothing  is  more  likely  than  that  in 
those  monkeys  dwell  the  souls  of  great  scholars, 
since  it  is  evident  enough  that  among  us  in  many 
great  scholars  are  only  apish  souls ! 

But  who  can  look  with  the  omniscience  of  the 
past  from  above  on  the  deeds  of  mortals  ?  When 
I  by  night  wander  by  the  sea  listening  to  the 
song  of  the  waves,  and  every  manner  of  presenti- 
ment and  of  memory  awakes  in  me,  then  it  seems 
as  though  I  had  once  heard  the  like  from  above, 
and  had  fallen,  through  tottering  terror,  to  earth ; 
it  seems  too  as  though  my  eyes  had  been  so  tele- 
scopically  keen  that  I  could  see  the  stars  wander- 
ing as  large  as  life  in  heaven,  and  had  been  dazzled 


^  This  idea  of  the  transmigrated  souls  of  oxen  is  repeated  in 
another  and  equally  ingenious  form  in  "  The  Gods  in  Exile " 
(Germany). — Note  by  Translator. 


THE  NORTH  SEA.  ;     241 

by  all  their  whirling  splendour;  then,  as  if  from 
the  depth  of  a  millennium,  there  come  all  sorts  of 
strange  thoughts  into  my  soul,  thoughts  of  wisdom 
old  as  the  world,  but  so  obscure  that  I  cannot 
surmise  what  they  mean ;  only  this  much  I  know, 
that  all  our  cunning,  knowledge,  effort,  and  pro- 
duction must  to  some  higher  spirit  seem  as  little 
and  valueless  as  those  spiders  seemed  to  me  which 
I  have  so  often  seen  in  the  library  of  Gottingen. 
There  they  sat,  so  busily  weaving,  on  the  folios 
of  the  world's  history,  looking  so  philosophically 
confident  on  the  scene  around  them,  and  they  had 
so  exactly  the  pedantic  obscurity  of  Gkittingen, 
and  seemed  so  proud  of  their  mathematical  know- 
ledge, of  their  contributions  to  art,  of  their  soli- 
tary reflections,  and  yet  they  knew  nothing  of  all 
the  wonders  which  were  in  the  book  on  which 
they  were  bom,  on  which  they  had  passed  their 
lives,  and  on  which  they  must  die,  if  not  dis- 
turbed by  the  prying  Doctor  L .    And  who  is 

the  prying  Doctor  L ?  ^    His  soul  once  dwelt 

in  just  such  a  spider,  and  now  he  guards  the  folios 
on  which  he  once  sat;  and  if  he  reads  them,  he 
never  learns  their  true  contents.* 


^  Tenned  "  the  old,  creeping-abont  Librarian  Stief el,"  in  tbe 
French  edition  of  tbe  ReiubiLder. — Oerman  Edition. 

'  In  tbe  French  edition  of  the  Jteitdnlder  this  Dr.  L — — 
appears  as  "  the  old  slinking  Librarian  Stief  el," — "  Der  aiU 
•ehUieihende  Bibliothdcar."—NoU  bg  A.  Strodtmann. 
VOL.  I.  <| 


242 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL, 


What  may  have  happened  on  the  ground  where 
I  now  walk  ?  A  Conrector,  who  was  bathing  here, 
asserted  that  it  was  in  this  place  that  the  religious 
rites  of  Hertha,  or,  more  correctly  speaking,  of 
Forsete,  were  once  celebrated — those  rites  of  which 
Tacitus  speaks  so  mysteriously.  Let  us  only  trust 
that  the  reporter  from  whom  Tacitus  picked  up 
the  intelligence  did  not  err,  and  mistake  a  bathing 
waggon  for  the  sacred  vehicle  of  the  goddess. 

In  the  year  1819  I  attended  in  Bonn,  in  one 
and  the  same  season,  four  courses  of  lectures  on 
German  antiquities  from  the  remotest  times.  The 
first  of  these  was  the  history  of  the  German  tongue, 
by  Schlegel,  who  for  three  months  developed  the 
most  old-fashioned  hypotheses  on  the  origin  of  the 
Teutonic  race;  2.  The  Germania  of  Tacitus,  by 
Amdt,  who  sought  in  the  old  German  forests  for 
those  virtues  which  he  misses  in  the  saloons  of 
the  present  day;  3.  German  National  Law,  by 
Hiillmann,  whose  historical  views  are  the  least 
vague  of  those  current ;  and  4.  Primitive  German 
History,  by  Eadloff,  who  at  the  end  of  the  half 
year  had  got  no  farther  than  the  time  of  Sesostris. 
In  those  days  the  legend  of  the  ancient  Hertha 
may  have  interested  me  more  than  at  present.  I 
did  not  at  all  admit  that  she  dwelt  in  Eiigen,  and 
preferred  to  believe  that  it  was  on  an  East  Frisian 
island.  A  young  savant  always  likes  to  have  his 
own  private  hypothesis.     But  at  any  rate,  I  never 


THE  NORTH  SEA.  243 

supposed  that  I  should  some  day  wander  on  the 
shore  of  the  North  Sea  without  thinking  of  the 
old  goddess  with  patriotic  enthusiasm.  Such  is, 
in  fact,  not  altogether  the  case,  for  I  am  here 
thinking  of  goddesses,  only  younger  and  more 
beautiful  ones.  Particularly  when  I  wander  on 
the  strand,  near  those  terrible  spots  where  the 
most  beautiful  ladies  have  recently  been  swim- 
ming like  nymphs.  For  neither  ladies  nor  gentle- 
men bathe  here  under  cover,  but  walk  about  in 
the  open  sea.  On  this  account  the  bathing  places 
of  the  two  sexes  are  far  apart,  and  yet  not  alto- 
gether too  far,  and  he  who  carries  a  good  spy-glass 
can  everywhere  in  this  world  see  many  marvels. 
There  is  a  legend  of  the  island  that  a  modem 
Actseon  in  this  manner  once  beheld  a  bathing 
Diana,  and,  wonderful  to  relate,  it  was  not  he, 
but  the  husband  of  the  beauty  who  got  the 
homai 

The  bathing-carriages,  those  hackney-coaches 
of  the  North  Sea,  are  here  simply  shoved  to  the 
edge  of  the  water.  They  are  generally  angular 
wooden  structures,  covered  with  coarse  stiff  Hnen. 
Now,  during  winter,  they  are  ranged  along  the 
conversation  hall,  and  without  doubt  maintain 
among  themselves  as  wooden  and  stiff  linen-like 
conversations  as  the  aristocratic  world  which  not 
long  since  filled  their  place. 

"But  when  I  say  the  aristocratic  world,  I  do  not 


«44 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


mean  the  good  citizens  of  East  Friesland,  a  race 
flat  and  tame  as  their  own  sand-hills,  who  can 
neither  pipe  nor  sing,  and  yet  possess  a  talent 
worth  any  trilling  and  nonsense — a  talent  which 
ennobles  man,  and  lifts  him  above  those  windy 
souls  of  service,  who  believe  themselves  alone  to 
be  noble.  I  mean  the  talent  for  freedom.  If  the 
heart  beats  for  liberty,  that  beating  is  better  than 
any  strokes  conferring  knighthood,  as  the  "free 
Frisians  "  well  know,  and  they  well  deserve  this, 
their  national  epithet  With  the  exception  of  the 
ancient  days  of  chieftainship,  an  aristocracy  never 
predominated  in  East  Friesland ;  very  few  noble 
families  have  ever  dwelt  there,  and  the  influence 
of  the  Hanoverian  nobility  by  force  and  military 
power  as  it  now  spreads  over  the  land,  troubles 
many  a  free  Frisian  heart.  Everywhere  a  love 
for  their  earlier  Prussian  government  is  mani- 
fested. 

Yet  I  cannot  unconditionally  agree  with  the 
universal  German  complaint  of  the  pride  of  birth 
of  the  Hanoverian  nobility.  The  Hanoverian  corps 
of  officers  give  least  occasion  for  complaints  of  this 
nature.  It  is  true  that,  as  in  Madagascar,  only 
the  nobility  have  the  right  to  become  butchers, 
80  in  days  of  old,  only  the  nobility  in  Hanover 
were  permitted  to  become  soldiers.  But  since,  in 
recent  times,  so  many  citizens  have  distinguished 
themselves  in  Crerman  regiments,  and  risen  to  be 


THE  NORTH  SEA.  ;       ^ 

officers,  this  evil  customary  privilege  has  fallen 
into  disuse.  Yes,  the  entire  body  of  the  German 
legions  has  contributed  much  to  soften  all  preju- 
dices, for  these  men  have  travelled  afar,  and  out 
in  the  world  men  see  many  things,  especially  in 
England ;  and  they  have  learned  much,  and  it  is 
a  real  pleasure  to  hear  them  talk  of  Portugal, 
Spain,  Sicily,  the  Ionian  Isles,  Ireland,  and  other 
distant  lands  where  they  have  fought,  and  "  seen 
full  many  towns  and  learned  full  many  manners," 
so  that  we  can  imagine  that  we  are  listening  to 
an  Odyssey,  which,  alas !  will  never  find  its  Homer. 
Among  these  officers  many  independent  English 
customs  have  also  found  their  way,  which  con- 
trast more  strikingly  with  the  old  Hanoverian 
manners  than  we  in  the  rest  of  Germany  would 
imagine,  as  we  are  in  the  habit  of  supposing  that 
England  has  exercised  great  influence  over  Hano- 
ver. Through  all  the  land  of  Hanover  nothing  is 
to  be  seen  but  genealogical  trees,  to  which  horses 
are  bound,  so  that  for  mere  trees  the  land  itself  is 
obscured,  and  with  all  its  horses  it  never  advances. 
No;  through  this  Hanoverian  forest  of  nobility 
there  never  penetrated  a  sun-ray  of  British  free- 
dom, and  no  tone  of  British  freedom  was  ever 
perceptible  amid  the  neighing  noise  of  Hanoverian 
steeds.  But  what  a  British  tone  of  freedom  is  I 
lately  learned  as  I  saw  an  English  ship  sailing 
past  in  the  wildest  storm,  while  on  its  deck  were 


346 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


men  who  almost  outroared  wind  and  waves  with 
their  old  song — 

"  Rule  Britannia,  Britannia  rules  the  waves, 
And  Britons  never,  never  shall  be  slaves," 

The  general  complaint  of  Hanoverian  pride  of 
birth  is  best  founded  as  regards  the  hopeful  youth 
of  certain  families,  who  either  rule  or  believe  that 
they  really  rule  the  realm.  But  these  noble  youths 
will  soon  lay  aside  this  haughtiness,  or  more  cor- 
rectly speaking,  this  naughtiness,  when  they  too 
have  seen  a  little  more  of  the  world,  or  have  had 
the  advantage  of  a  better  education.  It  is  true 
that  they  are  sent  to  Gottingen,  but  they  hang 
together,  talking  about  their  horses,  dogs,  and 
ancestry,  learning  but  little  of  modern  history; 
and  if  they  happen  once  in  a  while  by  chance  to 
hear  of  it,  their  minds  are  notwithstanding  stupe- 
fied by  the  sight  of  "  the  count's  table,"  which,  a 
true  indication  of  Gottingen,  is  intended  only  for 
students  of  noble  birth.  Of  a  truth,  if  the  young 
Hanoverian  nobility  were  better  taught  many 
complaints  would  be  obviated.  But  the  young 
become  like  the  old.  The  same  delusion,  as 
though  they  were  the  flowers  of  the  earth,  and 
we  others  but  its  grass ;  the  same  folly,  seeking 
to  cover  their  own  worthlessness  with  their  ances- 
tors' merits;  the  same  ignorance  of  what  there 
may  be  problematic  in  these  merits,  as  there  are 


THE  NORTH  SEA.  247 

few  indeed  among  them  who  reflect  that  princes 
seldom  reward  their  most  faithful  and  virtuous 
subjects,  but  very  often  their  panders,  flatterers, 
and  similar  favourite  rascals  with  ennobling  grace. 
Fevr  indeed  among  these  nobles  could  say  with 
any  certainty  what  their  ancestors  have  done,  ?ind 
they  can  only  show  their  name  in  Eiixner's  Book 
of  Tournaments ;  yes,  and  if  they  could  prove  that 
an  ancestor  was  at  the  taking  of  Jerusalem,  then 
ought  they,  before  availing  themselves  of  the 
honour,  to  prove  that  their  ancestor  fought  as  a 
knight  should,  that  his  mail  suit  was  not  lined 
with  fear,  and  that  beneath  his  red  cross  beat  an 
honest  heart  Were  there  no  Iliad,  but  simply  a 
list  of  names  of  those  heroes  who  fought  before 
Troy ;  and  if  those  family  names  were  yet  among 
us,  how  would  the  descendants  of  Thersites  be 
puffed  up  with  pride !  As  for  the  purity  of  the 
blood,  I  will  say  nothing  ;  philosophers  and  family 
footmen  have  doubtless  some  peculiar  thoughts 
on  this  subject. 

My  fault-finding,  as  already  hinted,  is  based 
upon  the  lame  education  of  the  Hanoverian 
nobility,  and  their  early  impressed  delusion  as 
to  the  importance  of  certain  idle  forms.  Oh! 
how  often  have  I  laughed  when  I  remarked  the 
importance  attached  to  these  forms,  as  if  it  were 
even  a  difficult  matter  to  learn  this  representing, 
this  presenting,  this  smiling  without  saying  any- 


M 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


o» 


thing,  this  saying  something  without  thinking, 
and  all  these  noble  arts  which  the  good  plain 
citizen  stares  at  £is  on  wonders  from  beyond  sea, 
and  which  after  all  every  French  dancing-master 
has  better  and  more  naturally  than  the  German 
nobleman,  to  whom  they  have  with  weary  pains 
been  made  familiar  in  the  cub-licking  Lutetia, 
and  who,  after  their  importation,  teaches  them 
with  German  thoroughness  and  German  labour 
to  his  descendants.  This  reminds  me  of  the  fable 
of  the  dancing-bear,  who,  having  escaped  from  his 
master,  rejoined  his  fellow-bears  in  the  wood,  and 
boasted  to  them  of  the  difficulty  of  learning  to 
dance,  and  how  he  himself  excelled  in  the  art; 
and  in  fact  the  poor  brutes  who  beheld  his  per- 
formances could  not  withhold  their  admiration. 
That  nation,  as  Werther  calls  them,  formed  the 
aristocratic  world,  which  here  at  this  watering- 
place  shone  on  water  and  land,  smd  they  were 
altogether  nice,  dear  folks,  and  played  their  parts 
well. 

Persons  of  royal  blood  were  also  here,  and  I 
must  admit  that  they  were  more  modest  in  their 
address  than  the  lesser  nobility.  Whether  this 
modesty  was  in  the  hearts  of  these  elevated  per- 
sons, or  whether  they  were  impelled  to  it  by  their 
position,  I  will  here  leave  undecided.  I  assert 
this,  however,  only  of  the  German  mediatised 
princes.    These  persons  have  of  late  suffered  great 


<  Arf.«'«  ^^.t-* 


THE  NORTH  SEA.  249 

injustice,  inasmuch  as  they  have  been  robbed  of 
a  sovereignty  to  which  they  had  as  good  right  as 
the  greater  princes,  unless,  indeed,  any  one  will 
assume,  with  my  fellow-unbeliever  Spinoza,  that 
that  which  cannot  maintain  itself  by  its  own 
power  has  no  right  to  exist.  But  for  the  greatly 
divided  Germany,  it  was  a  benefit  that  this  array 
of  i6mo  despots  were  obliged  to  resign  their 
power.  It  is  terrible  when  we  reflect  on  the 
number  which  we  poor  Germans  are  obliged  to 
feed,  for  although  these  mediatised  princes  no 
longer  wield  the  sceptre,  they  still  wield  knives, 
forks,  and  spoons,  and  do  not  eat  hay,  and  if 
they  did,  hay  would  still  be  expensive  enough. 
I  imagine  that  we  shall  eventusdly  be  freed  by 
America  from  this  burden  of  princes.  For  sooner 
or  later  the  presidents  of  those  free  states  will  be 
metamorphosed  into  sovereigns,  and  if  they  need 
legitimate  princesses  for  wives,  they  will  be  glad 
if  we  give  them  our  blood-royal  dames,  and  if 
they  take  six,  we  will  throw  in  the  seventh  gratis ; 
and  by  and  bye  our  princes  may  be  busied  with 
their  daughters  in  turn;  for  which  reason  the 
mediatised  princes  have  acted  very  shrewdly  in 
retaining  at  least  their  right  of  birth,  and  value 
their  family  trees  as  much  as  the  Arabs  value 
the  pedigrees  of  their  horses,  and  indeed  with 
the  same  object,  as  they  well  know  that  Germany 
has  been  in  aU  ages  the  great  princely  stud  from 


2SO  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

which  all  the  reigning  neighbouring  families  have 
been  supplied  with  mares  and  stallions.^ 

In  every  watering-place  it  is  an  old-established 
customary  privilege  that  the  departed  guests 
should  be  sharply  criticised  by  those  who  remain, 
and  as  I  am  here  the  last  in  the  house,  I  may  pre- 
sume to  exercise  that  right  to  its  fullest  extent.  I 

And  it  is  now  so  lonely  in  the  island,  that  I 
seem  to  myself  like  Napoleon  on  St.  Helena. 
Only  that  I  have  here  found  something  entertain- 
ing, which  he  wanted.  For  it  is  with  the  great 
Emperor  himself  with  whom  I  am  now  busied. 
A  young  Englishman  recently  presented  me  with 
Maitland's  book,  published  not  long  since,  in  which 
the  mariner  sets  forth  the  way  and  manner  in  which 
Napoleon  gave  himself  up  to  him,  and  deceived 
himself  on  the  Bellerophon,  till  he,  by  command 
of  the  British  Ministry,  was  brought  on  board  the 
Northumberland.  From  this  book  it  appears  clear 
as  day  that  the  Emperor,  in  a  spirit  of  romantic 
confidence  in  British  magnanimity,  and  to  finally 
give  peace  to  the  world,  went  to  the  English  more 
as  a  guest  than  as  a  prisoner.  It  was  an  error 
which  no  other  man  would  have  fallen  into,  and 
least  of  all  a  Wellington.    But  history  will  declare 

1  TbiB  prediction  tb»t  a  time  would  come  when  Americana 
would  devote  themselves  with  zeal  to  intermarrying  with  any 
and  every  kind  of  European  nobility,  or  "  anything  with  a  title," 
ia  now  being  rapidly  fulfilled. — NoU  by  Trxmdator. 


THE  NORTH  SEA.  :  ;.  jft 

that  this  error  was  so  beautiful,  so  elevated,  so 
sublime,  that  it  required  more  true  greatness  of 
soul  than  we,  the  rest  of  the  world,  can  elevate 
ourselves  to  in  our  greatest  deeds. 

The  cause  which  has  induced  Captain  Maitland 
to  publish  this  book  appears  to  be  no  other  than 
the  moral  need  of  purification  which  every  honour- 
able man  experiences  who  has  been  entangled  by 
bad  fortune  in  a  piece  of  business  of  a  doubtful 
complexion.  The  book  itself  is  an  invaluable  con- 
tribution to  the  history  of  the  imprisonment  of 
NapoleoB,  as  it  forms  the  last  portion  of  his  life, 
singularly  solves  all  the  enigmas  of  the  earlier 
parts,  and  amazes,  reconciles,  and  purifies  the 
mind,  as  the  last  act  of  a  genuine  tragedy  should. 
The  characteristic  differences  of  the  four  principal 
writers  who  have  informed  us  as  to  his  captivity, 
and  particularly  as  to  his  manner  and  method  of 
regarding  things,  is  not  distinctly  seen  save  by 
their  comparison. 

Maitland,  the  stern,  cold,  English  sailor,  de-. 
scribes  events  without  prejudice,  and  as  accu- 
rately as  though  they  were  maritime  occurrences 
to  be  entered  in  a  log-book.  Las  Casas,  like  an 
enthusiastic  chamberlain,  lies,  as  he  writes,  in 
every  line,  at  the  feet  of  his  Emperor;  not  like  a 
Eussian  slave,  but  like  a  free  Frenchman,  who 
involuntarily  bows  the  knee  to  unheard-of  heroic 
greatness  and  to  the  dignity  of  renown.    O'Meara, 


\ 


252  PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 

the  physician,  though  horn  in  Ireland,  is  still 
altogether  a  Briton,  and  as  such  weis  once  an 
enemy  of  the  Emperor ;  but  now,  recognising  the 
majestic  rights  of  adversity,  he  writes  boldly, 
without  ornament,  and  conscientiously,  almost  in 
a  lapidary  style.  While  we  recognise,  on  the 
contrary,  not  so  much  a  style  as  a  stiletto  in  the 
pointed,  striking  manner  of  writing  of  the  Italian 
Autommarchi,  who  is  altogether  mentally  intoxi- 
cated with  the  vindictiveness  and  poetry  of  his 
land. 

Both  races,  French  and  English,  gave  from  either 
side  two  men  of  ordinary  powers  of  mind,  uninflu- 
enced by  the  powers  that  be,  and  this  jury  has 
judged  the  Emperor,  and  sentenced  him  to  live 
eternally — an  object  of  wonder  and  of  commise- 
ration. I 

There  are  many  great  men  who  have  already 
walked  in  this  world.  Here  and  there  we  see  the 
gleaming  marks  of  their  footsteps,  and  in  holy 
hours  they  sweep  like  cloudy  forms  before  our 
souls ;  but  an  equally  great  man  sees  his  prede- 
cessors far  more  significantly.  From  a  single 
spark  of  the  traces  of  their  earthly  glory  he  recog- 
nises their  most  secret  act,  from  a  single  word 
left  behind  he  penetrates  every  fold  of  th^ir 
hearts;  and  thus  in  a  mystical  brotherhood  live 
the  great  men  of  all  times.  Across  long  centuries 
they  bow  to  each  other,  and  gaze  on  each  other 


THE  NORTH  SEA.  253 

^ith  significant  glances,  and  their  eyes  meet  over 
the  graves  of  buried  races  whom  they  haVe  thrust 
aside  between,  and  they  understand  and  love  each 
other.  But  we  little  ones,  who  may  not  have  such 
intimate  intercourse  with  the  great  ones  of  the 
past,  of  whom  we  but  seldom  see  the  traces  and 
cloudy  forms,  it  is  of  the  highest  importance  to 
learn  so  much  of  these  great  men  that  it  will  be 
easy  for  us  to  take  them  distinct,  as  in  life,  into 
our  own  souls,  and  thereby  enlarge  our  minds. 
Such  a  man  is  Napoleon  Bonaparte.  We  know 
more  of  his  life  and  deeds  than  of  the  other  great 
ones  of  this  world,  and  day  by  day  we  learn  still 
more  and  more.  We  see  the  buried  form  divine 
slowly  dug  forth,  and  with  every  spadeful  of  earth 
which  is  removed  increases  our  joyous  wonder  at 
the  symmetry  and  splendour  of  the  noble  figure 
which  is  revealed,  and  the  spiritual  lightnings 
with  which  foes  would  shatter  the  great  statue 
serve  but  to  light  it  up  more  gloriously.  Such  is 
the  case  with  the  assertions  of  Madame  de  Stael, 
who,  with  all  her  bitterness,  says  nothing  more 
than  that  the  Emperor  was  not  a  man  l^ke  other 
men,  and  that  his  soul  could  be  measured  with  no 
measure  known  to  us.  :  ' '  .'  ^ 

It  is  to  such  a  spirit  that  Kant  alludes  when 
he  says  that  we  can  think  to  ourselves  an  under- 
standing, which,  because  it  is  not  discursive  like 
our  own,  but  intuitive,  goes  from  the  synthetic 


«S4 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


universal  of  the  observation  of  the  whole,  as  such, 
to  the  particular ;  that  is  to  say,  from  the  whole 
to  a  part  Yes;  Napoleon's  spirit  saw  through 
that  which  we  learn  by  weary  analytical  reflection 
and  long  deduction  of  consequences,  and  compre- 
hended it  in  one  and  the  same  moment.  Thence 
came  his  talent  to  understand  his  age,  to  cajole  its 
spirit  into  never  abusing  him  and  being  ever  pro- 
fitable to  him.  ■       I. 

But  as  this  spirit  of  the  age  is  not  only  revolu- 
tionary, but  is  formed  by  the  antagonism  of  both 
sides — the  revolutionary  and  the  counter-revolu- 
tionary— so  did  Napoleon  act  not  according  to 
either  alone,  but  according  to  the  spirit  of  both 
principles,  both  efforts,  which  found  in  him  their 
union,  and  he  accordingly  always  acted  natu- 
rally, simply,  and  greatly ;  never  convulsively  and 
harshly,  ever  composed  and  calm.  Therefore  he 
never  intrigued  in  details,  and  his  striking  effects 
were  ever  brought  about  by  his  ability  to  compre- 
hend and  to  bend  the  masses  to  his  will  Little 
analytical  souls  incline  to  entangled,  wearisome 
intrigues ;  while,  on  the  contrary,  synthetic  intui- 
tive spirits  understand  in  a  wondrously  genial 
manner,  so  to  avail  themselves  of  the  means 
which  are  afforded  them  by  the  present,  as  quickly 
to  turn  them  to  their  own  advantage.  The  former 
often  founder,  because  no  mortal  wisdom  can  fore- 
tee  all  the  events  of  life,  and  life's  relations  are 


'    THE  NORTH  SEA.  255 

never  long  permanent ;  the  latter,  on  the  contrary, 
the  intuitive  men,  succeed  most  easily  in  theii  de- 
signs, as  they  only  require  an  accurate  computation 
of  that  which  is  at  hand,  and  act  so  quickly  that 
their  calculations  are  not  miscarried  by  any  ordinary 
agitation,  or  by  any  sudden  unforeseen  changes. 

It  is  a  fortunate  coincidence  that  Napoleon  lived 
just  in  an  age  which  had  a  remarkable  inclina- 
tion for  history,  for  research,  and  for  publication. 
Owing  to  this  cause,  thanks  to  the  memoirs  of  con- 
temporaries, but  few  particulars  of  Napoleon's  life 
have  been  withheld  from  us,  and  the  number  of 
histories  which  represent  him  as  more  or  less  allied 
to  the  rest  of  the  world  increase  every  day.  /On 
this  account  the  announcement  of  such  a  work  by 
Scott  awakens  the  most  anxious  anticipation. 

All  those  who  honour  the  genius  of  Scott  must 
tremble  for  him,  for  such  a  book  may  easily  prove 
to  be  the  Moscow  of  a  reputation  which  he  has 
won  with  weary  labour  by  an  array  of  historical 
romances,  which,  more  by  their  subject  than  by 
their  poetic  power,  have  moved  every  heart  in 
Europe.^     This  theme  is,  however,  not  merely  an 

1  We  have  here  an  indication  of  a  characteristic  of  Heine  ; 
that  is,  the  belief  that  a  good  work  by  any  author  loses  all  its 
value  when  the  latter  publishes  anything  indifferent.  This  is 
closely  allied  to  the  kindred  folly  of  judging  men's  works  by 
their  lives,  and  off-setting  the  positive  results  of  genius  which 
benefits  the  world,  by  petty  human  weaknesses  which  are  pos- 
sibly  only  due  to  exaggerated  gossip. — Note  by  Trantlator. 


256  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

elegiac  lament  over  Scotland's  legendary  glory, 
which  has  been  little  by  little  banished  by  foreign 
manners,  rule,  and  modes  of  thought,  but  the 
greatest  suffering  for  the  loss  of  those  national 
peculiarities  which  perish  in  the  universality  of 
modern  civilisation — a  grief  which  now  causes  the 
hearts  of  every  nation  to  throb.  For  national 
memories  lie  deeper  in  man's  heart  than  we  gene- 
rally imagine.  Let  any  one  attempt  to  bury  the 
ancient  forms,  and  overnight  the  old  love  blooms 
anew  with  its  flowers.  This  is  not  a  mere  figure 
of  speech,  but  a  fact ;  for  when  Bullock,  a  few 
years  ago,  dug  up  in  Mexico  an  old  heathen  stone 
image,  he  found  next  morning  that  during  the 
night  it  had  been  crowned  with  flowers,  although 
Spain  had  destroyed  the  old  Mexican  faith  with 
fire  and  sword,  and  though  the  souls  of  the  natives 
had  been  for  three  centuries  digged  about  and 
ploughed  and  sowed  with  Christianity.  And  such 
flowers  as  these  bloom  in  Walter  Scott's  poems. 
These  poems  themselves  awaken  the  old  feeling; 
and  as  once  in  Grenada  men  and  women  ran  with 
the  wail  of  desperation  from  their  houses,  when 
the  song  of  the  departure  of  the  Moorish  king 
rang  in  the  streets,  so  that  it  was  prohibited,  on 
pain  of  death,  to  sing  it,  so  hath  the  tone  which 
rings  through  Scott's  romance  thrilled  with  pain 
a  whole  world.  This  tone  re-echoes  in  the  hearts 
of  our  nobles,  who  see  their  castles  and  armorial 


THE  NORTH  SEA.  257 

'bearings  in  mins ;  it  rings  again  in  the  hearts  of 
our  burghers,  who  have  been  crowded  from  the 
comfortable  narrow  way  of  their  ancestors  by 
wide-spreading,  uncongenial  modem  fashion;  in 
Catholic  cathedrals,  whence  faith  has  fled ;  in  Rab- 
binic synagogues,  from  which  even  the  faithful 
flee.  It  sounds  over  the  whole  world,  even  into 
the  Banyan  groves  of  Hindostan,  where  the  sigh- 
ing Brahmin  sees  before  him  the  destruction  of 
his  gods,  the  demolition  of  their  primeval  cosmo- 
gony, and  the  entire  victory  of  the  Briton. 

But  this  tone — ^the  mightiest  which  the  Scottish 
bard  can  strike  upon  his  giant  harp — accords  not 
with  the  imperial  song  of  Napoleon,  the  new  man 
— ^the  man  of  modem  times — the  man  in  whom 
this  new  age  mirrors  itself  so  gloriously,  that  we 
thereby  are  well-nigh  dazzled,  and  never  think 
meanwhile  of  the  vanished  Past,  nor  of  its  faded 
splendour.  It  may  well  be  presupposed  that 
Scott,  according  to  his  predilections,  will  seize 
upon  the  stable  element  already  hinted  at,  the 
counter-revolutionary  side  of  the  character  of 
Napoleon,  while,  on  the  contrary,  other  writers 
will  recognise  in  him  the  revolutionary  principle. 
It  is  from  this  last  side  that  Byron  would  have 
described  him — Byron,  who  forms  in  every  respect 
an  antithesis  to  Scott,  and  who,  instead  of  lament- 
ing, like  him,  the  destruction  of  old  forms,  even 
feels  himself  vexed  and  bounded  by  those  which 

VOL.  I.  B 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


remain,  and  would  fain  annihilate  them  with  reyo> 
lutionary  laughter  and  with  gnashing  of  teeth. 
In  this  rage  he  destroys  the  holiest  flowers  of  life 
with  his  melodious  poison,  and  like  a  mad  harle- 
quin, strikes  a  dagger  into  his  own  heart,  to  mock- 
ingly sprinkle  with  the  jetting  black  blood  the 
ladies  and  gentlemen  around.  j 

I  truly  realise  at  this  instant  that  I  am  no  wor- 
shipper, or  at  least  no  bigoted  admirer  of  Byron. 
My  blood  is  not  so  splenetically  black ;  my  bitter- 
ness comes  only  from  the  gall-apples  of  my  ink ; 
and  if  there  be  poison  in  me,  it  is  only  an  anti- 
poison for  those  snakes  which  lurk  so  threaten- 
ingly amid  the  shelter  of  old  cathedrals  and  castles. 
Of  all  great  writers,  Byron  is  just  the  one  whose 
writings  excite  in  me  the  least  passion,  while 
Scott,  on  the  contrary,  in  his  every  book  gladdens, 
tranquillises,  and  strengthens  my  heart  Even  his 
imitators  please  me,  as  in  such  instances  as  Willi- 
bald  Alexis,  Bronikowski,  and  Cooper,  the  first  of 
whom,  in  the  ironic  "  Walladmoor,"  approaches 
nearest  his  pattern,  and  has  shown  in  a  later  work 
such  a  wealth  of  form  and  of  spirit,  that  he  is 
fully  capable  of  setting  before  our  souls  with  a 
poetic  originality  well  worthy  of  Scott  a  series  of 
historical  novels. 

But  no  true  genius  follows  paths  indicated  to 
him ;  these  lie  beyond  all  critical  computation,  so 
that  it  may  be  allowed  to  pass  as  a  harmless  play 


THE  NORTH  SEA.  259 

of  thought  if  I  may  express  my  anticipatory 
judgment  over  Walter  Scott's  History  of  Napo- 
leon. Anticipatory  judgment^  is  here  the  most 
comprehensive  expression.  Only  one  thing  can 
be  said  with  certainty,  which  is,  that  the  book 
will  be  read  from  its  uprising  even  unto  the 
downsetting  thereof,  and  we  Germans  will  trans- 
late it.* 

We  have  also  translated  Segur.  Is  it  not  a 
pretty  epic  poem  ?  We  Germans  also  write  epic 
poems,  but  their  heroes  only  exist  in  our  own 


*  "  Vorurtheil  "—^agvdiovwm — prejudice — fore-judgment. — 
Note  by  Trarulator. 

^  These  remarks  were  written  in  1826,  and  in  the  following 
year  the  History  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte  by  Walter  Scott  1^- 
peared,  and  I  saw,  to  my  great  sorrow,  that  my  prediction  as  to 
the  work  was  fulfilled,  for  it  was  a  complete  failure,  and  since 
that  mournful  event  the  literary  star  of  the  Great  Unknown 
has  been  extinguished.  The  excess  of  work  with  which  he  bur- 
dened himself  to  satisfy  the  demands  of  his  creditors  had  broken 
down  Walter  Scott's  health ;  but  he  worked  all  the  harder  to 
write  several  wearisome,  absurd  {albeme)  romances,  and  died 
soon  after.  At  the  time  when  his  work  on  Napoleon,  this 
blasphemy  in  twelve  volumes,  appeared,  I  was  in  Munich,  where 
I  published  a  monthly  magazine,  "  The  Political  Annals,"  and 
for  this  I  wrote  the  remarks  on  the  book  which  I  subsequently 
embodied  in  the  fourth  volume  of  the  ReitebUder. — Note  by 
Heine  to  ike  French  vereion  of  the  "  JReiaebilder." 

It  can  hardly  be  denied  that  in  these  remarks  on  Scott's 
Napoleon,  Heine  appears  as  one  greatly  forcing  the  oracle,  or 
endeavouring  to  exalt  his  own  rather  ambiguous  prediction  to 
a  prophecy.  None  of  Scott's  romances  deserve  the  epithets 
**  wearisome  and  almost  absurd  ; "  nor  did  his  renown  fade,  nor 


26o 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


heads.  The  heroes  of  the  French  epos,  on  the 
contrary,  are  real  heroes,  who  have  performed 
more  doughty  deeds  and  suffered  far  greater  woes 
than  we  in  our  garret-rooms  ever  dreamed  of. 
And  yet  we  have  much  imagination  and  the 
French  but  little.  Perhaps  on  this  account  the 
Lord  helped  them  out  in  another  manner,  for 
they  only  need  truly  relate  what  has  happened 
to  them  during  the  last  thirty  years  to  have  such 
a  literature  of  experience  as  no  nation  and  no  age 
ever  yet  brought  forth.  Those  memoirs  of  states- 
men, soldiers,  and  noble  ladies  which  appear  daily 
in  France  form  a  cycle  of  legends  in  which  pos- 
terity will  find  material  enough  for  thought  and 
song — a  cycle  in  whose  centre  the  life  of  the  great 
Emperor  rises  like  a  giant  tree.  Segur's  "  History 
of  the  Eussian  Campaign"  is  a  song,  a  French 
song  of  the  people,  which  belongs  to  this  legend 
cycle,  and  which  in  its  tone  and  matter  equals,  and 
will  remain  equal  to,  the  epic  poetry  of  all  ages.    A 


is  hiB  star  even  yet  extinguished.  Homer  sometimes  nods,  and 
it  does  not  follow  because  a  first-class  horse  is  sometimes  fagged 
that  he  is  incurably  foundered.  That  is  a  hard  judgment  which 
would  dedare  that  an  author's  fame  is  utterly  extinguished  be- 
cause he  has,  under  cruel  pressure  of  overwork,  written  something 
unequal  to  his  former  productions.  Heine  himself  did  not  always 
maintain  the  same  pace.  It  is  amusing  to  compare  this  remark 
as  to  albeme — absurd  or  foolish— romances  with  the  foregoing 
declaration  that  every  book  by  Scott  gladdened,  tranquillised, 
and  strengthened  our  author's  heart. — Note  by  Trantlator. 


THE  NORTH  SEA.  261 

heroic  poem,  which  from  the  magic  words  "  free- 
dom and  equality  **  has  shot  up  from  the  soil  of 
France,  and,  as  in  a  triumphal  procession,  intoxi- 
cated with  glory  and  led  by  the  goddess  Fame 
herself,  has  swept  over,  terrified,  and  glorified 
the  world.  And  now  at  last  it  dances  clattering 
sword-dances  on  the  ice-fields  of  the  North,  until 
they  break  in,  and  the  children  of  fire  and  of 
freedom  perish  by  cold  and  by  the  Slaves. 

Such  a  description  of  the  destruction  of  a  heroic 
world  is  the  key-note  and  material  of  the  epic 
poems  of  all  races.  On  the  rocks  of  Ellora  and 
other  Indian  grotto-temples  there  remain  such 
epic  catastrophes,  engraved  in  giant  hieroglyphics, 
the  key  to  which  must  be  sought  in  the  Maha- 
barcUa.  The  North,  too,  in  words  not  less  rock- 
like, has  narrated  this  twilight  of  the  gods  in  its 
"  Edda ; "  the  Nibelungen  sings  the  same  tragic 
destruction,  and  has  in  its  conclusion  a  striking 
similarity  with  Segur's  description  of  the  burn- 
ing of  Moscow.  The  Roland's  song  of  the  battle 
of  Eoncesvalles,  which,  though  its  words  have 
perished,  still  exists  as  a  legend,  and  which  has 
recently  been  raised  again  to  life  by  Immermann, 
one  of  the  greatest  poets  of  the  Fatherland,  is  also 
the  same  old  song  of  woe.  Even  the  song  of  Troy 
gives  most  gloriously  the  old  theme,  and  yet  it  is 
not  grander  or  more  agonising  than  that  French 
song  of  the  people  in  which  Segur  has  sung  the 


.- i  I.; 


262 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


downfall  of  his  hero-world.  Yes,  this  is  a  true 
epos,  the  heroic  youth  of  France  is  the  beautiful 
hero  who  early  perishes,  as  we  have  already  seen 
in  the  deaths  of  Balder,  Siegfried,  Roland,  and 
Achilles,  who  also  perished  by  ill-fortune  and 
treachery;  and  those  heroes  whom  we  once 
admired  in  the  Iliad  we  find  again  in  the  song  of 
Segur.  We  see  them  counselling,  quarrelling, 
and  fighting,  as  once  of  old  before  the  Skaic  gate. 
If  the  coat  of  the  King  of  Naples  is  somewhat 
too  variedly  modern,  still  his  courage  in  battle 
and  his  pride  are  greater  than  those  of  Pelides; 
a  Hector  in  mildness  and  bravery  is  before  us 
in  "  Prince  Eugene,  the  knight  so  noble."  Ney 
battles  Hke  an  Ajax ;  Berthier  is  a  Nestor  without 
wisdom ;  Davoust,  Dam,  Caulincourt,  and  others 
possess  the  souls  of  Menelaus,  of  Odysseus,  of 
Diomed — only  the  Emperor  alone  has  not  his 
like;  in  his  head  is  the  Olympus  of  the  poem, 
and  if  I  compare  him  in  his  heroic  apparition  to 
Agamemnon,  I  do  it  because  a  tragic  end  awaited 
him  with  his  lordly  comrades  in  arms,  and  because 
his  Orestes  yet  lives. 

There  is  a  tone  in  Segur's  epos  like  that  in 
Scott's  poems,  which  moves  our  hearts.  But  this 
tone  does  not  revive  our  love  for  the  long- vanished 
legions  of  olden  time.  It  is  a  tone  which  brings 
to  us  the  present,  and  a  tone  which  inspires  us 
with  its  spirit  i 


-.'.y'. 


) 


THE  NORTH  SEA.  263 

But  we  Germans  are  genuine  Peter  Schlemihls ! 
In  later  times  we  have  seen  much  and  suffered 
much — for  example,  having  soldiers  quartered  on 
us,  and  pride  from  our  nobility;  and  we  have 
given  away  our  best  blood,  for  example,  to  Eng- 
land, which  has  still  a  considerable  annual  sum  to 
pay  for  shot-oflF  arms  and  legs  to  their  former 
owners,  and  we  have  done  so  many  great  things 
on  a  small  scale,  that  if  they  were  reckoned  up 
together,  they  would  result  in  the  grandest  deeds 
imaginable — for  instance,  in  the  Tyrol;  and  we 
havelost  much — for  instance, our  "greater  shadow," 
the  title  of  the  holy  darling  Roman  Empire ;  and 
still,  with  all  our  losses,  sacrifices,  self-denials, 
misfortunes,  and  great  deeds,  our  literature  has 
not  gained  one  such  monument  of  renown  as  rise 
daily  among  our  neighbours  like  immortal  tro- 
phies. Our  Leipzig  Fairs  have  profited  but  little 
by  the  battle  of  Leipzig.  A  native  of  Gotha  in- 
tends, as  I  hear,  to  sing  them  successively  in  epic 
form,  but  as  he  has  not  as  yet  determined  whether 
he  belongs  to  the  one  hundred  thousand  souls  of 
Hildburghausen,  or  to  the  one  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  of  Meiningen,  or  to  the  one  hundred  and 
sixty  thousand  of  Altenburg,  he  cannot  as  yet 
begin  his  epos,  and  must  accordingly  begin  with, 
**  Sing,  immortal  souls,  Hildburghausian  souls, 
Meiningian  or  even  Altenburgian  souls,  sing,  all 
the  same,  sing  the  deliverance  of  the  sinful  Ger- 


364  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

mans ! "  This  trafficker  in  souls  in  the  heart  of  the 
Fatherland,  and  his  fearful  ruggednesa,  allows  no 
proud  thought,  and  still  less  a  proud  word,  to 
manifest  itself ;  our  brightest  deeds  become  ridi- 
culous by  a  stupid  result ;  and  while  we  gloomily 
wrap  ourselves  in  the  purple  mantle  of  German 
heroic  blood,  there  comes  a  political  waggish  knave 
and  puts  his  cap  and  bells  on  our  head.  I 

One  must  also  compare  the  literatures  of  our 
neighbours  beyond  the  Ehine  and  the  British 
Channel  with  our  own  trivial  writing,  to  appre- 
ciate the  emptiness  and  insignificance  of  our  own 
bagatelle-life.  Often  when  I  read  the  Morning 
Chronicle^  and  behold  in  every  line  the  English 
people,  with  its  horse-races,  boxing,  cock-fights, 
assizes,  Parliamentary  debates,  and  so  on,  I 
then  take  up  a  German  journal  and  find  nothing 
but  literary  old  woman's  gossip  ^  and  theatrical 
twaddle. 

And  yet  what  else  could  be  expected  ?  When 
all  public  life  is  suppressed  among  a  people,  it 
will  still  seek  for  subjects  of  general  conversation, 
and  Germany  finds  these  in  its  authors  and  come- 
dians. Instead  of  horse-races,  are  races  of  books 
to  the  Leipzig  Fair.  Instead  of  the  prize-ring, 
we  have  Mystics  and  Eationalists,  who  batter  one 

1  FravJbaaereien,  or,  aa  one  might  say  in  Amerioan,  "  Coiudn 
Sallies,"  Cousin  Sally  being  a  generic  term  for  a  gossip. — Nate 
by  Trcmdator. 


.^  >« ...  <. 


THE  NORTH  SEA.  265 

another  about  in  their  pamphlets,  till  the  former 
come  to  their  senses,  and  the  latter,  by  losing  sight 
and  hearing,  experience  tme  fiEdth.  Instead  of 
cock-fights,  we  have  newspapers  in  which  poor 
devils  who  are  fed  up  for  the  purpose  abuse  and 
vilify  one  another,  while  the  Philistines  cry  out 
with  joy,  "  There's  a  cock  of  the  walk  for  you ! " 
"  That  fellow  has  his  comb  up  now ! "  "  That  bird 
has  a  sharp  bill ! "  "  That  young  rooster's  pen- 
feather  wants  pulling!"  "That  chicken  needs 
spurring;  give  him  a  slasher-gaff,"  and  so  on.  After 
this  fashion  we  hold  our  assizes,  that  is,  in  the 
grey  sponge-paper  Saxon  journals,  in  which  every 
chuckle-head  is  judged  by  his  like,  according  to 
the  principles  of  a  literary  criminal  law,  which 
favours  the  theory  of  utter  discouragement  and 
punishes  every  book  as  a  misdemeanour.  Should 
its  author  manifest  intelligence,  then  the  offence 
is  "  qualified ; "  but  if  he  can  prove  an  alibi — or 
absence  of  mind — the  penalty  is  mitigated.  It  is, 
of  course,  a  great  fault  that  in  this  so  much  is  left 
to  judicial  prejudice,  all  the  more  so  because  our 
book-judges,  like  Falstaff,  will  not  give  their  rea- 
sons on  compulsion,  and  are  very  often  themselves 
sinners  in  private,  and  foresee  that  they  them- 
selves may  be  judged  to-morrow  by  the  same 
delinquents  whom  they  now  condemn.  Youth  is 
in  our  literary  criminal  proceedings  a  great  mitiga- 
tion of  crime ;  for  which  reason  many  an  old  lite- 


266 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


rary  sinner  is  let  off  easily,  because  he  is  regarded 
as  being  in  his  second  childhood.  Indeed,  the 
recent  discovery  that  young  men  about  the  time 
of  puberty  have  an  insane  tendency  to  pyromania, 
has  had  its  influence  in  aesthetics,  for  which  reason 
people  regard  with  more  mercy  so  many  flaming 
tragedies,  as,  for  instance,  that  of  the  fiery  youth 
who  did  nothing  less  than  set  fire  to  the  roysd 
palace  of  Persepolis.  We  have  also — to  continue 
the  comparison— our  Parliamentary  debates,  by 
which  I  mean  our  theatrical  critics ;  since  as  our 
theatre  can  properly  enough  be  called  a  House 
of  Commons  from  the  abundance  of  common  and 
vulgar  things  which  bloom  therein,  and  on  account 
of  the  trampled- down  French  filth  which  our 
public  gladly  swallows  even  when  it  has  had  a 
Kaupach  tragedy  on  the  same  evening,  just  as 
a  fly,  when  driven  away  from  a  honey-pot,  sits 
down  with  the  best  appetite  at  once  on  dung,  and 
so  concludes  its  mead.  I  have  here  specially  in 
mind  Kaupach's  Bekehrten,  "The  Converted,"  which 
I  saw  performed  last  winter  by  admirable  actors, 
and  that  with  just  as  much  applause  as  was 
bestowed  on  the  Sehiilerschiodnke-Scholars,  or 
"  Students'  Pranks,"  a  perfumed  excrement,  which 
was  played  afterwards  on  the  same  evening.*    But 


1  It  k  anrasiiig  to  observe,  as  ciuracteristio  of  Heine,  that 
while  he  here  pnusei  Ranpach  as  if  his  plays  were  the  Teiy  best, 


THE  NORTH  SEA.  267 

our  theatres  there  is  poison  as  well  as  filth.  I 
hear,  in  fact,  that  in  our  comedies  the  holiest 
morals  and  feelings  of  life  are  parodied  in  a 
rollicking  tone  and  trolled  away  in  such  an  easy 
style,  that  people  at  last  will  come  to  consider  it 
all  as  of  the  utmost  matter  of  course  ;  and  when 
I  consider  all  these  chamber-maidenly  declara- 
tions of  love,  the  sentimental  friendly  alliances 
for  mutual  deceit,  the  merry  plans  for  deceiving 
parents  or  husbands,^  or  whatever  these  stereo- 
typed themes  for  comedies  may  be  called — ah! 
then  an  inner  grief  and  boundless  melancholy 
seizes  me,  and  I  look  with  anxious,  painful  gaze 
at  the  poor  innocent  little  angels'  heads  unto 
whom  all  this  is  declaimed  in  the  theatre — most 
certainly  not  without  results ! 

The  complaints  of  the  decay  and  ruin  of  German 
comedy,  as  they  have  been  sighed  by  honourable 
hearts,  the  critical  zeal  of  Tieck  and  Zimmer- 
mann,  who  have  in  cleaning  out  our  theatres  a 
worse  task  than  was  that  of  Hercules  in  purifying 


be  subeequently,  in  bis  "Germany,"  abuses  "  The  Cossack  "  as  a 
disgrace  to  literatnre.  He  always  seems  also  to  be  naively  nn- 
conscious  that  his  own  contributions  to  the  "  perfumed  dirt " 
were  every  whit  as  gross  as  that  which  he  here  condemns.  But 
these  "  caprices  of  the  artist "  must  be  passed  over  in  a  pano- 
rama.— Note  by  TratuicUor. 

^  Of  which  kind  of  literature  Heine  gives  us  a  masterpiece  in 
bis  "Florentine  Nights,"  where  be  describes  the  debaoobing  bis 
friend's  wife  in  detail. — Note  by  Trandator. 


Ul' 


. 


268 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


the  stables  of  Augeas,  since  our  theatrical  stalls 
must  be  washed  out  while  the  oxen  or  asses  still 
remain  in  them — the  efforts  of  highly-gifted  men 
who  would  fain  found  a  romantic  drama,  the  most 
hitting  satire,*  as,  for  example,  Eobert's  Paradies- 
vogel,  **  Bird  of  Paradise," — all  is  of  no  avail ; 
sighs,  advice,  attempts  and  lashes — all  only  move 
the  air,  and  every  word  uttered  in  relation  to  it  is 
only  just  so  much  spoken  in  the  air. 

Our  Upper  House,  or  Tragedy,  makes  a  far  better 
display.  I  refer  specially  here  to  scenes,  deco- 
ration, and  wardrobes.  But  here,  too,  there  is  a 
limit.  In  the  Boman  theatres  elephants  danced 
on  the  tight-rope  and  made  great  jumps ;  but  man 
could  bring  it  no  further  than  this,  and  so  the 
Eoman  realm  perished,  and  at  the  same  time  its 
theatre.  In  our  own  theatres  there  is  no  lack  of 
dances  and  leaps,  but  these  are  executed  by  the 
young  tragedians  themselves ;  and  as  it  has  some- 
times happened  that  girls  by  taking  tremendous 
jumps  have  been  turned  into  boys,^  so  some 
lady-like  poetling  acts  shrewdly  enough  when  he 


1  Die  tr^ichate  und  treffendste,  satire.  The  English  word 
hitting  exactly  combines  the  full  meaning  of  both  these  tenns. 
— Note  by  Translator. 

*  Madame  de  Stael  has  somewhere  naively  recorded  that 
having  heard  this  when  young,  she  daily  practised  jumping,  with 
the  hope  of  bringing  about  a  conclusion  so  devoutly  wished  fur. 
— Note  by  Trandator.  ~    - 


/ 


THE  NORTH  SEA.  269 

attempts  tremendous  Alexandrine  leaps  with  his 
lame  iambics. 

But  as  I  intend  to  subsequently  extend  my 
observations  over  this  theme  of  German  litercUur- 
mistre}  I  here  offer  a  merrier  compensation  by 
the  intercalation  of  the  following  Xenia,  which 
have  flown  from  the  pen  of  Immermann,  my  lofty 
colleague.  Those  of  congenial  dispositions  will, 
without  doubt,  thank  me  for  communicating  these 
verses ;  and  with  a  few  exceptions,  which  I  have 
indicated  with  stars,  I  willingly  admit  that  they 
express  my  own  views. 

THE  POETIC  MAN  OF  LETTERa 

Ceasb  thy  laughing,  cease  thy  weeping ;  let  the  truth 

be  plainly  said  j 
When  Hans  Sachs  first  saw  the  daylight,  "Weckherlin 

just  then  was  dead. 

"  All  mankind  at  length  must  perish,"  quoth  the  dwarf 

with  wondrous  spirit ; 
Ancient  youth,  the  news  you  tell  us  hath  not  novelty 

for  merit. 

In  forgotten  old  black-letter,  still  his  author-boots  he's 

steeping. 
And  he  eats  poetic  onions  to  inspire  a  Uvelier  weeping. 

^  Literat/umUtire,  literary  misery.  This  epecimen  of  one  of 
Heine's  "  inimitable  graces  "  is  rather  better  in  English  than  in 
the  original,  since  it  takes  in  a  rimitt, — Note  by  Trtmdator. 


270 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL.     ^ 


*Spare  old  Luther,  Frank,  I  pray  you,  in  the  com- 
ments which  you  utter ; 

He's  a  fish  which  please^  better  plain,  than  with  thy 
melted  butter.  . 


THE  DRAMATIST.  ,„ 

I. " 

*  "  To  revenge  me  on  the  public,  tragedies  111  write  no 

longer ! " 
Only  keep  thy  word,  and  then  we'll  let  thee  curse  us 

more  and  stronger. 

a. 

In  a  cavalry  lieutenant,  stinging  spur-like  verse  we 

pardon; 
For  he  orders  phrase  and  feelings  like  recruits  whom 

drills  must  harden. 


Were  Melpomen^  a  maiden,  tender,  loving  as  a 
child,  ! 

I  would  bid  her  marry  this  one — he's  so  trim,  so  neat, 
and  mild.  i 


For  the  sins  on  earth  committed,  goes  the  soul  of 

Kotzebue 
In  the  body  of  this  monster,  stockingless,  without 

a  shoe. 


THE  NORTH  SEA.  vji 

Thus  to  honour  comes  the  doctrine,  which  the  earliest 

ages  give,  ".^ 

That  the  souls  of  the  departed  afterwards  in  beasts 

must  live. 


ORIENTAL  POETS. 

At  old  Saadi's  imitators  tout  le  monde  just  now  are 

wondering ; — 
Seems  to  me  the  same  old  story,  if  we  East  or  West 

go  blundering. 

Once  there  sang  in  summer  moonlight,  Philomel  seu 

nightingale ; 
Kow  the  bidbid  pipes  unto  us,  still  it  seems  the  same 

old  tale. 

Of    the    rat-catcher  of    Hameln,   ancient  poet,   yon 

remind  me ; 
Whistling  eastwards,  while  the  little  singers  follow 

close  behind  thee. 

India's  holy  cows  they  honour  for  a  reason  past  all 

doubt. 
For  ere  long  in  every  cow-stall  they  will  find  Olympus 

out. 

Too  much  fruit  they  ate  in  Shiraz,  where  they  held 

their  thievish  revels ; 
In  "  Gazelles  "  they  cast  it  up  now — wretched  Oriental 

devils. 


272 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


BELL-TONES. 


Sex  the  plump  old  pastor  yonder  at  his  door,  with 

pride  elate 
Loudly  singing,  that  the  people  may  adore  him  dressed 

in  state.  I 

And  they  flock  to  gaze  upon  him,  both  the  blind  men 

and  the  lame, 
Citimped  and  pectoral  sufierers — with  them  many  a 

hysteric  dame.  I 

Simple  cerate  healeth  nothing,  neither  doth  it  hurt  a 
wound ;  | 

Therefore,  friends,  in  every  bookshop  simple  cerate 
may  be  found. 

If  the  matter  thus  progresses,  till  they  every  priest 

adore. 
To  old  Mother  Church's  bosom  I'll  go  creeping  back 

once  more. 

There  a  single  Pope  they  honour  and  adore  a  preesena 

numen; 
Here  each  one  ordained  as  lumen  elevates  himself  to 

numen.  \ 


*0IIBIS  PICTUS.  I 

If  the  mob  who  spoil  the  world  had  but  one  neck,  and 

here  would  show  it ! 
Oh,  ye  gods,  a  single  neck  of  wretched  actors,  priests, 

and  poets ! 


THE  NORTH  SEA.        ■       ;  273 

In  the  church  to  look  at  farces  oft  I  linger  of  a 
morning,  ^      ^  ^; 

In  the  theatre  sit  at  evening,  from  the  sermon  taking 
warning. 

E'en  the  Lord  to  me  oft  loses  much  in  influence  and 

vigour, 
For  so  many  thousand  people  carve  him  in  their  own 

base  figure. 

Public,  when  I  please  ye,  then  I  think  myself  a 

wretched  weaver; 
But  when  I  can  really  vex  you,  then  it  strengthens  up 

my  liver. 

"  How  he  masters  all  the  language  ! " — ^yes,  and  makes 

us  die  of  laughter ; 
How  he  jumps,  and  makes  his  captive  crazdly  come 

jumping  after ! 

Much  can  I  endure  thafs  vexing— one  thing  makes 

me  sick  and  haggard. 
When  I  see  a  nervous  weakling  try  to  play  the  genial 

blackguard. 

♦Once  I  own  that  thou  didst  please  me,  fair  Lucwddt 

favours  winning  \ 
Out  upon    thy   brazen   courtship,    now   with  Mary 

thoud'st  be  sinning ! 

First  in  England,  then  'mid  Spaniards — ^then  where 

Brahma's  darkness  scatters 
Everywhere  the  same  old  story — German  coat  and 

shoes  in  tatters. 
VOL.  L  • 


»74 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


"When  the  ladies  write,  for  ever  in  their  private  pains 

they're  dealing, 
Faussea  cotichea  and  damaged  virtue— oh,  such  open 

hearts  revealing !  , 

Let  the  ladies  write — they  please  me ;  in  one  thing 
they  beat  us  hollow ;  | 

When  a  dame  takes  "  pen  in  hand,"  we're  sure  no  bad 
results  can  follow. 

Literature  will   soon   resemble   parties  at  a  tea  or 

christening, 
Naught  but  lady-gossips  prating,  while  the  little  boys 

are  listening. 

Were  I  a  Ghengis-Khan,  0  China,  long  in  dust  had*st 

thou  been  lying ; 
From  thy  cursed  tea  came  parties,  and  of  them  I'm 

slowly  dying. 

I 
All  now  settles  down  in  silence,  o'er  the  Mightiest 

peace  is  flowing, 
Calmly  in  his  ledger  entering  what  the  early  age  is 

owing. 

I 
Yonder  town  is  full  of  statues,  pictures,  verses,  music's 

din; 
At  the  door  stands  Merry  Andrew  with  his  trump  and 

cries  "  Come  in  1 " 

Why,  these  verses  ring  most  vilely,  without  measure, 

feet,  or  form : 
But  should  literary  PaiKiours  wear  a  royal  uniform  f 


THE  NORTH  SEA.  275 

Say,  how  can  you  use  such  phrases — such  expression 

without  blushing  ? 
We  must  learn  to  use  our  elbows  when  through  market 

crowds  we're  pushing. 

But  of  old  thou  oft  hast  written  rhymes  both  truly 
good  and  great ;  v  r     ;.      ;      V  '    ;. 

He  who  mingles  with  the  vulgar  must  expect  a  vulgar 
fate. 

When  the  summer  flies  are  swarming,  with  your  caps 

you  knock  them  dead ; 
At  these  rhymes  you  will  be  hitting  with  the  cowls 

upon  your  head. 


IDEAS. 

BOOK   LE   GBAND. 

(1826.) 


MAT 

EVELINA 

KIOXITX  THSBS   PACOB 

AS  A  MABK  or  TBIKNDSHIF  AKD  LOVB 

rBOM  TUJUH  AUTHOB. 

"  The  mighty  race  of  Oerindnr, 
The  pillar  of  our  throne, 
Though  Nature  perish,  will  endure 
For  ever  and  alone." — MuiXNXB. 


CHAPTER  L 


"  She  WM  worthy  of  love,  and  be  loved  her.     He,  however, 
was  not  lovable,  and  she  did  not  love  him." — Old  Play.         , 

Madame,  are  you  familiar  with  that  old  play  ?  It 
is  an  altogether  extraordinary  performance — only 
a  little  too  melancholy.  I  once  played  the  lead- 
ing part  in  it  myself,  so  that  all  the  ladies  wept 
save  one»  who  did  not  shed  so  much  as  a  single 

•J6 


^'  :     IDEAS.  277 

tear,  and  in  that  consisted  the  wTiole  point  of  the 
play — the  real  catastrophe.     ,  <i:.v:  .     :.  v       .' 

Oh,  that  single  tear !  it  still  torments  me  in  my 
reveries.  When  the  devil  desires  to  ruin  my  sonl, 
he  hums  in  my  ear  a  ballad  of  that  tear  which 
ne'er  was  wept,  a  deadly  song  with  a  more  deadly 
tune.    Ah !  such  a  tune  is  only  heard  in  hell ! 

•  ••••• 

You  can  readily  form  an  idea,  Madame,  of  what 
life  is  like  in  heaven — ^the  more  readily  as  you 
are  married.  There  people  amuse  themselves 
altogether  superbly,  every  sort  of  entertainment 
is  provided,  and  one  lives  in  nothing  but  desire 
and  its  gratification,  or,  as  the  saying  is,  "  like  the 
Lord  in  France."  There  they  eat  from  morning 
to  night,  and  the  cookery  is  as  good  as  Jagor's ; 
roast  geese  fly  around  with  gravy-boats  in  their 
bills,  and  feel  flattered  if  any  one  condescends  to 
eat  them ;  tarts  gleaming  with  butter  grow  wild 
like  sun-flowers ;  everywhere  there  are  rivulets  of 
howUlon  and  champagne,  everywhere  trees  on  which 
clean  napkins  flutter  wild  in  the  wind,  and  you 
eat  and  wipe  your  lips  and  eat  again  without 
injury  to  the  health.  There,  too,  you  sing  psalms, 
or  flirt  and  joke  with  the  dear  delicate  little 
angels,  or  take  a  walk  on  the  green  Hallelujah 
Meadow,  and  your  white  flowing  garments  fit  so 
comfortably,  and  nothing  disturbs  your  feeling  of 
perfect  happiness — ^no  pain,  no  vexation.     Nay, 


278  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

when  one  accidentally  treads  on  another's  corns 
and  exclaims,  "Eaccusez!"  the  one  trodden  on 
smiles  as  if  glorified,  and  insists,  "  Thy  foot,  bro- 
ther, did  not  hurt  in  the  least,  quite  au  contraire — 
it  only  causes  a  deeper  thrill  of  heavenly  rapture 
to  shoot  through  my  heart ! " 

But  of  heU,  Madame,  you  have  not  the  faintest 
idea.  Of  all  the  devils  in  existence,  you  have 
probably  made  the  acquaintance  only  of  Amor, 
the  nice  little  croupier  of  hell,  who  is  the  smallest 
Beelze-"  bub  "  of  them  all.^  And  you  know  him 
only  from  '*  Don  Juan,"  and  doubtless  think  that 
for  such  a  betrayer  of  female  innocence  hell  can 
never  be  made  hot  enough,  though  our  praise- 
worthy theatre  directors  shower  down  upon  him 
as  much  flame,  fiery  rain,  squibs  and  colophonium 
as  any  Christian  could  desire  to  have  emptied  into 
hell  itself.  t 

However,  things  in  hell  look  much  worse  than 
our  theatre  directors  imagine  ; — if  they  did  know 
what  is  going  on  there,  they  would  never  permit 
such  stuff  to  be  played  as  they  do.  For  in  hell  it 
is  infernally  hot,  and  when  I  was  there,  in  the 
dog-days,  it  was  past  endurance.  Madame,  you 
can  have  no  idea  of  hell  1  We  have  very  few 
official  returns  from  that  place.     Still  it  is  rank 

1  Buh  and  hubby  are  familiarly  used  in  Philadelphia  as  dimi- 
nntivea  or  pet  terms  for  a  small  boy.  From  the  German  Bvlbe 
— Note  by  Trandator.  . 


mt 


-M 


•-r 


:     -J 


IDEAS.  «ff 

calumny  to  say  that  down  there  all  the  poor  souls 
are  compelled  to  read  all  day  long  all  the  dull 
sermons  which  were  ever  printed  on  earth.  Bad 
as  hell  is,  it  has  not  ^ite  come  to  that, — Satan 
will  never  invent  such  refinements  of  torture.  On 
the  other  hand,  Dante's  description  is  too  mild — 
I  may  say,  on  the  whole,  too  poetic.  Hell  appeared 
to  me  like  a  great  town-kitchen,  with  an  endlessly 
long  stove,  on  which  were  placed  three  rows  of 
iron  pots,  and  in  these  sat  the  damned  and  were 
cooked.  In  one  row  were  placed  Christian  sin- 
ners, and,  incredible  as  it  may  seem,  their  number 
was  anything  but  small,  and  the  devils  poked  the 
fire  up  under  them  with  especial  good-will.  In 
the  next  row  were  Jews,  who  continually  screamed 
and  cried,  and  were  occasionally  mocked  by  the 
fiends,  which  sometimes  seemed  droll  enough — as, 
for  instance,  when  a  fat,  wheezy  old  pawnbroker 
complained  of  the  heat,  and  a  little  devil  poured 
several  buckets  of  cold  water  on  his  head,  that  he 
might  realise  what  a  refreshing  benefit  baptism 
was.  In  the  third  row  sat  the  heathen,  who,  like 
the  Jews,  could  take  no  part  in  salvatioi,  and 
must  burn  for  ever.  I  heard  one  of  the  latter,  as 
a  square-built,  burly  devil  put  fresh  coals  under 
his  kettle,  cry  out  from  his  pot,  "  Spare  me !  I 
was  once  Socrates,  the  wisest  of  mortals ;  I  taught 
Truth  and  Justice,  and  sacrificed  my  life  for 
Virtue."     But  the  clumsy,  stupid  devil  went  on 


28o 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


with  his  work,  and  grumbled,  "  Oh,  shut  up  there ! 
All  heathens  must  burn,  and  we  can't  make  an 
exception  for  the  sake  of  a  single  man.'*  I  assure 
you,  Madame,  the  heat  was  terrible,  with  such  a 
screaming,  sighing,  groaning,  croaking,  crying, 
quacking,  cracking,  growling,  grunting,  yelling, 
squealing,  wailing,  trilling;  and  through  all  this 
terrible  turmoil  there  rang  distinctly  the  t&tsl 
melody  of  the  Song  of  the  Unwept  Tear. 


CHAPTER  II. 


'*  She  was  worthy  of  his  love,  and  he  loved  her.     He,  however, 
was  not  lovable,  and  she  did  not  love  him." — Old  Play. 

Madame,  that  old  play  is  a  tragedy,  though  the 
hero  in  it  is  neither  killed  nor  commits  suicide. 
The  eyes  of  the  heroine  are  beautiful,  very  beau- 
tiful. Madame,  do  you  scent  the  perfume  of 
violets  ?  very  beautiful,  and  yet  so  piercing  that 
they  struck  like  poignards  of  glass  through  my 
heart,  and  probably  came  out  through  my  back, 
and  yet  I  was  not  killed  by  those  treacherous, 
murderous  eyes.  The  voice  of  the  heroine  was 
also  sweet.  Madame,  was  it  a  nightingale  yoa 
heard  sing  just  as  I  spoke  ? — a  soft,  silken  voice. 


IDEAS.  281 

a  sweet  web  of  the  sunniest  tones,  and  my  soul 
was  entangled  in  it,  and  choked  and  tormented 
itself.  I  myself — it  is  the  Count  of  Ganges  who 
now  speaks,  and,  as  the  story  goes  on,  in  Venice — 
I  myself  soon  had  enough  of  those  tortures,  and 
had  thoughts  of  putting  an  end  to  the  play  in  the 
first  act,  and  of  shooting  myself  through  the  head, 
foolscap  and  all.  Therefore  I  went  to  a  fancy 
store  in  the  Via  Burstah,  where  I  saw  a  pair  of 
beautiful  pistols  in  a  case — I  remember  them  per- 
fectly well — near  them  stood  many  ornamental 
articles  of  mother-of-pearl  and  gold,  steel  hearts 
on  gilt  chains,  porcelain  cups  with  delicate  devices, 
and  snuff-boxes  with  pretty  pictures,  such  as  the 
divine  history  of  Susannah,  the  Swan  Song  of 
Leda,  the  Eape  of  the  Sabines,  Lucretia,  a  fat, 
virtuous  creature,  with  naked  bosom,  in  which 
she  was  lazily  sticking  a  dagger;  the  late  Beth- 
mann,^  la  belle  Ferronidre,  all  enrapturing  faces; 
but  I  bought  the  pistols  without  much  ado,  and 
then  I  bought  balls,  then  powder,  and  then  I  went 
to  the  restaurant  of  Signer  Somebody,  and  ordered 
oysters  and  a  glass  of  hock. 

I  could  eat  nothing,  and  still  less  could  I  drink. 
The  warm  tears  fell  in  the  glass,  and  in  that  glass 
I  saw  my  dear  home,  the  blue,  holy  Ganges,  the 

t  By  "  the  late  Bethmann,"  Heine  means  the  Ariadne,  which 
belonged  to  him,  and  which  ia  so  common  in  gjpsom  and  por- 
celain, &c. — NoUby  Trandator. 


»-/' 


tSi 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


ever-gleaming  Himalaya,  the  giant  banyan  woods, 
amid  whose  broad  arcades  calmly  wandered  wise 
elephants  and  white-robed  pilgrims ;  strange  dream- 
like flowers  gazed  on  me  with  meaning  glance, 
wondrous  golden  birds  sang  softly,  flashing  snn- 
rays,  and  the  droll,  silly  chatter  of  monkeys 
pleasantly  mocked  me ;  from  far  pagodas  sounded 
the  pious  prayers  of  priests,  and  amid  them  rang 
the  melting,  wailing  voice  of  the  Sultaness  of 
Delhi.  She  ran  wildly  around  in  her  carpeted 
chamber,  she  tore  her  silver  veil,  she  struck  with 
her  peacock  fan  the  black  slave  to  the  ground; 
she  wept,  she  raged,  she  cried.  I  could  not  hear 
what  she  said ;  the  restaurant  of  Signer  Somebody 
is  three  thousand  miles  distant  from  the  harem  of 
Delhi,  besides  the  fair  Sultaness  had  been  dead 
three  thousand  years;  and  I  quickly  drank  up 
the  wine,  the  clear,  joy-giving  wine,  and  yet  my 
soul  grew  darker  and  sadder.  I  was  condemned 
to  death.  I 


As  I  left  the  restaurant  I  heard  the  "  bell  of 
poor  sinners  "  ring ;  a  crowd  of  people  swept  by 
me;  but  I  placed  myself  at  the  corner  of  the 
Strada  San  Giovanni  and  recited  the  following 


monologue : — 


In  ancient  tales  they  tell  of  golden  castles, 
Where  harps  are  soimding,  lovely  ladies  dance, 
And  trim  attendants  serve,  and  jessamine, 


IDEAS.  a83 

Myrtle,  and  roses  spread  their  soft  perfomfl^ 
And  yet  a  single  word  of  disenchantment 
Sweeps  all  the  glory  of  the  scene  to  naught, 
And  there  remains  hut  ruins  old  and  grey. 
And  screaming  hirds  of  night  and  foul  morass. 
E'en  so  have  I  with  a  short  single  word 
Quite  disenchanted  nature's  loveliness. 
There  lies  she  now,  lifeless  and  cold  and  pale, 
E'en  like  a  monarch's  corse  laid  out  in  state, 
The  royal  deathly  cheeks  fresh  stained  with  rouge, 
And  in  his  hand  the  kingly  sceptre  laid ; 
Yet  still  his  lips  are  yellow  and  most  changed. 
For  they  forgot  to  dye  them,  as  they  should. 
And  mice  are  jumping  o'er  the  monarch's  nose. 
And  mock  the  golden  sceptre  in  his  grasp. 

It  is  an  universal  regulation,  Madame,  that 
every  one  should  deliver  a  soliloquy  before  shoot- 
ing himself.  Most  men  on  such  occasions  use 
Hamlet's  "  To  be  or  not  to  be."  It  is  an  excellent 
passage,  and  I  would  gladly  have  quoted  it,  but 
charity  begins  at  home,  and  when  a  man  has 
written  tragedies  himself,  in  which  such  farewell- 
to-life  speeches  occur,  as,  for  instance,  in  my  im- 
mortal "Almansor,"  it  is  very  natural  that  one 
should  prefer  his  own  words  even  to  Shakespeare's 
At  any  rate  the  delivery  of  such  speeches  is  an 
excellent  custom,  for  thereby  one  gains  at  least  a 
little  time.  And  as  it  came  to  pass  that  I  re- 
mained a  long  time  standing  on  the  corner  of  the 


a»4 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


Strada  San  Giovanni,  and  as  I  stood  there  like  a 
condemned  criminal  awaiting  death,  I  raised  mj 
eyes,  and  suddenly  beheld  her.  ! 

She  wore  her  blue  silk  dress  and  rose-red  bonnet 
and  her  eyes  beamed  on  me  so  mild,  so  death- 
conqueringly,  so  life-givingly.  Madame,  you  well 
know  that  when  the  vestals  in  ancient  Eome  met 
on  their  way  a  malefactor  condemned  to  death, 
they  had  the  right  to  pardon  him,  and  the  poor 
rogue  lived.  With  a  single  glance  she  saved  my 
life,  and  I  stood  before  her  revived,  and  dazzled 
by  the  sunny  gleaming  of  her  beauty,  and  she 
passed  on,  and  left  me  alive.  | 


CHAPTER  HL 


And  she  saved  my  life,  and  I  live,  and  that  is  the 
main  point. 

Others  may,  if  they  choose,  enjoy  the  good  for- 
tune of  having  their  lady-love  adorn  their  graves 
with  garlands,  and  water  them  with  the  tears  of 
true  love.  Oh,  women!  hate  me,  laugh  at  me, 
mitten  me,  but  let  me  live  I  life  is  all  too  won- 
drous sweet,  and  the  world  is  so  beautifully  bewil- 
dered ;  it  is  the  dream  of  an  intoxicated  divinity 


IDEAS.  28s 

•who  has  taken  French  leave  of  the  tippling  mul- 
titude of  immortals,  and  has  laid  down  to  sleep  in 
a  solitary  star,  and  knows  not  himself  that  he  also 
creates  all  that  which  he  dreams,  and  the  dream 
images  form  themselves  often  so  fantastically 
wildly,  and  often  so  harmoniously  and  reasonably. 
The  Iliad,  Plato,  the  battle  of  Marathon,  Moses, 
the  Medician  Venus,  the  Cathedral  of  Strasburg, 
the  French  Eevolution,  Hegel,  and  steamboats, 
&c.,  &c.,  are  other  good  thoughts  in  this  divine 
dream ;  but  it  will  not  last  long,  and  the  immortal 
one  awakes  and  rubs  his  sleepy  eyes,  and  smiles ; 
and  our  world  has  run  to  nothing,  yes,  has  never 
been.  ';  \  ■  \;-.  ,■■._:/:-::  ■,,.■    > 

No  matter,  I  live !  If  I  am  but  the  shadowy 
image  in  a  dream,  still  this  is  better  than  the 
cold  black  void  annihilation  of  death.  Life  is  the 
greatest  of  blessings  and  death  the  worst  of  evils. 
Berlin  lieutenants  of  the  guard  may  sneer,  and 
call  it  cowardice,  because  the  Prince  of  Homburg 
shudders  when  he  beholds  his  open  grave.  Henry 
Kleist  had,  however,  as  much  courage  as  his  high- 
breasted,  tightly-laced  colleagues,  and  has,  alas ! 
proved  it.  But  all  great,  powerful  souls  love  life. 
Goethe's  Egmont  does  not  cheerfully  take  leave 
"  of  the  cheerful  wontedness  of  being  and  action." 
Immermann's  Edwin  clings  to  life  "  like  a  child 
upon  the  mother's  breast."    And  though  he  finds 


286 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


it  hard  to  live  by  stranger  mercy,  he  still  begs  for 
mercy,  "  for  life  and  breath  are  still  the  best  of 
boons." 

When  Odysseus,  in  the  lower  world,  regards 
Achilles  as  the  leader  of  dead  heroes,  and  extols 
his  renown  among  the  living,  and  his  glory  even 
among  the  dead,  the  latter  replies —      a  | 

No  more  discourse  of  death,  consolingly,  noble  Odys- 
seus ! 

Bather  would  I  in  the  field  as  daily  labourer  be 
toiling, 

Slave  to  the  meanest  of  men,  a  pauper  and  lacking 
possessions, 

Than  'mid  the  infinite  host  of  long-vanished  mortals 
be  ruler. 

Yes,  when  Major  Duvent  challenged  the  great 
Israel  Lyon  to  fight  with  pistols,  and  said  to  him, 
"  If  you  do  not  meet  me,  Mr.  Lyon,  you  are  a 
dog ;  **  the  latter  replied,  "  I  would  rather  be  a 
live  dog  than  a  dead  lion!"  and  was  right.  I 
have  fought  often  enough,  Madame,  to  dare  to  say 
this,  God  be  praised,  I  livel  Red  life  boils  in 
my  veins,  earth  yields  beneath  my  feet,  in  the 
glow  of  love  I  embrace  trees  and  statues,  and  they 
live  in  my  embrace.  Every  woman  is  to  me  the 
gift  of  a  world.  I  revel  in  the  melody  of  her 
coontenance.  and  with  a  single  glance  of  my  eye 


IDEAS.  aSj 

I  can  enjoy  more  than  others  with  their  every 
limb  through  all  their  lives.  Every  instant  is  to 
me  an  eternity ;  I  do  not  measure  time  with  the 
ell  of  Brabant  or  of  Hamburg,  and  I  need  no 
priest  to  promise  me  a  second  Hfe,  for  I  can  live 
enough  in  this  life,  when  I  live  backwards  in  the 
life  of  those  who  have  gone  before  me,  and  win 
myself  an  eternity  in  the  realm  of  the  past. 

And  I  live!  The  great  pulsation  of  nature 
beats  too  in  my  breast ;  and  when  I  carol  aloud, 
I  am  answered  by  a  thousand-fold  echo.  I  hear 
a  thousand  nightingales.  Spring  hath  sent  them 
to  awaken  earth  from  her  morning  slumber,  and 
earth  trembles  with  ecstasy,  her  flowers  are  hymns, 
which  she  sings  in  inspiration  to  the  sun;  the 
sun  moves  far  too  slowly ;  I  would  fain  lash  on 
his  steeds  that  they  might  advance  more  rapidly. 
But  when  he  sinks  hissing  in  the  sea,  and  the 
night  rises  with  her  great  eyes,  oh !  then  true 
pleasure  first  thrills  through  me  like  a  new  life, 
the  evening  breezes  lie  like  flattering  maidens  on 
my  wild  heart,  and  the  stars  wink  to  me,  and  I 
rise  and  sweep  over  the  little  earth  and  the  little 
thoughts  of  mankind.^ 


^  The  reader  has  already  been  forewarned  in  the  preface  that 
Heine's  writings  abound  in  frank  expressions  of  his  views.  In 
these  chapters  we  see  him  under  the  influence  of  a  purely  mate- 
rial Greek  nature-worship.  In  one  of  his  latest  poems,  a  trans- 
lation from  which  appeared  in  the  London  Atheiueum,  March 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


CHAPTEE  IV. 


But  a  day  must  come  when  the  fire  of  youth  will 
be  quenched  in  my  veins,  when  winter  will  dwell 
in  my  heart,  when  his  snowflakes  will  whiten 
my  locks,  and  his  mists  will  dim  my  eyes.     Then 


3ii  1S55,  we  find  evidences  of  a  feufol,  though  occasional,  reao- 
tion  from  this  early  intoxication  :—  > 

"  How  wearily  time  crawls  along,  | 

That  hideous  snail  that  hastens  not, 
While  I,  without  the  power  to  move. 
Am  ever  fixed  to  one  dull  spot. 

Upon  my  dreary  chamber  wall 
No  gleam  of  sunshine  can  I  trace ; 

I  know  that  only  for  the  grave,  | 

Shall  I  exchange  this  hopeless  place.  1 

Perhaps  already  I  am  dead, 
And  these  perhaps  are  phantoms  vain ; 

These  motley  phantasies  that  pass 

At  night  through  my  disordered  brain. 

Perhaps  with  ancient  heathen  shapes,  | 

Old  faded  gods,  this  brain  is  full ;  ! 

Who,  for  their  most  unholy  rites,  | 

Have  chosen  a  dead  poet's  skuU.  | 

And  charming  frightful  orgies  hold, 

The  mad-cap  phantoms  !— all  the  night, 

That  in  the  morning  this  dead  hand 
Aboat  their  revelries  may  write." 

— Note  hy  Trandatof. 


IDEAS.        ?'  289 

my  friends  will  lie  in  their  weatherworn  tombs,  and 
I  alone  will  remain  like  a  solitary  stalk  forgotten 
by  the  reaper.  A  new  race  will  have  sprung  up, 
with  new  desires  and  new  ideas ;  full  of  wonder,  I 
hear  new  names  and  listen  to  new  songs,  for  the 
old  names  are  forgotten,  and  I  myself  am  forgotten, 
perhaps  honoured  by  but  few,  scorned  by  many, 
and  loved  by  none !  And  then  the  rosy-cheeked 
boys  will  spring  around  me  and  place  the  old 
harp  in  my  trembling  hand,  and  say,  laughing, 
"Thou  indolent  grey-headed  old  man,  sing  us 
again  songs  of  the  dreams  of  thy  youth." 

Then  I  will  grasp  the  harp,  and  my  old  joys 
and  sorrows  wiU  awake,  the  clouds  vanish,  tears 
will  again  gleam  on  my  pale  cheeks.  Spring  will 
bloom  once  more  in  my  breast,  sweet  tones  of 
woe  will  tremble  on  the  harp-stringa  I  will  see 
once  more  the  blue  flood  and  the  marble  palaces 
and  the  lovely  faces  of  ladies  and  young  girls, 
and  I  will  sing  a  song  of  the  flowers  of  Brenta. 

It  will  be  my  last  song,  the  stars  will  gaze  on 
me  as  in  the  nights  of  my  youth,  the  loving  moon- 
light will  once  more  kiss  my  cheeks,  the  spirit 
chorus  of  nightingales  long  dead  will  sound  flute- 
like from  afar,  my  eyes,  intoxicated  with  sleep, 
will  softly  close,  my  soul  will  re-echo  with  the 
notes  of  my  harp— perfume  breathes  from  the 
flowers  of  the  Brenta. 

A  tree  will  shadow  my  grave.     I  would  gladly 

VOL.  I.  T 


.-'*■■      ' 


290 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


have  it  a  palm,  but  that  tree  will  not  grow  in  the 
North.  It  will  be  a  linden,  and  of  a  summer 
evening  lovers  will  sit  there  caressing ;  the  green- 
finches wlU  be  listening  silently,  and  my  linden 
will  rustle  protectingly  over  the  heads  of  the 
happy  ones,  who  will  be  so  happy  that  they  will 
have  no  time  to  read  what  is  written  on  the  white 
tombstone.  But  when,  at  a  later  day,  the  lover 
has  lost  his  love,  then  he  will  come  again  to  the 
weU-known  linden,  and  sigh  and  weep,  and  gaze 
long  and  oft  upon  the  stone  until  he  reads  the 
inscription,  "  He  loved  the  flowers  of  the  Brenta." 


CHAPTER  V. 


Madame,  I  have  been  telling  you  lies.  I  am 
not  the  Count  of  the  Ganges.  Never  in  my  life 
did  I  see  the  holy  stream,  nor  the  lotus  flowers 
which  are  mirrored  in  its  sacred  waves.  Never 
did  I  lie  dreaming  under  Indian  palms,  nor  in 
prayer  before  the  diamond  deity  Juggernaut,  who 
with  his  diamonds  might  have  easily  aided  me 
out  of  my  difl&culties.  I  have  no  more  been  in 
Calcutta  than  the  turkey  of  which  I  ate  yesterday 
at  dinner  had  ever  been   in  the  realms  of  the 


IDEAS.  m 

Grand  Turk.  Yet  my  ancestors  came  from  Hin- 
dostan,  and  therefore  I  feel  so  much  at  mj  ease 
in  the  great  forest  of  song  of  ValmikL  The  heroic 
sorrows  of  the  divine  Ramo  move  my  heart  like 
familiar  griefs,  from  the  flower  lays  of  Kalidasa 
the  sweetest  memories  bloom;  and  when  a  few 
years  ago  a  gentle  lady  in  Berlin  showed  me  the 
beautiful  pictures  which  her  father,  who  had  been 
Governor-General  in  India,  had  brought  from 
thence,  the  delicately  painted,  holy,  calm  faces 
seemed  as  familiar  to  me  as  though  I  were  gazing 
at  my  own  family  gallery. 

Franz  Bopp — Madame,  you  have  of  course  read 
his  "  Nalus  "  and  his  "  System  of  Sanskrit  Conju- 
gations" gave  me  much  information  relative  to 
my  ancestry,  and  I  now  know  with  certainty  that 
I  am  descended  from  Brahma's  head,  and  not  from 
his  corns.  I  have  also  good  reason  to  believe  that 
the  entire  Mahabarata,  with  its  two-hundred  thou- 
sand verses,  is  merely  an  allegorical  love-letter 
which  my  first  forefather  wrote  to  my  first  fore- 
mother.  Oh,  they  loved  dearly ;  their  souls  kissed, 
they  kissed  with  their  eyes,  they  were  both  but 
one  single  kiss ! 

An  enchanted  nightingale  sits  on  a  red  coral 
bough  in  the  silent  sea,  and  sings  a  song  of  the 
love  of  my  ancestors;  earnestly  gaze  the  pearls 
from  their  shelly  cells;  the  wondrous  water-flowers 
tremble  with  sad  longing,  the  cunning-quaint  sea- 


292 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


snails,  bearing  on  their  backs  many-coloured  por- 
celain towers,  come  creeping  onwards ;  the  ocean- 
roses  blush  with  shame ;  the  yellow,  sharp-pointed 
starfish  and  the  thousand-hued  glassy  jellyfish 
quiver  and  stretch,  and  all  swarm  and  crowd  and 
listen. 

Unfortunately,  Madame,  this  nightingale  song 
is  far  too  long  to  admit  of  translation  here ;  it  is 
as  long  as  the  world  itself— even  its  mere  dedica- 
tion to  Anangas,  the  god  of  love,  is  as  long  as  all 
Sir  Walter  Scott's  novels  together,  and  there  is  a 
passage  referring  to  it  in  Aristophanes,  which  in 
German  ^  reads  thus : —  , 

"  Tiotio,  tiotio,  tiotiiix,  I 

Totototo,  totototo,  tototinx.'' 

—  Vosa't  Traiulation. 

No,  I  was  not  born  in  India.  I  first  beheld  the 
light  of  the  world  on  the  shores  of  that  beautiful 
stream,  in  whose  green  hills  folly  grows  and  is 
plucked  in  autumn,  laid  away  in  cellars,  poured 
into  barrels,  and  exported  to  foreign  lands. 

In  fact,  only  yesterday  I  heard  some  one  speak- 
ing a  piece  of  folly  which,  in  the  year  1818,  was 
imprisoned  in  a  bunch  of  grapes,  which  I  myself 
then  saw  growing  on  the  Johannisburg.  But  much 
folly  is  also  consumed  at  home,  and  men  are  the* 
same  there  as  everywhere;  they  are  born,  eat, 

^  Or  in  English. 


IDEAS.  293 

drink,  sleep,  laagh,  cry,  slander  each  other,  are  in 
great  trouble  and  care  about  the  continuation  of 
their  race ;  try  to  seem  what  they  are  not  and  to 
do  what  they  cannot ;  never  shave  until  they  have 
a  beard,  and  often  have  beards  before  they  get  dis- 
cretion; and  when  they  at  last  have  discretion, 
they  drink  it  away  in  white  and  red  folly.   -  ■ 

Mon  Dieu  /  if  I  had  faith,  so  that  I  could 
remove  mountains,  the  Johannisburg  would  be 
just  the  mountain  which  I  would  transport  about 
everywhere.  But  not  having  the  requisite  amount 
of  faith,  fantasy  must  aid  me,  and  she  at  once 
bears  me  to  the  beautiful  Khine. 

Oh,  there  is  a  fair  land,  full  of  loveliness  and 
sunshine.  In  its  blue  streams  are  mirrored  the 
mountain  shores,  with  their  ruined  towers,  and 
woods,  and  ancient  towns.  There,  before  the 
house-door,  sit  the  good  people  of  a  summer 
evening,  and  drink  out  of  great  cans,  and  gossip 
confidingly  how  the  wine — the  Lord  be  praised  1 — 
thrives,  and  how  justice  should  be  free  from  all 
secrecy,  and  Marie  Antoinette's  being  guillotined 
is  none  of  our  business,  and  how  dear  the  tobacco- 
tax  makes  the  tobacco,  and  how  all  mankind  are 
equal,  and  what  a  glorious  fellow  Goerres  is. 

I  have  never  troubled  myself  much  with  such 
conversation,  and  greatly  preferred  sitting  by  the 
maidens  in  the  arched  window,  and  laughed  at 
their  laughing,  and  let  them  strike  me  in  the  face 


294 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


with  flowers,  and  feigned  ill-nature  until  they  told 
me  their  secrets,  or  some  other  story  of  equal 
importance  Fair  Gertrude  was  half  wild  with 
delight  when  I  sat  hy  her.  She  was  a  girl  like  a 
flaming  rose,  and  once  as  she  fell  on  my  neck,  I 
thought  that  she  would  bum  away  in  perfumes 
in  my  arms.  Fair  Katherine  melted  in  musical 
sweetness  when  she  talked  with  me,  and  her  eyes 
were  of  that  pure,  perfect  internal  blue,  which  I 
have  never  seen  in  animated  beings,  and  very 
seldom  in  flowers — one  gazed  so  gladly  into  them, 
and  could  then  ever  imagine  the  sweetest  things. 
But  the  beautiful  Hedwiga  loved  me,  for  when  I 
came  to  her  she  bowed  her  head  till  the  black 
locks  fell  down  over  the  blushing  countenance, 
and  the  gleaming  eyes  shone  forth  like  stars  from 
a  dark  heaven.  Her  diffident  lips  spoke  not  a 
word,  and  even  I  could  say  nothing  to  her.  I 
coughed  and  she  trembled.  She  often  begged  me, 
through  her  sisters,  not  to  climb  the  rocks  so 
eagerly,  or  to  bathe  in  the  Rhine  when  I  had 
exercised  or  drunk  wine  until  I  was  heated.  Once 
I  overheard  her  pious  prayer  to  the  image  of  the 
Virgin  Mary,  which,  she  had  adorned  with  leaf- 
gold  and  illuminated  with  a  glowing  lamp,  and 
which  stood  in  a  corner  of  the  sitting-room.  She 
prayed  to  the  Mother  of  God  to  keep  me  from 
climbing,  drinking,  and  bathing!  I  should  cer- 
tainly have  been  desperately  in  love  with  her  had 


;;-•-•;■■    IDEAS.       ,-'V.  ;;;;..-!;;'. .;-..       39$ 

she  manifested  the  least  indifference,  and  /was 
indifferent  because  I  knew  that  she  loved  me. 
Madame,  if  any  one  would  win  my  love,  they 
must  treat  me  en  canaille. 

Johanna  was  the  cousin  of  the  three  sisters, 
and  I  was  right  glad  to  be  with  her.  She  knew 
the  most  beautiful  old  legends,  and  when  she 
pointed  witli  the  whitest  hand  in  the  world 
through  the  window  out  to  the  mountains  where 
all  had  happened  which  she  narrated,  I  became 
fairly  enchanted.  The  old  knights  rose  visibly 
from  the  ruined  castles,  and  hewed  away  at  each 
other's  iron  clothes,  the  Lorely  sat  again  on  the 
mountain  summit,  singing  adown  her  sweet  seduc- 
tive song,  and  the  Ehine  rippled  so  intelligibly, 
so  calmingly,  and  yet  at  the  same  time  so  mock- 
ingly and  strangely,  and  the  fair  Johanna  gazed 
at  me  so  bewilderingly,  so  mysteriously,  so  enig- 
matically confiding,  as  though  she  herself  were 
one  with  the  legend  which  she  narrated.  She  was 
a  slender,  pale  beauty,  sickly  and  musing,  her 
eyes  were  clear  as  truth  itself,  her  lips  piously 
arched,  in  her  features  lay  a  great  untold  story, 
but  it  was  a  sacred  one,  perhaps  a  love  legend  I 
I  know  not  what  it  was,  nor  had  I  ever  courage 
to  ask.  When  I  gazed  long  upon  her,  I  became 
calm  and  cheerful;  it  seemed  to  me  as  though 
there  were  a  tranquil  Sunday  in  my  heart,  and 
that  the  angels  were  holding  church  service  there. 


9i(  PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 

In  such  happy  hours  I  told  her  tales  of  my 
childhood,  and  she  listened  earnestly  to  me,  and 
singular  1  when  I  could  not  think  of  this  or  that 
name,  she  remembered  it.  "When  I  then  asked 
her  with  wonder  where  she  had  learned  the  name, 
she  would  answer  with  a  smile  that  she  had  learned 
it  of  a  little  bird  which  had  built  its  nest  on  the 
sill  of  her  window;  and  she  tried  to  make  me 
believe  that  it  was  the  same  bird  which  I  once 
bought  with  my  pocket-money  from  a  hard-hearted 
peasant  boy,  and  then  let  fly  away.  But  I  believed 
that  she  knew  everything  because  she  was  so  pale, 
and  really  soon  died.  She  also  knew  when  she 
must  die,  and  wished  that  I  would  leave  Ander- 
nach  the  day  before.  When  I  bade  her  farewell, 
she  gave  me  both  her  hands — they  were  white, 
sweet  hands,  and  pure  as  the  Host — and  she  said, 
"  Thou  art  very  good,  and  when  thou  art  bad,  then 
think  of  the  little  dead  Veronica."  1 

Did  the  chattering  birds  also  tell  her  this  name  ? 
Often  in  hours  when  desirous  of  recalling  the  past, 
I  had  wearied  my  brain  in  trying  to  think  of  that 
dear  name,  and  could  not 

And  now  that  I  have  it  again,  my  earliest  in- 
fancy shall  bloom  again  in  recollections ;  and  I 
am  again  a  child,  and  play  with  other  children  in 
the  castle  court  at  Diisseldorf^  on  the  Ehine. 


IDEAS.  ;    ;  mf 


CHAPTER  VL 

Yes,  Madame,  there  was  I  bom,  and  I  am  par- 
ticular in  calling  attention  to  this  fact,  lest  after 
my  death  seven  cities — those  of  SchUda,  Krah- 
winkel,  Polwitz,  Bockum,  Diilken,  Gottingen,  and 
Schoppenstadt ' — should  contend  for  the  honour 
of  having  witnessed  my  birth.  Diisseldorf  is  a 
town  on  the  Bhine,  where  about  sixteen  thousand 
mortals  live,  and  where  many  hundred  thousands 
are  buried,  and  among  them  are  many  of  whom 
my  mother  says  it  were  better  if  they  were  still 
alive — for  example,  my  grandfather  and  my  uncle, 
the  old  Herr  von  Geldern,  and  the  young  Herr 
von  Geldern,  who  were  both  such  celebrated  doc- 
tors, and  saved  the  lives  of  so  many  men,  and  yet 
at  last  must  both  die  themselves.  And  good  pious 
Ursula,  who  bore  me,  when  a  child,  in  her  arms, 
also  lies  buried  there,  and  a  rose-bush  grows  over 
her  grave  ;  she  loved  rose-perfume  so  much  in  her 
life,  and  her  heart  was  all  rose  perfume  and  good- 
ness. And  the  shrewd  old  Canonicus  also  lies 
there  buried.      Lord,  how   miserable   he  looked 

1  All  insignificant  towns,  with  the  exception  of  Grottingen, 
which  is  here  sapposed  to  be  equally  insignificant — Note  by 
Trandator. 


298 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


when  I  last  saw  him!  He  consisted  of  nothing 
bnt  soul  and  plasters,  and  yet  he  studied  night 
and  day  as  though  he  feared  lest  the  worms  might 
find  a  few  ideas  missing  in  his  head.  Little  Wil- 
liam also  lies  there,  and  that  is  my  fault.  We 
were  schoolmates  in  the  Franciscan  cloister,  and 
were  one  day  playing  on  that  side  of  the  building 
where  the  Dtissel  flows  between  stone  walls,  and 
I  said,  "  William,  do  get  the  kitten  out,  which  has 
just  fallen  in !"  and  he  cheerfully  climbed  out  on 
the  board  which  stretched  over  the  brook  and 
pulled  the  cat  out  of  the  water,  but  fell  in  him- 
self, and  when  they  took  him  out  he  was  dripping 
and  dead.     The  kitten  lived  to  a  good  old  age. 

The  town  of  Diisseldorf  is  very  beautiful,  and 
if  you  think  of  it  when  in  foreign  lands,  and 
happen  at  the  same  time  to  have  been  born  there, 
strange  feelings  come  over  the  soul.  I  was  born 
there,  and  feel  as  if  I  must  go  directly  home. 
And  when  I  say  Tiome  I  mean  the  Volkerstrasse 
and  the  house  where  I  was  bom.  This  house  will 
be  some  day  very  remarkable,  and  I  have  sent 
word  to  the  old  lady  who  owns  it  that  she  must 
not  for  her  life  sell  it.  For  the  whole  house  she 
would  now  hardly  get  as  much  as  the  present 
which  the  green-veiled  English  ladies  will  give 
the  servant  girl  when  she  shows  them  the  room 
where  I  was  born,  and  the  hen-house  wherein  my 
father  generally  imprisoned  me  for  stealing  grapes. 


IDEAS,  299 

and  also  the  brown  door  on  which  my  mother 
taught  me  to  write  with  chalk — 0  Lord !  Madame, 
should  I  ever  become  a  famous  author,  it  has  cost 
my  poor  mother  trouble  enough. 

But  my  renown  as  yet  slumbers  in  the  marble 
quarries  of  Carrara ;  the  waste-paper  laurel  with 
which  they  have  bedecked  my  brow  has  not 
spread  its  perfume  through  the  wide  world,  and 
the  green-veiled  English  ladies,  when  they  visit 
Dtisseldorf,  leave  the  celebrated  house  unvisited, 
and  go  directly  to  the  Market-Place  and  there 
gaze  on  the  colossal  black  equestrian  statue  which 
stands  in  its  midst  This  represents  the  Prince 
Elector,  Jan  Wilhelm.  He  wears  black  armour 
and  a  long  hanging  wig.  "When  a  boy,  I  was  told 
that  the  artist  who  made  this  statue  observed 
with  terror  while  it  was  being  cast  that  he  had 
not  metal  enough  to  fill  the  mould,  and  then  all 
the  citizens  of  the  town  came  running  with  all 
their  silver  spoons,  and  threw  them  in  to  make 
up  the  deficiency ;  and  I  often  stood  for  hours 
before  the  statue  wondering  how  many  spoons 
were  concealed  in  it,  and  how  many  apple-tarts 
the  silver  would  buy.  Apple-tarts  were  then  my 
passion — now  it  is  love,  truth,  liberty  and  crab- 
soup — and  not  far  from  the  statue  of  the  Prince 
Elector,  at  the  Theatre  corner,  generally  stood  a 
curiously  constructed  sabre-legged  rascal  with  a 
white  apron,  and  a  basket  girt  around  him  full  of 


300 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


smoking  apple- tarts,  which  he  well  knew  how  to 
praise  with  an  irresistible  voice,  "  Here  you  are ! 
hot  apple-tarts  I  just  from  the  oven — see  how  they 
smoke — quite  delicious ! "  Truly,  whenever  in  my 
later  years  the  Evil  One  sought  to  win  me,  he 
always  cried  in  just  such  an  enticing  soprano 
voice,  and  I  should  certainly  have  never  remained 
twelve  hours  by  the  Signora  Guilietta,  if  she  had 
not  thrilled  me  with  her  sweet  perfumed  apple-tart 
tones.  And  in  fact  the  apple-tarts  would  never 
have  so  sorely  tempted  me  if  the  crooked  Her- 
mann had  not  covered  them  up  so  mysteriously 
with  his  white  aprons ;  and  it  is  aprons,  you 
know,  which — but  I  wander  from  the  subject.  I 
was  speaking  of  the  equestrian  statue  which  has 
so  many  silver  spoons  in  it,  and  no  soup,  and 
which  represents  the  Prince  Elector,  Jan  Wilhelm. 

He  was  a  brave  gentleman,  'tis  reported,  a  lover 
of  art  and  handy  therein  himself.  He  founded  the 
picture-gallery  in  Dtisseldorf ;  and  in  the  obser- 
vatory there,  they  show  a  very  curiously  executed 
piece  of  wooden  work,  consisting  of  one  box  within 
another  which  he  himself  had  carved  in  his  leisure 
hours,  of  which  latter  he  had  every  day  four- 
and-twenty.  I 

In  those  days  princes  were  not  the  persecuted 
wretches  which  they  now  are.  Their  crowns  grew 
firmly  on  their  heads,  and  at  night  they  drew  theu* 
caps  over  it  and  slept  in  peace,  and  their  people 


IDEAS,  "'':-''^'':^':-y '-     301 

slumbered  calmly  at  their  feet,  and  when  they 
awoke  in  the  morning  they  said,  "  Good  morning, 
father!"  and  he  replied,  "Good  morning,  dear 
children  !"  -  ;- VT,v^  r^V  v  ^ 

But  there  came  a  sudden  change  over  all  this, 
for  one  morning  when  we  awoke,  and  would  say, 
"  Good  morning,  father ! "  the  father  had  travelled 
away,  and  in  the  whole  town  there  was  nothing 
but  dumb  sorrow.  Everywhere  there  was  a 
funeral-like  expression,  and  people  slipped  silently 
through  the  market  and  read  the  long  paper  placed  *' 

on  the  door  of  the  town-house.  It  was  dark  and 
lowering,  yet  the  lean  tailor  Kilian  stood  in  the 
nankeen  jacket,  which  he  generally  wore  only  at 
home,  and  in  his  blue  woollen  stockings,  so  that 
his  little  bare  legs  peeped  out  as  if  in  sorrow,  and 
his  thin  lips  quivered  as  he  read,  murmuringly, 
the  handbill.    An  old  invalid  soldier  from  the  " 

Palatine  read  it  in  a  somewhat  louder  tone,  and 
little  by  little  a  transparent  tear  ran  down  his 
white,  honourable  old  moustache.  I  stood  near 
him,  and  asked  why  he  wept?    And  he  replied,  ^ 

"The  Prince  Elector  has  abdicated."  And  then 
he  read  further,  and  at  the  words  "for  the  long-  - 

manifested  fidelity  of  my  subjects,"  '*and  hereby 
release  you  from  allegiance,"  he  wept  still  more. 
It  is  a  strange  sight  to  see,  when  so  old  a  man, 
in  faded  uniform,  with  a  scarred  veteran's  face, 
suddenly  bursts  into  tears.     While  we  read,  the 


3M 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


Princely  Electoral  coat-of-arms  was  being  taken 
down  from  the  Town- Hall,  and  everything  began 
to  appear  as  miserably  dreary  as  though  we  were 
waiting  for  an  eclipse  of  the  sun.  The  gentlemen 
town -councillors  went  about  at  an  abdicating 
wearisome  gait ;  even  the  omnipotent  beadle  looked 
as  though  he  had  no  more  commands  to  give,  and 
stood  calmly  indifferent,  although  the  crazy  Aloy- 
sius  stood  upon  one  leg  and  chattered  the  names 
of  French  generals,  while  the  tipsy,  crooked  Gum- 
pertz  rolled  around  in  the  gutter,  singing  Qa  ira  ! 
Qa  ira  ! 

But  I  went  home,  weeping  and  lamenting  be- 
cause "  the  Prince  Elector  had  dhdvxied  ! "  My 
mother  had  trouble  enough  to  explain  the  word, 
but  I  would  hear  nothing.  I  knew  what  I  knew, 
and  went  weeping  to  bed,  and  in  the  night  dreamed 
that  the  world  had  come  to  an  end — that  all  the 
fair  flower  gardens  and  green  meadows  of  the 
world  were  taken  up  and  rolled  up,  and  put  away 
like  carpets  and  baize  from  the  floor ;  that  a  beadle 
climbed  up  on  a  high  ladder  and  took  down  the 
sun,  and  that  the  tailor  Kilian  stood  by  and  said 
to  himself,  "I  must  go  home  and  dress  myself 
neatly,  for  I  am  dead  and  am  to  be  buried  this  after- 
noon." And  it  grew  darker  and  darker — a  few  stars 
glimmered  sparely  on  high,  and  these  at  length 
fell  down  like  yellow  leaves  in  autumn ;  one  by 
one  all  men  vanished,  and  I,  a  poor  child,  wan- 


IDEAS.  303 

dered  in  anguish  around,  until,  before  the  willow 
fence  of  a  deserted  farmhouse,  I  saw  a  man  dig- 
ging up  the  earth  with  a  spade,  and  near  him  an 
ugly,  spiteful-looking  woman,  who  held  something 
in  her  apron  like  a  human  head — but  it  was  the 
moon,  and  she  laid  it  carefully  in  the  open  grave 
— and  behind  me  stood  the  Palatine  invalid, 
sighing  and  spelling,  "The  Prince  Elector  has 
abducted." 

When  I  awoke,  the  sun  shone  as  usual  through 
the  window,  there  was  a  sound  of  drums  in  the 
street,  and  as  I  entered  the  sitting-room  and 
wished  my  father,  who  was  sitting  in  his  white 
dressing-gown,  a  good  morning,  I  heard  the  little 
light-footed  barber,  as  he  made  up  his  hair,  narrate 
very  minutely  that  homage  would  that  morning 
be  offered  at  the  Town-Hall  to  the  Archduke 
Joachim.  I  heard,  too,  that  the  new  ruler  was 
of  excellent  family,  that  he  had  married  the  sister 
of  the  Emperor  Napoleon,  and  was  really  a  very 
respectable  man ;  that  he  wore  his  beautiful  black 
hair  in  flowing  locks,  that  he  would  shortly  enter 
the  town,  and  in  fine,,  that  he  must  please  aU  the 
ladies.  Meanwhile  the  drumming  in  the  streets 
continued,  and  I  stood  before  the  house-door  and 
looked  at  the  French  troops  marching  in  that 
joyful  race  of  fame,  who,  singing  and  playing, 
swept  over  the  world,  the  merry,  serious  faces 
of  the  grenadiers,  the  bear-skin  shakoes,  the  tri- 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


coloured  cockades,  the  glittering  bayonets,  the 
voltigeurs,  full  of  vivacity  and  point  d'honnettr, 
and  the  omnipotent  giant-like  silver-laced  tam- 
bour-major, who  cast  his  baton  with  a  gilded  head 
as  high  as  the  first  storey,  and  his  eyes  to  the 
second,  where  pretty  girls  gazed  from  the  windows. 
I  was  so  glad  that  soldiers  were  to  be  quartered 
in  our  house, — in  which  my  mother  differed  from 
me, — and  I  hastened  to  the  market-place.  There 
everything  looked  changed,  somewhat  as  though 
the  world  had  been  new  whitewashed.  A  new 
coat-of-arms  was  placed  on  the  Town-Hall,  its 
iron  balconies  were  hung  with  embroidered  velvet 
drapery.  French  grenadiers  stood  as  sentinels; 
the  old  gentlemen  town-councillors  had  put  on 
new  faces,  and  donned  their  Sunday-coats,  and 
looked  at  each  other  Frenchily,  and  said  "Bon 
jour  I"  ladies  gazed  from  every  window,  curious 
citizens  and  armed  soldiers  filled  the  square,  and 
I,  with  other  boys,  climbed  on  the  great  bronze 
horse  of  the  Prince  Elector,  and  thence  stared 
down  on  the  motley  crowd. 

Our  neighbours,  Peter  and  tall  Jack  Short, 
nearly  broke  their  necks  in  accomplishing  this 
feat,  and  it  would  have  been  better  if  they  had 
been  killed  outright,  for  the  one  afterwards  ran 
away  from  his  parents,  enlisted  as  a  soldier,  de- 
serted, and  was  finally  shot  in  Mayence;  while 
the  other,  having  made  geographical  researches 


IDEAS.  '   ,: --v    /"' -  '  i65 

in  strange  pockets,  was  on  this  acconnt  elected 
member  of  a  public  tread-mill  institute.  But 
having  broken  the  iron  bands  which  bound  him 
to  his  fatherland,  he  passed  safely  beyond  sea, 
and  eventually  died  in  London,  in  consequence  of 
wearing  a  much  too  long  cravat,  one  end  of  which 
happened  to  be  firmly  attached  to  something,  just 
as  a  royal  official  removed  a  plank  from  beneath 
his  feet.  . 

Tall  Jack  told  us  that  there  was  no  school  to- 
day on  account  of  the  homage.  We  had  to  wait 
a  long  time  ere  this  was  over.  Finally,  the  bal- 
cony of  the  Council-House  was  filled  with  gaily 
dressed  gentlemen,  with  flags  and  trumpets,  and 
our  burgomaster,  in  his  celebrated  red  coat,  deli- 
vered an  oration,  which  stretched  out  like  india- 
rubber,  or  like  a  night-cap  into  which  one  has 
thrown  a  stone — only  that  it  was  not  the  stone  of 
wisdom — and  I  could  distinctly  understand  many 
of  his  phrases — for  instance,  that  "  we  are  now  to 
be  made  happy ; "  and  at  the  last  words  the  trum- 
pets sounded  out,  and  the  people  cried  hurrah  ! 
and  as  I  myself  cried  hurrah,  I  held  fast  to  the 
old  Prince  Elector.  And  it  was  really  necessary 
that  I  should,  for  I  began  to  grow  giddy.  It 
seemed  to  me  as  if  the  people  were  standing  on 
their  heads,  because  the  world  whizzed  around, 
while  the  old  Prince  Elector,  with  his  long  wig, 
nodded  and  whispered,  "  Hold  fast  to  me ! "  and 

VOL.  I.  D 


306  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

not  till  the  cannon  re-echoed  along  the  wall  did  I 
become  sobered,  and  climbed  slowly  down  from 
the  great  bronze  horsa 

As  I  went  home,  I  saw  the  crazy  Aloysiua 
again  dancing  on  one  leg,  while  he  chattered  the 
names  of  French  generals,  and  I  also  beheld 
crooked  Gumpertz  rolling  in  the  gutter  and 
growling  ga  ira,  fa  ira,  and  I  said  to  my  mother 
that  we  were  all  to  be  made  happy,  and  that  on 
that  account  we  had  that  day  no  school 


CHAPTER  VIL 


The  next  day  the  world  was  again  all  in  order, 
and  we  had  school  as  before,  and  things  were  got 
by  heart  as  before — ^the  Eoman  emperors,  chron- 
ology, the  nomina  in  im,  the  verba  irregviaria, 
Greek,  Hebrew,  geography,  German,  mental  arith- 
metic— Lord!  my  head  is  still  giddy  with  it! — 
all  must  be  thoroughly  learned.  And  much  of 
it  was  eventually  to  my  advantage.  For  had  I 
not  learned  the  Eoman  emperors  by  heart,  it 
would  subsequently  have  been  a  matter  of  per- 
fect indifference  to  me  whether  Niebuhr  had  or 
had  not  proved  that  they  never  really  existed. 


IDEAS,    v:■^;:..:^^ ■■;■■;  ;■■■;'::    307 

And  had  I  not  learned  the  numbers  of  the  diffe- 
rent years,  how  could  I  ever,  in  later  years,  have 
found  out  any  one  in  Berlin,  where  one  house  is 
as  like  another  as  drops  of  water  or  as  grenadiers, 
and  where  it  is  impossible  to  find  a  friend  unless 
you  have  the  number  of  his  house  in  your  head. 
Therefore  I  associated  with  every  friend  some  his- 
torical event,  which  had  happened  in  a  year  corre- 
sponding to  the  number  of  his  house,  so  that  the 
one  recalled  the  other,  and  some  curious  point  in 
history  always  occurred  to  me  whenever  I  met 
any  one  whom  I  visited.  For  instance,  when  I 
met  my  tailor,  I  at  once  thought  of  the  battle  of 
Marathon ;  if  I  saw  the  banker.  Christian  Gumpel, 
I  remembered  the  destruction  of  Jerusalem ;  if  a 
Portuguese  friend,  deeply  in  debt,  of  the  flight  of 
Mahomet;  if  the  university  judge,  a  man  whose 
probity  is  well  known,  of  the  death  of  Haman; 
and  if  Wadzeck,  I  was  at  once  reminded  of  Cleo- 
patra. Ah,  heaven !  the  poor  creature  is  dead 
now ;  our  tears  are  dry,  and  we  may  say  of  her 
with  Hamlet,  "Take  her  for  all  in  all,  she  was 
an  old  woman;  we  oft  shall  look  upon  her  like 
again ! "  But  as  I  said,  chronology  is  necessary. 
I  know  men  who  have  nothing  in  their  heads  but 
a  few  years,  yet  who  know  exactly  where  to  look 
for  the  right  houses,  and  are  moreover  regular 
professors.  But  oh !  the  trouble  I  had  at  school 
with  my  learning  to  count;   and  it  went  even 


3o8  PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 

worse  with  the  ready  reckoning.  I  understood 
best  of  all  subtraction,  and  for  this  I  had  a  very 
practical  rule,  "four  can't  be  taken  from  three, 
therefore  I  must  borrow  one;"  but  I  advise  all 
in  such  a  case  to  borrow  a  few  extra  dollars,  for 
no  one  can  tell  what  may  happen. 

But  oh !  the  Latin.  Madame,  you  can  really 
have  no  idea  of  what  a  mess  it  is.  The  Romans 
would  never  have  found  time  to  conquer  the  world 
if  they  had  been  obliged  first  to  learn  Latin.^ 
Lucky  dogsl  they  already  knew  in  their  cradles 
the  nouns  ending  in  im.  I,  on  the  contrary,  had 
to  learn  it  by  heart,  in  the  sweat  of  my  brow,  but 
still  it  is  well  that  I  knew  it.  For  if  I,  for  ex- 
ample, when  I  publicly  disputed  in  Latin  in  the 
College  Hall  of  Gottingen,  on  the  20th  of  July 
1825 — Madame,  it  was  well  worth  while  to  hear  it 
— ^if  I,  I  say,  had  said  sinapem  instead  of  sinapim, 
the  blunder  would  have  been  evident  to  the  fresh- 
men, and  an  endless  shame  for  me.  Vis,  buris, 
sitis,  tussis,  cucumis,  amussis,  cannabis,  sinapis. 
These  words,  which  have  attracted  so  much  atten- 
tion in  the  world,  effected  this,  inasmuch  as  they 
belonged  to  a  determined  class,  and  yet  were 
withal  an  exception.  And  the  fact  that  I  have 
them  ready  at  my  fingers*  ends  when  I  perhaps 


1  Heine  took  this  idea  almost  verbcUim  from  the  EpUteim 
Ohteurorum  Virorvm. 

I         ■ 
■)     - 


IDEAS.     ;■■;.■■'.-■    -■VV\.^>t. 

need  them  in  a  hurry,  often  affords  me  in  life's 
darkened  hours  much  internal  tranquillity  and 
spiritual  consolation.  But,  Madame,  the  verba 
irregvlaria — they  are  distinguished  from  the  verbis 
regularibus  by  the  fact  that  the  boys  in  learning 
them  got  more  whippings — are  terribly  difficult. 
In  the  arched  way  of  the  Franciscan  cloister  near 
our  schoolroom  there  hung  a  large  Christ-crucified 
of  grey  wood,  a  dismal  image,  that  even  yet  at 
times  rises  in  my  dreams,  and  gazes  sorrowfully 
on  me  with  fixed  bleeding  eyes.  Before  this  image 
I  often  stood  and  prayed,  "  Oh,  Thou  poor  and 
also  tormented  God,  I  pray  Thee,  if  it  be  possible, 
that  I  may  get  by  heart  the  irregular  verbs ! " 

I  will  say  nothing  of  Greek,  otherwise  I  should 
vex  myself  too  much.  The  monks  of  the  Middle 
Ages  were  not  so  very  much  in  the  wrong  when 
they  asserted  that  Greek  was  an  invention  of  the 
devil.  Lord  knows  what  I  suffered  through  it. 
It  went  better  with  Hebrew,  for  I  always  had  a 
great  predilection  for  the  Jews,  although  they  to 
this  very  hour  have  crucified  my  good  name.  But 
yet,  I  never  could  get  so  far  in  Hebrew  as  my 
watch  did,  which  had  a  much  more  intimate  inter- 
course with  pawnbrokers  than  I,  and  in  conse- 
quence acquired  many  Jewish  habits ;  for  instance, 
it  would  not  go  on  Saturday,  and  it  learned  the 
holy  language,  and  was  subsequently  occupied 
with  its  grammar,  for  often  when  sleepless  in  the 


310  PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 

night  I  have,  to  my  amazement,  heard  it  indns- 
triously  repeating,  katal,  katalta,  katalhi — hittelt 
hittalta,  kUtcdti — -pokcU,  pokadeti — pikat,  pik,  pik. 

Meanwhile  I  learned  more  of  German  than  of 
any  other  tongue,  though  German  itself  is  not 
such  child's  play,  after  all  For  we  poor  Germans, 
who  have  already  been  sufficiently  vexed  with 
having  soldiers  quartered  on  us,  military  duties, 
poll-taxes,  and  a  thousand  other  exactions,  must 
needs,  over  and  above  all  this,  bag  Mr.  Adelung, 
and  torment  each  other  with  accusatives  and 
datives.  I  learned  much  German  from  the  old 
Eector  Schallmeyer,  a  brave,  clerical  gentleman, 
whose  prot^g6  I  was  from  childhood.  Something 
of  the  matter  I  also  learned  from  Professor 
Schramm,  a  man  who  had  written  a  book  on 
eternal  peace,  and  in  whose  class  my  school- 
fellows quarrelled  and  fought  with  unusual 
vigour.  I 

And  while  thus  dashing  on  in  a  breath,  and 
thinking  of  everything,  I  have  unexpectedly  found 
myself  back  among  old  school  stories,  and  I  avail 
myself  of  this  opportunity  to  mention,  Madame, 
that  it  was  not  my  fault  if  I  learned  so  little  of 
geography  that  later  in  life  I  could  not  make  my 
way  in  the  world.  For  in  those  days  the  French 
made  an  intricate  mixture  of  all  limits  and  boun- 
daries; every  day  lands  were  recoloured  on  the 
world's  map;  those  which  were  once  blue  sud- 


7D£i4S.  ^' -;••■;;.'>?"  .■,       311 

denly  became  green,  many  indeed  were  even  dyed 
blood-red ;  the  old  established  rules  were  so  con- 
;?  ■  fused  and  confounded  that  the  devil  himself  would 

iV  never  have  remembered  them.     The  products  of 

I'y  .    the  country  were  also  changed;  chickory  and  beets 

/:  now  grew  where  only  hares  and  hunters  running 

after  them  were  once  to  be  seen;  even  the  char- 
acter of  different  races  changed;  the   Germans 
became  pliant,  the  French  paid  compliments  no 
I'K  longer;  the  English  ceased  making   ducks  and 

'   '.    drakes  of  their  money,  and  the  Venetians  were 
fci  not  subtle  enough;  there  was  promotion  among 

<;•;  princes,  old  kings  obtained  new  uniforms,  new 

kingdoms  were  cooked  up  and  sold  like  hot  cakes ; 
many  potentates  were  chased,  on  the  other  hand, 
from  house  and  home,  and  had  to  find  some  new 
way  of  earning  their  bread,  while  others  went  at 
once  at  a  trade,  and  manufactured,  for  instance, 
sealing-wax,  or — Madame,  this  paragraph  must  be 
il',_  brought  to  an  end,  or  I  shall  be  out  of  breath — 

in  fine,  in  such  times  it  is  impossible  to  advance 
far  in  geography. 

I  succeeded  better  in  natural  history,  for  there 
^r  we   find  fewer  changes,   and   we   always    have 

standard  engravings  of  apes,  kangaroos,  zebras, 
rhinoceroses,  &c.,  &c.     And  having  many  such 
pictures  in  my  memory,  it  often  happens  that  at 
fi  first  sight  many  mortals  appear  to  me  like  old 

acquaintances. 


3ia  PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 

I  also  did  well  in  mTthology,  and  took  a  real 
delight  in  the  mob  of  gods  and  goddesses  who  ran 
so  jolly  naked  about  the  world.  I  do  not  believe 
that  there  was  a  schoolboy  in  ancient  Eoijie  who 
knew  the  principal  points  of  his  catechism — that 
is,  the  loves  of  Venus — ^better  than  I.  To  tell  the 
plain  truth,  it  seems  to  me  that  if  we  must  learn 
all  the  heathen  gods  by  heart,  we  might  as  well 
have  kept  them  from  the  first ;  and  we  have  not 
perhaps,  made  so  much  out  of  our  New-Eoman 
Trinity  or  our  Jewish  unity.  Perhaps  the  old 
mythology  was  not  in  reality  so  immoral  as  we 
imagine,  and  it  was,  for  example,  a  very  decent 
idea  of  Homer  to  give  to  the  much-loved  Venus  a 
husband. 

But  I  succeeded  best  in  the  French  class  of  the 
Abb6  d'Aulnoi,  a  French  emigri  who  had  written 
a  number  of  grammars,  and  wore  a  red  wig,  and 
jumped  about  very  nervously  when  he  recited  his 
Art  po4tigue  and  his  German  history.  He  was 
the  only  one  in  the  whole  gymnasium  who  taught 
German  history.  Still  French  has  its  difficulties, 
and  to  learn  it  there  must  be  much  quartering  of 
troops,  much  drumming  in,  much  apprendre  par 
eceur,  and  above  all,  no  one  should  be  a  tSte 
allemande.  From  all  this  resulted  many  a  cross 
word,  and  I  can  remember  as  though  it  happened 
but  yesterday,  that  I  got  into  many  a  scrape 
through  la  riligioTi.     I  was  once  asked  at  least 


Fi        ip»j!W.i 


iii.iuiuiiii  PI  lip  IP.  1 1  li^MH^^pvmpBpiiiiippiHBifva 


^•:^l>-i-<      -■. 


.   . .  ■  ■  1^  ■■  • 


''■■•!^:i' 


::'^'' 


.>;»-.■•■" 


IDEAS.  .■-$!»$ 

six  times  in  succession,  "  Henry,  what  is  the 
French  for  ' the  faith ? '" ^  And  six  times,  ever 
more  weepingly,  I  replied,  "  It  is  called  le  crSdit." 
And  after  the  seventh  question,  with  his  cheeks 
of  a  deep  red-cherry-rage  colour,  my  furious  exa- 
minator  cried,  "It  is  called  la  rdigion" — ^and 
there  was  a  rain  of  blows  and  a  thunder  of 
laughter  from  all  my  schoolmates.  Madame! 
since  that  day  I  never  hear  the  word  religion 
without  having  my  back  turn  pale  with  terror, 
and  my  cheeks  turn  red  with  shame.  And  to  tell 
the  honest  truth,  le  credit  has  during  my  life 
stood  me  in  better  stead  than  la  rdigion.  It 
occurs  to  me  just  at  this  instant  that  I  still  owe 
the  landlord  of  the  Lion  in  Bologna  five  dollars. 
And  I  pledge  you  my  sacred  word  of  honour  that 
I  would  willingly  owe  him  five  dollars  more  if  I 
could  only  be  certain  that  I  should  never  again 
hear  that  unlucky  word,  la  religion,  as  long  as  I 
live. 

FarbleUj  Madame!  I  have  succeeded  tolerably 
well  in  French;  for  I  understand  not  only  pdtois, 
but  even  aristocratic  governess  French.  Not  long 
ago,  when  in  noble  society,  I  understood  full  one- 
half  of  the  conversation  of  two  German  countesses, 
one  of  whom  could  count  at  least  sixty-four  years. 


^  Heine's  real  name,  or  the  one  given  him  in  baptdsm,  was 
not  Heinrioh,  Henri,  nor  Henry,  bat  Harry. 


3M 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


and  as  many  descents.  Yes,  in  the  Cafi  Soyal,  I 
once  heard  Monsieur  Hans  Michel  Martens  talk- 
ing French,  and  could  understand  every  word  he 
spoke,  though  there  was  no  understanding  in  any- 
thing he  said.  We  must  know  the  spirit  of  a 
language,  and  this  is  best  learned  by  drumming. 
Parhleu  /  how  much  do  I  not  owe  to  the  French 
drummer  who  was  so  long  quartered  in  our  house, 
who  looked  like  the  devil,  and  yet  had  the  good 
heart  of  an  angel,  and  who  above  all  this  drummed 
so  divinely !  I 

He  was  a  little,  nervous  figure,  with  a  terrible 
black  moustache,  beneath  which  red  lips  came 
bounding  suddenly  outwards,  while  his  wild  eyes 
shot  fiery  glances  all  around. 

I,  a  young  shaver,  stuck  to  him  like  a  burr, 
and  helped  him  to  clean  his  military  buttons  till 
they  shone  like  mirrors,  and  to  pipe-clay  his  vest 
— for  Monsieur  Le  Grand  liked  to  look  well — and 
I  followed  him  to  the  watch,  to  the  roll-caU,  to 
the  parade — ^in  those  times  there  was  nothing  but 
the  gleam  of  weapons  and  merriment — les  jours  de 
fSte  sont  passSes  /  Monsieur  Le  Grand  knew  but 
a  little  broken  German,  only  the  three  princi- 
pal words  in  every  tongue — "  Bread,"  "  Kiss," 
"Honour" — but  he  could  make  himself  very 
intelligible  with  his  drum,  For  instance,  if  I 
knew  not  what  the  word  ItbertS  meant,  he 
drummed  the    Marseillaise — and   I  understood 


.,«,^  ? 


IDEAS,  3»5 

him.  If  I  did  not  understand  the  word  egaliU, 
he  drummed  the  march — 

"  Qa  ira,  9a  ira,  ga  ira, 
Le8  aristocrats  k  la  lanteme  i' 

and  I  understood  him.  If  I  did  not  know  what 
hitise  meant,  he  drummed  the  Dessauer  March, 
which  we  Germans,  as  Goethe  also  declares,  have 
drummed  in  Champagne — and  I  understood  him. 
He  once  wanted  to  explain  to  me  the  word 
VAll&magne  (or  Germany),  and  he  drummed  the  aU 
too  simple  melody  which  on  market-days  is  played 
to  dancing-dogs — namely,  dum — dum — dum  I  I 
was  vexed,  hut  I  understood  him  for  all  that !  * 

In  like  manner  he  taught  me  modern  history. 
I  did  not  understand,  it  is  true,  the  words  which 
he  spoke,  but  as  he  constantly  drummed  while 
speaking,  I  understood  him.  This  is,  funda- 
mentally, the  best  method.  The  history  of  the 
storming  of  the  Bastile,  of  the  Tuileries,  and  the 
like,  cannot  be  correctly  understood  until  we 
know  how  the  drumming  was  done  on  such  occa- 
sions. In  our  school  compendiums  of  history  we 
merely  read :  "  Their  excellencies  the  Baron  and 
Count,  with  the  most  noble  spouses  of  the  afore- 
said, were  beheaded."  "  Their  highnesses  the  Dukes 
and  Princes,  with  the  most  noble  spouses  of  the 
aforesaid,  were    beheaded."     "His  Majesty  the 

*  DvHiiy  ie  dumm,  dumb  or  stapid. — Tr«nda,toir, 


3i6 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


King,  with  his  most  sublime  spouse,  the  Queen, 
was  beheaded."  But  when  you  hear  the  red 
march  of  the  guillotine  drummed,  you  understand 
it  correctly  for  the  first  time,  and  with  it  the 
how  and  the  why.  Madame,  that  is  really  a 
wonderful  march  1  It  thrilled  through  marrow 
and  bone  when  I  first  heard  it,  and  I  was  glad 
that  I  forgot  it.  People  are  apt  to  forget  one 
thing  and  another  as  they  grow  older,  and  a 
young  man  has  now-a-days  so  much  and  such 
a  variety  of  knowledge  to  keep  in  his  head — 
whist,  Boston,  genealogical  registers,  parliamentary 
conclusions,  dramaturgy,  the  liturgy,  carving — and 
yet,  I  assure  you  that,  despite  all  my  jogging  up 
of  my  brain,  I  could  not  for  a  long  time  recall 
that  tremendous  tune!  And  only  to  think, 
Madame ;  not  long  ago  I  sat  one  day  at  table  with 
a  whole  menagerie  of  counts,  princes,  princesses, 
chamberlains,  court  -  marshalesses,  seneschals, 
upper  court  mistresses,  court  keepers  of  the  royal 
plate,  court  hunters'  wives,  and  whatever  else 
these  aristocratic  domestics  are  termed,  and  their 
under-domestics  ran  about  behind  their  chairs  and 
shoved  full  plates  before  their  mouths ;  but  I,  who 
was  passed  by  and  neglected,  sat  at  leisure  without 
the  least  occupation  for  my  jaws,  and  kneaded 
little  bread-balls,  and  drummed  with  my  fingers ; 
and,  to  my  astonishment,  I  found  myself  suddenly 
drumming  the  red,  long- forgotten  guillotine  march. 


IDEAS.  i  317 

"And  what  happened?"  Madame,  the  good 
people  were  not  in  the  least  disturbed,  nor  did 
they  know  that  other  people,  when  they  can  get 
nothing  to  eat,  suddenly  begin  to  drum,  and  that, 
too,  very  queer  marches,  which  people  have  long 
forgotten. 

Is  drumming  now  an  inborn  talent,  or  was  it 
early  developed  in  me?  Enough,  it  lies  in  my 
limbs,  in  my  hands,  in  my  feet,  and  often  in- 
voluntarily manifests  itself.  I  once  sat  at  Berlin 
in  the  lecture-room  of  the  Privy  Councillor 
Schmaltz,  a  man  who  had  saved  the  state  by 
his  book  on  the  "  Red  and  Black  Coat  Danger." 
You  remember,  perhaps, Madame,  that  in  Pausanias 
we  are  told  that  by  the  braying  of  an  ass  an 
equally  dangerous  plot  was  once  discovered,  and 
you  also  know  from  Livy,  or  from  "Becker's 
History  of  the  World,"  that  geese  once  saved  the 
Capitol,  and  you  must  certainly  know  from  Sallust 
that  by  the  chattering  of  a  loquacious  putain,  the 
Lady  Livia,  that  the  terrible  conspiracy  of  Cati- 
line came  to  light  But  to  return  to  the  mutton 
aforesaid.  I  listened  to  popular  law  and  right 
in  the  lecture-room  of  the  Herr  Privy  Councillor 
Schmaltz,  and  it  was  a  lazy  sleepy  summer  after- 
noon, and  I  sat  on  the  bench,  and  little  by  little  I 
listened  less  and  less — my  head  had  gone  to  sleep 
— when  all  at  once  I  was  wakened  by  the  roll  of 
my  own  feet,  which  had  not  gone  to  sleep,  and 


Jtt  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

had  probably  observed  that  anything  but  popular 
rights  and  constitutional  tendencies  was  being 
preached,  and  my  feet,  which,  with  the  little  eyes 
of  their  corns,  had  seen  more  of  how  things  go 
in  the  world  than  the  Privy  Councillor  with  his 
Juno  eyes — these  poor  dumb  feet,  incapable  of 
expressing  their  immeasurable  meaning  by  words, 
strove  to  make  themselves  intelligible  by  drum- 
ming, and  they  drummed  so  loudly  that  I  thereby 
came  near  getting  into  a  terrible  scrape. 

Cursed,  unreflecting  feet !  They  once  acted  as 
though  they  were  corned  indeed,  when  I  on  a 
time  in  Gottingen  sponged,  without  subscribing, 
on  the  lectures  of  Professor  Saalfeld,  and  as  this 
learned  gentleman,  with  his  angular  activity, 
jumped  about  here  and  there  in  his  pulpit,  and 
heated  himself  in  order  to  curse  the  Emperor 
Napoleon  in  regular  set  style,  right  and  left — ^no, 
my  poor  feet,  I  cannot  blame  you  for  drumming 
then — indeed,  I  would  not  have  blamed  you  if  in 
your  dumb  naivete  you  had  expressed  yourselves 
by  still  more  energetic  movements.  How  could 
/,  the  scholar  of  Le  Grand,  hear  the  Emperor 
cursed?  The  Emperor  I  the  Emperor  1  the  great 
Emperor!  i 

When  I  think  of  the  great  Emperor,  aU  in  my 
memory  again  becomes  summer-green  and  golden. 
A  long  avenue  of  lindens  rises  blooming  around, 
on  the  leafy  twigs  sit  singing  nightingales,  the 


IDEAS.  -■-}-'.'    319 

waterfall  rustles,  flowers  are  growing  from  full 
round  beds,  dreamily  nodding  their  fair  heads : 
I  stood  amidst  them  once  in  wondrous  intimacy, 
the  rouged  tulips,  proud  as  beggars,  condescend- 
ingly greeted  me,  the  nervous  sick  lilies  nodded 
with  woeful  tenderness,  the  tipsy  red  roses  nodded 
at  me  at  first  sight  from  a  distance,  the  night- 
violets  sighed  ;  with  the  myrtle  and  laurel  I  was 
not  then  acquainted,  for  they  did  not  entice  with  a 
shining  bloom,  but  the  mignonnette,  with  whom  I 
am  now  on  such  bad  terms,  was  my  very  particular 
friend.  I  am  speaking  of  the  Court  garden  of 
Diisseldorf,  where  I  often  lay  upon  the  bank,  and 
piously  listened  there  when  Monsieur  Le  Grand 
told  of  the  warlike  feats  of  the  great  Emperor, 
beating  meanwhile  the  marches  which  were 
drummed  during  the  deeds,  so  that  I  saw  and 
heard  all  to  the  life.  I  saw  the  passage  over  the 
Simplon — the  Emperor  in  advance  and  his  brave 
grenadiers  climbing  on  behind  him,  while  the 
scream  of  frightened  birds  of  prey  sounded  around, 
and  the  glaciers  thundered  in  the  distance — I  saw 
the  Emperor  with  flag  in  hand  on  the  bridge  of 
Lodi — I  saw  the  Emperor  in  his  grey  cloak  at 
Marengo — I  saw  the  Emperor  mounted  in  the 
battle  of  the  Pyramids,  naught  around  save 
powder,  smoke,  and  Mamelukes — I  saw  the 
Emperor  in  the  battle  of  Austerlitz — ha!  how 
the  bullets  whistled  over  the  smooth,  icy  road ! — 


3ao 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


I  saw,  I  heard  the  battle  of  Jena — dum,  dum, 
dum — I  saw,  I  heard  the  battles  of  Eylau,  of 
Wagram — no,  I  could  hardly  stand  it !  Monsieur 
Le  Grand  drummed  so  that  I  nearly  burst  my 
own  sheepskin. 


CHAPTER  VIIL 


But  what  were  my  feelings  when  I  first  saw  with 
highly  blest  and  with  my  own  eyes  him,  Hosannah  I 
the  Emperor ! 

It  was  exactly  in  the  avenue  of  the  Court 
garden  at  Dtisseldorf.  As  I  pressed  through  the 
gaping  crowd,  thinking  of  the  doughty  deeds  and 
battles  which  Monsieur  Le  Grand  had  drummed 
to  me,  my  heart  beat  the  "general  march" — yet 
at  the  same  time  I  thought  of  the  police  regula- 
tion that  no  one  should  dare  imder  penalty  of 
five  dollars  fine  ride  through  the  avenue.  Ajid 
the  Emperor  with  his  cortlge  rode  directly  down 
the  avenue.  The  trembling  trees  bowed  towards 
him  as  he  advanced,  the  sun-rays  quivered, 
frightened,  yet  curiously  through  the  green  leaves, 
and  in  the  blue  heaven  above  there  swam  visibly 
a  golden  star.  The  Emperor  wore  his  invisible- 
green  uniform  and  the  little  world-renowned  hat. 


IDEAS.  :       J  3ai 

He  rode  a  white  palfrey,  which  stepped  with  such 
calm  pride,  so  confidently,  so  nohly — had  I  then 
been   Crown   Prince  of    Prussia   I   would  have 
envied  that  horse.     The  Emperor  sat  carelessly, 
almost  lazily,  holding  with  one  hand  his  rein, 
and  with  the  other  good-naturedly  patting  the 
neck  of  the  horse.    It  was  a  sunny  marble  hand, 
a  mighty  hand — one  of  the  pair  which  bound  fast 
the  many-headed  monster  of  anarchy,  and  reduced 
to  order  the  war  of  races — and  it  good-naturedly 
patted  the  neck  of  the  horse.     Even  the  face  had 
that  hue  which  we  find  in  the  marble  Greek  and 
Eoman  busts,  the  traits  were  as  nobly  proportioned 
as  in  the   antiques,   and    on  that  countenance 
was  plainly  written,  "Thou  shalt  have  no  gods 
before  me ! "     A  smile,  which  warmed  and  tran- 
quillised  every  heart,  flitted  over  the  lips — and 
yet  all  knew  that  those  lips  needed  but  to  whistle, 
et  la  Prusse  n'existait  pltis — ^those  lips   needed 
but  to  whistle,  and  the  entire  clergy  would  have 
stopped  their   ringing    and    singing — those    lips 
needed    but    to   whistle,  and    the    entire    Holy 
Roman  realm  would  have  danced.     It  was  an  eye 
clear  as  heaven ;  it  could  read  the  hearts  of  men ; 
it  saw  at  a  glance  all  things  at  once,  and  as  they 
were  in  this  world,  while  we  ordinary  mortals  see 
them  only  one  by  one  and  by  their  shaded  hues. 
The  brow  was  not  so  clear,  the  phantoms  of  future 
battles  were  nestling  there,  and  there  was  a  quiver 
VOL.  I.  X 


JM 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


which  swept  over  the  brow,  and  those  were  the 
creative  thoughts,  the  great  seven-mile-boots 
thoughts  wherewith  the  spirit  of  the  Emperor 
strode  invisibly  over  the  world;  and  I  believe 
that  every  one  of  those  thoughts  would  have 
given  to  a  German  author  full  material  wherewith 
to  write  all  the  days  of  his  life.  t 

The  Emperor  rode  calmly  stndght  through  the 
avenue ;  no  policeman  stopped  him ;  behind  his 
cortige  rode  proudly,  loaded  with  gold  and  orna- 
ments, on  panting  horses ;  the  trumpets  pealed ; 
near  me  crazy  Aloysius  spun  round  and  snarled 
the  names  of  his  generals ;  not  far  o£f  growled  the 
tipsy  Gumpert,  and  the  multitude  cried  with  a 
thousand  voices,  " JSs  lebe  der  Kaiser!" — Long 
live  the  Emperor !  I 


CHAPTER  IX. 


The  Emperor  is  dead.  On  a  waste  island  in  the 
Indian  Sea  lies  his  lonely  grave,  and  he  for  whom 
the  world  was  too  narrow  lies  silently  under  a 
little  hillock,  where  five  weeping  willows  hang 
their  green  heads,  and  a  gentle  little  brook,  mur- 
muring sorrowfully,  ripples  by.  There  is  no 
inscription  on  his  tomb ;  but  Clio,  with  unerring 
pen,  has  written  thereon  invisible  words,  which 


IDEAS,  3*3 

will  resound,  like  spirit-tones,  through  thoasands 
of  years.  ' 

Britannia !  the  sea  is  thine.  But  the  sea  hath 
not  water  enough  to  wash  away  the  shame  with 
which  the  death  of  that  mighty  one  hath  covered 
thee.  Not  thy  windy  Sir  Hudson — no,  thou  thy- 
self wert  the  Sicilian  bravo  with  whom  perjured 
kings  bargained,  that  they  might  revenge  on  the 
man  of  the  people  that  which  the  people  had 
once  inflicted  on  one  of  themselves.  And  he  was 
thy  guest,  and  had  seated  himself  by  thy  hearth. 

Until  the  latest  times  the  boys  of  France  will 
sing  and  tell  of  the  terrible  hospitality  of  the 
Bellerophon,  and  when  those  songs  of  mockery 
and  tears  resound  across  the  strait,  there  will  be  a 
blush  on  the  cheeks  of  every  honourable  Briton. 
But  a  day  will  come  when  this  song  will  ring 
thither,  and  there  will  be  no  Britannia  in  exist- 
ence— when  the  people  of  pride  will  be  humbled 
to  the  earth,  when  Westminster's  monuments  will 
be  broken,  and  when  the  royal  dust  which  they 
enclosed  will  be  forgotten.  And  St.  Helena  is 
the  holy  grave  whither  the  races  of  the  east  and 
of  the  west  will  make  their  pilgrimage  in  ships, 
with  pennons  of  many  a  hue,  and  their  hearts 
will  grow  strong  with  great  memories  of  the  deeds 
of  the  worldly  saviour,  who  suffered  and  died  under 
Sir  Hudson  Lowe,  as  it  is  written  in  the  evan- 
gelists. Las  Casas,  O'Meara,  and  Autommarchi 


324 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


Strange  !  A  terrible  destiny  has  already  over- 
taken the  three  greatest  enemies  of  the  Emperor. 
Londonderry  has  cut  his  throat,  Louis  XVIII.  has 
rotted  away  on  his  throne,  and  Professor  Saalfield 
is  still,  as  before,  professor  in  Gottingen. 


CHAPTER  X. 


It  was  a  clear  frosty  morning  in  autumn  as  a 
young  man,  whose  appearance  denoted  the  student, 
slowly  loitered  through  the  avenue  of  the  Diissel- 
dorf  Court  garden,  often,  as  in  child-like  mood, 
pushing  aside  with  wayward  feet  the  leaves  which 
covered  the  ground,  and  often  sorrowfully  gazing 
towards  the  bare  trees,  on  which  a  few  golden-hued 
leaves  still  fluttered  in  the  breeze.  As  he  thus 
gazed  up,  he  thought  on  the  words  of  Glaucus : — 

"Like  the  leaves  in  the  forests,  e'en  so  are  the  races  of 

mortals ; 
Ijeaves  are  blown  down  to  the  earth  by  the  wind,  while 

others  are  driven 
Away  by  the  green  budding  wood,  when  fresh  up-liveth 

the  spring-tide  ; 
So  the  races  of  man — this  grows  and  the  other  departeth." 

In  earlier  days  the  youth  had  gazed  with  far 
difTerent  eyes  on  the  same  trees.  When  he  was 
a  boy  he  had  there  sought  birds'  nests  or  summer 


IDEAS.  325 

chafers,  which  delighted  his  very  soul,  as  they 
merrily  hummed  around,  and  were  glad  in  the 
beautiful  world,  and  were  contented  with  a  sap- 
green  leaf  and  a  drop  of  water,  with  a  warm  sun- 
ray  and  with  the  perfume  of  the  herbage.  In  those 
times  the  boy's  heart  was  as  gay  as  the  fluttering  in- 
sects. But  now  his  heart  had  grown  older,  its  little 
sun-rays  were  quenched,  its  flowers  had  faded, 
even  its  beautiful  dream  of  love  had  grown  dim;  in 
that  poor  heart  was  naught  save  wanton  will  and 
care,  and  to  say  the  worst — it  was  my  heart 

I  had  returned  that  day  to  my  old  father-town, 
but  I  would  not  remain  there  over-night,  and  I 
longed  for  Godesberg,  that  I  might  sit  at  the  feet 
of  my  lady  friend  and  tell  of  the  little  Veronica. 
I  had  visited  the  dear  graves.  Of  all  my  living 
friends,  I  had  found  but  an  uncle  and  an  aunt. 
Even  when  I  met  once  known  forms  in  the  street, 
they  knew  me  no  more,  and  the  town  itself  gazed 
on  me  with  strange  glances.  Many  houses  were 
coloured  anew,  strange  faces  gazed  on  me  through 
the  window-panes,  worn  out  old  sparrows  hopped 
on  the  old  chimneys;  everything  looked  dead 
and  yet  fresh,  like  a  salad  growing  in  a  grave- 
yard. Where  French  was  once  spoken  I  now 
heard  the  Prussian  dialect ;  even  a  little  Prussian 
court  had  taken  up  its  retired  dwelling  there,  and 
the  people  bore  court  titles.  The  hairdresser  of 
my  mother  had  now  become  the  Court-hairdresser 


326 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


and  there  were  Court-tailors,  Court-shoemakers, 
Court-bed-bug-destroyers,  Court-groggeries  —  the 
whole  town  seemed  to  be  a  court-hospital  for 
courtly  spiritual  invalids.  Only  the  old  Prince 
Elector  knew  me ;  he  still  stood  in  the  same  old 
place;  but  he  seemed  to  have  grown  thinner. 
For  just  because  he  stood  in  the  market-place,  he 
had  had  a  full  view  of  all  the  miseries  of  the 
time,  and  people  seldom  grow  fat  on  such  sights. 
I  was  as  if  in  a  dream,  and  thought  of  the  legend 
of  the  enchanted  city,  and  hastened  out  of  the 
gate,  lest  I  should  awake  too  soon.  I  missed 
many  a  tree  in  the  Court  garden,  and  many  had 
grown  crooked  with  age,  and  the  four  great  pop- 
lars which  once  seemed  to  me  like  green  giants 
had  become  smaller.  Pretty  girls  were  walking 
here  and  there,  dressed  as  gaily  as  wandering 
tulips.  And  I  had  known  these  tulips  when  they 
were  but  little  bulbs ;  for  ah !  they  were  the 
neighbour's  children  with  whom  I  had  once 
played  "Princess  in  the  Tower,"  But  the  fair 
maidens,  whom  I  had  once  known  as  blooming 
roses  were  now  faded  roses,  and  in  many  a  high 
brow  whose  pride  had  once  filled  my  heart,  Saturn 
had  cut  deep  wrinkles  with  his  scythe.  And 
now  for  the  first  time,  and  alas  1  too  late,  I  under- 
stood what  those  glances  meant,  which  they  had 
once  cast  on  the  adolescent  boy  ;  for  I  had  mean- 
while in  other  lands  fathomed  the  meaning  of 


IDEAS.  327 

similar  passages  in  other  lovely  eyea  I  was 
deeply  moved  by  the  humble  bow  of  a  man, 
whom  I  had  once  known  as  wealthy  and  respec- 
table, and  who  had  since  become  a  beggar.  Every- 
where in  the  world,  we  see  that  men  when  they 
once  begin  to  fall,  do  so  according  to  Newton's 
theory,  ever  faster  and  faster  in  ratio  as  they 
descend  to  misery.  One,  however,  who  did  not 
seem  to  be  in  the  least  changed  was  the  little 
Baron,  who  tripped  merrily  as  of  old  through 
the  Court  garden,  holding  with  one  hand  his  left 
coat-skirt  on  high,  and  with  the  other  swinging 
hither  and  thither  his  light  cane; — he  still  had 
the  same  genial  face  as  of  old,  its  rosy  bloom 
now  somewhat  concentrated  towards  the  nose, 
but  he  wore  the  same  nine-pin  hat,  and  the  same 
old  queue  behind,  only  that  the  hairs  which 
peeped  from  it  were  now  white  instead  of  black. 
But  merry  as  the  old  Baron  seemed,  it  was  still 
evident  that  he  had  suffered  much  sorrow ;  his 
face  would  fain  conceal  it,  but  the  white  hairs  of 
his  queue  betrayed  him  behind  his  back  ;  yet  the 
queue  itself  seemed  striving  to  lie,  so  merrily  yet 
sadly  did  it  shake. 

I  was  not  weary,  but  a  fancy  seized  me  to  sit 
once  more  on  the  wooden  bench,  on  which  I  had 
once  carved  the  name  of  my  love.  I  could  hardly 
discover  it  among  the  many  new  names,  which 
had  since  been  cut  around.    Ahl    once  I  slept 


328 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


upon  this  bench,  and  dreamed  of  happiness  and 
love.  "  Dreams  are  foams  and  gleams."  And  the 
old  plays  of  childhood  came  again  to  my  soul,  and 
with  them  old  and  beautiful  stories ;  but  a  new 
treacherous  game,  and  a  new  terrible  tale  ever 
resounded  through  all,  and  it  was  the  story  of 
two  poor  souls  who  were  false  to  each  other,  and 
went  so  far  in  their  untruth,  that  they  were  at 
last  unfaithful  to  the  good  God  himself.  It  is  a 
bad,  sad  story,  and  when  one  has  nothing  better 
on  hand  to  do,  he  can  well  weep  over  it  Oh, 
Lord !  once  the  world  was  so  beautiful,  and  the 
birds  sang  thy  eternal  praise,  and  little  Veronica 
looked  at  me  with  silent  eyes,  and  we  sat  by  the 
marble  statue  before  the  castle  court  On  one  side 
lies  an  old  ruined  castle,  wherein  ghosts  wander, 
and  at  night  a  headless  dame  in  long,  trailing, 
black  silken  garments,  sweeps  around;  on  the 
other  side  is  a  high,  white  dwelling  in  whose 
upper  rooms  gay  pictures  gleamed  beautifully  in 
their  golden  frames,  while  below  stood  thousands 
of  great  books  which  Veronica  and  I  beheld  with 
longing,  when  the  good  Ursula  lifted  us  up  to  the 
window.  In  later  years,  when  I  had  become  a 
great  boy,  I  climbed  every  day  to  the  very  top  of 
the  library  ladder,  and  brought  down  the  topmost 
books,  and  read  in  them  so  long,  that  fiinally  I 
feared  nothing — least  of  all  ladies  without  heads 
— and  became  so  wise  that  I  forgot  all  the  old 


IDEAS.         '  329 

games  and  stories  and  pictures,  and  little  Veronica, 
whose  very  name  I  also  forgot. 

But  while  I,  sitting  upon  the  bench  in  the 
Court  garden,  dreamed  my  way  back  into  the 
past,  there  was  a  sound  behind  me  of  the  con- 
fused voices  of  men  lamenting  the  ill  fortune  of 
the  poor  French  soldiers,  who  having  been  taken 
prisoners  in  the  Kussian  war  and  sent  to  Siberia, 
had  there  been  kept  prisoners  for  many  a  long 
year,  though  peace  had  been  re-established,  and 
who  now  were  returning  home.  As  I  looked 
up,  I  beheld  in  reality  several  of  these  orphan 
children  of  Fame.  Through  their  tattered  uni- 
forms peeped  naked  misery,  deep  f.orrowing  eyes 
were  couched  in  their  desolate  faces,  and  though 
mangled,  weary,  and  mostly  lame,  something  of 
the  military  manner  was  still  visible  in  their 
mien.  Singularly  enough,  they  were  preceded  by 
a  drummer  who  tottered  along  with  a  drum,  and  I 
shuddered  as  I  recalled  the  old  legend  of  soldiers 
who  had  fallen  in  battle,  and  who  by  night  rising 
again  from  their  graves  on  the  battlefield,  and 
with  the  drummer  at  their  head,  marched  back  to 
their  native  city.  And  of  them  the  old  ballad 
sings  thus : — 

"  He  beat  on  the  drum  with  might  and  main  ; 
To  their  old  night-quarters  they  go  again  ; 

Through  the  lighted  street  they  come  j 

Trallerie — trallerei — trallera, 
They  march  before  Sweetheart's  home. 


330  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

Thus  the  dead  return  ere  break  of  day, 
Like  tombstones  white  in  their  cold  array, 

And  the  drummer  he  goes  before  ; 

Trallerie — trallerei — trallera, 
And  we  see  them  come  no  more." 


Truly  the  poor  French  drummer  seemed  to  have 
risen  but  half  repaired  from  the  grave.  He  was 
but  a  little  shadow  in  a  dirty  patched  grey  capote, 
a  dead  yellow  countenance,  with  a  great  mustache 
which  hung  down  sorrowfully  over  his  faded  lips, 
his  eyes  were  like  burnt-out  tinder,  in  which  but 
a  few  sparks  still  gleamed,  and  yet  by  one  of  those 
sparks  I  recognised  Monsieur  Le  Grand. 

He  too  recognised  me,  and  drew  me  to  the 
turf,  and  we  sat  down  together  as  of  old,  when 
he  taught  me  on  the  drum  French  and  Modem 
History.  He  had  still  the  well-known  old  drum, 
and  I  could  not  sufficiently  wonder  how  he  had 
preserved  it  from  Bussian  plunderers.  And  he 
drummed  again  as  of  old,  but  without  speaking 
a  word.  But  though  his  lips  were  firmly  pressed 
together,  his  eyes  spoke  all  the  more,  flashing 
fiercely  and  victoriously,  as  he  drummed  the  old 
marches.  The  poplars  near  us  trembled  as  he  again 
thundered  forth  the  red  march  of  the  guillotine. 
And  he  drummed,  as  before,  the  old  battles  for 
freedom,  the  deeds  of  the  Emperor,  and  it  seemed 
as  though  the  drum  itself  were  a  living  creature 
which  rejoiced  to  speak  out  its  inner  soul.     I 


IDEAS,  •  331 

heard  once  more  the  cannon  thunder,  the  whist- 
ling of  balls,  the  riot  of  battle,  the  death-rage  of 
the  Guards — I  saw  once  more  the  waving  flags, 
again  the  Emperor  on  his  steed; — but  little  by- 
little  there  fell  a  sad  tone  in  amid  the  most 
stirring  confusion ;  sounds  rang  from  the  drum  in 
which  the  wildest  hurrahs  and  the  most  fearful 
grief  were  mysteriously  mingled;  it  seemed  a 
march  of  victory  and  a  march  of  death.  Le 
Grand's  eyes  opened  spirit-like  and  wide,  and  I 
saw  in  them  nothing  but  a  broad  white  field  of 
ice  covered  with  corpses — it  was  the  battle  of 
Moscow. 

I  had  never  imagined  that  the  hard  old  drum 
could  give  forth  such  wailing  sounds  as  Monsieur 
Le  Grand  had  drawn  from  it  They  were  tears 
which  he  drummed,  and  they  sounded  ever  softer 
and  softer,  and  like  a  troubled  echo  deep  sighs 
broke  from  Le  Grand's  breast  And  they  became 
ever  more  languid  and  ghost-like ;  his  dry  hands 
trembled  as  if  from  frost ;  he  sat  as  in  a  dream, 
and  stirred  with  his  drum-stick  nothing  but  the 
air,  and  seemed  listening  to  voices  far  away ;  and 
at  last  he  gazed  on  me  with  a  deep — oh,  so  deep 
and  entreating  a  glanca  I  understood  him — and 
then  his  head  sunk  down  on  the  drum. 

In  this  life  Monsieur  Le  Grand  never  drummed 
more.  And  his  drum  never  gave  forth  another 
sound,  for  it  was  not  destined  to  serve  the  enemies 


33* 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


of  liberty  for  their  servile  roll-calls.  I  had  well 
understood  the  last  entreating  glance  of  Le  Grand, 
and  I  at  once  drew  the  rapier  from  my  cane,  and 
with  it  pierced  the  drum. 


CHAPTER  XL 


Du  stiblime  au  ridicule  il  n'y  a  qu'un  pas,  Madame  I 
But  life  is  in  reality  so  terribly  serious  that 
it  would  be  insupportable  were  it  not  for  these 
unions  of  the  pathetic  and  the  comic,  as  our  poets 
well  know.  Aristophanes  only  exhibits  the  most 
harrowing  forms  of  human  madness  in  the  laugh- 
ing mirror  of  wit ;  Goethe  only  presumes  to  set 
forth  the  fearful  pain  of  thought  comprehending 
its  own  nothingness  in  the  doggrel  of  a  puppet- 
show,  and  Shakespeare  puts  the  most  agonising 
lamentations  on  the  misery  of  the  world  in  the 
mouth  of  a  fool,  who  meanwhile  rattles  his  cap 
and  bells  in  all  the  nervous  suffering  of  pain. 

They  have  all  learned  from  the  great  First  Poet, 
who,  in  his  World  Tragedy  in  thousands  of  acts, 
knows  how  to  carry  humour  to  the  highest  point, 
as  we  see  every  day : — after  the  departure  of  the 
heroes,  the  clowns  and  gradosos  enter  with  their 
baubles  and  lashes,  and  after  the  bloody  scenes  of 
the  Eevolution  there  came  waddling  on  the  stage 


IDEAS.  333 

the  fat  Bourbons,  with  their  stale  jokes  and  tender 
"  legitimate  "  hon  mots,  and  the  old  noblesse  with 
their  starved  laughter  hopped  merrily  before  them, 
while  behind  all  swept  the  pious  Capuchins  with 
candles,  cross,  and  banners  of  the  Church.  Yes, 
even  in  the  highest  pathos  of  the  "World  Tragedy 
bits  of  fun  slip  in.  It  may  be  that  the  desperate 
republican,  who,  like  a  Brutus,  plunged  a  knife  to 
his  heart,  first  smelt  it  to  see  whether  some  one 
had  not  split  a  herring  with  it — and  on  this  great 
stage  of  the  world  all  passes  exactly  the  same 
as  on  our  beggarly  boards.  On  it,  too,  there  are 
tipsy  heroes,  kings  who  forget  their  parts,  scenes 
which  obstinately  stay  up  in  the  air,  prompters' 
voices  sounding  above  everything,  danseuses  who 
create  astonishing  effects  with  their  leg-poetry, 
and,  above  all,  costumes,  which  are  and  ever  wiU  be 
the  main  thing.  And  high  in  heaven,  in  the  first 
row  of  the  boxes,  sit  the  lovely  angels,  and  keep 
their  lorgnettes  on  us  poor  sinners  comedianising 
here  down  below,  and  the  blessed  Lord  himself 
sits  seriously  in  his  splendid  seat,  and,  perhaps, 
finds  it  dull,  or  calculates  that  this  theatre  cannot 
be  kept  up  much  longer  because  this  one  gets  too 
high  a  salary,  and  that  one  too  Little,  and  that 
they  altogether  play  far  too  indifferently. 

Bu  sublime  au  ridicule  U  viy  a  qu'un  pas, 
Madame !  As  I  ended  the  last  chapter  narrating 
to  you  how  Monsieur  Le  Grand  died,  and  how  I 


334 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


conscientiouslj  executed  the  testamentujn  milUare, 
which  lay  in  his  last  glance,  some  one  knocked  at 
my  room-door,  and  there  entered  an  old  woman, 
who  asked  pleasantly  if  I  were  not  a  doctor. 
And  as  I  assented,  she  asked  me  in  a  friendly, 
patronising  tone  to  go  with  her  to  her  house,  that. 
I  might  there  cut  the  corns  of  her  husband. 


CHAPTER  XIL 
The  German  censors  of  the  press — 


blockheads 


CHAPTER  XIII.  j 

Madame!  under  Leda's  productive  hemispheres 
lay  in  embryo  the  whole  Trojan  world,  and  you 
could  never  understand  the  far-famed  tears  of 
Priam  if  I  did  not  first  tell  you  of  the  ancient 


IDEAS.  33S 

eggs  of  the  swan ;  therefore,  I  pray  you,  do  not 
complain  of  my  digressions.  In  every  foregoing 
and  foregone  chapter  there  is  not  a  line  which 
does  not  belong  to  the  business  in  hand.  I  write 
in  bonds;  I  avoid  all  superfluity;  I  ever  and 
often  neglect  the  necessary.  For  instance,  I  have 
not  regularly  cited,  I  do  not  mean  spirits,  but,  on 
the  contrary,  beings  which  are  often  quite  spirit- 
less, that  is  to  say,  authors ;  and  yet  the  citation 
of  old  and  new  books  is  the  chief  pleasure  of  a 
young  author,  and  a  few  fundamentally  erudite 
quotations  often  adorn  the  entire  man.  Never 
believe,  Madame,  that  I  am  wanting  in  knowledge 
of  titles  of  books.  Moreover,  I  have  caught  the 
knack  of  those  great  souls  who  know  how  to  pick 
conanders  out  of  biscuit  and  citations  from  college 
lecture-books ;  and  I  can  also  tell  whence  Bartle 
brought  the  new  wine.  Nay,  in  case  of  need,  I 
can  negotiate  a  loan  of  quotations  from  my  learned 

friends.    My  friend  G ,  in  Berlin,  is,  so  to 

speak,  a  little  Bothschild  in  quotations,  and  will 
gladly  lend  me  a  few  millions;  and  if  he  does 
not  happen  to  have  them  about  him,  I  can  easily 
find  some  cosmopolite  spiritual  bankers  who  have. 
Apropos,  Madame,  the  three  per  cent  Bockhs  are 
dull,  but  the  five  per  cent.  Hegels  have  risen. 
But  what  need  of  loans  have  I,  who  am  a  man 
who  stands  well  with  the  world,  and  have  my 
annual  income  of  io,ocx)  quotations  to  spend  at 


336 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


will  ?  I  have  even  discovered  the  art  of  passing 
off  forged  quotations  for  genuine.  If  any  wealthy 
literary  man — for  instance,  Michael  Beer — would 
like  to  buy  this  secret,  I  will  cheerfully  sell  it  for 
19,000  current  dollars,  or  will  trade  with  him. 
Another  of  my  discoveries  I  will  impart  gratis 
for  the  benefit  of  literature. 

I  hold  it  to  be  an  advisable  thing  when  quoting 
from  an  obscure  author  to  invariably  give  the 
number  of  his  house. 

These  "  good  men  and  bad  musicians,"  as  the 
orchestra  is  termed  in  Ponce  de  Leon — these  un- 
known authors  almost  invariably  still  possess  a 
copy  of  their  long  out-of-print  works,  and  to  hunt 
up  this  latter  it  is  necessary  to  know  the  number 
of  their  houses.  If  I  wanted,  for  example,  to  find 
"  Spitta's  Song  Book  for  Travelling  Journeymen 
Mechanics,"  my  dear  Madame,  where  would  you 
look  for  the  book  ?    But  if  quoted —  I 

"  Vide  Song  Book  for  Travelling  Journeymen 
Apprentices,  by  P.  Spitta,  Ltineburg,  Luner  Street, 
No.  2,  right  hand,  around  the  corner." 

So  you  could,  if  it  were  worth  your  while, 

Madame,  hunt  up  the  book.     But  it  is  710^  worth 
the  while. 

Moreover,  Madame,  you  can  have  no  idea  of 
ihQfacUUy  with  which  I  quote.  Everywhere  do 
I  discover  opportunities  to  parade  my  profound 
pedantry.     If  I  chance  to  mention  eating,  I  at 


IDEAS.  337 

once  remark  in  a  note  that  the  Greeks,  Bomans, 
and  Hebrews  also  ate;  I  quote  all  the  costly 
dishes  which  were  prepared  by  Lucullus's  cook — 
woe  me,  that  I  was  born  fifteen  hundred  years  too 
lata  I  also  remark  that  these  meals  were  called 
this,  that,  or  the  other  by  the  Eomans,  and  that  the 
Spartans  ate  bad  black  broth.  After  all,  it  is  well 
that  I  did  not  live  in  those  days,  for  I  can  ima- 
gine nothing  more  terrible  than  if  I,  poor  devil, 
had  been  a  Spartan.  Soup  is  my  favourite  dish. 
Madame,  I  have  thought  of  going  next  year  to 
London,  but  if  it  is  really  true  that  no  soup  is  to 
be  had  there,  a  deep  longing  will  soon  drive  me 
back  to  the  soup  flesh-pots  of  the  Fatherland.  I 
could  also  dilate  by  the  hour  on  the  cookery  of 
the  ancient  Hebrews,  and  also  descend  into  the 
kitchen  of  the  Jews  of  the  present  day.  I  may 
cite  apropos  of  this  the  entire  Steinweg.  I  might 
also  allege  the  refined  manner  in  which  many 
Berlin  savaTis  have  expressed  themselves  relative 
to  Jewish  eating,  which  would  lead  me  to  the 
other  excellences  and  pre-eminencies  of  the  chosen 
people  to  which  we  are  indebted — as,  for  instance, 
their  invention  of  bills  of  exchange  and  Chris- 
tianity. But  hold!  it  will  hardly  do  for  me  to 
praise  the  latter  too  highly,  not  having  as  yet  made 
much  use  of  it,  and  I  believe  that  the  Jews  them- 
selves have  not  profited  so  much  by  it  as  by  their 
bills  of  exchange.    While  on  the  Jews  I  could 

VOL.  I.  Y 


338 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


appropriately  quote  Tacitus ;  he  says  that  they 
honoured  asses  in  their  temples,  and  what  a  field 
of  rich  erudition  and  quotation  opens  on  us  here  1 
How  many  a  noteworthy  thing  can  be  adduced  on 
ancient  tisses  as  opposed  to  the  modern !  How 
intelligent  were  the  former,  and,  ah!  how  stupid 
are  the  latter!  How  reasonably,  for  instance, 
spoke  the  ass  of  B.  Balaam !  .    | 

Vide  Pentat.     Lib.         —  —  — 

Madame,  I  have  not  the  work  just  at  hand,  and 
will  here  leave  a  hiatus  to  be  filled  at  a  convenient 
opportunity.  On  the  other  hand,  to  confirm  my 
assertion  of  the  dulness,  tameness,  and  stupidity 
of  modem  asses,  I  may  allege 

Vide  —  —  —  —     i       — 


—  —  No,  I  will  leave  these  quotations  also 
unquoted,  otherwise  I  myself  will  be  cited — 
namely,  injuriarum  or  for  scan.  mag.  The  modern 
asses  are  great  asses.  The  antique  asses,  who  had 
reached  such  a  pitch  of  refinement 

Vide  Gesneri  de  antigua  honestate  asinorum. 
{In  comment.  Gotting.  t.  iL  p.  32). 

—  would  turn  in  their  graves  could  they  hear  how 
people  talk  about  their  descendants.  Once  "  Ass  " 
was  an  honourable  title,  signifying  as  much  as 
"Court  Councillor,"  "Baron,"  "Doctor  of  Philo- 
sophy."    Jacob  compared  his  son  Issachar  to  one. 


y 


IDEAS.  339 

Homer  his  hero  Ajax,  and  now  we  compare  Mr. 

von to  the  same. 

Madame,  while  speaking  of  sitch  asses  I  could 
sink  deep  into  literary  history,  and  mention  all 
the  great  men  who  ever  were  in  love — for  example, 
Abelardus,  Picus  Mirandola,  Borbonius,  Curtesius, 
Angelas  Politianus,  Eaymondus  LuUius,  and 
Henricus  Heineus.  While  on  Love  I  could  men- 
tion all  the  great  men  who  never  smoked  tobacco, 
as,  for  instance,  Cicero,  Justinian,  Goethe,  Hugo, 
I  myself — by  chance  it  happens  that  we  are  all 
five  a  sort  of  half-and-half  lawyers.  Mabillion 
could  not  for  an  instant  endure  the  piping  of 
another,  for  in  his  Itinere  Germanico  he  com- 
plains as  regarded  the  German  taverns,  "quod 
molestus  ijpsifuerit  tahaci  grave  oleTUis  foetor."  On 
the  other  hand,  very  great  men  have  manifested 
an  extraordinary  partiality  for  tobacco.  Eaphael 
Thorus  wrote  a  hymn  in  its  praise.  Madame,  you 
may  not  perhaps  be  aware  that  Isaac  Elzevir  pub- 
lished it  in  1628  at  Leyden  in  quarto,  and  Ludo- 
vicus  Kinschot  wrote  an  oration  in  verses  on  the 
same  subject.  Graevius  has  even  composed  a 
sonnet  on  the  soothing  herb,  and  the  great  Box- 
hornius  also  loved  tobacco.  Bayle,  in  his  Diet. 
Hist,  et  Critiq.,  remarks  of  him  that  in  smoking 
he  wore  a  hat  with  a  broad  brim,  in  the  forepart 
of  which  he  had  a  hole,  through  which  the  pipe 
was  stuck  that  it  might  not  hinder  his  studies. 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

Apropos  of  Bozhomius,  I  might  cite  all  the  great 
literati  who  were  threatened  with  bucks'  horns, 
and  who  ran  away  in  terror.  But  I  will  only 
mention  Joh.  Georg  Martina :  de  fuga  literatorum, 
et  cetera,  etc.,  &e.  If  we  go  through  history, 
Madame,  we  find  that  all  great  men  have  been 
obliged  to  run  away  once  in  their  lives:  Lot, 
Tarquin,  Moses,  Jupiter,  Madame  de  Stael,  Nebu- 
chadnezzar, Benjowsky,  Mahomet,  the  whole  Prus- 
sian army,  Gregory  VIL,  Rabbi  Jizchak  Abarbanel, 
Rousseau  —  to  which  I  could  add  very  many 
other  names,  as,  for  instance,  those  whose  names 
stand  on  the  black  board  of  the  Exchange.* 

So,  Madame,  you  see  that  I  am  not  wanting  in 
well-grounded  erudition  and  profundity.  Only  in 
systematology  am  I  a  little  behindhand.  As  a 
genuine  German,  I  ought  to  have  begun  this  book 
with  a  full  explanation  of  its  title,  as  is  usual  in 
the  Holy  Roman  Empire,  by  custom  and  by  pre- 
scription. Phidias,  it  is  true,  made  no  preface  to 
his  Jupiter,  as  little  to  the  Medicean  Venus — I 
have  regarded  her  from  every  point  of  view,  with- 
out finding  the  slightest  introduction ;  but  the  old 
Greeks  were  Greeks,  and  when  a  man  is  a  decent. 


1  In  some  German  cities  the  names  of  absconding  bankmpta 
•re  permanently  placarded  on  the  Exchange.  In  America,  such 
names  are  published  in  a  much  more  original  manner,  viz.,  by 
changing  them  into  verbs  synonymous  of  "  grabbing  and  bolt- 
ing," «.jr. ,  to  Swartwout,  to  Schnylerise.  i 


IDEAS.  lit 

honest,  hononrable  German,  he  cannot  lay  aside 
his  German  nature,  and  I  must  accordingly  "  hold 
forth  "  in  regular  order  on  the  title  of  my  book. 
Madame,  I  shall  consequently  proceed  to  speak 
I.  Of  ideas. 
A.  Of  ideas  in  general 
a.   Of  reasonable  ideas. 
/3.  Of  unreasonable  ideas. 
a.    Of  ordinary  ideas. 
/9.  Of  ideas  covered  with  green  leather. 

These  are  again  divided  into  — as  will 

appear  in  due  time  and  place. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

Madame,  have  you,  on  the  whole,  an  idea  of  an 
idea  ?  What  is  an  idea  ?  "  There  are  some  good 
ideas  in  the  build  of  this  coat,"  said  my  tailor  to 
me,  as  he  with  earnest  attention  gazed  on  the 
overcoat  which  dates  in  its  origin  from  my  Berlin 
dandy  days,  and  from  which  a  respectable  quiet 
dressing-gown  is  now  to  be  manufactured.  My 
washerwoman  complains  that  the  Reverend  Mr. 

S has  been  putting  "  ideas  "  into  the  head  of 

her  daughter,  which  have  made  her  foolish  and 
unreasonable.  The  coachman,  Pattensen,  grumbles 
out  on  every  occasion,  *' That's  an  idea!  that's 


>•  •  -  -=1  ,■-- 


^^»j'*  .  ■  "  *_  ^ 


34a  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

'   \    ■  I 

an  ideal"  Yesterday  evening  he  was  regularly 
vexed  when  I  inquired  what  sort  of  a  thing  he 
imagined  an  idea  to  be?  And  vexedly  did  he 
growl,  "  JVw,  Nu, — an  idea  is  an  idea ! — an  idea  is 

any  d d  nonsense  that  a  man  gets  into  his 

head."  It  is  in  this  signification  that  the  word  is 
used  as  the  title  of  a  book  by  the  Court  Coun- 
cillor Heeren  in  Gfittingen.  j 

The  coachman  Pattensen  is  a  man  who  can 
find  his  way  through  night  and  mist  over  the 
broad  Liineburger  Heath  ; — the  Court  Councillor 
Heeren  is  one  who,  with  equally  cunning  instinct, 
can  discover  the  ancient  caravan  road  to  the  East, 
and  plods  on  thither  as  safely  and  as  patiently  as 
any  camel  of  antiquity.^  We  can  trust  such 
people  and  follow  them  without  doubt,  and  there- 
fore I  have  entitled  this  book  "  Ideas." 

But  the  title  of  the  book  signifies,  on  that 
account,  as  little  as  the  title  of  its  author.  It 
was  chosen  by  him  under  any  inspiration  save 
that  of  pride,  and  should  be  interpreted  to  signify 
anything  but  vanity.  Accept,  Madame,  my  most 
sorrowful  assurance  that  I  am  not  vain.  This 
remark — as  you  yourself  were  about  to  remark — 
is  necessary.  I  am  not  vain — I  would  not  become 
80  if  a  forest  of  laurels  grew  on  my  head  and  a 


*  A  eamd  in  French  means  a  prostitute,  and  in  German  a 
■tapid,  plodding  : 


IDEAS.  343 

sea  of  incense  were  poured  into  my  young  heart, 
still  I  would  not  be  vain.  My  friends,  as  well  as 
divers  more  or  less  contemptible  contemporaries, 
have  fully  taken  care  of  that  in  advance  of  you. 
You  know,  Madame,  that  old  women  are  accus- 
tomed to  take  children  down  a  little  when  any 
one  praised  their  beauty  lest  praise  might  hurt  the 
little  darlings.  You  remember,  too,  Madame,  that 
in  Rome  when  any  one  who  had  gained  a  military 
triumph  and  rode  like  a  god,  crowned  with  glory 
and  arrayed  in  purple  on  his  golden  chariot  with 
white  horses  from  the  Campus  Martins^  amid  a 
festal  train  of  Kctors,  musicians,  dancers,  priests, 
slaves,  elephants,  trophy-bearers,  consuls,  senators, 
soldiers:  then  behind  him  the  vulgar  mob  sang 
all  manner  of  mocking  songs.  And  you  know, 
Madame,  that  in  our  beloved  Germany  there  are 
many  old  women  and  a  very  great  vulgar  mob. 

As  I  intimated,  Madame,  the  ideas  here  alluded 
to  are  as  remote  from  those  of  Plato  as  Athens 
from  Gottingen,  and  you  should  no  more  form 
imdue  expectations  as  to  the  book  than  as  to  its 
author.  In  fact,  how  the  latter  could  ever  have 
excited  anything  of  the  sort  is  as  incomprehen- 
sible to  me  as  to  my  friends.  The  Countess  Julia 
explains  the  matter  by  assuring  us  that  when  he 
says  anything  really  witty  and  original,  he  only 
does  it  to  humbug  the  world,  and  that  he  is  in 
fact  as  stupid  as  any  other  mortal.    That  is  false 


■  i*«fi.(MrJ»  •i.j..__^  ^J  \' 


J44 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


— ^I  do  not  humbug  at  tdl ;  I  sing  just  as  my  bill 
grows.  I  write  in  all  innocence  and  simplicity 
whatever  comes  into  my  head,  and  it  is  not  my 
fault  if  that  happens  to  be  something  dashed  with 
genius.  At  any  rate,  I  have  better  luck  in  writing 
than  in  the  Altona  Lottery — I  wish  that  it  was 
the  other  way — and  there  come  from  my  pen 
many  heart-stunners,  many  choirs  of  thought,* 
all  of  which  is  done  by  the  Lord;  for  He  who 
has  denied  to  the  most  devoted  psalm-makers 
and  moral  poets  all  beautiful  thoughts  and  all 
literary  reputation,  lest  they  should  be  praised 
too  much  by  their  earthly  fellow-creatures,  and 
thereby  forget  heaven,  where  the  angels  have 
already  engaged  board  for  them  in  advance— He, 
I  say,  provides  us  other  profane,  sinful,  heretical 
authors,  for  whom  heaven  is  as  good  as  nailed  up, 
all  the  more  with  admirable  ideas  and  earthly 
fame,  and  this  indeed  from  divine  grace  and 
mercy,  so  that  the  poor  souls,  since  they  are 
really  here,  be  not  altogether  wanting,  and  that 
they  may  at  least  enjoy  upon  earth  some  of  that 
joy  which  is  denied  to  them  in  heaven.  ! 

Vide  Goethe  and  the  tract-writers.  •  i 

You  consequently  see,  Madame,  that  you  can, 
without  distrust,  read  my  writings,  as  they  set 
forth  the  grace  and  mercy  of  God.     I  write  in 


*  Qoires  of  thought.     OedankenguaUme. 


«i..  ^ 


•    *t^^  ->jv  *.•! 


IDEAS,  345 

blind  reliance  on  His  omnipotence.  I  am  in  this 
respect  a  true  Christian  author,  and,  to  speak  like 
Gubitz,  even  in  this  present  paragraph  do  not 
know  exactly  how  I  am  going  to  bring  it  to  an 
end,  and  to  efifect  it  I  trust  entirely  to  the  aid  of 
the  Lord.  And  how  could  I  write  without  this 
pious  reliance  ? — for  lo  1  even  now  there  stands 
before  me  the  devil  from  Langhoffs  printing- 
office,  waiting  for  copy,  and  the  new-born  word 
wanders  warm  and  wet  to  the  press,  and  what 
I  at  this  instant  think  and  feel  may  to-morrow 
be  waste  paper. 

It  is  all  veiy  fine,  Madame,  to  remind  me  of 
the  Horatian  nonum  prematur  in  annum.  This 
rule,  like  many  others,  may  be  very  pretty  in 
theory,  but  is  worth  little  in  practica  When 
Horace  gave  to  the  author  that  celebrated  precept, 
to  let  his  works  lie  nine  years  in  the  desk,  he 
should  also  have  given  with  it  a  receipt  for  living 
nine  years  without  food.  While  Horace  was  in- 
venting this  advice,  he  sat,  in  all  probability,  at 
the  table  of  MsBcenas  eating  roast  turkey  with 
truffles,  pheasant  puddings  with  venison  sauce, 
ribs  of  larks  with  mangled  turnips,  peacock's 
tongues,  Indian  bird's  nests,  and  the  Lord  knows 
what  all,  and  everything  gratis  at  that.  But  wo, 
the  unlucky  ones,  born  too  late,  live  in  another 
sort  of  times.  Our  Msecenases  have  an  altogether 
different  set  of    principles ;    they   believe  that 


■»!».-.. 


346 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


authors,  like  medlars,  are  best  after  they  have 
lain  some  time  on  straw ;  they  believe  that  lite- 
rary hounds  are  spoiled  for  hunting  similes  and 
thoughts  if  they  are  fed  too  high ;  and  when  they 
do  take  it  into  their  heads  to  give  to  some  one  a 
feed,  it  is  generally  the  worst  dog  who  gets  the 
biggest  piece, — some  fawning  spaniel  who  licks  the 
hand,  or  diminutive  "  King  Charles  "  who  knows 
how  to  cuddle  up  into  a  lady's  perfumed  lap,  or 
some  patient  puppy  of  a  poodle,  who  has  learned 
some  bread-earning  science,  and  who  can  fetch 
and  carry,  dance,  and  drum.  While  I  write  this, 
my  little  pug-dog  behind  me  begins  to  bark.  Be 
still  there.  Ami !  I  did  not  mean  you,  for  you 
love  me,  and  accompany  your  master  about,  in 
need  and  danger,  and  you  would  die  on  my  grave, 
as  true-heartedly  as  many  ^her  German  dogs,  who, 
turned  away,  lie  before  the  gates  of  Germany, 
and  hunger  and  whine.  Excuse  me,  Madame, 
for  digressing  merely  to  vindicate  the  honour  of 
my  dog : — I  now  return  to  the  Horatian  rule  and 
its  inapplicability  in  the  nineteenth  century,  when 
poets  are  compelled  to  make  cream-pot  love  to  the 
Muse.  Ma  foi,  Madame,  I  could  never  observe 
that  rule  for  four-and-twenty  hours,  let  alone  nine 
years;  my  belly  has  no  appreciation  of  the  beauties 
of  immortality.  I  have  thought  the  matter  over, 
and  concluded  that  it  is  better  to  be  only  half 
immortal  and  altogether  fat ;  and  if  Voltaire  was 


1 »  _ 


m  "•!.  .>*<«    t  > 


IDEAS.         -    -    »  347 

willing  to  give  three  hnndred  years  of  his  eternal 
fame  for  one  good  digestion,  so  would  I  give  twice 
as  much  for  the  dinner  itself.  And  oh !  what  lovely 
beautiful  eating  there  is  in  this  world !  The  philo- 
sopher Pangloss  is  right — it  is  the  best  world! 
But  one  must  have  money  in  this  best  of  worlds — 
money  iu  the  pocket,  not  manuscripts  in  the  desk. 
Mr.  Marr,  mine  host  of  "  The  King  of  Englemd," 
is  himself  an  author,  and  also  knows  the  Horatian 
rule,  but  I  do  not  believe  that  if  I  wished  to  put 
it  into  practice,  he  would  feed  me  for  nine  years. 
And  why,  in  fact,  should  I  practise  it  ?  I  have 
80  much  which  is  good  to  write  of,  that  I  have  no 
occasion  to  fritter  away  time  over  "  tight  papers." 
So  long  as  my  heart  is  full  of  love,  and  the  heads 
of  my  fellow-mortals  full  of  folly,  I  shall  never 
be  hot  pressed  for  writing  material.  And  my 
heart  will  ever  love  so  long  as  there  are  women ; 
should  it  cool  over  one,  it  will  immediately  fire 
up  over  another,  and  as  the  king  never  dies  in 
France,  so  the  queen  never  dies  in  my  heart,  where 
the  word  is  Za  reine  est  morte,  vive  la  reine  /  And 
in  like  manner  the  folly  of  my  fellow-mortals 
will  live  for  ever.  For  there  is  but  one  wisdom, 
and  it  hath  its  fixed  limits,  but  there  are  a  thou- 
sand illimitable  follies.  The  learned  casuist  and 
carer  for  souls,  Schupp,  even  saith  that  in  the 
world  are  more  fools  than  human  beings. 

Vide  Schupp's  **  Instructive  Writings/*  p.  1121. 


34S 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


If  we  remember  that  the  great  Schuppins  lived 
in  Hamburg,  we  may  find  that  his  statistical 
return  was  not  exaggerated.  I  am  now  in  the 
same  place,  and  may  say  that  I  really  become 
cheerful,  and  when  I  reflect  that  all  these  fools 
whom  I  see  here  can  be  used  in  my  writings; 
they  are  cash  down,  ready  money,  I  feel  like  a 
diamond  in  cotton.  The  Lord  hath  blessed  me; 
the  fool- crop  has  turned  out  uncommonly  well 
this  year,  and,  like  a  good  landlord,  I  consume 
only  a  few  at  a  time,  and  lay  up  the  best  for 
the  future.  People  see  me  out  walking,  and 
wonder  that  I  am  jolly  and  cheerfuL  Like  a 
rich,  plump  merchant,  who,  rubbing  his  hands 
with  genial  joy,  wanders  here  and  there  amid 
chests,  bales,  boxes,  and  casks,  even  so  do  I 
wander  around  among  my  people.  Ye  are  all 
my  mine  own !  Ye  are  all  equally  dear  to  me, 
and  I  love  ye,  as  ye  yourselves  love  your  own 
gold,  and  that  is  more  than  a  little.  Oh,  how  I 
laughed  from  my  heart  when  I  lately  heard  that 
one  of  my  people  had  asserted  with  concern  that 
he  knew  not  how  I  could  live,  or  what  means  I 
had ;  and  yet  he  himself  is  such  a  first-rate  fool 
that  I  could  live  from  him  alone  as  on  a  capitaL 
Many  a  fool  is,  however,  to  me  not  only  ready 
money,  but  I  have  already  determined  in  my  own 
mind  what  is  to  be  done  with  the  cash  which  I 
intend  to  write  out  of  him,     Thus,  for  instance. 


■  ■f' 


rf   ■•'.-'•<•■. 


0  *f^    ^  .  ^m 


IDEAS,  349 

from  a  certain  well-lined  plump  millionaire  I  shall 
write  me  a  certain  well-lined  plump  arm-chair. 
From  his  fat  millionairess  I  will  buy  me  a  horse. 
When  I  see  the  plump  old  gentleman — a  camel 
will  get  into  heaven  before  that  man  would  ever 
go  through  the  eye  of  a  needle — when  I  see  him 
waddling  along  on  the  Promenade,  a  wondrous 
feeling  steals  over  me.  I  salute  him  involuntarily, 
though  I  have  no  acquaintance  with  him,  and  he 
greets  me  again  so  invitingly,  that  I  would  fain 
avail  myself  of  his  goodness  on  the  spot  and  sit 
on  him  at  once,  and  am  only  prevented  by  the 
sight  of  the  many  gaily  dressed  people  passing  by. 
His  lady  wife  is  not  so  bad-looking ;  she  has,  it  is 
true,  only  one  eye,  but  that  is  all  the  greener  on 
that  account;  her  nose  is  like  the  tower  which 
looketh  forth  towards  Damascus ;  her  bosom  is 
broad  as  the  billowy  sea,  and  all  sorts  of  ribbons 
flutter  above  it,  like  the  flags  of  the  ships  which 
have  long  since  sailed  over  this  ocean  bosom — ^it 
makes  one  sea-sick  just  to  glance  at  it ;  her  neck 
is  quite  as  fair  and  plumply  rounded  as — ^the 
comparison  will  be  found  further  on — and  on  the 
violet  blue  curtain  which  covers  this  comparison, 
thousands  on  thousands  of  silkworms  have  spun 
away  their  lives.  And  I  stand  there,  with  folded 
arms,  looking  pleasedly  on  her  as  she  goes,  and 
reflect  whether  I  shall  ride  my  steed  with  a  curbed 
bit  or  a  sna£9e-bridle.    People  who  see  me  stand- 


3SO 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


ing  thus  cannot  conceive  what  there  can  be  in 
the  lady  which  so  attracts  me.  Meddling  scandal- 
bearing  tongues  have  already  tried  to  make  her 
husband  uneasy,  and  insinuated  that  I  looked  on 
his  wife  with  the  eye  of  a  roiL4.  But  my  honest, 
soft  leather  chair  has  answered  that  he  regards 
me  as  an  innocent,  even  somewhat  bashful  youth, 
who  looks  carefully,  like  one  desirous  of  nearer 
acquaintance,  but  who  is  restrained  by  blushing 
bashfulness.  My  lady  steed  thinks,  on  the  con- 
trary, that  I  have  a  free,  independent,  chivalric  air, 
and  that  my  salutatory  politeness  only  expresses 
a  wish  to  be  invited  for  once  to  dinner  with  her. 

You  see,  Madame,  that  I  can  thus  use  every- 
body, and  that  the  city  directory  is  really  the 
inventory  of  my  property.  And  I  can  conse- 
quently never  become  bankrupt,  for  my  creditors 
themselves  are  my  profits,  or  will  be  changed  to 
such.  Moreover,  as  I  before  said,  I  live  economi- 
cally,— d d  economically !   For  instance,  while 

I  write  this,  I  sit  in  a  dark,  noisy  room,  on  the 
"  Dismal  street ; "  but  I  cheerfully  endure  it,  for 
I  could,  if  I  only  chose,  sit  in  the  most  beautiful 
garden,  as  well  as  my  friends  and  my  loves,  for 
I  only  need  at  once  realise  my  schnapps-clients. 
These,  Madame,  consist  of  decayed  hairdressers, 
broken-down  panders,  bankrupt  keepers  of  eating- 
houses,  who  themselves  can  get  nothing  to  eat — 
finished  blackguards,  who  know  where  to  seek  me. 


IDEAS.  3SI 

and  who,  for  the  wherewithal  to  buy  a  drink 
(money  down),  furnish  me  with  all  the  chronigue 
scandaleuse  of  their  quarter  of  the  town.  Madame, 
you  wonder  that  I  do  not,  once  for  all,  kick  such 
a  pack  out  of  doors  ?  Why,  Madame,  what  can 
you  be  thinking  of  ?  These  people  are  my  flowers. 
Some  day  I  will  write  them  all  down  in  a  beau- 
tiful book,  with  the  proceeds  from  which  I  will 
buy  me  a  garden,  and  their  red,  yellow,  blue,  and 
variegated  countenances  now  appear  to  me  like 
the  flowers  of  that  fair  garden.  What  do  I  care 
if  strange  noses  assert  that  these  flowers  smell  of 
aniseed  brandy,  tobacco,  cheese,  and  blasphemy ! 
My  own  nose,  the  chimney  of  my  head,  wherein 
the  chimney-sweep  of  my  imagination  climbs  up 
and  down,  asserts  the  contrary,  and  smells  in  the 
fellows  nothing  but  the  perfume  of  roses,  violets, 
pinks,  and  tuberoses.  Oh,  how  gloriously  will  I 
some  morning  sit  in  my  garden,  listening  to  the 
song  of  the  birds,  and  warm  my  limbs  in  the 
blessed  sunshine,  and  inhale  the  fresh  breath  of 
the  leaves,  and,  as  I  glance  at  the  flowers,  think 
of  my  old  blackguards! 

At  present  I  sit  near  the  dark  "  Dismal  street,** 
in  my  darker  room,  and  please  myself  by  hanging 
up  in  it  the  greatest  "  obscurity "  of  the  country, 
"  Mais  est  ce  qv^  voits  verrez  plus  dair  alors  V*^ 


^  Obtev^omt,  any  one  who  ''rays  oat  darkness,"  political  or  social; 
one  who  is  not  a  child  of  light,  a  reactionary,  an  anti-progresslTo. 


352 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL, 


Apparently,  Madame,  such  is  the  case,  but  do  not 
misunderstand  me ;  I  do  not  mean  that  I  hang  up 
the  man  himself,  but  the  crystal  lamp  which  I 
intend  to  buy  with  the  money  I  mean  to  write 
out  of  him.  Meanwhile,  I  believe  that  it  would 
be  clearer  through  all  creation  if  we  could  hang 
up  the  "  obscurities,"  not  in  imagination,  but  in 
reality.  But  if  they  cannot  be  hung  they  must 
be  branded — I  again  speak  figuratively,  referring 
to  branding  en  ejigie.  It  is  true  that  Herr  von 
White — he  is  white  and  innocent  as  a  lily — tried 
to  whitewash  over  my  assertion  in  Berlin  that  he 
had  really  been  branded.  On  account  of  this,  the 
fool  had  himself  inspected  by  the  authorities,  and 
obtained  from  them  a  certificate  that  his  back 
bore  no  marks,  and  he  was  pleased  to  regard  this 
negative  certificate  of  arms  as  a  diploma  which 
would  open  to  him  the  doors  of  the  best  society, 
and  was  astonished  when  they  kicked  him  out — 
and  now  he  screams  death  and  murder  at  me,  poor 
devil !  and  swears  to  shoot  me  wherever  he  finds 
me.  And  what  do  you  suppose,  Madame,  that  I 
intend  doing  ?  Madame,  from  this  fool — that  is, 
from  the  money  which  I  intend  to  write  out  of 
him — I  wiU  buy  me  a  good  barrel  of  Eudesheimer 
Ehine  wine.  I  mention  this,  that  you  may  not 
think  it  is  a  malicious  joy  which  lights  up  my 
face  whenever  I  meet  the  Herr  Von  White  in  the 
street     In  fact,  I  only  see  in  him  my  blessed 


IDEAS.  353 

Eudesheimer  J  the  instant  I  set  eyes  on  him,  I 
become  cheerful  and  genial-hearted,  and  begin  to 
trill,  in  spite  of  myself,  "  Upon  the  Ehine,  'tis 
there  our  grapes  are  growing,"  "This  picture  is 
enchanting  fair,"  "  Oh,  White  Lady."  Then  my 
Eudesheimer  looks  horribly  sour,  enough  to  make 
one  believe  that  he  was  compounded  of  nothing 
but  poison  and  gall,  but  I  assure  you,  Madame,  it 
is  a  genuine  vintage ;  and  though  the  inspector's 
mark  be  not  branded  on  it,  the  connoisseur  still 
knows  how  to  appreciate  it.  I  will  merrily  tap 
this  cask,  and  should  it  chance  to  ferment  and 
threaten  to  fly  out  dangerously,  I  will  have  it 
bound  down  with  a  few  iron  hoops  by  the  proper 
authorities. 

You  see,  therefore,  Madame,  that  you  need  not 
trouble  yourself  on  my  account.  I  can  look  at 
ease  on  all  in  this  world.  The  Lord  has  blessed 
me  in  earthly  goods,  and  if  he  has  not  exactly 
stored  the  wine  away  for  me  in  my  cellar,  he  at 
least  allows  me  to  work  in  his  vineyard.  I  only 
need  gather  my  grapes,  press  them,  barrel  them, 
cellar  them,  and  there  I  have  my  clear  heavenly 
gift ;  and  if  fools  do  not  fly  exactly  roasted  into 
my  mouth,  but  run  at  me  rather  raw,  and  not 
even  "half  baked,"  still  I  know  how  to  roast 
them,  baste  them,  and  "  give  them  pepper,"  until 
they  are  tender  and  savoury.  Oh,  Madame,  but 
you  will  enjoy  it  when  I  some  day  give  a  grand 

VOL.  I.  z 


354 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


fSte !  Madame,  you  shall  then  praise  my  kitchen. 
Tou  shall  confess  that  I  can  entertain  my  satraps  as 
pompously  as  once  did  the  great  Ahasuerus,  when 
he  was  king  from  India  even  unto  the  Blacks, 
over  one  hundred  and  seven  and  twenty  provinces. 
I  will  slaughter  whole  hecatombs  of  fools.  That 
great  Philoschnaps,  who  came  as  Jupiter  in  the 
form  of  an  ox,  and  lusted  for  favour  in  the  eyes 
of  Europa,  will  supply  the  roast  beef ;  a  tragical 
tragedian,  who,  on  the  stage,  when  it  represented 
a  tragical  Persian  kingdom,  exhibited  to  us  a 
tragical  Alexander  in  whose  education  no  Aris- 
totle took  part,  will  supply  my  table  with  a 
splendid  pig's  head,  grinning,  as  usual,  sourly 
sweet,  with  a  slice  of  lemon  in  his  mouth,  and 
shrewdly  decked  by  the  artistic  cook  with  laurel 
leaves ;  while  that  singer  of  coral  lips,  swan 
necks,  bounding,  snowy,  little  hills,  little  things, 
little  legs,  little  kisses,  and  little  assessors,  namely, 
H.  Clauren,  or,  as  the  pious  Berharder  girls  cry 
after  him  on  the  Frederick's  Street,  "Father 
Clauren  1  our  Clauren  ! "  will  supply  me  with  all 
the  dishes  which  he  knows  how  to  describe  so 
juicily  in  his  annual  little  pocket-brothels  with  all 
the  imagination  of  a  lusciously  longing  kitchen- 
maid.  And  he  shall  give  us,  over  and  above,  an 
altogether  extra  little  dish,  with  a  little  plate  of 
celery,  "for  which  the  little  heart  bounds  with 
love  ! "     A  shrewd  dried-up  maid  of  honour  will 


IDEAS.  35f 

give  us  a  similar  dish,  namely,  asparagus,  and 
there  will  be  no  want  of  Gottingen  sausages, 
Hamburg  smoked  beef,  Pomeranian  geese-breasts, 
ox  tongues,  calves'  brains,  "  cheek,"  salt  fish, 
steamed  calves'  brains,  "small  potatoes,"  and 
therewith  all  sorts  of  jellies,  Berlin  pancakes, 
Vienna  tarts,  comfits. 

Madame,  I  have  already,  in  imagination,  over- 
eaten myself!  The  devil  take  such  gormandis- 
ing !  I  cannot  stand  much,  my  digestion  is  bad ; 
the  hog's  head  acts  on  me  as  on  the  rest  of  the 
German  public.  I  must  eat  a  Wilibald- Alexis 
salad  on  it — that  purges  and  purifies.  Oh,  the 
wretched  hog's  head!  with  the  still  wretcheder 
sauce,  which  has  neither  a  Grecian  nor  a  Persian 
flavour,  but  which  tastes  like  tea  and  soft  soap ! 
Bring  me  my  plump  millionaire  ! 


CHAPTER  XY. 

Madame,  I  observe  a  faint  cloud  of  discontent  on 
your  lovely  brow,  and  you  seem  to  ask  if  it  is  not 
wrong  that  I  should  thus  dress  fools,  stick  them 
on  the  spit,  carbonado  them,  lard  them,  and  even 
butcher  many  which  must  lie  untouched  save  by 
the  sharp  bills  of  the  fowls  of  the  air,  while  widows 
and  orphans  cry  for  want  ? 


356 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


Madame,  c*est  la  guerre  !  But  now  I  will  solve 
you  the  whole  riddle.  I  myself  am  by  no  means 
one  of  the  wise  ones,  but  I  have  joined  their 
party,  and  now  for  five  thousand  five  hundred 
and  eighty-eight  years  we  have  been  carrying  on 
war  with  the  fools.  The  fools  believe  that  thev 
have  been  wronged  by  us,  inasmuch  as  they 
believe  that  there  was  once  in  the  world  but 
a  certain  determined  quantity  of  reason,  which 
was  thievishly  appropriated — the  Lord  only  knows 
how — by  the  wise  men,  and  it  is  a  sin  which 
cries  to  heaven  to  see  how  much  sense  one 
man  often  gets,  while  aU  his  neighbours,  and, 
indeed,  the  whole  country  for  miles  around,  is 
fairly  befogged  with  stupidity.  This  is  the  veri- 
table secret  cause  of  war,  and  it  is  most  truly 
a  war  of  extermination.  The  intelligent  show 
themselves,  as  usual,  the  calmest,  most  moderate, 
and  most  intelligent ;  they  sit  firmly  fortified 
behind  their  ancient  Aristotelian  works,  have 
much  ordnance,  and  also  ammunition,  in  store — 
for  they  themselves  were  the  inventors  of  powder 
— and  now  and  then  they  shoot  a  well-aimed 
bomb  among  their  foes.  But,  unfortunately,  the 
latter  are  by  far  the  most  numerous,  and  their 
outcries  are  terrible,  and  day  by  day  they  do  the 
most  cruel  deeds  of  torture — for,  in  fact,  every 
folly  is  a  torture  to  the  wise.  Their  military 
stratagems  are  often  very  cunning  indeed.     Some 


IDEAS.  357 

of  the  chiefs  of  the  great  Fool  Army  take  good 
care  not  to  admit  the  secret  origin  of  the  war. 
They  have  heard  that  a  well-known  deceitful 
man,  who  advanced  so  far  in  the  art  of  falsehood 
that  he  ended  by  writing  false  memoirs — I  mean 
Fouch^ — once  asserted  that  les  paroles  sont  faites 
pour  Turns  cacher  nos  pensies ;  and  therefore  they 
talk  a  great  deal  in  order  to  conceal  their  want 
of  thought,  and  make  long  speeches  and  write  big 
books ;  and  if  any  one  is  listening,  they  praise  that 
only  spring  of  true  happiness,  namely,  wisdom ; 
and  if  any  one  is  looking  on  at  them,  they  work 
away  at  mathematics,  logic,  statistics,  mechanical 
improvements,  plain  citizen-like  common-sense, 
stable-fodder,  and  so  forth ;  and  as  a  monkey  is 
more  ridiculous  the  more  he  resembles  man,  so 
are  these  fools  more  laughable  the  more  reasonably 
they  behave.  Other  chiefs  of  the  great  army  are 
more  open-hearted,  and  confess  that  their  own 
share  of  wisdom  is  not  remarkably  great,  and 
that  perhaps  they  never  had  any,  but  they  cannot 
refrain  from  asserting  that  wisdom  is  a  very  sour, 
bitter  afifair,  and,  in  reality,  of  but  little  value. 
This  may  perhaps  be  true,  but,  imfortunately, 
they  have  not  wisdom  enough  to  prove  it.  They 
therefore  jump  at  every  means  of  vindication, 
discover  new  powers  in  themselves,  explain  that 
these  are  quite  as  effectual  as  reason,  and,  in 
some  cases,  much  more  so — for  instance,  feeling, 


358 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


faith,  inspiration — and  with  this  surrogate  of  wis- 
dom, this  beet-rooted  reason,  they  console  them- 
selves. I,  poor  devil,  am  especially  hated  by  them, 
as  they  assert  that  I  originally  belonged  to  their 
party,  that  I  am  a  runaway,  a  fugitive,  a  bolter — 
a  deserter,  who  has  broken  the  holiest  ties ; — ^yes, 
that  I  am  a  spy,  who  secretly  reveals  their  plans, 
in  order  to  subsequently  give  point  to  the  laughter 
of  the  enemy,  and  that  I  myself  am  so  stupid  as 
not  to  see  that  the  wise  at  the  same  time  laugh 
at  me,  and  never  regard  me  as  an  equal.  And 
there  the  fools  speak  sensibly  enough. 

It  is  true  that  my  party  do  not  regard  me  as 
one  of  themselves,  and  often  laugh  at  me  in  their 
sleeves.  I  know  that  right  well,  though  I  pretend 
not  to  observe  it.  But  my  heart  bleeds  within  me, 
and  when  I  am  alone,  then  my  tears  flow.  I  know 
right  well  that  my  position  is  a  false  one,  that 
all  I  do  is  folly  to  the  wise  and  a  torment  to  the 
fools.  They  hate  me,  and  I  feel  the  truth  of  the 
saying,  "  Stone  is  heavy  and  sand  is  a  burden, 
but  the  wrath  of  a  fool  is  heavier  than  both." 
And  they  do  not  hate  me  without  reason.  It  is 
perfectly  true,  I  have  torn  asunder  the  holiest 
bands,  when  I  might  have  lived  and  died  among 
the  fools,  in  the  way  of  the  law  and  of  God. 
And  oh  !  I  should  have  Uved  so  comfortably  had 
I  remained  among  them !  Even  now,  if  I  would 
repent,  they  would  still   receive  me  with   open 


IDEAS.  359 

arms.  They  would  see  by  my  eyes  if  they  could 
do  anything  to  please  me.  They  would  invite  me 
every  day  to  dinner,  and  in  the  evening  ask  me 
to  their  tea-parties  and  clubs,  and  I  could  play 
whist  with  them,  smoke,  talk  politics,  and  if  I 
yawned  from  time  to  time,  they  would  whisper 
behind  my  back,  "  What  beautiful  feelings ! " 
"  A  soul  inspired  with  such  faith  ! " — permit  me, 
Madame,  that  I  hereby  offer  up  a  tear  of  emotion 
— ah !  and  I  could  drink  punch  with  them,  too, 
until  the  proper  inspiration  came,  and  then  they 
would  bring  me  in  a  hackney-coach  to  my  house, 
anxiously  concerned  lest  I  might  catch  cold,  and 
one  would  quickly  bring  me  my  slippers,  another 
my  silk  dressing-gown,  a  third  my  white  night- 
cap, and  finally  they  would  make  me  a  "  professor 
extraordinary,"  a  president  of  a  society  for  con- 
verting the  heathen,  or  head  calculator  or  director 
of  Roman  excavations ; — and  then  I  would  be  just 
the  man  for  all  this,  inasmuch  as  I  can  very 
accurately  distinguish  the  Latin  declensions  from 
the  conjugations,  and  am  not  so  apt  as  other 
people  to  mistake  a  Prussian  postillion's  boot  for 
an  Etruscan  vase.  My  peculiar  nature,  my  faith, 
my  inspiration,  could,  besides  this,  effect  much 
good  during  the  prayer- meeting — viz.,  for  myself 
— and  then  my  remarkable  poetic  genius  would 
stand  me  in  good  stead  on  the  birthdays  and  at 
the  weddings  of  the  great ;  nor  would  it  be  a  bad 


-  ^irt   r^t -.-.i^i^  M 


3to 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


thought  if  I,  in  a  great  national  epic,  should  sing  of 
all  those  heroes,  of  whom  we  know  with  certainty 
that  from  their  mouldering  bodies  crept  worms, 
who  now  give  themselves  out  for  their  descendants. 
Many  men  who  are  not  born  fools,  and  who 
were  once  gifted  with  reason,  have  on  this  account 
gone  over  to  the  fools,  and  lead  among  them  a  real 
pays  du  Cocdgne  *  life,  and  those  follies  which  at 
first  so  pained  them  have  now  become  second 
nature — yes,  they  are  in  fact  no  longer  to  be 
regarded  as  hypocrites,  but  as  true  converts.  One 
of  these,  in  whose  head  utter  and  outer  darkness 
does  not  as  yet  entirely  prevail,  really  loves  me ; 
and  lately,  when  I  was  alone  with  him,  he  closed 
the  door,  and  said,  with  an  earnest  voice, "  Oh, 
Fool !  you  who  play  the  wise  man  and  have  not 
after  all  as  much  sense  as  a  recruit  in  his  mother's 
belly ;  know  you  not  that  the  great  in  the  land 
only  elevate  those  who  abase  themselves,  and 
esteem  their  own  blood  less  worthy  than  that  of 


^  Schlaraffenland,  or,  in  French,  "pay*  d/u  Coeagne;  in  Eng- 
lish, "  the  Jack-Pudding  Paradise  ; "  where  the  pigs  run  about 
ready  roasted,  with  puddings  in  their  bellies,  crying,  "  Come 
eat  me  1 "  as  an  old  authority  hath  it.  It  was  in  this  land  that 
"  little  King  Boggen  once  built  a  fine  halL  Pie-crust  and  pastry- 
crust — that  was  the  wall."  {Viele  Mother  Groose's  Melodies.)  In 
maritime  circles  Schlaraffenland  is  known  as  "  Fiddler's  Green." 
Sabelais  gives  us  an  idea  of  it  in  his  Thdeme,  and  Mahomet  in 
his  Koran,  while  a  fine  poem  on  the  same  subject  occurs  in  most 
collections  of  Trwwur  lau, — Note  by  TrandaAor. 


IDEAS.  361 

the  great  ?  And  now  you  would  ruin  all  among 
the  pious !  Is  it  then  such  a  difficult  thing  to  roU 
up  your  eyes  in  a  holy  rapture,  to  hide  your  arms 
crossed  in  faith  in  your  coat-sleeve,  to  let  your 
head  hang  down  like  a  lamb  of  God's,  and  to 
murmur  Bible  sayings  got  by  heart.  Believe  me, 
no  Gracious  Highness  will  reward  you  for  your 
godlessness ;  the  men  of  love  will  hate,  abuse,  and 
persecute  you,  and  you  will  never  make  your  way 
either  in  this  world  or  in  the  next." 

Ah,  me!  it  is  all  true  enough.  But  I  have 
unfortunately  contracted  this  unlucky  passion  for 
Reason.  I  love  her  though  her  love  I  can't  attain — 
I  give  her  all,  she  gives  me  naught  again.  I  can- 
not tear  myself  from  her.  And  as  once  the  Jewish 
King  Solomon  in  his  canticles  sang  the  Christian 
Church,  and  that,  too,  under  the  form  of  a  black, 
love-insatiate  maiden,  so  that  his  Jews  might  not 
suspect  what  he  was  driving  at,  so  have  I  in 
countless  lays  sung  just  the  contrary — that  is  to 
say,  Reason,  and  that  under  the  form  of  a  white 
cold  beauty,  who  attracts  and  repels  me,  who  now 
smiles  at  me,  then  scorns  me,  and  finally  turns 
her  back  on  me.  This  secret  of  my  unfortunate 
love,  which  I  reveal  to  none,  gives  you,  Madame, 
some  insight  into  my  folly.  You  doubtless  per- 
ceive that  it  is  of  an  extraordinary  description, 
and  that  it  rises,  magnificently  rises  over  the 
ordinary  follies  of  mankind.     Read  my  Badcliffe, 


362 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


my  Almanzor,  my  lyrical  Intermezzo — reason,  rea- 
son, nothing  but  recuson — and  you  will  be  terrified 
at  the  immensity  of  my  folly.  In  the  words  of 
Augur,  I  can  say,  "  I  am  the  most  foolish  of  all 
mankind,  and  the  wisdom  of  man  is  not  in  me." 

High  in  the  air  rises  the  forest  of  oaks,  high 
over  the  oaks  soars  the  eagle,  high  over  the  eagle 
sweep  the  clouds,  high  over  the  clouds  gleam  the 
stars — Madame,  is  not  that  too  high  ?  Uh  Men  ! 
high  over  the  stars  sweep  the  angels,  high  over 
the  angels  rises — no,  Madame,  my  folly  can  bring 
it  no  higher  than  this.  It  soars  high  enough.  It 
grows  giddy  before  its  own  sublimity.  It  makes 
of  me  a  giant  in  seven-mile  boots.  At  noon  I  feel 
as  though  I  could  devour  all  the  elephants  of 
Hindostan,  and  then  pick  my  teeth  with  the  spire 
of  Strasburg  Cathedral ;  in  the  evening  I  become 
so  sentimental  that  I  would  fain  drink  up  the 
Milky  Way,  without  reflecting  how  indigestible  I 
should  find  the  little  fixed  stars,  and  by  night 
there  is  the  Devil  himself  broke  loose  in  my  head 
and  no  mistake.  For  then  there  assemble  in  my 
brain  the  Assyrians,  Egyptians,  Medes,  Persians, 
Hebrews,  Philistines,  Frankforters,  Babylonians, 
Carthaginians,  Berliners,  Eomans,  Spartans,  Flat- 
heads,  and  Chuckleheads.  Madame,  it  would  be 
too  wearisome  should  I  continue  to  enumerate  all 
these  people.  Do  you  only  read  Herodotus,  Livy, 
the  Magazine  of  Haude  and  Spener,  Curtius,  Cor- 


IDEAS.  SSJ 

neliiis  Nepos,  the  "Companion."  Meanwhile,  I 
will  eat  my  breakfast.  This  morning  I  do  not  get 
along  very  well  with  my  writing ;  the  blessed  Lord 
leaves  me  in  the  lurch.  Madame,  I  even  fear — 
yes,  yes,  you  remarked  it  before  I  did  myself ; 
yes,  I  see — the  right  kind  of  divine  aid  is  to-day 
wanting.  Madame,  I  will  begin  a  new  chapter, 
and  tell  you  how  after  the  death  of  Le  Grand  I 
came  to  Godesberg. 


CHAPTER  XVL 

"When  I  arrived  at  Godesberg  I  sate  myself  once 
more  at  the  feet  of  my  fair  friend,  and  near  me 
lay  her  brown  hound,  and  we  both  looked  up 
into  her  lovely  eyes. 

Ah,  Lord !  in  those  eyes  lay  all  the  splendour 
of  earth,  and  an  entire  heaven  besides.  I  could 
have  died  with  rapture  as  I  gazed  into  them,  and 
had  I  died  at  that  instant,  my  soul  would  have 
flown  directly  into  those  eyes.  Oh,  they  are  in- 
describable !  I  must  borrow  some  poet,  who  went 
mad  for  love,  from  a  lunatic  asylum,  that  he  may 
from  the  uttermost  abyss  of  his  madness  fish  up 
some  simile  wherewith  to  compare  those  eyes. 
(Between  you  and  I,  reader,  it  seems  to  me  that  I 
must  be  mad  enough  myself  to  want  any  help 


364 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


in  such  a  business.)  "  God  damn  [it] ! "  said  an 
English  gentleman,  "when  she  looks  at  a  man 
quietly  from  head  to  foot,  she  melts  his  coat 
buttons  and  heart  all  into  a  lump!"  "F—e!" 
said  a  Frenchman.  "  Her  eyes  are  of  the  largest 
calibre,  and  when  she  shoots  one  of  her  forty-two 
pound  glances — crack  ! — there  you  are  in  love ! " 
There  was  a  red-headed  lawyer  from  Mayence 
who  said  that  her  eyes  resembled  two  cups  of 
coffee — without  cream.  He  wished  to  say  some- 
thing sweet,  and  thought  that  he  had  done  it — 
because  he  always  sugared  his  coffee  to  death. 
Wretched,  wretched  comparisons !  I  and  the 
brown  hound  lay  quietly  at  the  feet  of  the  fair 
lady  and  gazed  and  listened.  She  sat  hear  an  old 
iron-grey  soldier,  a  knightly  looking  man  with 
cross-barred  scars  on  his  terrible  brow.  They 
both  spoke  of  the  Seven  Mountains  painted  by 
the  evening  red,  and  the  blue  Rhine  which  flooded 
its  way  along  in  sublime  tranquillity.  What  did 
we  care  for  the  Seven  Mountains  and  the  blue 
Rhine,  and  the  snowy  sail-boats  which  swam 
thereon,  and  the  music  which  rang  from  one 
particular  boat,  or  the  jackass  of  a  student  who, 
seated  in  it,  sang  so  meltingly  and  beautifully  ?  I 
and  the  brown  hound  both  gazed  into  the  eyes  of 
our  fair  friend,  and  looked  at  the  face  which  came 
forth  rosy  pale  from  amid  its  black  braids  and 
locks,  like  the  moon  from  dark  clouds.      The 


tm «*•  m»>K.4aU  ^*.»«M'  4* ••% 


i'+^-*«fe  »^-, 


IDEAS.  365 

features  were  of  the  noblest  Grecian  type,  the 
lips  boldly  arched,  over  which  played  melancholy, 
rapture,  and  child-like  caprice,  and  when  she 
spoke,  the  words  were  breathed  forth  almost 
sighingly,  and  then  again  shot  out  impatiently 
and  rapidly ;  and  when  she  spoke,  and  her  speech 
fell  softly  as  snow,  yet  like  a  warm  genial  flower 
shower  from  her  lovely  mouth — oh !  then  the 
crimson  of  evening  fell  gently  over  my  soul, 
and  through  it  flitted  with  ringing  melody  the 
memories  of  childhood ;  but  above  all,  like  a  fairy 
bell  there  pealed  within  the  voice  of  the  little 
Veronica,  and  I  grasped  the  fair  hand  of  my 
lady  friend  and  pressed  it  to  my  eyes  till  the 
ringing  in  my  soul  had  passed  away,  and  then  I 
leaped  up  and  laughed,  and  the  hound  bayed,  and 
the  brow  of  the  old  general  wrinkled  up  sternly, 
and  I  sat  down  again  and  clasped  and  kissed 
the  beautiful  hand,  and  told  and  spoke  of  little 
Veronica. 


CHAPTER  XVn. 

Madame,  you  wish  me  to  describe  the  appear- 
ance of  the  little  Veronica?  But  I  will  not. 
You,  Madame,  cannot  be  compelled  to  read  more 
than  you  please,  and  I,  on  the  other  hand,  have 
the  right  to  write  exactly  what  I  choose.     But  I 


366 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


will  now  tell  what  the  lovely  hand  was  like 
which  I  kissed  in  the  previous  chapter. 

First  of  all,  I  must  confess  that  I  was  not 
worthy  to  kiss  that  hand.  It  was  a  lovely  hand 
— so  tender,  so  transparent,  so  perfumed,  brilliant, 
sweet,  soft,  beautiful — by  my  faith  I  must  send 
to  the  apothecary  for  twelve  shillings'  worth  of 
adjectives.  I 

On  the  middle  finger  there  sat  a  ring  with  a 
pearl — I  never  saw  a  pearl  which  played  a  more 
sorrowful  part ;  on  the  marriage  finger  she  wore 
a  ring  with  a  blue  antique — I  have  studied 
archseolosv  in  it  for  hours :  on  the  forefinger  she 
wore  a  diamond — it  was  a  talisman ;  as  long  as  I 
looked  at  it  I  was  happy,  for  wherever  it  was, 
there  too  was  the  finger  with  its  four  friends — 
and  she  often  struck  me  on  the  mouth  with  all 
five  of  them.  Since  I  was  thus  manipulated  I 
believe  fast  and  firm  in  animal  magnetism.  But 
she  did  not  strike  hard,  and  when  she  struck  I 
always  deserved  it  by  some  godless  speech ;  and 
as  soon  as  she  had  struck  me,  she  at  once  re- 
pented it,  and  took  a  cake,  broke  it  in  two,  and 
gave  me  one  half  and  the  brown  hound  the  other 
half,  and  smiled  and  said,  "  Neither  of  you  have 
any  religion  and  you  will  never  be  happy,  and  so 
you  must  be  fed  with  cakes  in  this  world  for 
there  will  be  no  table  spread  for  you  in  heaven." 
And  she  was  more  than  half  right,  for  in  those 


IDEAS.  ;  367 

days  I  was  very  irreligious,  and  read  Thomas 
Paine,  the  Systhne  de  la  Nature,  the  Westphalian 
Advertiser,  and  Schleiermacher,  letting  my  beard 
and  my  reason  grow  together,  and  had  thoughts 
of  enrolling  myself  among  the  Eationalists.  But 
when  that  soft  hand  swept  over  my  brow,  my 
"  reason  "  stood  still  and  sweet  dreams  came  into 
my  soul,  and  I  again  dreamed  that  I  heard  gentle 
songs  of  the  Virgin  Mother,  and  I  thought  on  the 
little  Veronica. 

Madame,  you  can  hardly  imagine  how  beautiful 
little  Veronica  looked  as  she  lay  in  her  little 
cofl&n.  The  burning  candles  as  they  stood  around 
cast  a  glow  on  the  white  smiling  little  face,  and 
on  the  red  silk  roses  and  rustling  gold  spangles 
with  which  the  head  and  the  little  shroud  were 
decked.  Good  old  Ursula  had  led  me  at  evening 
into  the  silent  chamber,  and  as  I  looked  at  the 
little  corpse  laid  amid  lights  and  flowers  on  the 
table,  I  at  first  believed  that  it  was  a  pretty  saint's 
image  of  wax.  But  I  soon  recognised  the  dear 
face,  and  asked,  smilingly,  why  little  Veronica 
laid  so  still  ?  And  Ursula  said,  "  Because  she  is 
dead,  dear ! " 

And  as  she  said,  "  Because  she  is  dead ; " — but  I 
will  go  no  further  to-day  with  this  story,  it  would 
be  too  long ;  besides  I  should  first  speak  of  the 
lame  magpie  which  hopped  about  the  castle  court- 
yard, and  was  three  hundred  years  old,  and  then 


368  PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 

I  could  become  regularly  melancholy.  A  fancy 
all  at  once  seizes  on  me  to  tell  another  story, 
which  is  a  merry  one,  and  just  suits  this  place, 
for  it  is  really  the  history  itself  which  I  propose 
to  narrate  in  this  book. 


CHAPTER  XVIIL 

Night  and  storm  raged  in  the  bosom  of  the  knight. 
The  poniard  blows  of  slander  had  struck  to  his 
heart,  and  as  he  advanced  sternly  along  over  the 
bridge  of  San  Marco,  the  feeling  stole  over  him  as 
though  that  heart  must  burst  and  flow  away  in 
blood.  His  limbs  trembled  with  weariness — the 
noble  quarry  had  been  fiercely  hunted  during  the 
live-long  summer  day — the  drops  fell  from  his 
brow,  and  as  he  entered  the  gondola  he  sighed 
heavily.  He  sat  unthinkingly  in  the  black  cabin 
of  the  gondola,  unthinkingly  the  soft  waves  shook 
him  and  bore  him  along  the  well-known  way  to 
the  Brenta ;  and  as  he  stepped  out  before  the  well- 
known  palace  he  heard  that  the  "  Signora  Laura 
was  in  the  garden." 

She  stood  leaning  on  the  statue  of  the  Laocoon, 
by  the  red  rose-tree,  at  the  end  of  the  terrace, 
near  the  weeping  willows,  which  hung  down 
mournfully  over  the  water.      There  she  stood 


THE    LADClKM     : 
Frotu  the  Scnlplure  in  Oh;  Vatkau 


r-  *  ■ 


!' 


h 


I! 


\: 


11 


!i: 


I'l; 


¥: 


-■  :     IDEAS.      ">- -:'^;. /;.;•■  ;^:-;'|||'^ 

smiling,  a  pale  image  of  love  amid  the  perfume 
of  roses.  At  the  sight  he  suddenly  awaked  as 
from  some  terrible  dream,  and  was  at  once  changed 
to  mildness  and  longing.  "  Signora  Laura,"  said 
he,  "  I  am  wretched  and  tormented  with  hatred 
and  oppression  and  falsehood,"  and  here  he  sud- 
denly paused  and  stammered,  "  but  I  love  you," 
and  then  a  tear  of  joy  darted  into  his  eye,  and 
with  palpitating  heart  he  cried,  "  Maiden,  be  mine 
— and  love  me !  .  .  ." 

There  lies  a  veil  of  dark  mystery  over  that 
hour  J  no  mortal  has  ever  known  what  Signora 
Laura  replied,  and  when  they  ask  her  guardian 
angel  in  heaven  what  took  place,  he  hides  his  face 
and  sighs,  and  is  silent. 

Solitary  and  alone  stood  the  knight  by  the 
statue  of  the  Laocoon ;  his  own  face  was  not  less 
convulsed  and  deathly  pale ;  unconsciously  he  tore 
away  the  roses  from  the  rose-tree  ;  yes,  he  plucked 
even  the  young  buds.  Since  that  hour  the  rose-tree 
never  bore  another  floweret ;  far  in  the  dim  distance 
sang  an  insane  nightingale,  the  willows  whispered 
in  agony,  mournfully  murmured  the  cool  waves 
of  the  Brenta ;  night  rose  on  high  with  her  moon 
and  stars,  and  one  star,  the  loveliest  of  all,  fell 
adown  from  heaven  I 


VOL  L  2  A 


po 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

YoxJSpUurez,  Madame  1 

Oh,  maj  the  eyes  which  shed  such  lovely  teara 
long  light  up  the  world  with  their  rays,  and  may 
a  warm  and  loving  hand  close  them  in  the  honr 
of  death !  A  soft  pillow,  Madame,  is  also  a  very 
convenient  thing  when  dying,  and  I  trust  that  you 
will  not  be  without  it ;  and  when  the  fair,  weary 
head  sinks  down,  and  the  black  locks  fall  in  waves 
over  the  fast  fading  face,  oh  1  then  may  God  repay 
those  tears  which  have  fallen  for  me,  for  I  myself 
am  the  knight  for  whom  you  wept ;  yes,  I  am  the 
erring  errant-knight  of  love,  the  knight  of  the 
fallen  star  I  I 

Votis  pleurez,  Madame  1 

Oh,  I  understand  those  tears!  Why  need  I 
longer  play  a  feigned  part?  You,  Madame,  you 
yourself  are  that  fair  lady  who  wept  so  softly  in 
Godesberg  when  I  told  the  sad  story  of  my  life. 
Like  drops  of  pearly  dew  over  roses,  the  beautiful 
tears  ran  over  the  beautiful  face ;  the  hound  was 
silent,  the  vesper  chimes  pealed  far  away  in 
Konigswinter,  the  Rhine  murmured  more  gently, 
night  covered  the  earth  with  her  black  mantle, 
and  I  sat  at  your  feet^  Madame,  and  looked  on 
high  into  the  starry  heaven.     At  first  I  took  your 


":_'  /^-^     ■-'  IDBAS.r     ■''[.:■  r-:  _        371 

eyes  also  for  two  stars.  But  how  could  any  one 
mistake  such  beautiful  eyes  for  stars?  Those 
cold  lights  of  heaven  cannot  weep  over  the  misery 
of  a  man  who  is  so  wretched  that  he  cannot  weep. 

And  I  had  a  particular  reason  for  not  mistak- 
ing those  lovely  eyes,  for  in  them  dwells  the  soul 
of  little  Veronica. 

I  have  reckoned  it  up,  Madame ;  you  were  bom 
on  the  very  day  on  which  Veronica  died.  Johanna, 
in  Andernach,  told  me  that  I  would  find  little 
Veronica  again  in  Godesberg,  and  I  found  her, 
and  knew  her  at  once.  That  was  a  sad  chance, 
Madame,  that  you  should  die  just  as  the  beautiful 
game  was  about  to  begin.  Since  pious  Ursula 
said  to  me,  "  It  is  death,  dear,"  I  have  gone  about 
solitary  and  serious  in  great  picture-galleries,  but 
the  pictures  could  not  please  me  as  they  once  did ; 
they  seemed  to  have  suddenly  faded ;  there  was 
but  a  single  work  which  retained  its  colour  and 
brilliancy;  you  know,  Madame,  to  which  piece 
I  refer — 

It  is  the  Sultan  and  Sultaness  of  Delhi 

Do  you  remember,  Madame,  how  we  stood 
long  hours  before  it,  and  how  significantly  good 
Ursula  smiled  when  people  remarked  that  the 
faces  in  that  picture  so  much  resembled  our  own  ? 
Madame,  I  find  that  your  likeness  is  admirably 
taken  in  that  picture,  and  it  passes  comprehen- 
sion how  the  artist  could  have  so  accurately  repre- 


372 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


sented  you,  even  to  the  very  garments  which  yon 
then  wore.  They  say  that  he  was  mad  and  most 
have  dreamed  your  form.  Or  was  there  perhaps 
a  soul  in  the  great  holy  monkey  who  waited  on 
you  in  those  days  like  a  page  ?  In  that  case,  he 
must  certainly  remember  the  silver-grey  veil,  on 
which  he  once  spilled  red  wine  and  spoiled  it 
I  was  glad  when  you  dismissed  him ;  he  did  not 
dress  you  remarkably  well,  and  at  any  rate,  the 
European  dress  is  much  more  dressy  than  the 
Indian — not  but  that  beautiful  women  are  lovely 
in  any  dress.  Do  you  remember,  Madame,  that  a 
gallant  Brahmin — he  looked  for  all  the  world  like 
Ganesa,  the  god  with  an  elephant's  trunk,  who 
rides  on  a  mouse — once  paid  you  the  compliment 
that  the  divine  Maneka,  as  she  came  down  from 
Indra's  golden  hill  to  the  royal  penitent  Wis- 
waraitra,  was  not  certainly  fairer  than  you, 
Madame  ?  I 

What,  forgotten  it  already!  Why  it  cannot 
be  more  than  three  thousand  years  since  he  said 
that,  and  beautiful  women  are  not  wont  to  so 
quickly  forget  delicate  flattery. 

However,  for  men,  the  Indian  dress  is  far  more 
becoming  than  the  European.  Oh,  my  rosy-red 
lotus-flowered  pantaloons  of  Delhi  1  had  I  worn 
ye  when  I  stood  before  Signora  Laura  and  begged 
for  love,  the  previous  chapter  would  have  rung 
to   a  difierent  tune  1    Alas  1  alas  !  I  wore  straw- 


IDEAS.       .V-^-.-V  .:'-:--- "-^"^■■■IIJ 

eoloured  pantaloons,  which  some  sober  Chinese 
had  woven  in  Nankin  ;  my  ruin  was  woven  with 
them — ^the  threads  of  my  destiny — and  I  was 
made  miserable. 

Often  there  sits  in  a  quiet  old  German  coffee- 
house a  youth  silently  sipping  his  cup  of  Mocha ; 
and  meanwhile  there  bloomsl  and  grows  in  far 
distant  China  his  ruin,  and  there  it  is  spun  and 
woven,  and,  despite  the  high  wall  of  China,  it 
knows  how  to  find  its  way  to  the  youth  who  deems 
it  but  a  pair  of  Nankin  trousers,  and  all  unheed- 
ing, in  the  gay  buoyancy  of  youth,  he  pulls  them 
on,  and  is  lost  for  ever!  And,  Madame,  in  the 
little  breast  of  a  mortal  so  much  misery  can  hide 
itself,  and  keep  itself  so  well  hid  there  that  the 
poor  man  himself  for  days  together  does  not  feel 
it,  and  is  as  jolly  as  a  piper,  and  merily  dances  and 

whistles,  and   trolls — lalarallala,  lalarallala 

la ^la la. 


CHAPTER  XX.  ^ 

*'She  was  amiable,  and  he  loved  her,  bat  he  was  not  vorthj 
of  love,  and  she  did  not  love  him." — Old  Play. 

Am)  for  this  nonsensical  affair  you  were  about  to 
shoot  yourself  ? 

Madame,  when  a  gentleman  desires  to  shoot 
himself,  he  generally  has  ample  reason  for 


374  PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


jon  may  be  certain  of  that.  But  whether  he 
himself  knows  what  these  reasons  are  is  another 
questioa  We  mask  even  our  miseries,  and  while 
we  die  of  bosom  wounds,  we  complain  of  the 
toothache.  ^      ;     '^:  I?, 

Madame,  you  have,  I  know,  a  remedy  for  the 
toothache?  '  ;  , 

Alas  !  I  had  the  toothache  in  my  heart.  That 
is  a  wearying  pain,  and  requires  plugging — with 
lead  and  with  the  tooth-powder  invented  by  Ber- 
thold  Schwartz.* 

Misery  gnawed  at  my  heart  like  a  worm,  and 
gnawed — the  poor  devil  of  a  Chinese  was  not  to 
blame;  I  brought  the  misery  with  me  into  the 
world.  It  lay  with  me  in  the  cradle,  and  when 
my  mother  rocked  me,  she  rocked  it  with  me,  and 
when  she  sang  me  to  sleep,  it  slept  with  me,  and 
it  awoke  when  I  opened  my  eyes.  When  I  grew 
up,  it  grew  with  me,  until  it  was  altogether  too 
great  and  burst  my . 

Now  we  will  speak  of  other  things^-of  virgins* 
wreaths,  masked  balls,  of  joy  and  bridal  pleasure 

lalarallala,  lalarallala,    lalaral la la 

la.«  •  .        i 


^  Roger  Bacon  preceded  Schwartz,  and  PalsgraTa  in  "  The 
Merchant  and  the  Friar  "  givei  a  recipe  from  a  Norman-Latin 
MS.,  a  century  older  than  Bacon,  for  making  gunpowder.  It 
ia  called  Ad  faoiendam  le  erake^  "  how  to  make  a  eraeker." 

'  To  the  Bridesmaida'  Ohonu  in  "  Der  FreyKhata." 


A  NEW  SPRING. 

Motto  f — A  pine  tree  stands  alone 
In  the  north    —    —    — 

He  is  dreaming  of  a  palm 
Which  afar    —    —    — 


PROLOGUE. 

Oft  in  galleries  of  art, 

On  a  pictured  knight  we  glance, 
Who  to  battle  will  depart, 

ArmM  well  with  shield  and  lance. 

But  young  Cupids  mocking  round  him, 

Bear  his  lance  and  sword  away, 
And  with  rosy  wreaths  they've  bound  him, 
..^  Though  he  strives  as  best  he  may. 

Thus  to  pleasant  fetters  yielding, 

Still  I  turn  the  idle  rhyme, 

While  the  brave  their  anns  are  melding 

In  the  mighty  strife  of  Time. 
m 


37«  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

I. 

When  'neath  snow-white  branches  sitting, 
Far  thon  hearest  the  wild  wind  chiding, 

Seest  the  silent  clouds  above  thee,    ' 
In  their  wintry  garments  hiding ; 

Seest  that  all  seems  cold  and  death-like, 
Wood  and  plain  lie  shorn  before  thee, 

E'en  thy  heart  is  still  and  frozen, 
Winter  round,  and  winter  o'er  thee. 


All  at  once  adown  come  falling 

Pure  white  flakes,  and  then  thou  grievest 
That  the  weary,  dreary  winter. 

Should  return,  as  thou  believest. 

But  those  are  not  snowflakes  falling ; 

Soon  thou  mark'st  with  pleasant  wonder 
That  they  all  are  perfumed  blossoms, 

From  the  tree  thou  sittest  under. 

What  a  thrilling  sweet  amazement ! 

Winter  turns  to  May  and  pleasure ; 
Snow  is  changed  to  lovely  spring  flowers. 

And  thou  find'st  a  new  heart's  treasuia 


A  NEW  SPRING.  377 

Ih  the  wood  all  softly  greeneth, 
As  if  maiden-like 'twould  woo  thee, 

And  the  sun  from  heaven  smileth : 
"  Fair  young  spring,  a  welcome  to  thee  I " 

Nightingale  1  I  hear  thy  singing, 
As  thou  flutest,  sweetly  moving. 

Sighing  long-drawn  notes  of  rapture. 
And  thy  song  is  all  of  loving. 

The  lovely  eyes  of  the  young  spring  night 

So  softly  down  are  gazing — 
Oh,  the  Love  which  bore  thee  down  with  might 

Ere  long  will  thy  soul  be  raising. 

All  on  yon  linden  sits  and  sings 

The  nightingale  soft  trilling ; 
And  as  her  music  in  me  rings, 

My  soul  with  love  is  thrilling.    ; 

I  LOYX  a  fair  flower,  but  I  know  not  its  name : 
Oh,  sorrow  and  smart  1   -'■'^■r-X'  ?'-''\':'-y-'  ^ 

I  look  in  each  floweivcup— my  luck  is  the  same: 
For  I  seek  for  a  heart. 


syi 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


The  flowers  breathe  their  perftunes — ^in  eveniiig^s 
red  shine 

The  nightingale  trills. 
I  seek  for  a  heart  which  is  gentle  as  mine,  . 

Which  as  tenderlj  thrills. 

The  nightingale  sings,  and  I  know  what  she  says 

In  her  beautiful  song: 
We  both  are  love-weary  and  lorn  in  our  lays. 

And  oh  I  sorrow  is  long. 


Sweet  May  lies  fresh  before  us, 
To  life  the  young  flowers  leap, 

And  through  the  heaven's  blue  o'er  na 
The  rosy  cloudlets  sweep. 

The  nightingale  is  singing 
Down  from  her  leafy  screen, 

And  young  white  lambs  are  springing 
In  clover  fresh  and  green. 

I  cannot  be  singing  and  springing 

I  lie  on  the  grassy  plot ; 
I  hear  a  far  distant  ringing, 

I  dream  and  I  know  not  what. 


A  NEW  SPRJNQ.  379 


6. 


SoFTLT  ring  and  throngh  me  spiing 
The  sweetest  tones  to-day ; 

Qently  ring,  small  song  of  spring, 
Ring  out  and  far  away. 

Bing  and  roam  nnto  the  home 

Where  violets  you  see, 
And  when  unto  a  rose  you  come^ 

Oh,  greet  that  rose  for  me. 


The  butterfly  long  loved  the  beautiful  rose. 

And  flirted  around  all  day; 
While  round  him  in  turn  with  her  golden  caress 

Soft  fluttered  the  sun's  warm  ray. 

But  who  was  the  lover  the  rose  smiled  on  ? 

Dwelt  he  near  the  sweet  lady  or  far  ? 
And  was  it  the  clear-singing  nightingale, 

Or  the  bright  distant  evening  star? 

I  know  not  with  whom  the  rose  was  in  lore. 
But  I  know  that  I  loved  them  all:      : 

The  butterfly,  rose,  and  the  sun's  bright  ray. 
The  star,  and  the  bird's  sweet  call. 


38o 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


8. 

Yes,  all  the  trees  are  musical. 
Soft  notes  the  nests  inspire ; 

Who  in  the  green- wood  orchestra 
Leads  off  the  tuneful  choir  ? 

Is  it  yon  grey  old  lapwing, 

Who  nods  so  seriously ; 
Or  the  pedant  who  cries  "  cuckoo  " 

In  time  unweariedly  ? 

Is  it  the  stork,  who  sternly, 
As  though  he  led  the  band, 

daps  with  his  legs,  while  music 
Pipes  sweet  on  either  hand  ? 

No — ^in  my  heart  is  seated 

The  one  who  rules  those  tones ; 

As  my  heart  throbs  he  times  them. 
And  Love's  the  name  he  owns. 


In  the  beginning  sweetly  sang 

The  nightingale  in  love's  first  hours. 

And  as  she  sang  grew  everywhere 
Blue  violets,  grass,  and  apple-flowen. 


A  NEW  SPRING.  P 

"  She  bit  into  her  breast — out  ran 

The  crimson  blood,  and  from  its  shower 
The  first  red  rose  its  life  began, 

To  which  she  sings  of  love's  deep  power. 

••  And  all  the  birds  which  round  us  triU 

Are  saved  by  that  sweet  blood,  they  say ; 
And  if  the  rose-song  rang  no  more, 
Then  all  were  lost  and  passed  away*  " 

Thus  to  his  little  nestlings  spoke 
The  sparrow  in  the  old  oak  tree ; 

Bame  Sparrow  oft  his  lecture  broke, 
Throned  in  her  brooding  dignity. 

She  leads  a  kind,  domestic  life. 

And  nurses  well  with  temper  good; 

To  pass  his  time,  the  father  gives 
Heligious  lessons  to  his  brood.  . 

la  -_  ;■.-  :'^-, v.; V  ■-;■;-  :  y--: 

Thb  warm,  bewildering  spring  night-air 
Wakes  flowrets  on  the  plain;  . 

And  oh  I  my  heart,  beware,  beware. 
Or  thou  wilt  love  again. 


'o 


But  say — ^what  flower  on  hill  or  dale 
Will  snare  this  willing  heart?  ,■ 

I'm  cautioned  by  the  nightingale 
Against  the  lily's  art. 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


II. 


Tboublb  and  torment — I  hear  the  bells  ring  1 
And  oh  1  to  my  sorrow,  I've  lost  my  poor  head ! 

Two  beautiful  eyes  and  the  fresh  growing  spring 
Have  plotted  to  capture  me,  living  or  dead. 

The  beautiful  spring  and  two  lovely  young  eyes 
Once  more  this  poor  heart  in  their  meshes 
have  got ; 

The  rose  and  the  nightingale — yonder  she  flies — 
Are  deeply  involved  in  this  terrible  plot. 

12. 

Ah  me  I  for  tears  I'm  burning, 
Soft,  sorrowing  tears  of  love ; 

Yet  I  fear  this  wild  sad  yearning 
But  too  well  my  heart  will  move. 

Ah  I  Love's  delicious  sorrow. 

And  Love's  too  bitter  joy. 
With  its  heavenly  pains,  ere  morrow 

Will  my  half- won  peace  destroy. 

13- 

Tee  spring's  blue  eyes  are  open. 
Up  from  the  grass  they  look, 

I  mean  the  lovely  violets. 

Which  for  a  wreath  I  took.  . 


■'     A  NEW  SPRING,  ;  383 

I  plucked  the  flowers  while  thinking, 

« And  m7  thoughts  in  one  sad  tale 
To  the  breezes  were  repeated 

By  the  listening  nightingale,  v   :^  : 

Yes,  every  thought  she  warbled. 

As  from  my  soul  it  rose,  : 

And  now  my  tender  secret 

The  whole  green  forest  knows. 


■        14 

When  thou  didst  pass  beside  me,   ^ 
Thy  soft  touch  thrilled  me  through ; 

Then  my  heart  leaped  up  and  wildly 
On  thy  lovely  traces  flew. 

Then  thou  didst  gaze  upon  me. 
With  thy  great  eyes  looking  back. 

And  my  heart  was  so  much  frightened. 
It  scarce  could  keep  the  tra(^ 


The  gracefid  water-lily 

Looks  dreamily  up  from  the  lake,         ; 
While  the  moon  looks  as  lovingly  on  ber, 

For  hgjbt,  love  keeps  fond  hearts  awak& 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


Then  she  bows  her  small  head  to  the  water, 
Ashamed  those  bright  glances  to  meet. 

And  sees  the  poor,  pale  lily  lovers  * 
All  lying  in  love  at  her  feet.    . 


i6. 

If  thon  perchance  good  eyesight  hast. 
When  with  my  works  thou'rt  playing, 

Thou'lt  see  a  beauty  up  and  down 
AmoD^the  ballads  straying. 

And  if  perchance  good  ears  are  thine. 
Oh,  then  thou  mayst  rejoice, 

And  thy  heart  may  be  bewildered. 
With  her  laughing,  sighing  voice. 

And  well  I  ween  with  glance  and  word 

Full  sore  she'll  puzzle  thee, 
And  thou'lt  go  dreaming  round  in  love. 

As  once  it  chanced  to  me. 


17- 

What  drives  thee  around  in  the  warm  spring  night? 
Thou  hast  driven  the  flowers  half  crazy  with  fright ; 

The  violets  no  longer  are  sleeping. 
The  rose  in  her  night-dress  is  blushing  so  red,  I 
The  lilies — poor  things — sit  so  pale  in  their  bed. 

They  are  crying,  and  trembling,  and  weeping. 


A  NEW  SPRING.    '^■.y:^'^'^^-r^,,y0l^ 

Ah,  dearest  moon !  how  gentle  and  good 
Are  all  these  fair  flowers — in  truth  I've  been 
rude; 
I've  been  making  sad  work  with  my  walking : 
But    how    could    I    know    they    were    lurldng 

around,  ■  _  ,:  ■•:-.;:-;;..  ,^.-:^-v-.-:: -'-^  ■^■:'■- 

When,  bewildered  with  love,  I  strayed  over  the 
ground, 
And  to  the  bright  planets  was  talking. 


i8. 

When  thy  blue  eyes  turn  on  me^ 
And  gaze  so  soft  and  meek, 

8ueh  dreamy  moods  steal  o'er  me. 
That  I  no  word  can  speak. 

I  dream  of  those  blue  glances  ■ 
When  we  are  far  apart,    . 

And  a  sea  of  soft  blue  memories 
Comes  pouring  o'er  my  heart 


19. 

Once  again  my  heart  is  living,  j 
And  old  sorrows  pass  away. 

Once  again  the  tenderest  feelings  ; 
Seem  reviving  with  the  May. 

VOL.  L  2  B 


386  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

Evening  late  and  morning  early 

Through  the  well-known  paths  I  rove, 

Peeping  under  every  bonnet. 
Looking  for  the  face  I  love. 

Once  again  I'm  by  the  river. 
On  the  bridge  as  in  a  trance ; 

What  if  she  came  sailing  by  me  ? 
What  if  I  should  meet  her  glance  ? 

Now  once  more  'mid  falling  water 
G«ntle  wailings  seem  to  play. 

And  my  heart  in  beauty  catches 
All  the  snow-white  waters  say. 

And  once  more  I-dreaming  wander 
Through  the  green  wood  dark  and  cool. 

While  the  birds  among  the  bushes 
Mock  me,  poor  enamoured  fool  I 


2a 

The  rose  breathes  perfumes,  but  if  she  has  feeling 
Of  what  she  breathes,  or  if  the  nightingale 

Feels  in  herself  what  through  our  souls  is  stealing 

When  her  soft  notes  are  quivering  through  the 

vale — 


A  NEW  SPRING.  387 

I  do  not  know — yet  oft  we're  discontented 
With  Truth  itself !    And  nightingale  and  rose, 

Although  their  feelings  be  but  lies  invented. 
Still  have  their  use,  as  many  a  story  shows. 


21. 

BiGAUSB  I  love  thee,  'tis  my  duty 
To  shun  thy  face — nay,  anger  not ! 

Would  it  agree,  that  dream  of  beauty, 
With  my  pale  f ace,  so  soon  forgot  ? 

But  ere  I  leave  thee,  let  me  tell  thee 
'Twas  all  through  love  this  hue  I  got. 

And  soon  its  pallor  must  repel  thee. 
And  so  I'll  leave — nay,  anger  not ! 


22. 

Amid  the  flowers  I  wander. 
And  blossoms  as  they  blow ; 

I  wander  as  if  dreaming, 
Uncertain  where  I  go.       ; 

Oh,  hold  me  fast,  thou  dearest — 
I'm  drunk  with  love,  d*ye  see. 

Or  at  your  feet  I'U  fall,  love, 
And  yonder  is  company 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL,      . 

23. 

As  the  moon's  reflection  trembles 
In  the  wild  and  wavering  deeps, 

While  the  moon  herself  in  silence 
O'er  the  arch  of  heaven  sweeps. 

Even  so  I  see  thee,  loved  one, 
Calm  and  silent,  and  there  moves 

But  thine  image  in  my  bosom. 
For  my  heart  is  thrilled  and  loves. 


24. 

When  both  our  hearts  together 
The  holy  alliance  made. 

They  understood  each  other. 
And  mine  on  thine  was  laid. 

But  oh !  the  poor  young  rosebud. 
Which  lay  just  underneath, 

The  minor,  weaker  ally. 
Was  almost  crushed  to  death. 


25. 

Tell  me  who  first  invented  the  clocks. 
Classing  the  hours  and  the  minutes  in  flocks  ? 
That  was  some  shivering,  sorrowful  man —  ■ 
Deep  into  midnight  his  reveries  ran, 


A  NEW  SPRING.      r         1      C  JH^ 

While  he  counted  the  nibbling  of  mice  'round  the 

hall, 
And  the  notes  of  the  death-watch  which  ticked  in 

the  wall. 

Tell  me  who  first  invented  a  kiss  ? 

Oh,  that  was  some  smiling  young  mouth,  full  of 

bliss ;    -■■    .  ■  -■  ■  ' '  "''  - '''. :  ■/■  "^^  \  -i:'.''- 

It  kissed  without  thinking,  and  still  kissed  away. 
'Twas  all  in  the  beautiful  fresh  month  of  May ; 
Up  from  the  earth  the  young  blossoms  sprung, 
The  sunbeams  were  shining,  the  merry  birds  sung. 


How  the  sweet  pinks  breathe  their  perfumes ; 

How  the  stars,  a  wondrous  throng, 
like  gold  bees  o'er  the  blue  heaven, 

Brightly  shining,  pass  along  I 

From  the  darkness  of  the  chestnuts 
Gleams  the  farmhouse  white  and  fair; 

I  can  hear  its  glass-doors  rustle. 
And  sweet  voices  whispering  there, 

Ctentle  trembling — sweet  emotion. 

Frightened  white  arms  round  me  cling, 

And  the  sweet  young  roses  listen,   : 
While  the  nightingales  soft  sing. 


390  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

Have  I  not  dreamed  this  self-same  dream 

Ere  now  in  happier  hours  ? 
Those  trees  the  very  same  do  seem. 

Love-glances,  kisses,  flowers. 

Was  it  not  here  that,  calm  and  cold, 
The  moon  looked  down  in  state  ? 

Did  not  these  marble  gods  then  hold 
Their  watch  beside  the  gate  ? 

Alas !  I  know  how  sadly  change 
These  all-too-lovely  dreams. 

And  as  with  snowy  mantle  strange 

All  chill-enveloped  seems.  * 

So  we  ourselves  grow  calm  and  cold. 

Break  off  and  live  apart ; 
Yes,  we  who  loved  so  well  of  old, 

And  kissed  with  heart  to  heart 


28. 

Kisses  which  we  steal  in  darkness. 
And  in  darkness  give  again ; 

Oh,  such  kisses — how  they  rapture 
A  poor  soul  in  living  pain ! 


-  A  NEW  SPRING.  \ ■'' - ■ ' :'^'-W!^ 

Half  foreboding,  half  remembering, 
Thoughts  through  all  the  spirit  roam ; 

Many  a  dream  of  days  long  vanished. 
Many  a  dream  of  days  to  come. 

But  to  thus  be  ever  thinking 

Is  unthinking  when  we  kiss ; 
Eather  weep,  thou  gentle  darliiig, 
.    For  our  tears  we  never  miss. 


Thebb  was  an  old,  old  monarch, 
His  head  was  grey  and  sad  his  life ; 

Alas !  the  poor  old  monarch 
He  married  a  fair  young  wife. 

There  was  a  handsome  stripling, 

Blonde  were  his  locks  and  light  his  mien 
He  bore  the  train,  the  silken  train. 

All  of  the  fair  young  queen. 

Know'st  thou  the  old,  old  ballad  ? 

It  ringeth  like  a  passing  bell ; 
The  queen  and  page  must  die,  alas  I 

They  loved,  and  all  too  well 


■^r-C^ 


.<>r--.iA«::- 


'JTZT'^.^tea 


u«*k.    nC-s^tC" 


^'''■  ■     '.  ■■'■•'■   •  '  ■ 

39*  PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


30. 


Again  in  my  memory  are  blooming 

Fair  pictures  long  faded  away ; 
Oh,  where  in  thy  voice  is  the  mystery 

Which  moves  me  so  deeply  to-day  ? 

Oh,  say  not,  I  pray,  that  thon  loVst  me; 

The  fairest  that  nature  can  frame, 
The  spring-time,  and  with  it  the  spring-love, 

Must  end  in  warm  passion  and  shame.    ; 

Oh,  say  not,  I  pray,  that  thou  loVst  me, 

And  kiss  and  be  silent,  I  pray, 
And  smile  when  I  show  thee  to-morrow 

The  roses  all  faded  away. 


31. 

LiNDEK  blossoms  drunk  with  moonlight 

Melt  away  in  soft  perfume, 
And  the  nightingales  with  carols 

Thrill  the  air  amid  the  bloom. 

Oh,  but  is't  not  sweet,  my  loved  one. 
Thus  'neath  linden  boughs  to  sit,   \.    . 

While  the  golden  flashing  moon-rays 
Through  the  perfumed  foliage  flit  ? 


<  '  .-rrMH-'Jilll*!  I  .  -•'^M»'. 


;  A  HEW  SPRJNO. 

Every  linden  leaf  above  us 
like  a  heart  is  shaped,  we  see ; 

Therefore,  dearest,  lovers  ever 
Sit  beneath  the  linden  tree.* 

But  thou  smilest  as  if  wandering 
In  some  distant,  longing  dream; 

Tell  me,  dearest,  with  what  visions 
Doth  thy  busy  fancy  teem  ? 

Gladly  will  I  tell  thee,  dear  one. 
What  I  fancied:  I  would  fain 

Feel  the  North  wind  blowing  o'er  us, 
And  the  white  snow  fall  again ; 

And  that  we  in  furs  warm  folded, 
In  a  sleigh  sat  side  by  side, 

Bells  wild  ringing,  whips  loud  cracking. 
As  o'er  flood  and  fields  we  glide. 


1  Much  beantifnl  folk-lore  (for  which  the  reader  may  consult 
Die  SymboLik  und  Mythologie  der  Natur,  by  J.  B.  Friedrich) 
has  sprang  up  around  this  resemblance  of  the  lime  or  linden 
leaf  to  a  heart.  Menzel  {Chi-istliehe  Symbolii)  tells  us  that  the 
penance  laid  on  Mary  Magdalen  by  Jesus  {quia  muUum  amavii) 
was  that  she  should  long  lie  only  on  linden  leaves,  eat  them  for 
food,  and  drink  nothing  bat  the  dew  which  fell  from  them. 


:*.ir«.^      ,  S.J . 


3M  PJCTURSS  OP  TRAVEL. 


.  ■■■    •'  ■       ■■3*     ■ 

In  the  moonshine,  through  the  forest. 
Once  I  saw  the  fairies  bounding. 

Heard  their  elfin-bells  soft  ringing, 
Heard  their  little  trumpets  sounding. 

Every  snow-white  steed  was  bearing 
Golden  stag-horns,  and  they  darted 

Headlong  on,  like  frighted  wild-fowl 
From  their  far  companions  parted. 

But  the  Elf  Queen  smiled  upon  me, 
Sweetly  as  she  passed  before  me ; 

Was't  the  omen  of  a  new  love, 
Or  a  sign  that  death  hangs  o'er  me  f 


33. 

I'll  send  thee  violets  to-morrow. 
Fresh  dripping  from  the  dewy  showers; 

At  eve  again  I'll  bring  thee  roses, 
Which  I  have  plucked  in  twilight  hours. 


And  know*st  thou  what  the  lovely  blossoms 
To  thee — sub  rosa — fain  would  say  ? 

They  mean  that  thou  through  night  shouldst 
love  me. 
Yet  still  be  true  to  me  by  day. 


A  NBw  SPRING.       -^V  J'::::  iwi: 

34.  ^'''■';^v;''v-:  ^-:^r  \:  ■    ::'MM 

Thy  letter,  fickle  rove)i^ 

Will  cause  no  tearful  soi^; 
Thou  sayest  that  all  is  over, 

And  tJie  letter  is  over-long.        ^  ;    - 

Twelve  pages  filled  completely, 

A  perfect  book,  my  friend; 
Oh,  girls  don't  write  so  neatly 

When  they  the  mitten  senid! 


Do  not  fear  lest  I,  unconscious, 
Tell  my  love  to  those  around. 

Though  my  songs  with  many  a  figure 
Of  thy  beauty  still  abound.   , 

In  a  wondrous  flowering  forest 
Lies  well  hidden,  cowering  low. 

All  the  deeply  burning  mystery. 
All  its  secret,  silent  glow.  • 

If  suspicious  flames  should  quiver 
'Mid  the  roses — let  them  be ; 

No  one  now  believes  inflames,  love, 
But  they  call  them — ^poetry  1 


396  PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


.      3<i     ■■.■...:; 

As  by  daylight,  so  at  midnight* 

Spring  thoughts  in  my  soul  are  teeming 
Like  a  verdant  echo,  ever 

In  me  ringing,  in  me  beaming. 

Then  in  dreams,  as  in  a  legend. 

Songs  of  birds  are  round  me  trilling. 

Yet  far  sweeter,  wild  in  passion, 
Violet  breath  the  air  is  filling. 

Every  rose  seems  ruddier,  blushing 
'Neath  a  child-like  golden  glory, 

As  in  glowing  Gothic  pictures, 
Worn  by  angels  in  their  story. 


And  I  seem  as  if  transformed 

To  a  nightingale,  soft  singing. 
While  unto  a  rose — my  loved  one^ 

Dream-like,  strange,  my  notes  are  ringing^ 


Till  the  sun's  bright  glances  wake  me. 

Or  the  merry  jargoning 
Of  those  other  pleasant  warblers 

Who  before  my  window  sing. 


•  »«-•«•   f^'W    ' 


_^ *^■ 


A  NEW  SPRING. 


V:r..;;       37'    ■  "^  "  vE :--.■-'■  : 
With  their  small  gold  feet  the  planets 

Step  on  tip-toe  soft  and  light, 
Lest  they  wake  the  earth  below  them, 

Sleeping  on  the  breast  of  night. 

Listening  stand  the  silent  forests^ 
^  Every  leaf  a  soft  green  ear. 
While  the  mountain,  as  if  dreaming, 
Holds  its  arms  to  cloudlets  near. 

But  what  calls  me  ?    In  my  bosom 
Kings  a  soft  and  flute-like  wail. 

Was't  the  accents  of  the  loved  onet 
Was  it  but  the  nightingale  ? 


-"■     38.  --^-'^-A  ^v/-f.:-.,_ 

Ah  !  spring  is  sad,  and  there  is  sadness 
Li  all  its  dreams ;  the  flower-decked  vale 

Seems  sorrowfifl.     I  hear  no  gladness 
E'en  from  the  singing  nightingaleu 

Smile  not  so  brightly  then,  my  dearest^ 
Ah  I  do  not  smile  so  sweet  to-day ; 

Oh,  rather  weep — but  if  thou  fearest 
I'm  cold,  I'll  kiss  those  tears  away. 


398 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


And  firom  the  heart  I  loved  so  dearly 
By  cruel  fate  I'm  torn  away, 

From  that  dear  heart  I  loved  so  dearly ; 
Ah !  knewest  thou  how  fain  I'd  stay ! 

The  coach  rolls  on — the  hridges  thunder. 
Beneath  I  see  the  dark  flood  swell ; 

I'm  parted  from  that  loveliest  wonder. 
That  heart  of  hearts  I  love  so  welL 


/^ 


4a 

OxTB  sweetest  hopes  rise  blooming, 
And  then  again  are  gone ; 

They  bloom  and  fade  alternate, 
And  so  it  goes  rolling  on. 

I  know  it,  and  it  troubles 
My  life,  my  love,  my  rest ; 

My  heart  is  wise  and  witty. 
And  it  bleeds  within  my  breast 


41. 
Lees  an  old  man,  stem  in  feature. 

Heaven  above  me  seems  to  glare, 
His  burning  eyes  surrounded 

With  grisly  cloudy  hair. 


A  NEW  SPRING.  399 

And  whei.  *u  earth  he's  gazing, 

Flower  and  leaf  mus"  wilt  away,  - 
Love  and  song  must  wither  with  them 

In  man's  heart — ah  1  well-a-day  1 

'  .if^ •...-,. --^    ..._... 


With  bitter  sottl  my  poor  sad  heart  still  galling, 
I  go  aweary  through  this  world  so  cold ; 
Lo,  autumn  endeth  and  the  mists  enfold 

The  long  dead  landscape  as  with  heavy  walling. 

Loud  pipe  the  winds,  as  if  in  frenzy  calling 
To  the  red  leaves  which  here  and  tiiere  are  rolled ; 
The  lorn  wood  sighs,  fogs  clothe  the  barren  wold. 

And  worst  of  all — I  b'lieve  the  rain  is  falling. 


■  43-   ■/::; 

Latb  autumnal  cloud-cold  fancies  - 
Spread  like  gauze  o'er  dale  and  hill. 

And  no  more  the  green  leaf  dances 
On  the  branches — ghost-like  stilL 

And  amid  the  grove  there's  only    \' 

One  sad  tree  as  yet  in  leaf, 
Damp  with  sorrow's  tears  and  lonely, 

How  his  green  head  throbs  with  grief ! 


400  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

Ah  1  my  heart  is  all  in  keeping 

With  yon  scene — the  one  tree  there. 

Summer-green,  yet  sadly  weeping, 
Is  thine  image,  lady  fair. 


44 

Grey  and  week-day- looking  heaven! 

E'en  the  city  looks  dejected ; 
Grum,  as  if  no  plans  had  thriven, 

In  the  Elbe  it  stands  reflected. 

Snnbb&d  noses — snubbing,  sneezing. 
Are  ye  cut  as  once — and  cutting  ?       ; 

Are  the  saints  still  mild  appearing, 
Or  puffed  up  and  proudly  strutting  ? 

Lovely  South,  how  bright  and  towering 
Seem  thy  heavens  and  gods  together. 

Now  I  see  this  vile  oflfscouring 
Of  base  mortals  and  their  weather. 


END  OF  VOL.  L 


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THE  PROSE  AND  POETICAL  WORKS 

■        OF      •      :"  ■ ';: 

HEINRICH  HEINE 


Translated  'with  Introductions  by 

CHARLES  GODFREY  LELAND 


IN  TWENTY  VOLUMES 


^  f^     ^ffl^  ^m^  ^n^  ^B^  ^w^  ^w^  ^m^  ^w^  ^H^  ^B^  ^B^  ^B^  ^B^  ^H^  ^^^  ^^B^  ^B^  ^w^  ^B^  ^"B^  ^B^  ^w^     ^  ^ 
^^»     4v    (v    ^P    ^P    ^P    ^v    ^P    ^P    ^D    ^v    ^b    ^b    ^v    ^D    ^D    ^D    ^D    ^b    ^b    ^b    ^b    ^b     twfii 


# 


HEINRICH    HEINE 


ife^ttlon  be  luxe 


7Xw  Edition  of  the  Worh  of  Heinrich  Heink  m  limited 
to  One  Thoutand  numbered  and  regittered  eofiet  for 
America. 

V 


\ 


:,    oo 


This  u  Copy  No IJ*  *' 


^/YM 


<i(^^vr  ^^  ^yfYui^'. 


»■  ». 


—  r 


The    Wo rks    of  v ' 

11  einrich    Jtieine 

Translated  by 

Charles    Godfrey    Leland 


Pictures  of  Travel 

1828  ' 


VOLUME   FIVE 


ILLUSTRATED   WITH  PORTRAITS 


Printed  for  Subscribers  only  by 

CROSCUP  AND  STERLING  COMPANY 

NEW    YORK 


Printed  by 
Ballantynb,  Hanson  &*  Ca 

Edinburgh 


L  LS3 


CONTENTS 

VOLUME  FIVE 
Italy  (1828)— 

Journey  from  Munich  to  Genoa 
The  Baths  of  Lucca    .       .       ^ 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


Frederick  the  Great 

From  an  Engraving  by  HOLLOW  AY. 

Pompeii 

From  a  Photograph. 

Byron     .       .        .       .       . 

From  the  Portrait  by  APPIANT. 

Florence,  Italy   .        .        .       . 
From  a  Photograph. 


PACK 
I 

.       126 


y 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


ITALY, 

(1828.) 

*  Hafis  and  Ulrich  Htitton,  too, 

Moat  don  their  armB,  and  get  to  blowi. 

Against  the  cowls,  both  brown  and  bine, 

— My  fate  like  other  Christians'  goea." — 60ETBZ. 


JOURNEY  FROM  MUNICH  TO  GENOA. 

"  A  noble  soul  never  comes  into  your  reckoning ;  and  it  is 
that  which  to-day  has  foundered  your  wisdom.  (He  opens  bis 
desk,  and  takes  out  two  pistols,  of  which  he  loads  one  and  lays 
the  other  on  the  table.")— Bobkbt'b  Povoer  of  Circumstances. 


CHAPTER  L 

I  AM  the  politest   man   in  the  world.     I    am 
happy  in  the  reflection  that  I  have  never  been 
rude  in  this  life,  where  there  are  so  many  in- 
voL.  n.  A 


2  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

tolerable  scamps,  who  take  you  by  the  button 
and  draw  out  their  grievances,  or  even  declaim 
their  poems — yes,  with  true  Christian  patience 
have  I  ever  listened  to  their  misereres  without 
betraying  by  a  glance  the  intensity  of  ennui 
and  of  boredom  into  which  my  soul  was  plunged. 
Like  unto  a  penitential  martyr  of  a  Brahmin, 
who  offers  up  his  body  to  devouring  vermin,  so 
that  the  creatures  (also  created  by  God)  may 
satiate  their  appetites,  so  have  I,  for  a  whole  day, 
taken  my  stand,  and  calmly  listened  as  I  grinned 
and  bore  the  chattering  of  the  rabble,  and  my  I 
internal  sighs  were  only  heard  by  Him  who 
rewards  virtue. 

But  the  wisdom  of  daily  life  enjoins  politeness, 
and  forbids  a  vexed  silence  or  a  vexatious  reply, 
even  when  some  chuckle-headed  "  Commercial 
Councillor "  or  barren  -  brained  cheesemonger 
makes  a  set  at  us,  beginning  a  conversation 
common  to  all  Europe  with  the  words,  "Fine 
weather  to-day."  No  one  knows  but  that  we 
may  meet  that  same  Philistine  again,  when  he 
may  wreak  bitter  vengeance  on  us  for  not  politely 
replying,  "  It  is  very  fine  weather."  Nay,  it  may 
even  happen,  dear  reader,  that  thou  mayest,  some 
fine  day,  come  to  sit  by  the  Philistine  aforesaid 
in  the  inn  at  Cassel,  and  at  the  table  d'hdtCj  even 
by  his  left  side,  when  he  is  exactly  the  very  man 
who  has  the  dish  with  a  jolly  brown  carp  in  it, 


•  ■\"  ■-.■•/■     ITALY.     ^.-  :.   J''v-:':'::a;'  V 

which  he  is  merrily  dividing  among  the  many. 
If  he  now  chance  to  hare  some  ancient  gradge 
against  thee,  he  pushes  away  the  dish  to  the 
right,  so  that  thou  gettest  not  the  smallest  bit  of 
tail,  and  therewith  canst  not  carp  at  all.  For, 
alas !  thou  art  just  the  thirteenth  at  table,  which 
is  always  an  unlucky  thing  when  thou  sittest  at 
the  left  hand  of  the  carver,  and  the  dish  goes 
around  to  the  right.  And  to  get  no  carp  is  a 
great  evil — perhaps,  next  to  the  loss  of  the 
national  cockade,  the  greatest  of  all.  The  Philis- 
tine, who  has  prepared  this  evil,  now  mocks  thee 
with  a  heavy  grin,  offering  thee  the  laurel  leaves 
which  lie  in  the  brown  sauce.  Alas !  what  avail 
laurels,  if  you  have  no  carp  with  them ;  and  the 
Philistine  twinkles  his  eyes  and  snickers,  and 
whispers,  "Fine  weather  to-day  !" 

Ah !  dear  soul,  it  may  even  happen  to  thee 
that  thou  wilt,  at  last,  come  to  lie  in  some 
churchyard  next  to  that  same  Philistine,  and 
when,  on  the  Day  of  Judgment,  thou  hearest 
the  trumpet  sound,  and  sayest  to  thy  neighbour, 
"Good  friend,  be  so  kind  as  to  reach  me  your 
hand,  if  you  please,  and  help  me  to  stand  up ; 
my  left  leg  is  asleep  with  this  damned  long  lying 
still ! " — then  thou  wilt  suddenly  remember  the 
well-known  Philistine  laugh,  and  wilt  hear  the 
mocking  tones  of  "  Fine  weather  to-day !  " 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


CHAPTER   n. 


"  FoiNE  wey-ther  to-day ! " 

Oh,  reader,  if  yon  could  only  have  heard  the 
tone — the  incomparable  treble-base — in  which 
these  words  were  uttered,  and  could  have  seen 
the  speaker  himself — ^the  arch-prosaic,  widow's- 
saving-bank  countenance,  the  stupid-cute  eyelets, 
the  cocked-up,  cunning,  investigating  nose— yon 
would  have  at  once  said,  "  This  flower  grew  on 
no  common  sand,  and  these  tones  are  in  the 
dialect  of  Charlottenburg,  where  the  tongue  of 
Berlin  is  spoken  even  better  than  in  Berlin 
itself." 

I  am  the  politest  man  in  the  world.  I  love 
to  eat  brown  carps,  and  I  believe  in  the  resurrec- 
tion. Therefore  I  replied,  "  In  fact,  the  weather 
is  very  fine." 

When  the  son  of  the  Spree  heard  that,  he 
grappled  boldly  on  me,  and  I  could  not  escape 
from  his  endless  questions,  to  which  he  himself 
answered ;  nor,  above  all,  from  his  comparisons 
between  Berlin  and  Munich,  which  latter  city 
he  would  not  admit  had  a  single  good  hair 
growing  on  it.  I 

I,  however,  took  the  modern  Athens  under  my 

4 


'■'*:. 


ITALY.  --■■■-■:,.:ry :;^ :--.:■ --:<^ 

protection,  being  always  accnstomed  to  praise  the 
place  where  I  am.  Friend  reader,  if  I  did  this  at 
the  expense  of  Berlin,  you  will  forgive  me  when 
I  qnietly  confess  that  it  was  done  out  of  pure 
policy,  for  I  am  fully  aware  that  if  I  should  ever 
begin  to  praise  my  good  Berliners,  my  renown 
would  be  for  ever  at  an  end  among  them  ;  for  they 
would  begin  at  once  to  shrug  their  shoulders,  and 
whisper  to  one  another,  "  The  man  must  be  un- 
commonly green ;  he  even  praises  us  !  "  No  town 
in  the  world  has  so  little  local  patriotism  as  Ber- 
lin. A  thousand  miserable  poets  have,  it  is  true, 
long  since  celebrated  Berlin  both  in  prose  and  in 
rhyme,^et  no  cock  in  Berlin  crowed  their  praise 
and  nojien  was  cooked  for  them,  and  "  under  the 
Lindens  "  they  were  esteemed  miserable  poets  as 
before.  On  the  other  hand,  as  little  notice  is  taken 
when  some  bastard  rhymer  lets  fly  in  parahasa  ^ 
directly  at  Berlin.  But  let  any  one  dare  to  write 
anything  against  Polknitz,  Innsbruck,  Schilda, 
Posen,  Krahwinkel,  or  other  capital  cities  !  How 
the  patriotism  of  the  said  places  would  bristle  up ! 
The  reason  of  which  is :  Berlin  is  no  real  town, 
but  simply  a  place  where  many  men,  and  among 
them  men  of  intelligence,  assemble  who  are  utterly 


1  Paraixuen — TopipSuris.  In  the  ancient  comedy,  »  poasagfe 
addreued  directly  to  the  aadience.  ScHOLA.  Abisioph.,  Nub. 
$14.— Note  by  Trandator. 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


indifferent  as  to  the  place,  and  these  persons  form 
the  intelligent  world  of  Berlin.      The   stranger 
who  passes  through  sees  but  the  far-stretching, 
uniform-looking  houses,  the  long,  broad  streets, 
built  by  the  line  and  level,  and,  very  generally, 
by  the  will  of  some  particular  person,  but  which 
afford  no  clue  to  the  manner  of  thinking  of  the 
multitude.    Only  Sunday  children  ^  can  ever  guess 
at  the  private  state  of  mind  of  the  dwellers  there- 
in when  they  behold  the  long  rows  of  houses, 
which,  like  the  men  themselves,  seem  striving  to 
get  as  far  apart  as  possible,  as  if  they  were  star- 
ing  at  each   other  with   mutual   vindictiveness. 
Only  once — one  moonlight  night — as  I  returned 
home  late  from  Luther  and  Wegener,  I  observed 
that  the  harsh,  hard  mood  had  melted  into  mild 
sorrow,   and  that,  in   reconciliation,  they  would 
fain  leap  into  each  other's  arms ;  so  that  I,  poor 
mortal,  who  was  walking  through  the  middle  of 
the  street,  feared  to  be  squeezed  to  death.    Many 
would  have  found  this  fear  laughable,  and  I  my- 
self laughed  at  it  when   I,  the  next  morning, 
wandered  soberly  through  the  same  scene,  and 
found  the  houses  yawning  as  prosaically  at  each 
other  as  before.    It  is  true  that  it  requires  several 


I  Sunday  children.  Those  who  are  bom  on  Sunday  are  sap- 
posed,  in  Germany,  to  be  better  able  so  see  ghosts,  and  to  have 
a  greater  insight  into  spiritual  mysteries  than  other  people. 


ITALY.  ■-:.;:::,■■;:•■.■:'  •:.':;,;:;: V:.^:  1 

bottles  of  poetry,  if  a  man  wishes  to  see  anything 
more  in  Berlin  than  dead  houses  and  Berliners. 
Here  it  is  hard  to  see  ghosts.  The  town  contains 
so  few  antiqoities  and  is  so  new  ;  and  yet  all  this 
"new"  is  already  so  old,  so  withered,  and  dead. 
For,  as  I  said,  it  has  grown,  in  a  great  degree, 
not  from  the  intellect  of  the  people,  but  from  that 
of  individuals.  Frederick  the  Great  is  of  course 
the  most  eminent  among  these.  What  he  dis- 
covered was  the  firm  foundation,  and  had  nothing 
been  built  in  Berlin  since  his  death,  we  should 
have  had  a  historic  monument  of  the  soul  of  that 
prosaic,  wondrous  hero,  who,  with  downright  Grer- 
man  bravery,  set  forth  in  himself  the  refined 
insipidity  and  flourishing  freedom  of  intelligence, 
the  shallowness  and  the  excellence  of  his  age. 
Potsdam,  for  instance,  seems  to  be  such  a  monu- 
ment ;  amid  its  deserted  streets  we  wander  among 
the  writings  of  the  philosopher  of  Sans  Soiud  ;  it 
belongs  to  his  osuvres  posthumes,  and  though  it  is 
now  but  petrified  waste  paper,  and  looks  ridicu- 
lous enough,  we  still  regard  it  with  earnest  in- 
terest, and  suppress  an  occasional  smile  when  it 
rises,  as  if  we  feared  a  sudden  blow  across  our 
backs  from  the  Malacca  cane  of  "  old  Fritz."  But 
such  feelings  never  assail  us  in  Berlin ;  we  there 
feel  that  old  Fritz  and  his  Malacca  cane  have  lost 
their  power,  or  else  there  would  not  peep  so  many 
sickly,  stupid  countenances  from  the  old  enlight- 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


ened  windows  of  the  healthy  town  of  reason,  nor 
would  so  many  stupid,  superstitious  houses  have 
settled  down  among  the  old  sceptical,  philoso- 
phical dwellings.  I  would  not  be  misunderstood, 
and  expressly  remark  that  I  am  not  here  in  any 
wise  snapping  at  the  new  Werder  Church — that 
Gothic  temple  in  revived  proportions — which  has 
been  put,  out  of  pure  irony,  between  modem 
buildings,  in  order  to  allegorically  indicate  how 
childish  and  stupid  it  would  appear  if  any  one 
were  desirous  of  reviving  the  long  obsolete  insti- 
tutions of  the  Middle  Ages  among  the  new  for- 
mations of  a  modern  day. 

The  above  remarks  are  applicable  only  to  the 
exterior  of  Berlin,  and  if  any  one  wishes  to  com- 
pare Munich,  in  this  relation,  to  Berlin,  he  may 
safely  assert  that  it  forms  its  very  opposite.  For 
Munich  is  a  town  built  by  the  people  in  person, 
and  by  one  generation  after  another,  whose  pecu- 
liar spirit  is  still  visible  in  their  architectural 
works ;  so  that  we  behold  there,  as  in  the  witch 
scene  in  "Macbeth,"  a  chronological  array  of 
ghosts,  from  the  dark  red  spectre  of  the  Middle 
Ages,  who,  in  full  armour,  steps  forth  from  some 
ecclesiastical  Gothic  doorway,  down  to  the  accom- 
plished and  light-footed  sprite  of  our  own  age, 
who  holds  out  to  us  a  mirror  in  which  every  one 
complacently  beholds  himself  reflected.  In  all 
these  scenes  there  is  something  which  reconciles 


,..,..  '• 


oar  feelings ;  that  which  is  barbaric  does  not  dis- 
turb ns,  and  the  old-fashioned  does  not  seem 
repugnant  when  we  are  brought  to  regard  it  as 
a  beginning  to  that  which  comes  after,  and  as  a 
necessary  transition  state.  We  are  cast  into  an 
earnest  but  not  unpleasant  state  of  mind  when 
we  gaze  upon  that  barbaric  cathedral,^  which 
rises  like  a  colossal  boot-jack  over  the  entire  city, 
and  hides  in  its  bosom  the  shadows  and  ghosts 
of  the  Middle  Ages.  With  as  little  impatience — 
yes,  with  quizzical  ease — we  regard  the  brick-in- 
their-hat-looking  castles  of  a  later  period,  those 
plump  German  imitations  of  polished  French 
unnaturalness,  the  stately  dwellings  of  tasteless- 
ness,  madly  ornamental  and  flourishing  from  with- 
out, and  still  more  filagreeishly  decorated  within 
with  screamingly  variegated  allegories,  gilt  arab- 
esques, stuccoes,  and  odd  paintings  wherein  the 
late  nobility,  of  happy  memory,  are  represented — 
the  cavaliers  with  red,  tipsy- sober  faces,  over  which 
the  long  wigs  fall  down  like  powdered  lion's 
manes — ^the  ladies  with  stiff  toupees,  steel  corsets, 
which  pressed  their  hearts  together,  and  immense 
travelling  jackets,  which  give  them  an   all  the 


1  This  vast  Mructure,  "The  Church  of  Our  Lady,"  is  buflt 
entiiely  of  large  Imck,  and  was  erected  in  1488.  It  is  remark- 
able  for  its  two  domed-capped  towers,  333  feet  in  height. 
Within  this  church  is  the  vast  bronze  tomb  of  the  Emperor 
Lewis  the  Bavarian. — Note  by  Tromtiator. 


lO 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


more  prosaic  continnation.  As  remarked,  this 
view  does  not  nntane  ns ;  it  contributes  all  the 
more  to  make  us  rightly  appreciate  the  present, 
and,  when  we  behold  the  new  works  near  the  old, 
we  feel  as  if  a  heavy  wig  had  been  lifted  from 
our  heads,  and  steel  links  unbound  from  about 
our  hearts.  I  here  speak  only  of  the  genial 
temples  of  art  and  noble  palaces  which  in  bold 
splendour  have  bloomed  forth  from  the  spirit  of 
the  great  master,  Klenze. 


CHAPTER  III. 


But,  after  all,  between  you  and  I,  reader,  when 
it  comes  to  calling  the  whole  town  "  a  new 
Athens,"  the  designation  is  a  little  absurd,  and 
it  costs  me  not  a  little  trouble  to  represent  it  in 
this  light.  This  went  home  to  my  very  heart 
in  the  dialogue  with  the  Berlin  Philister,  who, 
though  he  had  conversed  for  some  time  with 
me,  was  nnpolite  enough  to  find  an  utter  want 
of  the  first  grain  of  Attic  salt  in  the  new 
Athens.  I 

"  That,"  he  cried  tolerably  loudly,  "  is  only  to 
be  found  in  Berlin.     There,  and  there  only,  ia 


ITALY.  %':/■:  ^  _>.■:  :--y     II 

wit  and  irony.  Here  they  have  good  white  beer, 
bnt  no  irony."^ 

"  No,  we  haven't  got  irony,"  cried  Nannerl,  the 
pretty,  well-formed  waiting-maid,  who  at  this 
instant  sprang  past  ns ;  "  but  you  C5an  have  any 
other  sort  of  beer."  :  :^      -.     /  - 

It  grieved  me  to  the  heart  that  Nannerl  should 
take  irony  to  be  any  sort  of  beer,  were  it  even 
the  best  brew  of  Stettin,  and  to  prevent  her  from 
falling  in  future  into  such  errors,  I  began  to  teach 
her  after  the  following  wise  : — "  Pretty  Nannerl, 
irony  is  not  beer,  but  an  invention  of  the  Berlin 
people— the  wisest  folks  in  the  world — who  were 
awfully  vexed  because  they  came  too  late  into 
the  world  to  invent  gunpowder,  and  therefore 
undertook  to  find  out  something  which  should 
answer  as  well  Once  upon  a  time,  my  dear, 
when  a  man  had  said  or  done  something  stupid, 
how  could  the  matter  be  helped  ?  That  which 
was  done  could  not  be  undone,  and  people  said 
that  the  man  was  an  ass.  That  was  disagree- 
able. In  Berlin,  where  the  people  are  shrewdest, 
and  where  the  most  stupid  things  happen,  the 
people  soon  found  out  the  inconvenience.  The 
Government  took  hold  of  the  matter  vigorously ; 
only  the  greater   blunders   were   allowed  to  be 


^  An  nnintelligible  passage.     Berlin,  not  Munich,  has  always 
been  famous  for  white  (or  wheat)  beer. — Note  by  Trandator, 


Is 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


printed,  the  lesser  were  simply  suffered  in  con- 
versation ;  only  professors  and  high  oflScials  conld 
say  stnpid  things  in  public,  lesser  people  could 
only  make  asses  of  themselves  in  private ;  but 
all  of  these  regulations  were  of  no  avail ;  sup- 
pressed stupidities  availed  themselves  of  extra- 
ordinary opportunities  to  come  to  light,  those 
below  were  protected  by  those  above,  and  the 
emergency  was  terrible,  until  some  one  discovered 
a  reactionary  means,  whereby  every  piece  of  stu- 
pidity could  change  its  nature,  and  even  be  meta- 
morphosed into  wisdom.  The  process  is  altogether 
plain  and  easy,  and  consists  simply  in  a  man's 
declaring  that  the  stnpid  word  or  deed  of  which 
he  has  been  guilty  was  meant  ironically.  So, 
my  dear  girl,  all  things  get  along  in  this  world, 
stupidity  becomes  irony,  toadyism  which  has 
missed  its  aim  becomes  satire,  natural  coarseness 
is  changed  to  artistic  raillery,  real  madness  is 
humour,  ignorance  real  wit,  and  thou  thyself  art 
finally  the  Aspasia  of  the  modem  Athens." 

I  would  have  said  more,  but  pretty  Nannerl, 
whom  I  had  up  to  this  point  held  fast  by  the 
apron-string,  broke  away  loose  by  main  force,  as 
the  entire  band  of  assembled  guests  began  to  roar 
for  "  A  beer !  a  beer ! "  in  stormy  chorus.  But 
the  Berliner  himself  looked  like  irony  incarnate 
as  he  remarked  the  enthusiasm  with  which  the 
foaming  glasses  were  welcomed,  and  after  point- 


-■■-'■^- ■;._-:    ITALY.     -V^--T' V-^  ■-:-:' -ll.' 

ing  to  a  group  of  beer-drinkers  who  toasted  their 
hop-nectar  and  disputed  as  to  its  excellence,  he 
said,  smiling,  "  Those  are  your  Athenians !  ** 

The  remarks  which  he  availed  himself  of  this 
opportunity  to  shove  in  fairly  vexed  me,  as  I 
must  confess  that  at  heart  I  cherish  not  a  little 
love  for  our  modem  Athens,  and  I  accordingly 
improved  the  occasion  to  intimate  to  my  head- 
strong fault-finder  that  the  idea  had  only  recently 
occurred  to  us  that  we  were  as  yet  raw  hands  at 
modem  Athens-making,  and  that  our  great  minds, 
as  well  as  the  better  educated  public,  are  not  yet 
so  far  advanced  that  it  will  bear  looking  at  too" 
closely.  All  as  yet  is  in  the  beginning,  and  far 
from  completion.  Only  the  lower  lines  of  busi- 
ness have  as  yet  been  taken  up,  "  and  it  can 
scarcely  have  escaped  your  observation  that  we 
have  plenty  of  owls,  sycophants,  and  Phrynes." 
True,  the  higher  characters  are  wanting,  and 
therefore  many  a  man  must  assume  different 
parts ;  for  instance,  our  poet  who  sings  the  deli- 
cate Greek  boy-love  has  also  taken  on  him  Aristo- 
phanic  coarseness ;  but  he  is  capable  of  anything, 
and  possesses  everything  which  a  great  poet  should, 
except  a  few  trifles,  such  as  wit  or  imagination, 
and  if  he  had  much  money  he  would  be  a  rich 
man.  But  what  we  lack  in  quantity  is  assuredly 
made  up  to  us  in  quality.  We  have  but  one 
great  sculptor,  but  he  is  a  "  lion."     We  have  but 


14  PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 

one  great  orator,  bat  I  believe  from  my  soul  that 
Demosthenes  could  not  thunder  so  loudly  over  a 
malt  tax  in  Attica.  And  if  we  have  never  poisoned 
a  Socrates,  it  was  not  because  we  lack  poison. 
And  if  we  have  as  yet  no  actual  Demos,  no  entire 
populace  of  demagogues,  at  least  we  could  supply 
a  show  sample  of  the  article  in  a  demagogue 
by  profession,  who  in  himself  outweighs  a  whole 
pile  of  twaddlers,  muzzlers,  poltroons,  and  similar 
blackguards ;  and  here  he  is  in  person ! 

I  cannot  resist  the  temptation  to  describe  the 
figure  which  here  presented  itself.  I  leave  the 
question  open  to  discussion  whether  this  figure 
could  with  justice  assert  that  its  head  had  any- 
thing human  in  it,  and  whether  it  could  on  that 
account  legally  claim  to  be  considered  as  human. 
I  should  myself  have  taken  this  head  for  that  of 
an  ape,  only  out  of  courtesy  I  will  let  it  pass  for 
a  man's.  Its  cover  was  a  cloth  cap,  shaped  like 
Mambrino's  helmet,  below  which  hung  down 
long,  stifi",  black  hair,  which  was  parted  in  front 
A  Venfant.  On  that  side  of  this  head  which 
gave  itself  out  for  a  face,  the  Goddess  of  Vul- 
garity had  set  her  seal,  and  that  with  so  much 
force  that  the  nose  had  been  mashed  flat ;  the 
depressed  eyes  seemed  to  be  seeking  this  nose  in 
vain,  and  to  feel  grieved  because  they  could  not 
find  it ;  an  unpleasantly  smelling  smile  played 
around  the  mouth,  which  was  altogether  enchant- 


ITALY.   <>■^■•■  -J-;.-.'vV\^-.--if 

ing,  and  might  have  inspired  our  Greek  bastard 
poet  to  the  most  delicate  "Gazelles."  The 
clothes  were,  firstly,  an  old  German  coat,  some- 
what modified,  it  is  true,  by  the  most  pressing 
requisitions  of  modem  European  civilisation,  but 
still  in  its  cut  recalling  that  worn  by  Arminius 
in  the  Teutobergian  forests,  the  primitive  form 
of  which  has  been  as  mysteriously  and  tradition- 
ally preserved  by  a  patriotic  tailor's  union,  as 
was  once  Gothic  architecture  by  a  mystical  Free- 
mason's guild.  A  white-washed  collar  which 
deeply  and  significantly  contrasted  with  the  bare 
old  German  neck,  covered  the  collar  of  this 
famous  coat ;  from  the  long  sleeves  hung  long 
dirty  hands,  and  between  these  appeared  a  long, 
slow  body,  beneath  which  waddled  two  short, 
lively  legs — the  entire  form  was  a  drunken-sick- 
dizzy  parody  of  the  Apollo  Belvidere. 

"  And  that  is  the  Demagogue  of  the  Modem 
Athens ! "  cried  the  Berliner,  with  a  mocking 
laugh.  "  Good  Lard  !  can  that  be  a  countryman 
of  mine !  I  can  hardly  believe  mee  own  eyes ! 
that  is  the  one  who — no,  that  is  the  fact ! " 

"  Yea,  ye  deluded  Berliners,"  I  exclaimed,  not 
without  excitement,  "  ye  recognise  not  your  own 
geniuses  and  stone  your  prophets.  But  we  can 
make  use  of  all! "  \         ^  :     /     •      ■: 

"And  what  will  you  do  with  this  unlucky 
insect?" 


i6 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


"  He  can  be  nsed  for  anything  where  jumping, 
creeping)  sentiment,  gormandising,  piety,  much 
old  German,  a  little  Latin,  and  no  Greek  at  all 
is  needed.  He  can  really  jump  very  well  over  a 
cane ;  makes  tables  of  all  sorts  of  all  possible 
leaps,  and  lists  of  all  possible  ways  of  reading 
old  German  poetry.  Withal  he  represents  a 
Fatherland's  love  without  being  in  the  least 
dangerous.  For  every  one  knows  that  he  left  the 
old  German  demagogues,  among  whom  he  acci- 
dentally once  found  himself  very  suddenly,  when 
he  found  that  there  was  danger  afoot,  which  by 
no  means  agreed  with  the  Christian-like  feelings 
of  his  soft  heart.  But  since  the  danger  has 
passed  away,  the  martyrs  suffered  for  their  opinions, 
and  even  our  most  desperate  barbers  have  doffed 
their  old  German  coats,  the  blooming  season  of 
our  prudent  rescuer  of  the  Fatherland  has  really 
begun.  He  alone  has  still  retained  the  dema- 
gogue costume  and  the  phrases  belonging  to  it ; 
he  still  exalts  Arminius  the  Cheruscan  and 
Thusnelda  as  though  they  were  blood  relations ; 
he  still  preserves  his  German  patriotic  hatred  for 
the  Latin  Babeldom,  against  the  invention  of 
soap,  against  Thiersch's  heathen  Greek  grammar, 
against  Quintilins  Varus,  against  gloves,  and 
against  all  men  who  have  decent  noses ;  and  so 
he  stands  there,  the  wandering  monument  of  a 
passed    away   time,   and,   like  the    last    of  the 


ITALY,  :y-K--'/l\--;.^/:-  rW: 

Mohicans,  so  too  does  he  remam  the  last  of  the 
Demagognes,  of  all  that  mighty  horde.  Yoa 
therefore  see  how  we  in  our  Modem  Athens, 
where  demagogues  are  entirely  wanting,  can  use 
this  man.  We  have  in  him  a  very  good  dema- 
gogue, who  is  so  tame  as  to  lick  any  boot,  and 
eat  from  the  hand  hazelnuts,  chestnuts,  cheese, 
sausages,  in  short,  will  eat  anything  given  to 
him;  and  as  he  is  the  only  one  of  his  sort,  we 
have  the  further  advantage  that  when  he  has 
kicked  the  bucket  we  can  stuff  him  and  keep 
him,  hide  and  hair,  for  posterity  as  a  specimen 
of  the  Last  Demagogue.  But,  I  pray  you,  say 
nothing  of  all  this  to  Professor  Lichtenstein  in 
Berlin,  or  he  will  reclaim  him  for  the  Zoological 
Museum,  which  might  occasion  a  war  between 
Prussia  and  Bavaria,  as  nothing  would  ever  in- 
duce us  to  give  him  up.  Already  the  English 
are  on  the  qiU  vive  and  bid  two  thousand  seven 
hundred  and  seventy  guineas  for  him;  already 
the  Austrians  have  offered  a  giraffe  for  him  ;  but 
our  ministry  has  expressly  declared  that  the  Last 
of  the  Demagogues  shall  not  be  sold  at  any  price 
— he  will  one  day  be  the  pride  of  our  cabinet  of 
natural  history  and  the  ornament  of  our  town." 

The  Berliner  appeared  to  listen  somewhat  difl^ 
tractedly — more  attractive  objects  had  drawn  his 
attention,  and  he  finally  interrupted  me  with  the 
words,  "  Excuse  me,  if  yon  please,  if  I  interrupt 

."■    VOL.  n.  -:••  /  .  ■■< 


It  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

yon,  bat  will  70a  be  so  kind  as  to  tell  me  what 
sort  of  a  dog  that  is  which  runs  there  ?  " 

"That  is  another  pnppy." 

"  Ah !  you  don't  understand  me.  I  refer  to 
the  great  white  shaggy  dog  without  a  tail/' 

"  My  dear  sir,  that  is  the  dog  of  the  modem 
Alcibiades." 

*'  Bat,"  exclaimed  the  Berliner,  ''  where  is  then 
the  modern  Alcibiades  himself?"  ' 

"To  tell  the  plain  truth,"  I  replied,  "the  office 
is  not  as  yet  occupied,  and  we  have,  so  far,  only 
his  dog.** 


CHAPTEE  TV. 

The  place  where  this  conversation  occurred  is 
called  Bogenhausen,  or  Neuburghausen,  or  Villa 
Hompesch,  or  the  Montgelas  Garden,  or  the 
Little  Castle ;  but  there  is  no  need  of  mention- 
ing its  name,  for  if  any  one  undertakes  to  ride 
out  of  Munich,  the  coachman  understands  us  by 
a  certain  thirsty  twinkle  of  the  eyes,  by  well- 
known  noddings  of  the  head,  anticipatory  of 
enjoyment,  and  by  grimaces  of  the  same  family. 
The  Arab  has  a  thousand  expressions  for  a  sword, 
the  Frenchman  for  love,  the  Englishman  for  hang- 
ing, the  German  for  drinking,  and  the  modem 
Athenian  for  the  place  where  he  drinks.     The 


beer  is  in  the  place  aforesaid  really  very  good, 
even  in  the  Prytanoenm,  vtUgo  "  Bokskeller/'  it  is 
no  better,  and  it  tastes  admirably,  especially  on 
that  stair-terrace  where  we  have  the  Ty^^®^® 
Alps  before  our  eyes.  I  often  sat  there  daring 
the  past  winter,  ga25ing  on  the  snow -covered 
moantains,  which,  gleaming  in  the  sun-rays 
seemed  like  molten  silver. 

In  those  days  it  was  also  winter  in  my  soul. 
Thoughts  and  feelings  seemed  as  it  were  snowed 
in,  and  my  soul  was  dried  up  and  dead.  To  this 
was  added  political  vexations,  grief  for  a  dearly 
loved  lost  child,  and  an  old  source  of  grief  with 
a  bad  cold.  Moreover,  I  drank  much  beer,  having 
been  assured  that  it  made  light  blood.  But  the 
best  Attic  Breihahn^  profited  not  by  me,  who 
had  previously  in  England  accustomed  myself  to 
porter. 


^  Breihakn,  literally  "  brew-oock."  A  few  centoriea  ago  the 
term  Breihahn  was  applied  only  to  a  sort  of  Hanoverian  beer. 
But  it  is  now  of  more  general  application.  In  the  treatise  De 
Jure  Potandi,  which  forms  a  part  of  the  Facetvae  Faeetiarum, 
edit.  1645,  p.  61, 1  find  the  following  list  of  the  then  fashionable 
beers  : — "  Meo  palatui  magit  ad  Uanditur  eerevitia  Bottochientit, 
Dantziger  DvhbeU  Bier,  Preussingk,  Braunsehtoeigiache,  Afumrae, 
Knitenack,  Harmovertch  Breyhan,  Englischt  Bier,  Zerbtter, 
Torger  {qvam  Ktukuek)  Bueffd,  Bcutrum,  Klattche.  "Bock, 
■apposed  by  the  French  to  mean  a  glass  of  beer,  is  literally 
"  goat,"  and  the  name  of  a  "  cellar "  in  Munich  where  a 
pecaliar  and  strong  beer  known  as  Boekbier  was  sold  only 
daring  the  month  of  May.    It  was  succeeded  by  the  Salvator  beer. 


»» 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


At  last  came  the  day  when  all  changed.  The 
mn  burst  forth  from  the  heaven  and  sackled  the 
earth,  that  ancient  child,  with  her  gleaming  milk, 
the  hills  trembled  with  joy,  and  their  snow-tears 
ran  down  mighty  in  their  power.  The  ice  on  the 
lakes  cracked  and  broke,  the  earth  opened  her 
Wne  eyes,  the  dear  flowers  and  the  ringing  woods 
ran  forth  from  her  bosom,  the  green  palaces  of 
the  nightingales  and  all  nature  laughed,  and  this 
laughter  was  spring.  In  my  soul  there  began 
also  a  new  spring ;  new  flowers  sprouted  from  my 
heart,  feelings  of  freedom  like  roses  shot  up,  and 
therewith  secret  longings,  like  young  violets,  amid 
which  were  many  useless  nettles.  Hope  again 
drew  her  cheerful  green  covering  over  the  gravee 
of  my  desires,  even  the  melodies  of  poetry  came 
again  to  me  like  birds  of  passage  who  have  gone 
with  winter  to  the  warm  South,  and  who  now  again 
seek  their  abandoned  nests  in  the  North,  and 
the  neglected  Northern  heart  rang  and  bloomed 
as  of  old— only  I  knew  not  how  all  this  happened. 
Was  it  a  brown  or  a  blonde  sun  which  awoke 
spring  once  more  in  my  heart,  and  kissed  awake 
all  the  sleeping  flowers  in  my  bosom,  and  laughed 
up  the  nightingales?  Was  it  elective  Nature 
herself  which  sought  its  echo  in  my  breast,  and 
gladly  mirrored  herself  therein  with  her  freeh 
spring  gleam  ?  I  know  not,  but  I  believe  that 
tiie  terrace  at  Bogenhausen,  in  view  of  the  Tyro- 


Je«e  Alp0,  gave  mj  heart  a  new  enchantment. 
When  I  sat  there  deeply  buried  in  thought,  it 
often  seemed  to  me  as  though  I  saw  the  counte- 
nance of  a  wondrous  lovely  youth  peeping  over 
the  mountains,  and  I  longed  for  wings  that  I 
might  hasten  to  his  home-land,  Italy.  Often  did 
I  feel  myself  surrounded  by  the  perfumes  of  orange 
and  lemon  groves,  which  blew  from  the  hills, 
enticing  and  calling  me  to  Italy.  Once  even  in 
the  golden  twilight  I  saw  the  young  Spring  God, 
large  as  life,  standing  on  the  summit  of  an  Alp. 
Flowers  and  laurels  surrounded  his  joyful  head 
and  with  smiling  eyes  and  merry  mouth  he  cried, 
**  I  love  thee — seek  me  in  Italy ! 


>* 


CHAPTER  V. 

My  glance  may  have  quivered  somewhat  long^gly, 
as  I,  in  doubt  over  the  immeasurable  dialogue  of 
the  Philistines,  gazed  at  the  lovely  Tyrolese  Alps, 
and  sighed  deeply.  My  Berlin  Philister,  however, 
saw  in  this  glance  and  sigh  fresh  subject  for  con- 
versation, and  sighed  with  ma  "  Ah !  yea ;  I  too 
would  now  be  so  glad  to  be  in  Constantinople! 
Ah !  to  see  Constantinople  was  always  the  one 
wish  of  my  life ;  and  now,  certain  sure  by  this 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


time,  the  Bnssians  have  got  in  there.  Ah  t 
Constantinople !  Have  you  visited  St.  Peters- 
burg ?  "  I  admitted  that  I  had  not,  and  begged 
him  to  narrate  something  of  it.  Bnt  it  was  not 
he  himself,  bnt  his  brother-in-law,  the  Court 
Chamber  Councillor,  who  had  been  there,  and  it 
was  an  altogether  peculiar  sort  of  a  town.  "  Have 
you  seen  Copenhagen  though  ?  "  Having  replied 
in  the  negative,  I  also  requested  some  sketch  of 
the  latter  place,  when  he  laughed  very  significantly, 
nodding  his  head  here  and  there  right  pleasantly, 
assuring  me  upon  his  honour  that  I  could  form  no 
sort  of  idea  of  the  town  if  I  had  not  been  there. 
*'  That,"  I  replied,  "  cannot  just  at  present  be  the 
case.  I  am  now  thinking  over  another  journey, 
which  first  came  into  my  head  this  spring — I 
intend  travelling  in  Italy." 

As  the  man  heard  these  words,  he  suddenly 
leaped  from  his  chair,  pirouetted  three  times  on 
one  foot,  and  trilled,  TirUi  I  TiriXi  !  TirUi  / 

That  was  the  last  spur.  "  To-morrow  I  start ! " 
was  my  determination  on  the  spot.  I  will  delay 
no  longer.  I  will  at  once  see  that  land,  the  mere 
mention  of  which  so  inspires  the  driest  and  most 
commonplace  of  mortals,  that  he  at  once,  in 
ecstasy,  trills  like  a  quail.  While  I  at  home 
packed  my  trunk,  that  Tirili  rang  constantly  in 
my  ears ;  and  my  brother,  Maximilian  Heine,  who 
the  next  day  accompanied  me  as  far  as  the  Ty^^^ 


ITALY. 


<«(ra1d  not  comprehend  why  it  was  that,  on  the 
whole  way,  I  did  not  speak  a  single  sensible  word, 
and  constantly  tiril-eed.  y  ^ 


CHAPTER  VL 

TnuLi!  TirUii  I  live!  I  feel  the  sweet  pain 
of  existence !  I  feel  all  the  joys  and  sorrows  of 
life!  I  suffer  for  the  salvation  of  the  whole 
human  race !  I  atone  for  their  sins — but  I  also 
enjoy  them. 

And  I  also  feel  not  only  with  humanity,  but 
with  the  world  of  plants.  Their  thousand  green 
tongues  narrate  the  sweetest,  gentlest  tales  to 
me ;  they  know  that  I  have  not  selfish  human 
pride,  and  that  I  converse  as  willingly  with  the 
lowliest  meadow  floweret  as  with  the  loftiest  pines. 
Ah !  I  know  how  it  is  with  those  pines !  They 
shoot  heaven-high  from  the  depth  of  the  valley, 
and  well  nigh  range  over  the  boldest  mountain 
rocks.  But  how  long  does  their  glory  last  ?  At 
the  utmost  a  few  miserable  centuries,  when,  weary 
with  age,  they  break  down  and  rot  on  the  ground. 
Then,  by  night,  the  treacherous  cat  ^  comes  steal- 

I  In  one  edition  SSUdem;  in  the  iMt,  Kduxdein  or  owlet. 


24  PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 

ing  qnicklj  £rom  clefts  in  the  rocks,  and  mooks 
them :  "  Ha,  ye  strong  pines — je  who  hoped  to 
vie  with  the  rocks — now  ye  lie  broken  adown 
there,  and  the  rocks  stand  unshaken  as  before." 

The  eagle,  who  sits  on  his  favonrite  lonely 
rocks  and  listens  to  this  scorn,  most  feel  pity  in 
his  soul,  for  he  then  thinks  on  his  own  destiny. 
For  even  he  knows  not  how  deeply  he  may  some 
day  be  bedded.  But  the  stars  twinkle  so  sooth- 
ingly, the  forest  streams  ripple  so  consolingly, 
and  his  own  soul  leaps  so  proudly  over  all  petty 
thoughts,  that  he  soon  forgets  them.  When  the 
sun  comes  forth  he  feels  as  before  as  he  flies  up- 
wards to  it,  and  when  near  it,  sings  his  joy  and 
his  pain.  His  fellow-creatures,  especially  men, 
believe  that  the  eagle  cannot  sing,  and  know  not 
that  he  only  lifts  his  voice  in  music  when  far 
fix)m  the  realm  which  they  inhabit,  and  that  in 
his  pride  he  will  only  be  heard  by  the  sun.  And 
he  is  right,  for  it  might  occur  to  some  of  the 
feathered  mob  down  below  there  to  criticise  his 
song.  I  myself  have  heard  such  critics.  The 
hen  stands  on  one  leg  and  clucks  that  the  singer 
has  no  "  soul ; "  the  turkey  gobbles  that  he  needs 
"  earnest  feeling ; "  the  dove  coos  that  he  cannot 
feel  "  true  love ; "  the  goose  quacks  that  he  is 
"  ignorant  of  science ; "  the  capon  chuckles  out 
that  he  is  "  immoral ; "  the  martin  twitters  that 
he  is  "  irreligious ; "  the  sparrow  pipes  that  "  he  is 


\ 

\ 

\ 

\ 


ITALY.  '  as 

not  sufficiently  prolific ; "  hoopoos^  popinjajB,  and 
screech-owls,  all  cackling,  and  gabbling,  and  yell- 
ing ;— only  the  nightingale  joins  not  in  the  noise 
of  these  critics.  Caring  naught  for  her  contem- 
poraries, the  red  rose  is  her  only  thought  and  her 
only  song ;  deep  lost  in  desire,  she  flatters  around 
that  red  rose,  and  wild  with  inspiration  she  leapt 
among  the  loved  thorns,  and  sings  and  bleeds. 


CHAPTER  VTL  , 

There  is  an  eagle  in  the  German  Fatherland 
whose  sun-song  rings  so  powerfully  that  it  may 
also  be  heard  here  below,  and  even  the  nightin- 
gales cease  to  sing,  in  spite  of  all  their  melodious 
pains.  Thou  art  that  eagle,  Karl  Immermann, 
and  I  often  think  of  thee  in  that  land  of  which 
thou  hast  sung  so  sweetly.  How  could  I  travel 
through  the  Tyrol  without  thinking  of  the  "  Tra- 
gedy"? 

Now,  of  course,  I  have  seen  things  in  another 
light;  but  I  wonder  that  the  poet,  who  created 
from  the  fulness  of  his  soul,  should  have  ap- 

1  V^iedehoepclien.  Perbi^s  this  word  might  be  alao  rendered 
"pooh-pooh."  It  ia  always  used  contemptnoosly,  from  tbe 
userted  filthy  habits  of  the  bird— ^Tote  bjf  Trandator. 


/ 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


proached  so  near  the  reality,  which  he  had  neyer 
seen.  I  was  most  pleased  with  the  reflection  that 
"  The  Tragedy  in  Tyrol"  was  prohibited.  I  thought 
of  the  words  which  my  friend  Moser  wrote  ine, 
when  he  said  that  the  Becaod  T^mne  of  the 
« Picknas  rf  TtbtbI  "  was  forbidden :  "  It  was 
needless  for  Government  to  put  the  book  nnder 
the  ban — people  would  have  read  it  without 
that**  I 

In  Innsbruck,  in  the  Golden  Eagle,  where 
Andreas  Hofer  had  lodged,  and  where  every 
comer  is  still  filled  with  his  portraits  and  me- 
mentoes, I  asked  the  landlord,  Herr  Kieder- 
kirchner,  if  he  knew  anything  of  the  "  Sandwirth." 
Then  the  old  gentleman  boiled  over  with  elo- 
quence, and  confidentially  informed  me,  with  divers 
winks,  that  the  whole  story  had  at  last  come  out 
in  a  book,  which  was,  however,  altogether  pro- 
hibited ;  and  having  led  me  to  a  dark  chamber, 
where  he  carefully  preserved  his  relics  of  the 
Tyrolese  war,  unrolled  firom  a  dirty  blue  paper  a 
well-thumbed  green-looking  book,  which  I  found, 
to  my  astonishment,  was  Immermann's  "  Tragedy 
in  the  Tyrol."  I  told  the  landlord,  not  without 
pride,  that  the  man  who  had  written  it  was  my 
friend.  Herr  Niederkirchner  would  fain  know 
as  much  as  possible  of  him.  I  said  that  he  was 
one  who  had  seen  service,  a  man  of  good  stature, 
veiy  honourable,  and  very  gifted  in  writing,  so 


ITALY,     -y--  ■'.'-:-'  t-      ■■        27 

that  he  seldom  found  his  like.  Bat  Herr  Nieder- 
Mrchner  would  not  believe  that  he  was  a  Prus- 
sian, and  exclaimed,  with  a  compassionate  smile, 
**  Oh,  get  out ! "  *  He  insisted  on  believing  that 
Immermann  ^w«b  a  Tpolar,  and  that  he  had 
fought  in  the  war — "How  else  ocmld  i»  iime 
known  all  about  it?**  ;^  ,^  ^-^^    V^.  v 

;  Strange  fancies  these  of  the  multitude !  They 
seek  their  histories  from  the  poet,  and  not  from 
the  historian.  They  ask  not  for  bare  facts,  but 
those  facts  again  dissolved  in  the  original  poetry 
from  which  they  sprung.  This  the  poets  well 
know,  and  it  is  not  without  a  certain  mischievous 
pleasure  that  they  mould  at  will  popular  memories, 
perhaps  in  mockery  of  pride-baked  historians  and 
parchment-minded  keepers  of  State  documents. 
Greatly  was  I  delighted  when,  amid  the  stalls  of 
the  last  fair,  I  saw  the  history  of  Belisarius 
hanging  up  in  the  form  of  coarsely  coloured 
engravings,  and  those  not  according  to  Procopius, 
but  exactly  as  described  in  Schenk's  tragedy. 
''  So  history  is  falsified ! "  exclaimed  a  pedantic 
friend  who  accompanied  me;  "it  knows  nothing 
of  a  slandered  wife,  an  imprisoned  son,  a  loving 
daughter,   and  the   like  modem  fictions  of  the 


^  Warvm  nieht  gart  One  ehoold  have  lived  in  Bavaria  or 
the  Tyrol  to  appreciate  the  fall  force  of  this  non-assenting  sea- 
tenoe.     Literally  it  means,  "  Why  not  entirely  so  i  " 


38  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

heart ! "  Bat  is  this  really  an  error*?  Must  «Qit 
be  at  once  brought  against  the  forger?  No,  I 
deny  the  accusation  I  For  they  give  the  a$n$6  in 
all  its  trathfulness,  though  it  be  clothed  in  in- 
verted form  and  circumstanca  There  are  races 
whose  whole  history  has  only  been  handed  down 
in  this  poetic  wise,  such  as  the  Hindoos.  For 
such  lays  as  the  MaJuibareUa  give  the  sense  and 
spirit  of  Indian  history  far  more  accurately  than 
any  writer  of  compendiums  could  with  all  his 
chronology.  From  the  same  point  of  view  I 
would  assert  that  Walter  Scott's  romances  give, 
occasionally,  the  spirit  of  English  history  far  mora 
truthfully  than  Hume  has  done ;  at  least,  Sartorius 
was  very  much  in  the  right  when  he,  in  his 
supplement  to  Spittler,  places  those  romances 
among  English  historical  works.^  | 

It  is  with  poets  as  with  dreamers,  who  in 
sleep  disguise  those  internal  feelings  which  their 
souls  experience  from  real  external  causes,  since 
they  at  once  assign  on  the  spot  by  dreaming,  to 
the  latter,  altogether  different  causes  £rom  the 
real,  which,  however,  in  one  respect,  amount  to 
the  same  thing,  in  that  they  bring  forth  the 
same  feelings.     So,  in  Immermann's  "  Tragedy," 


^  In  like  nwnner  a  distingoiahed  jariat  had  Warren's  "  Ten 
Thousand  a  Tear"  bound  in  oalf  aad  p]aoed  among  his  law 
books. — Note  by  Trandator.  , 


many  dramatic  attribntes  are  rather  arbitrarily 
added,  bat  the  hero  himself,  the  central  point  of 
feeling,  is  accurately  dreamed,  and  if  this  dream- 
form  seems  visionary,  it  is  still  trathfal.  Baron 
Hormayr,  who  is  the  most  competent  judge  of 
this  matter,  turned  my  attention  to  this  circum- 
stance when  I,  on  a  recent  occasion,  had  the 
pleasure  of  conversing  with  him.  Immermann 
has  very  accurately  set  forth  the  mystical  in- 
dividual life,  the  superstitions  piety,  and  the 
epic  character  of  the  man.  He  symbolised  to 
the  life  that  true-hearted  dove,  who  with  a 
glittering  sword  in  the  bill  swept  so  heroically 
like  martial  love  true  over  the  hills  of  Tyrol, 
until  the  bullets  of  Mantua  penetrated  her  heart. 
But  what  is  most  honourable  to  the  poet  is 
the  equally  accurate  description  of  the  opponent, 
whom  he  has  not  described  as  a  raging  Gessler 
merely  to  exalt  his  adversary.  If  the  one  be  a 
dove  with  the  sword,  the  latter  is  not  less  an 
pagle  with  the  olive  branch. 


y> 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


CHAPTER  VnL 


In  the  public  room  of  the  inn  of  Herr  Nieder- 
kirchner  at  Innsbruck  hang  side  by  side  in 
peaceful  unison  the  portraits  of  Andreas  Hofer, 
Napoleon  Bonaparte,  and  Louis  of  Bavaria.        j 

Innsbruck  itself  is  an  uninhabitable,  stupid 
town.  It  may,  perhaps,  appear  more  intelligent 
and  agreeable  in  winter,  when  the  high  mountains 
with  which  it  is  surrounded  are  covered  with 
snow,  and  the  avalanches  thunder  and  ice  cracks 
and  glitters  all  around. 

I  found  the  summits  of  those  mountains  covered 
with  clouds  as  with  grey  turbans.  There  we  see 
the  MartiTiswand,  the  theatre  of  the  pleasantest 
imperial  legends,  since  it  is  especially  in  the 
Tyrol  that  the  memories  of  the  knightly  Max 
flourish  and  ring. 

In  the  HofkircTu — ^royal  church — stand  the 
celebrated  full-length  statues  of  the  princes  and 
the  princesses  of  the  House  of  Austria  with  their 
ancestors,  among  whom  are  many  who  doubtless 
wonder  even  at  the  present  day  how  they  came 
by  the  honour.  They  stand  in  mighty  life-size, 
cast  in  iron,  around  the  tomb  of  Maximilian. 
But  as  the  church  is  small  and  roof  low,  they 


pat  one  in  mind  of  fig^ores  of  black  wax  in  a 
booth  in  a  fair.  On  the  pedestal  of  most  we 
GUI  also  read  the  names  of  those  whom  they 
represent.  As  I  looked  at  these  statues,  an 
English  party  entered,  the  leader  being  a  lean 
man  with  a  gaping  countenance,  his  thumbs 
hooked  into  the  armholes  of  his  white  vest,  and 
holding  between  his  teeth  a  leathern  Guide  des 
Voyageurs,  Behind  him  came  his  tall  companion 
for  life,  a  lady  no  longer  young,  and  who  had 
apparently  both  lived  and  loved  herself  out,  but 
still  quite  good-looking.  Behind  them  came  a 
red  porter-face  in  powder-white  trimmings,  tread- 
ing stiffly  along  in  a  ditto  coat,  his  wooden  hands 
fully  freighted  with  my  lady's  gloves,  Alpine 
flowers,  and  a  poodle.        ^  .  .     ;  :         ^  . 

The  trinity  ^  walked  straight  as  a  plumb-line 
to  the  upper  end  of  the  church,  where  the  son  of 
Albion  explained  the  statues  to  his  wife,  and  that 


1  In  the  original  Heine  ases  the  word  KUdlaU,  or  dorer 
la*f,  which  (like  trifolivm  in  Mediseval  Latin)  signifies  in  Ger- 
man a  company  of  three.  It  was  doubtless  an  association  with 
the  Trinity  which  caused  the  clover  leaf  company  of  three  to 
be  r^rarded  as  peculiarly  correct.  Compagnie  de  troii,  eoM' 
pagnie  de  royt,  says  an  old  French  proverb.  In  the  drinking 
language  of  the  knights  of  the  Middle  Ages  a  clover  leaf  meaut 
the  draining  of  three  large  goblets  of  wine,  each  one  at  a  dranght. 
In  modem  Grerman-student  phrase  it  is  applied  to  a  quantum  of 
drinking  utensils  for  three  persons,  or  a  Saufgetdluehafi  or  dob 
of  that  number. — Note  hy  Trandator. 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL, 


from  His  gnide-book,  in  which  he  read  at  foil 
length  the  desoriptions.  The  first  statue  is  that 
of  King  Clodeyig  of  France,  the  next  that  of 
King  Arthnr  of  England,  the  third  Endolph  of 
Hapsbnrg,  and  so  forth.  But  as  the  poor  English- 
man began  by  mistake  the  row  from  above  instead 
of  from  below,  as  his  guide-book  directed,  he  fell 
into  the  most  exquisite  blunders,  which  were  still 
more  comic  when  he  came  to  some  lady's  statue, 
which  he  mistook  for  that  of  a  man,  and  vice  vendj 
so  that  he  could  not  comprehend  why  Budolph  of 
Hapsburg  wore  petticoats,  or  why  Queen  Maria 
had  donned  steel  breeches,  and  had  a  much  too 
long  beard.  I,  who  was  willing  to  help  him  out 
with  my  learning,  casually  remarked  that  that 
was  probably  the  fashion  in  those  days,  and  it 
might  haye  also  been  a  peculiar  freak  of  those 
dignitaries,  so  that  people  dared  not  for  their 
lives  cast  them  otherwise.  So  if  it  came  into 
the  head  of  the  then  emperor  to  have  himself 
"run"  in  petticoats  or  swaddling  bands,  who 
dared  object  to  his  fancy  ? 

The  poodle  barked  critically,  the  lackey  stared, 
the  gentleman  rubbed  his  face  with  his  handker- 
chief, and  my  lady  said,  "  A  Jvm  exhiMtion  ;  very 
Jincy  indied/" 


ITALY.  33 


CHAPTER   IX. 

Bbixen  was  the  second  great  town  of  the  Tyrol 
which  I  entered.  It  lies  in  a  valley,  and  as  I 
arrived  there  it  was  covered  over  with  mist  and 
the  shadows  of  evening.  Twilight,  silence,  melan- 
choly ding-donging  of  bells,  sheep  trotting  to  their 
sheds,  human  beings  to  churches,  everywhere  an 
oppressive  smell  of  ugly  saint's  images  and  dry 
hay. 

"  The  Jesuits  are  in  Brixen."  So  I  had  read 
not  long  before  in  Hesperus.  I  looked  every- 
where about  the  streets  to  find  them,  but  saw 
nobody  who  looked  like  a  Jesuit,  unless  it  were  a 
fat  man  in  a  clerical  three-cornered  hat  and  a 
priestly-cut  black  coat,  rather  old  and  worn  out, 
which  contrasted  strangely  with  his  shining  new 
black  breeches. 

"That  can  be  no  Jesuit,"  I  said,  finally  to 
myself,  for  I  have  always  pictured  Jesuits  to 
myself  as  rather  lean.  But  are  there  really  any 
Jesuits  ?  It  often  seems  to  me  that  their  exist- 
ence is  only  a  chimera,  as  though  it  were  only  a 
fear  of  them  which  still  goes  ghosting  ^  about  in 

I  SpvJeen,   to  appear  as  a  gbo«t — to  g^oct  it.      In  plain 
Pennsylvania  English,  to  •pocyfc. 

VOL.  II,  fl 


34 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL, 


oar  heads  long  afler  the  peril  is  over ;  and  all 
the  zeal  still  manifested  against  Jesuits  put  me 
in  mind  of  people  who,  after  it  has  ceased  to 
rain,  go  walking  about  with  opened  and  lifted 
umbrellas.  Yes,  I  often  think  that  the  Devil, 
Nobility,  and  Jesuits  exist  only  so  long  as  we 
believe  in  them.  We  know  it  in  truth  of  the 
Devil,  for  only  the  believers  have  ever  seen  him. 
Also  as  regards  the  nobility,  we  shall  soon  expe- 
rience that  the  bonne  sociSU  has  ceased  to  exist 
so  soon  as  the  good  citizen  takes  it  into  his  head 
not  to  regard  them  any  longer  as  the  bonne  soditi. 
But  the  Jesuits !  At  least  they  no  longer  wear 
the  old  breeches.  The  old  Jesuits  lie  in  their 
graves  with  their  old  breeches,  their  longings, 
their  world  plans,  their  tricks,  distinctions,  reser- 
vations, and  poisons,  and  what  we  now  see  slip- 
ping through  the  world  in  new  shining  breeches, 
is  not  as  much  their  spirit  as  their  spectre, — 
an  awkward,  silly,  weak-minded  spectre,  which 
daily  seems  striving  by  word  and  deed  to  con- 
vince us  how  little  there  is  terrible  in  it;  and 
indeed  it  reminds  us  of  a  similar  ghost  in  the 
Thuringian  forest,  which  obligingly  freed  those 
who  were  terrified  at  it  from  all  terror  by  taking 
its  skull  from  its  shoulders  and  showing  all  the 
world  that  it  was  hollow  and  empty.  |  , 

I  cannot  refrtiin  from  mentioning  by  the  way 
that  I  accidentally  learned  more  of  the  man  in 


"  ■  ITALY, ;■-  iK-'M 

the  shming  new  breeches,  and  ascertained  that 
he  was  no  Jesuit,  but  only  one  of  the  common 
sort  of  the  Lord's  cattle.  For  I  met  him  in  the 
public  room  of  my  inn,  where  he  was  taking 
sapper  in  company  with  a  long,  lean  man,  en- 
titied  "  Excellency,"  who  resembled  the  old 
bachelorly  country  squire  described  by  Shake- 
speare as  closely  as  if  Nature  had  plagiarised  him 
from  the  great  author.  Both  enjoyed  their  meals, 
while  they  persecuted  the  girl  who  waited  on 
them  with  caresses,  which  seemed  to  disgust  to 
the  last  degree  the  charming,  beautiful  creature, 
until  she  finally  broke  from  them  by  main  force, 
when  the  one  clapped  her  smartly  behind,  while 
the  other  sought  to  embrace  her  in  front.  Then 
they  began  with  the  most  vulgar  jests,  which  the 
maiden,  as  they  well  knew,  could  not  help  hear- 
ing, as  she  was  obliged  to  remain  in  the  room 
and  wait  on  the  company  and  spread  my  table. 
But  when,  finally,  their  language  became  literally 
intolerable,  she  at  once  left  everything  standing 
and  disappeared  through  the  door.  When  she 
returned,  which  was  not  for  some  minutes,  it  was 
with  a  little  child  on  her  arm,  which  she  continued 
to  hold  during  the  time  that  she  remained  in  the 
room,  though  it  greatly  impeded  her  movements. 
But  the  two  companions — the  clerical  as  well  as 
the  noble  gentleman — did  not  venture  any  more 
to  insult  the  girl,  who  now,  without  manifesting 


36 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


ftny  ill-feeling,  but  still  with  singnlar  serionsiiess, 
waited  on  them  until  the  end.  Their  language 
took  another  direction;  both  conversed  on  the 
usnal  snbjects  of  conspiracies  against  the  throne 
and  the  altar ;  they  agreed  on  the  necessity  of 
strong  measures,  and  often  clasped  in  turn  the 
hand  of  holy  alliance. 


CHAPTER  X. 


The  works  of  Joseph  von  Hormajrr  are  indis- 
pensable to  him  who  would  study  the  history  of 
the  Tyrol,  while  for  its  more  recent  records  he 
himself  is  the  best,  and  in  many  respects  the 
only  source.  He  is  for  the  Tyrol  what  John  von 
Muller  is  for  Switzerland;  a  comparison  which 
frequently  suggests  itself.  They  are  like  next 
neighbours;  both  were  inspired  in  early  youth 
with  love  for  the  Alps  of  their  birth;  both  are 
industrious,  searching  minds,  of  historical  feeling 
and  training.  John  von  Muller,  of  an  epic  turn, 
cradling  his  soul  in  histories  of  the  past.  Joseph 
von  Hormayr,  quick  and  earnest  in  his  feelings, 
is,  on  the  other  hand,  impelled  more  energetically 
into  the  future,  unselfishly  venturing  his  life  for 
that  which  was  dear  to  him.  I 

Bartholdy's  "  War  of  the  Tyrolese  Peasantry 


'   ITALY,   :;--";.:■:. :^" ^-::-,'-:''-9' 

in  the  Year  1809"  is  an  intelligent  and  well- 
written  work,  and  if  it  has  its  defects,  it  is  becansa 
its  writer,  as  is  natural  for  a  noble  sonl,  was  pre- 
judiced in  favonr  of  the  weaker  party,  and  because 
he  still  had  gunpowd^  smoke  in  his  eyes  when 
he  wrote.  ^  ;.;■  \>'^  ■  ■ 

Many  remarkable  events  of  that  time  have 
never  been  written  down,  and  exist  as  yet  only 
in  the  memory  of  the  people,  who  do  not  willingly 
speak  of  them,  because  they  awaken  hopes  which 
were  deceived.  The  poor  Tyrolese  were  obUged  to 
go  through  many  harsh  experiences,  and  if  you  ask 
them  now  if  they  obtained  as  a  reward  for  their 
fidelity  all  which  was  promised  them,  they  good- 
naturedly  shrug  their  shoulders  and  answer  naively, 
that  perhaps  things  were  not  meant  quite  so  much 
in  earnest  as  they  thought ;  that  the  Emperor  haa 
a  great  deal  to  think  of,  and  that  much  passes 
unnoticed  through  his  head. 

Console  yourselves,  poor  rogues !  Ye  are  not 
the  only  ones  to  whom  something  was  'promised. 
It  often  happens  on  board  great  slave-ships,  in 
terrible  storms  and  amid  dangers,  that  they  lN*eak 
the  chains  of  the  blacks,  and  promise  them  their 
freedom  if  they  save  the  vessel.  The  silly  negroes 
rejoice  at  the  light  of  day ;  they  hurry  to  the 
pumps,  they  stamp  in  their  strength,  aid  where 
they  can,  leap,  haul,  coil  the  cables,  and  work 
until  the  peril  is  past.     Then,  of  course,  as  any 


38  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

one  might  suppose,  they  are  put  again  into  the 
hold,  chained  nicely  down,  and  left  in  their  dark- 
ness to  make  demagogical  reflections  on  the  pro- 
mises of  slave-dealers,  whose  only  care  is,  the 
danger  being  over,  to  swindle  some  more  souls 
into  their  power.  [ 


« 


0  navis  referent  in  mare  te  novi. 

Fluctus?" 


When  my  old  teacher  used  to  explain  this  ode 
of  Horace,  in  which  the  Senate  is  compared  to  a 
ship,  he  was  in  the  habit  of  making  all  sorts  of 
political  reflections,  which  he  abruptly  suspended 
after  the  battle  of  Leipzig  had  been  fought,  and 
the  whole  class  was  suddenly  broken  up.  | 

My  old  teacher  knew  it  all  beforehand.  When 
we  first  heard  of  the  battle,  he  shook  his  grey 
head.  Now  I  know  what  that  shaking  meant. 
Soon  we  had  more  accurate  intelligence,  and  in 
secret  people  showed  one  another  pictures,  in  which 
we  saw,  in  varied  and  instructive  form,  how  the 
higher  leaders  of  the  armies  knelt  on  the  field 
of  battle  and  thanked  God.  I 

"  Yes,  they  might  thank  God,"  said  my  teacher, 
and  smiled  as  he  was  accustomed  to  do  when  he 
commented  on  Sallust ;  "  the  Emperor  Napoleon 
has  rapped  them  so  often  on  the  head  that  they 
must  eventually  learn  something." 

Then  came  the  Allies,  and  the  miserable  poems 


.-':  •""        ITALY.  ■}':-''''''^^;:..::^'' '-J:'' }'■/■;,     39 

of  the  Liberation,  "Hermann  and  Thusnelda," 
"Hurrah"  and  the  "Female  Union,"  and  the 
"  Fatherland's  Acorns,"  and  the  everlasting  boast- 
ing of  the  battle  of  Leipzig,  and  once  again  the 
battle  of  Leipzig,  and  no  end  thereof 

"  It  is  with  these  people,"  remarked  my  teacher, 
"  as  with  the  Thebans,  when  they  finally,  at 
Leuctra,  overcame  the  mighty  Spartans,  and  con- 
tinually boasted  of  it,  so  that  Antisthenes  com- 
pared them  to  boys  who  can,  having  once  beaten 
their  master,  never  cease  their  rejoicings.  My 
dear  youths,  it  would  have  been  better  for  us  had 
we  ourselves  got  the  whipping."       ■''.':: 

Soon  after  the  old  man  died.  Prussian  grass 
now  grows  over  his  grave,  and  there  also  are  pas- 
tured the  horses  of  our  renewed  nobility. 


CHAPTER  XL 

The  T^rolese  are  handsome,  cheerful,  honourable, 
brave,  and  of  inscrutable  narrowness  of  mind. 
They  are  a  healthy  race,  perhaps  because  they  are 
too  stupid  to  be  ill.  I  would  also  call  them  a 
noble  race,  because  they  evince  much  discrimina- 
tion in  their  food,  and  keep  their  houses  very 
clean ;  only  they  entirely  lack  the  feeling  of  per- 
sonal dignity.     The  Tyrolese  has  a  sort  of  laugh- 


■•  *  ■■-■ 


49  PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 

I 

ing,  hamorons  servilism,  which  wears  an  almost 
ironical  air,  but  which  is  intended  to  be  thoroughly 
honourable.  The  girls  in  the  Tyrol  greet  you  so 
amiably,  and  the  men  press  your  hand  so  severely, 
and  behave  themselves  with  such  ornamental  ear- 
nestness, that  you  can  almost  believe  that  they 
treat  you  like  a  near  relation,  or  at  least  like  one 
of  themselves :  but  you  are  wide  of  the  mark : 
they  never  forget  that  they  are  but  common 
people,  and  that  you  are  a  gentleman  who  likes 
to  see  common  people  speak  to  him  without  shy- 
ness. And  in  this  their  instincts  are  true  to 
nature,  for  the  stifiTest  aristocrats  are  pleased  when 
they  can  find  an  opportunity  of  laying  aside  their 
dignity,  for  it  is  by  the  descent  that  they  realise 
how  high  they  are  placed.  At  home,  the  Tyrolese 
exercise  this  servility  gratis;  when  abroad,  they 
use  it  to  enrich  themselves.  They  set  a  price  on 
their  personality  and  nationality.  These  dealers 
in  variegated  table-covers,  these  jolly  Tyrolese 
fellows  {Tyroler  Bud),  whom  we  see  travelling 
about  in  their  national  costume,  willingly  let  you 
crack  a  joke  on  them — but  you  must  buy  some- 
thing of  them.  The  Rainer  family  who  were  in 
England  understood  the  business,  and  had  a  good 
adviser  into  the  bargain,  who  well  understood 
the  spirit  of  the  EngUsh  nobility.  This  was  the 
cause  of  their  gracious  reception  in  that  foyer  of 
European  aristocracy,  the  West  Eiui  of  tlie  tovm. 


ITALY.  Ai 

When  I  stood,  last  summer,  in  the  brilliant  con- 
cert-halls of  the  London  fashionable  world,  and 
saw  those  Tyrolese  singers,  in  their  national  cos- 
tume, mount  the  stage,  and  listened  to  those  lays 
which  are  jodeled  with  such  good  and  naive  ex- 
pression, and  which  ring  so  pleasantly  in  our 
Northern  German  heart,  it  all  ate  with  bitter 
discontent  into  my  soul;  the  gratified  laughter 
of  aristocratic  lips  stung  me  like  serpents;  it 
seemed  as  though  I  saw  the  purity  of  the  German 
tongue  profaned  and  the  sweetest  mysteries  of 
German  spirit-life  degraded  before  a  foreign  mob. 
I  could  not  applaud  this  shameless  trafficking 
in  the  most  reserved  feelings,  and  a  Swiss,  who, 
inspired  with  the  same  feelings,  leflb  with  me  the 
hall,  very  truly  remarked,  "  "We  Swiss  trade  for 
money  the  best  things  we  have— our  cheese  and 
our  best  blood — but  we  cannot  hear  the  Alpine 
horn  blown  in  foreign  lands,  much  less  play  on 
it  ourselves,  for  money."  ^ 


1  Those  who  have  been  taxed  many  times  in  Switzerland  for 
having  mountain-horns  blown  for  them  will  be  of  a  different 
opinion,  and  many  of  their  players  have  been  heard  in  all 
countries.  Those  who  know  the  Tyrolese  will,  however,  declare 
that  this  description  of  them  is  much  too  unfavourable.  What 
Heine  calls  servilitm,  might  be  better  called  an  Italian -like 
politeness.  There  are  no  people  in  the  world  who  will  so 
promptly  resent  an  insult.  Even  the  Gypsies  of  the  Tyrol  have 
caught  the  spirit  of  their  neighbours,  and  are  the  manliest  and 
freest-spoken  Romanys,  while  perfectly  respectful  and  {x>lite, 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


CHAPTER  Xn. 

Tyrol  is  very  beautiful,  but  the  most  beautiftil 
landscapes  cannot  enchant  us  when  darkened  by 
gloomy  weather  and  similar  causes  of  mental  ex- 
citement This  is  always  the  case  with  me,  and 
when  there  is  bad  weather  without,  I  invariably 
find  bad  weather  within.  I  only  occasionally 
dared  put  my  head  out  of  the  waggon,  and  then 
I  beheld  mountains  high  as  the  heaven,  which 
looked  earnestly  down  on  me,  and  nodded  to  me, 
with  their  monstrous  heads  and  cloud-beards,  a 
pleasant  journey.  Here  and  there  I  beheld  a  far- 
blue  hill,  which  seemed  travelling  along  on  foot, 
and  to  peep  inquisitively  over  the  head  of  other 
hills,  as  if  to  look  at  me.  Everywhere  crashed 
the  forest  streams,  which  leaped  as  if  mad  from 
the  mountains,  and  met  in  the  whirlpools  of  the 
valleys.  The  inhabitants  sat  snug  in  their  neat, 
clean  little  cottages,  which  for  the  greater  part  lie 
scattered  on  the  steepest  cliffs,  and  on  the  very 


whom  I  have  ever  known.  As  for  the  Rainers  being  base  be- 
caose  they  sang  their  songs  in  England  for  money,  one  might  as 
well  blame  a  distingoished  German  poet  because  bis  works  were 
writiien  for  and  sold  to  Frenchmen  1 — Note  by  Trandator: 


'^  ■  -.y^- 


.-»*.         V. 


ITALY.       T;   ).:'-\        -•■-'« 

edge  of  precipices;  and  these  neat,  clean  little 
cottages  are  generally  ornamented  with  long  bal- 
cony-like galleries,  which  in  turn  are  bedecked 
with  linen,  images  of  saints,  flower-pots,  and 
pretty  girls.  These  cottages  are  also  prettily 
painted,  mostly  with  white  and  green,  as  if  they 
too  had  a  fancy  to  wear  the  national  costume  of 
green  suspenders  over  a  white  shirt.  When  I 
beheld  these  houses  far  away  amid  the  lonely  rain, 
my  heart  would  fain  climb  up  to  them  and  to 
their  inhabitants,  who  beyond  doubt  sat  dry  and 
jolly  enough  within.  "  In  these,"  thought  I, "  they 
must  live  very  pleasantly  and  domestically,  and 
I  dare  say  the  old  grandmother  tells  them  the  most 
confidential  talea"  While  the  coach  went  on 
without  mercy,  I  often  looked  back  to  see  the 
little  blue  pillars  of  smoke  climbing  from  the 
chimneys,  and  then  it  rained  harder  than  ever, 
both  without  and  within,  until  the  tear-drops  ran 
out  of  my  eyes. 

But  my  heart  often  rose  and  climbed  in  spite 
of  the  weather  to  the  men  who  dwell  high  up  on 
the  mountains,  and  perhaps  hardly  come  down 
once  in  a  lifetime,  and  learn  but  little  of  what 
is  passing  here  below.  Yet  they  are  not  on  that 
account  less  good  or  happy.  They  know  nothing 
of  politics,  save  that  they  have  an  Emperor  who 
wears  a  white  coat  and  red  breeches,  as  they 
have  learned  from  an  old  uncle,  who  had  learned 


44 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


it  himself  in  Innabmck  from  Black  Joe,  who 
had  been  in  Vienna.  And  when  the  patriots 
climbed  up  to  them,  and  told  them  with  oratory 
that  they  now  had  a  prince  who  wore  a  blue 
coat  and  white  breeches,  they  grasped  their  rifles, 
and  kissed  wife  and  child,  and  went  down  the 
mountain  and  offered  up  their  lives  in  defence  of 
the  white  coat  and  the  dear  old  red  breeches. 

After  all,  it  amounts  to  about  one  and  the 
same  thing  for  what  we  die,  if  we  only  die  for 
something  we  love ;  and  a  warm  true-hearted 
death  like  this  is  better  than  a  cold  false  life. 
The  very  songs  of  such  a  death  warm  our  hearts 
with  their  sweet  rhymes  and  bright  words,  when 
damp  clouds  and  pressing  sorrows  would  fain 
render  it  dark  and  gloomy. 

Many  such  songs  rang  in  my  heart  as  I  crossed 
the  Tyrolese  mountains.  The  confiding  fir-trees 
rustled  many  forgotten  love -words  back  into 
my  memory.  Particularly  when  the  great  blue 
mountain  lakes  gazed  on  me,  with  such  endless 
longing  did  I  recall  "the  two  king's  children" 
who  loved  so  dearly  and  died  together.  It  is  an 
old,  old  story,  which  nobody  believes  now,  and  of 
which  I  myself  only  remember  a  few  rhymes. 

**  They  both  were  monarch's  children, 
And  loved  right  well,  I  ween. 
But  never  could  come  together. 
For  water  was  rolling  between 


:/ 


ITALY,  ^^::^■^•■■•/c  .^-    :;        43 

Dear  heart !  canst  thou  swim  hither  t  v 

Dear  hearty  so  swim  to  me ; 
111  light  thee  from  my  window, 

It  shall  thy  beacon  be  1 " 

These  words  began  to  ring  in  my  heart  as  I, 
on  an  opposite  lake,  beheld  on  one  side  a  little 
boy  and  on  the  other  a  little  girl,  both  prettily 
dressed  in  their  variegated  national  costume  with 
little  ribboned  green  taper  hats  on  their  heads, 
wafting  greetings  to  one  another — 

"  But  never  could  come  together. 
For  water  was  rolling  between."  * 


CHAPTER  XTTT. 

In  Southern  Tyrol  the  weather  cleared  np,  the 
snn  of  Italy  made  itself  felt  even  at  a  distance, 
the  hills  became  warmer  and  brighter;  I  saw 
vines  rising  on  them,  and  I  could  lean  oftener 
out  of  the  carriage  windows.  But  when  I  thus 
leaned  out  there  leaned  with  me  my  heart,  and 
with  my  heart  all  its  love,  sorrow,  and  folly. 
And  it  often  happened  that  the  poor  heart  was 


*  A  Lower-Rheniah  old  ballad,  also  common  in  PlAtt-Deatsoh, 
Flemish,  Dutch,  and  Frisian.  It  is  given  in  Ubland's  VoUedieder 
•ad  Jkt  Knaben  Wunderhom, 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


torn  by  the  thorns  when  it  leaned  towards  the 
rose-bushes  by  the  wayside — and  the  roses  of 
Tyrol  are  not  ugly.  When  I  rode  through 
Steinach  and  saw  the  market-place  where  Immer- 
mann  represents  the  "  Sand-landlord,"  Hofer,  as 
coming  boldly  forth  with  his  companions,  I  found 
that  the  spot  was  too  small  for  an  insurgent 
meeting,  but  large  enough  to  fall  in  love  in. 
There  are  only  a  few  white  houses  there,  and 
from  a  small  window  there  peeped  out  a  little 
Sand-landlady,  aiming  and  shooting  from  great 
eyes ;  if  the  coach  had  not  travelled  by  so  quickly, 
and  had  she  had  time  to  load  again,  I  should 
have  been  shot  dead  for  certain.  I  called  out, 
"  Go  ahead,  coachman ;  there  is  no  joking  with 
such  a  '  fair  Elsie ; '  such  eyes  would  set  fire  to 
the  house  over  one's  head ! "  As  an  experienced 
traveller,  I  must  confess  that  the  landlady  in 
Sterzing  is  really  an  old  woman,  but  she  has  two 
young  daughters,  whose  eyes  warm  the  heart  of 
the  traveller  as  he  steps  out  of  the  coach,  in 
a  most  beneficial  manner.  But  I  cannot  forget 
tfiee,  thou  fairest  of  all,  thou  lovely  spinner  on 
the  marches  of  Italy  !  Oh,  hadst  thou  given  to 
me,  as  Ariadne  gave  to  Theseus,  the  thread  of  thy 
spinning  to  lead  me  through  the  labyrinth  of  life, 
I  had  long  since  conquered  the  Minotaur,  and  I 
would  love  thee,  and  kiss  thee,  and  never  leave  thee ! 
It  is  a  good  sign  when  women  laugh,"  says 


({ 


ITALY.  %■-■:  ::\:- :  ■':<■[:  ^       47 

a  Chinese  author,  and  a  German  writer  was  ot 
precisely  the  same  opinion,  when  in  Southern 
Tyrol,  just  where  Italy  begins,  he  passed  a  moun- 
tain at  whose  base,  on  a  low  foundation,  he  passed 
one  of  those  neat  little  houses  which  look  so  lovely 
with  their  snug  gallery  and  naive  paintings.  On 
one  side  stood  a  great  wooden  crucifix,  supporting 
a  young  vine,  so  that  it  looked  horribly  cheerful, 
like  life  twining  around  death,  to  see  the  soft 
green  branches  hanging  around  the  bloody  body 
and  crucified  limbs.^  On  the  other  side  of  the 
cottage  was  a  round  dovecote,  whose  feathered 
population  flew  here  and  there,  while  one  very 
gentle  white  dove  sat  on  the  pretty  gabled  roof, 
which,  like  a  pious  niche  over  a  saint,  rose  over 
the  head  of  the  lovely  spinner.  She,  the  fair  one, 
sat  on  the  little  gallery  and  span,  not  accord- 
ing to  the  German  method,  but  in  that  world-old 
manner  by  which  a  distaff  is  held  under  the  arm, 
and  the  thread  descends  with  the  loose  spindle. 
So  of  old  span  kings'  daughters  in  Greece ;  so  at 
the  present  day  spin  the  Fates  and  all  Italian 
women.  She  span  and  langhed,  the  dove  sat 
still  over  her  head,  while  far  over  house  and  all 

^  It  has  been  observed,  not  without  reason,  that  this  constant 
familiarity  with  blood,  pain,  and  instraments  of  torture,  as  set 
forth  in  pictiires  of  the  crucifixion,  martyrdoms,  and  hell,  has 
been  a  great  cause  of  the  fondness  for  cruelty,  as  seen  in  the 
treatment  of  animals,  stabbing,  kc,  in  Italy  and  Spain. — Note 
^  Tramdator. 


\: 


48 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


rose  the  monntains,  their  snowy  snmmits  glitter- 
ing in  the  son,  so  that  they  seemed  like  giants 
with  polished  helmets  on  their  heads. 

She  span  and  smiled ;  and  I  believe  that  she 
spun  my  heart  fast,  as  the  coach  went  along  some- 
what more  slowly  on  account  of  the  broad  stream 
oftheEisach.  The  dear  features  remained  all  day 
in  my  memory;  everywhere  I  beheld  nothing  save 
a  lovely  face,  which  seemed  as  though  a  Grecian 
sculptor  had  carved  it  from  the  perfume  of  a  white 
roee,  in  such  breath-like  delicacy,  such  beatific 
nobility,  that  I  could  believe  he  had,  while  young, 
dreamed  it  of  a  spring  night.  But  those  eyes ! 
ah !  no  Greek  could  ever  have  imagined  or  com- 
prehended them.  But  I  saw  and  comprehended 
those  romantic  stars  which  so  magically  illumined 
the  glory  of  the  antique.  All  day  long  I  saw 
them,  and  all  night  long  I  dreamed  of  them. 
There  she  sat  again  smiling,  the  doves  fluttering 
around  like  angels  of  love,  even  the  white  dove 
over  her  head  mystically  flapped  its  wings ;  be- 
hind her  rose  mightier  than  ever  the  helmet 
warriors,  before  her  rolled  along  more  stormily 
the  brook,  the  vine- branches  climbed  in  wilder 
haste,  the  crucified  wooden  image  quivered  with 
pain,  and  the  suffering  eyes  opened  and  the 
wounds  bled,  but — she  sat  still  and  span,  and  on 
the  thread  of  her  distaff,  like  a  dancing  spindle, 
hung  my  own  heart 


ITALY, 


CHAPTER  XrV. 

While  the  sun  gleamed  ever  lordKer  and  loveKer 
from  heaven,  clothing  monntain  and  castle  with 
golden  veils,  it  became  still  hotter  and  livelier  in 
my  heart ;  once  more  my  whole  bosom  was  full  of 
flowers,  which  shot  forth  sprouting  mightily  over 
my  head,  and  through  the  flowers  from  my  heart 
smiled  heavenly  fair  the  face  of  the  lovely  spinner. 
Imprisoned  in  such  dreams — myself  a  dream — I 
came  to  Italy,  and  as  I  during  the  journey  had 
entirely  forgotten  that  I  was  travelling  thither,  I 
was  well  nigh  terrified  when  all  at  once  all  the 
great  Italian  eyes  opened  on  me,  and  the  varie- 
gated, tangled  life  of  Italy  came  leaping  towards 
me,  real,  warm,  and  humming. 

All  of  this  happened  to  me,  however,  in  the 
city  of  Trent  one  fine  Sunday  afternoon,  at  the 
hour  when  the  heat  goes  to  sleep,  and  the  Italians 
wake  up  and  go  walking  about  the  streets.  This 
town  lies,  old  and  broken,  amid  a  broad  circle  of 
blooming  green  hills,  which,  like  eternal  young 
gods,  look  down  on  the  ancient  broken  works  of 
man.  Broken  and  brittle,  too,  near  the  latter  lies 
the  high  castle  which  once  ruled  the  town,  a  dar- 
ing building  of  a  daring  time,  with  spires,  pinnacles, 

VOL.  n.  D 


so  PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL.  j 

battlements,  and  a  broad,  round  tower,  inhabited 
by  owls  and  Austrian  invalids.  Even  the  town 
itself  is  wildly  and  boldly  built,  and  at  the  first 
glance  it  produces  a  wonderful  effect,  with  its 
awfully  old  houses,  with  their  faded  frescoes  and 
cracked  saints'  images,  towers,  porticoes,  barred 
windows,  and  those  projecting  roofs  which  rest 
like  balconies  on  old  grey  pillars,  which  seem 
themselves  to  require  support.  Such  a  sight 
would  have  been  all  too  sorrowful  had  not  Nature 
refreshed  the  dead  stones  with  new  life,  had  not 
sweet  vine  leaves  lovingly  and  tenderly  embraced 
the  broken  old  pillars,  as  youth  embraces  age, 
and  still  sweeter  maidens'  faces  had  not  peeped 
from  the  melancholy  old, arched  windows,  and 
smiled  on  the  German  stranger,  who,  like  a  sleep- 
wandering  dreamer,  walked  strangely  here  and 
there  among  the  blooming  ruins. 

I  was  really  as  in  a  dream,  and  one  of  those 
dreams,  too,  wherein  we  strive  to  recall  something 
we  have  dreamed  long  ago.  I  looked  in  turn  at 
the  houses  and  at  the  people,  and  I  was  inclined 
to  think  that  I  had  been  acquainted  with  those 
houses  in  their  better  days,  when  they  wore  bran 
new  paintings,  when  the  gilt  ornaments  on  their 
window  friezes  were  not  as  yet  so  black,  and  when 
the  marble  Madonna  bearing  the  child  on  her  arm 
still  had  her  beautiful  head,  which  those  icono- 
clasts, age  and  wind,  had  broken  away  in  such  a 


ITALY,  ■■■r.y:-':':  .[  si 

vulgar,  Jacobinical  manner.  The  faces  of  the 
elderly  dames  seemed  familiar  to  me,  as  though 
they  had  been  cut  from  the  old  Italian  pictures  I 
had  seen  in  the  Diisseldorf  Gallery  when  a  boy. 
In  like  manner  the  old  men  seemed  well  known 
and  long  forgotten,  and  gazed  at  me  as  though 
from  the  depth  of  a  millennium.  Even  the  brisk 
young  girls  had  in  their  faces  something  of 
that  which  had  been  dead  a  thousand  years, 
and  yet  of  revived  bloom,  so  that  almost  a  terror 
stole  over  me,  a  sweet,  gentle  terror,  such  as  I 
once  felt  when  in  the  lonely  midnight  my  lips 
pressed  those  of  Maria,  a  wondrous  lovely  lady, 
whose  only  fault  was  that  she  was  dead.  But 
then  again  I  laughed  as  the  idea  came  into  my 
head  that  the  whole  town  was  nothing  but  a 
beautiful  novel,  which  I  had  once  read — yes, 
which  I  myself  had  written,  and  that  I  now  was 
enchanted  by  my  own  work,  and  was  terrified 
by  sprites  of  my  own  raising.  "  Perhaps,  too," 
thought  I,  "  all  is  but  a  dream,"  and  I  would 
gladly  have  given  a  dollar  for  a  few  boxes  on 
the  ear,  just  to  learn  whether  I  was  asleep  or 
awake.i 

They  were  at  hand,  and  I  might  have  got  them 
at  a  cheaper  rate,  as  I  stumbled  over  an  old  fruit- 

i  Ohrfeige,  a  box  on  the  ear,  means  also  literally  ear-jigt. 
DatikUi  or  Battd,  a  date-fruit,  has  the  same  meaning. — Note  bp 
Trtmdator. 


0» 


^^^^r>«» 


-.iir--  -*■  >  -: 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


woman.  She  contented  herself  with  throwing  a 
real  box  (of  figs)  at  my  ears,  and  I  thns  came 
snddenly  to  the  conviction  that  I  was,  in  the 
most  actual  of  realities,  in  the  middle  of  the 
market-place  of  Trent,  near  the  great  fountain, 
from  whose  copper  Tritons  and  dolphins  the 
silver-clear  waters  welled  out  pleasant  and  re- 
viving. To  the  left  stood  an  old  palace,  whose 
walls  were  painted  with  many  coloured  allegorical 
figures,  and  on  whose  terrace  several  grey  Austrian 
soldiers  were  being  drilled  into  heroism ;  to  the 
right  stood  a  Gothic-Lombard,  capricious-looking 
house,  from  which  a  sweet,  fluttering  maiden's 
voice  came  trilling  so  dashingly  and  merrily, 
that  the  widowed  old  walls  trembled  either  with 
pleasure  or  from  decay,  while  above  there  looked 
from  the  pointed  window  a  black  labyrinthine- 
curled,  comedian-looking  wig,  under  which  pro- 
jected a  sharply  cut  thin  face,  which  was  rouged, 
but  only  on  the  left  cheek,  and  which  consequently 
looked  like  a  pancake  baked  only  on  one  side. 
But  before  me,  in  the  midst,  stood  the  ancient 
cathedral,  not  great,  not  gloomy,  but  like  a  cheer- 
ful old  man«  confiding  and  inviting  by  his  age. 


ITALY. 


CHAPTER   XV.  V 

As  I  drew  aside  the  green  silk  curtain  which 
covered  the  entrance  to  the  cathedral,  and  entered 
the  house  of  the  Lord,  I  was  agreeably  refreshed 
in  body  and  soul  by  the  pleasant  perfume  which 
greeted  me,  by  the  tranquillising  magic  light  which 
flowed  through  the  many-coloured  windows  on 
the  praying  assembly  within.  They  were  mostly 
women,  kneeling  in  long  rows  on  the  low  prayer- 
benches,  they  prayed  only  with  a  light  movement 
of  their  lips,  fanning  themselves  constantly  mean- 
while with  great  green  fans,  so  that  nothing  could 
be  heard  save  an  incessant  mysterious  whispering, 
and  nothing  seen  but  moving  fans  and  waving 
veils.  The  creaking  tread  of  my  boots  disturbed 
many  a  fine  prayer,  and  great  catholic  eyes  stared 
at  me  half  inquisitively,  half  willingly,  as  if  they 
would  fain  advise  me  to  stretch  myself  at  ease 
and  enjoy  with  them  a  siesta  of  the  soul. 

Truly  such  a  cathedral,  with  its  subdued  light 
and  its  coolness,  is  an  agreeable  resting-place 
when  we  have  out  of  doors  flaring  sunshine  and 
oppressive  heat.  We  have  no  idea  of  this  in  our 
Protestant  North  Germany,  where  the  churches 
are  not  built  so  comfortably,  and  where  the  light 


m  '*-'    ■lit^  .    ■  ■ ^^ -^^.^^  «»*  "f' 


54 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


comes  shootiiig  so  sancily  through  the  nncolonred, 
common-sense  window  panes,  which  do  not  pro- 
tect even  the  cold,  harsh  sermon  from  the  heat. 
People  may  say  what  they  will :  Catholicism  is  a 
good  religion — for  summer.  There  is  such  good 
lying  round  on  the  benches  of  this  old  cathedral, 
we  enjoy  on  them  such  a  cool  piety,  such  a  holy 
dolce  far  niente ;  one  can  pray,  and  dream,  and 
sin  together  in  thought ;  the  Madonnas  wink  so 
forgivingly  from  their  niches;  woman-like,  they 
forgive  us  even  when  we  have  entangled  their 
lovely  features  in  the  sinful  current  of  our  wanton 
imaginations ;  while  as  a  superfluity  there  stands 
in  every  comer  a  brown,  pierced  chair  of  con- 
science, where  we  can  ease  ourselves  of  our  sins. 
In  such  a  chair  sat  a  young  monk  of  earnest 
mien,  but  the  face  of  the  lady  who  confessed  to 
him  her  sins  was  concealed  from  me,  partly  by 
her  white  veil  and  partly  by  the  side  of  the  con- 
fessional ;  yet  there  came  to  view  a  hand,  which 
at  once  held  me  fast.  I  could  not  help  looking 
at  it;  its  blue  veins  and  the  aristocratic  gleam 
of  its  white  fingers  were  so  strangely  familiar  to 
me,  and  all  the  power  of  dreams  in  my  soul  was 
stirred  into  life  to  shape  a  face  to  match  this 
hand.  It  was  a  lovely  hand,  not  that  of  a  young 
girl,  who,  half  lamb  and  half  rose,  has  only 
thoughtless,  vegetable-animal  hands — this  hand, 
on  the  contrary,  had  something  spiritual  in  it, 


»f-i 


•      ITALY.  .-'.■-;■■'::-  55 

Bomething  exciting  past  associations  like  the  hands 
of  handsome  hnman  beings  who  are  highly  refined 
and  accomplished,  or  who  have  greatly  suffered ; 
and  there  was  something  so  touchingly  innocent 
in  this  hand,  that  it  seemed  as  if  it  had  no  occa- 
sion to  confess  with  the  rest  of  the  lady,  and 
would  not  even  hear  what  its  fair  proprietress 
said,  and  therefore  waited  without  till  she  was 
ready.  But  this  lasted  a  long  time;  the  lady 
must  have  had  a  terrible  amount  of  sin  to  narrate. 
I  could  not  wait  any  longer ;  my  soul  pressed  an 
invisible  parting  kiss  on  the  fair  hand,  which 
closed  convulsively  at  the  same  instant,  and  that 
in  the  same  peculiar  manner  in  which  the  hand 
of  the  dead  Maria  was  accustomed  to  close  when 
I  touched  it.  "In  God's  name,"  thought  I, 
what  is  the  dead  Maria  doing  in  Trent  ?  " — and 
I  hastened  from  the  cathedral. 


CHAPTER  XVL 

When  I  again  crossed  the  market-place,  the  fruit- 
woman  of  whom  I  have  spoken  greeted  me  right 
amiably  and  confidently,  as  though  we  were  old 
friends.  "It  is  all  one,"  thought  I,  "how  we 
make  an  acquaintance,  provided  that  it  be  but 
made."     A  box  on  the  ear,  or  a  box  of  figs 


'.^tilk^■^^ 


HB  PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 

hurled  at  one,  or  *a  fig  for  you,'  is  not  in 
faith  a  first-class  introduction,  but  then  the 
fruit-woman  and  I  looked  at  one  another  in  as 
friendly  a  wise  as  though  we  had  jnst  mutually 
handed  over  tip-top  letters,  "introducing,  &c.," 
from  our  best  friends.  And  the  fruit- woman  was 
by  no  means  bad  to  look  at.  She  was,  it  is  true, 
already  in  that  age  when  time  stamps  a  fatal 
certificate  on  our  brow  of  the  active  service  we 
have  done  in  youth,  but  this  had  made  her  all 
the  more  corpulent,  and  what  she  had  lost  in 
youth  she  had  won  in  weight.  Moreover,  her  face 
still  bore  the  traces  of  great  beauty,  and  there  was 
plainly  written  on  it,  as  on  old-fashioned  vases, 
"  To  be  loved,  and  as  loving  live,  is  the  best  joy 
that  earth  can  give."  But  what  gave  her  her 
most  exquisite  charm  was  the  style  in  which  her 
hair  was  dressed— the  carefully  curled  wig-like 
locks,  thickly  stifiened  with  pomatum  and  idyllic- 
ally  entwined  with  white  bell-flowers.  I  gazed 
on  this  woman  with  the  same  rapt  attention  with 
which  an  antiquary  would  pore  over  a  newly  dis- 
interred torso — ^yes,  I  could  detect  far  more  on 
this  living  human  ruin.  I  could  see  on  her  traces 
of  all  the  civilisation  of  Italy — the  Etruscan,  the 
Roman,  the  Gothic,  the  Lombard,  down  to  our 
own  powdered  modem  age,  and  right  interesting 
to  me  was  the  civilised  manner  of  this  old  woman, 
in  contrast  to  her  business  and  to  her  passionate 


•:     ITALY.    •  •■■;;v:;;'-:  ">■  ..s» 

habits.  Nor  yTB&  I  less  interested  by  her  stock- 
in-trade — the  fresh  almonds,  which  I  saw  for  the 
first  time  in  their  green  original  packages,  and 
the  fresh  sweet-smelling  figs,  which  lay  piled  up 
in  heaps  as  common  as  pears  with  ns.  I  was  also 
delighted  with  the  great  baskets  full  of  fresh 
oranges  and  lemons,  and — delightful  sight ! — in 
one  lay  a  child,  beautiful  as  a  picture,  holding  a 
little  bell  in  his  hand,  and  as  the  great  bell  of  the 
cathedral  began  to  sound,  between  every  stroke 
the  boy  rang  his  little  bell,  and  smiled  so  forget- 
ful of  all  worldly  things  up  into  the  blue  heaven, 
that  the  drollest  child's  fancies  came  into  my  own 
head,  and  like  a  child  I  placed  myself  before 
the  basket  and  began  to  eat  and  gossip  with 
the  fruit-woman. 

From  my  broken  Italian  she  at  first  took  me 
for  an  Englishman,  but  I  confessed  that  I  was 
only  a  German.  She  at  once  instituted  a  series 
of  geographical,  economic,  horticultural,  and 
meteorological  questions  as  to  Germany,  greatly 
marvelling  when  I  confessed  to  her  that  no 
lemons  grew  in  our  country — ^that  we  were 
obliged  to  squeeze  ^  very  tightly  the  few  which 
**  went  in  "  among  us  from  Italy,  and  that  in  our 


^  Presten,  also  to  urge.  Thia  is  exactly  eqttivalent  to 
the  American  exhortation :  "  Qo  in  lemona,  if  yon  do  get 
■qaeezed  1 " 


58  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

despair  we  were  obliged  to  make  up  our  want  of 
juice  with  "  a  little  more  ram."  "  Ah !  my  dear 
woman,"  said  I,  "  in  our  land  it  is  very  frosty  and 
foggy ;  our  summer  is  only  a  green-washed  winter ; 
even  the  sun  there  is  obliged  to  wear  a  flannel 
jacket  to  keep  from  catching  cold,  and  what  with 
this  flannel  sunshine  our  fruits  get  along  very  green- 
ly and  poorly — in  fact,  between  you  and  I  and  the 
bed-post,  the  only  ripe  fruits  we  have  are  baked 
apples.  As  for  figs,  they  come  to  us,  like  oranges 
and  lemons,  from  distant  lands,  and  by  the  time 
they  arrive  no  one  would  give  a  fig  for  them ; 
only  the  worst  of  them  ever  reach  us  fresh,  and 
these  are  so  very  bad  that  any  one  who  is  induced 
to  take  them  for  nothing,  always  brings  an  action 
for  damages  against  the  giver.  As  for  almonds,^ 
we  have  only  the  inflamed  and  swollen  sort.  In 
short,  we  are  wanting  in  all  the  nobler  fruits,  and 
have  nothing  but  gooseberries,  peeu's,  hazel-nuts, 
and  similar  canaUle.  I 

^  The  word  almond  is  applied  in  German,  aa  in  Latin,  not 
only  to  the  fruit  of  that  name,  but  to  the  tonsils 


ITALY, 


CHAPTER  XVIt 

I  WAS  really  delighted  to  have  made  a  good 
acquaintance  so  soon  after  arriving  in  Italy,  and 
had  not  deeper  feelings  drawn  me  to  the  sonth,  I 
shoald  have  remained  in  Trent  by  the  good  fruit- 
woman,  by  the  good  figs  and  almonds,  by  the 
little  bell-ringer,  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  by  the 
beautiful  girls,  who  streamed  by  in  hordes.  I 
do  not  know  if  other  travellers  would  here  admit 
the  use  of  the  word  "  beautiful,"  but  the  Trent 
females  pleased  me  most  unexceptionably.  They 
were  just  the  sort  which  I  love ;  and  I  love  those 
pale  elegiac  faces  from  which  great  black  eyes 
gaze  forth  ia  love-sickness ;  I  love  the  dark  hue 
of  those  proud  necks  which  Phoebus  too  has  loved 
and  kissed  brown ;  I  love  those  over-ripe  necks 
with  purple  dots  in  them,  which  seem  as  if  wanton 
birds  had  been  picking  at  them ;  but  above  all  I 
love  that  genial  warm-blooded  gait,  that  silent 
music  of  the  whole  body,  those  limbs  which 
undulate  in  the  sweetest  measures,  voluptuous, 
pliant,  divinely  lewd,  dying  in  breathless  idleness, 
and  then  once  more  etherially  sublime  and  ever 
highly  poetical.  I  love  such  women  as  I  love 
poetry  itself,  and  these  melodiously  moving  forma, 


flO  PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 

this  hnman  orchestra  as  it  rustled  mnsically  past 
me,  found  echo  in  my  heart,  and  awoke  in  it  its 
sympathetic  tones. 

It  was  now  no  longer  the  magic  power  of  a 
first  surprise,  the  legend-like  mystery  of  some 
wild  and  wondrous  apparition;  it  had  become 
that  tranquil  spirit  which  studied  those  female 
forms  as  they  passed  along,  just  as  a  true  critic 
reads  a  poem.  And  by  observing  in  this  wise, 
we  discover  much,  much  that  is  sad  and  strange — 
the  wealth  of  the  past,  the  poverty  of  the  present, 
and  the  great  pride  which  still  remains.  Gladly 
would  the  daughters  of  Trent  bedeck  themselves 
in  silk  and  in  satin  as  in  the  days  of  the  Council, 
when  their  city  bloomed  in  velvets  and  satin ; 
but  the  Council  did  nothing  for  them  ;  the  velvet 
is  shabby,  the  satin  in  rags,  and  nothing  remains 
to  the  poor  children  save  an  empty  tawdry  show, 
which  they  carefully  preserve  during  the  week, 
and  with  which  they  attire  themselves  only  on 
Sunday.  But  many  have  not  even  these  remains 
of  bygone  luxury,  and  must  get  along  as  they 
best  can  with  the  plain  and  cheaper  manufactures 
of  the  present  day.  Therefore  there  is  many  a 
touching  contrast  between  body  and  garment;  the 
exquisitely  carved  mouth  seems  formed  to  com- 
mand, and  is  itself  scornfully  overshadowed  by  a 
wretched  willow  hat  with  crumpled  paper-flowers ; 
the  prondest  breasts  heave  and  palpitate  in  a 


<^\  ^^ 


■■•  -    ITALY.    '>'•>:'::■■-';-••■'-.•  ■•^'' ""  ♦« 

frizzle  of  coarse  woollen  imitation  lace,  and  tbe 
most  spiritual  hips  are  embraced  by  the  stupidest 
cotton.  Sorrow,  thy  name  is  cotton,  and  brown- 
striped  cotton  at  that !  For,  alas !  nothing  pro- 
duced in  me  such  sorrowful  feelings  as  the  sight 
of  a  fair  Trent  girl,  who  in  form  and  complexion 
resembled  a  marble  goddess,  and  who  wore  on 
this  antique  noble  form  a  garment  of  brown- 
striped  cotton,  so  that  it  seemed  as  though  the 
petrified  Niobe  had  suddenly  become  merry,  and 
had  disguised  herself  in  our  modern  small-souled 
garb,  and  now  swept  in  beggarly  pride  and 
superbly  helpless  through  the  streets  of  Trent. 


CHAPTER  XVnL 

When  I  returned  to  the  Locanda  delV  Grande 
JEuropa,  where  I  had  ordered  a  good  pramo,  I 
was  really  so  dispirited  that  I  could  not  eat,  and 
that  is  saying  a  great  deal  for  me.  I  sat  down 
before  the  door  of  the  neighbouring  BoUega, 
refreshed  myself  with  sherbet,  and  spoke  thus : — 
"  Whimsical,  blue-devilled  heart !  now  thou 
art  in  Italy,  why  art  thou  not  tiri-liring  ?  Have 
perhaps  the  old  German  sorrows,  little  serpents 
which  twined  so  closely  within,  come  with  thee 
to  Italy,  and  do  they  now  rejoice,  and  does 
their  common  rejoicing  awaken  in  thy  bosom 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


t 

r 


that  picturesque  sorrow  which  so  strangely  stings, 
and  dances,  and  pipes,  as  in  the  olden  time? 
And  why  should  not  the  old  sorrows  also  rejoice 
in  their  turn  ?  Here  in  Italy  all  is  so  beautiful, 
even  suffering  itself;  in  these  ruined  marble 
palaces,  sighs  re-echo  far  more  romantically  than 
in  our  neatly  tiled  little  houses ;  we  can  weep 
far  more  voluptuously  l^neath  those  laurels 
than  under  our  ill-natured  angular  fir-trees ; 
and  is  it  not  far  sweeter  to  yearn  and  long 
away  our  souls  deep  into  the  ideal  cloudy  forms 
of  the  heavenly  blue  of  Italy  than  into  the  ashy 
grey  of  a  German  week-day  heaven,  where  even 
the  clouds  only  cut  honest,  common-citizen  gri- 
maces, and  stupidly  gape  down  ?  Bemain  in  my 
breast,  ye  sorrows !  Ye  will  not  find,  after  all,  a 
better  lodging-place.  Ye  are  dear,  and  worth  keep- 
ing, and  nobody  knows  how  to  take  better  care  of 
you  than  I,  and  I  confess  that  ye  are  a  great 
pleasure  to  me.  And  after  all,  what  is  pleasure  ? 
At  best  an  intensely  exquisite,  convulsive  pain ! 

I  believe  that  the  music  which,  without  exciting 
my  attention,  rang  before  the  Bottega  and  attracted 
a  crowd  of  listeners,  had  melodramatically  accom- 
panied this  monologue.  It  was  a  singular  trio, 
consisting  of  two  men  and  a  young  harp-girl. 
One  of  the  men,  clad  as  if  for  winter  in  a  white 
overcoat,  was  a  powerful  figure,  with  a  full  red, 
bandit  fiw^e,  which  blazed  oat  from  among  the 


...-,«j 


black  hair  of  his  head  and  beard,  like  a  threaten- 
ing comet.  He  held  between  his  legs  a  monstrous 
bass-violj  on  which  he  sawed  away  as  foriously  as 
though  he  had,  in  the  Abruzzi,  conquered  some 
poor  traveller,  and  was  desperately  cutting  his 
throat.  The  other  was  a  tall,  meagre  old  man, 
whose  lean  limbs  tottered  in  a  worn-out  black 
dress,  and  whose  snow  -  white  hair  contrasted 
sorrowfully  with  his  buffo  song  and  his  crazy 
caperings.  It  is  sad  enough  when  an  old  man 
must,  from  poverty,  lay  aside  the  dignity  of  age 
and  give  himself  up  to  pranks  and  tricks ;  but 
how  much  sadder  is  it  when  he  must  do  this 
before  his  own  child!  and  that  girl  was  the 
daughter  of  the  old  buffo,  and  she  accor^anied 
on  the  harp  his  low  jests,  or  laying  it  aside,  sang 
with  him  a  comic  duet,  in  which  he  played  the 
enamoured  old  man,  and  she  the  mocking  young 
amante.  Moreover,  the  girl  appeared  to  have 
hardly  entered  her  teens — yes,  it  seemed  as  though 
they  had  rudely  made  a  woman  of  her  ere  she  had 
come  to  maidenhood,  and  not  a  virtuous  woman 
at  that.  Hence  came  that  green-sickly  withering, 
and  that  shrinking  displeasure  of  the  fair  face, 
whose  proudly  thrown  traits  seemed  to  scorn  all 
pity ;  hence  that  secret  vexedness  of  the  eyes 
which  gleamed  defiantly  under  their  black  trium- 
phal arches ;  hence  the  deep  tone  of  sorrow  which 
contrasted  so  unnaturally  with  the  fair  and  laugh- 


\ 


• 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL, 


ing  lips  which  it  escaped ;  hence  the  Bickliness  of 
the  all  too  delicate  limbs,  which  a  short  and  pain- 
fully violet  blue  silk  fluttered  around,  so  far  as 
possible.  Many  coloured  and  violently  contrasted 
satin  ribbons  waved  like  flags  around  her  old  straw 
hat,  and  her  breast  was  symbolically  ornamented 
by  a  just  opening  rosebud,  which  seemed  rather 
to  have  been  pulled  open  than  to  have  naturally 
unfolded  itself  from  among  its  fresh  verdant  moss. 
Meanwhile  there  was  perceptible  in  the  poor  girl 
— in  this  spring  over  which  death  had  already 
breathed — an  indescribable  charm,  a  grace  which 
expressed  itself  in  every  glance  and  motion  and 
tone,  and  which  did  not  disappear  even  when,  with 
her  body  thrown  forwards,  she  danced  with  mock- 
ing lasciviousness  towards  the  old  man,  who,  quite 
as  immodestly,  tottered  towards  her  in  the  same 
attitude.  The  more  shamelessly  she  acted,  the 
deeper  was  the  pity  she  awoke  in  my  bosom,  and 
when  her  song  welled  forth  sweet  and  wondrous 
from  her  breast,  as  if  imploring  forgiveness,  oh ! 
then  the  little  serpents  leaped  up  in  ecstasy  with- 
in me,  and  bit  into  their  own  flesh  for  joy.  Even 
the  rose  seemed  to  gaze  imploringly  on  me — ^yes, 
once  I  saw  it  even  tremble  and  gi'ow  pale,  but  at 
that  instant  the  trills  of  the  girl's  voice  rose  so 
much  more  merrily  on  high,  the  old  man  bleated, 
goat-like,  so  much  more  passionately,  and  the  red 
oomet-face  martyred  his  bass-viol  so  much  more 


ITALY.    •'.:.';;;/.■■•■  6s 

savagely,  that  there  came  fortii  the  moet  terrific- 
ally fanny  tones,  and  the  audience  rejoiced  more 
madly  than  ever. 


CHAPTBE  XIX. 

It  was  a  real  Italian  composition,  from  some 
favoarite  comic  opera,  of  that  strange  sort  which 
gives  the  fullest  scope  to  humour,  and  in  which 
the  latter  can  abandon  himself  to  all  his  mad 
joy,  his  crazy  feelings,  his  laughing  sorrow,  and 
his  life-longing  death-inspiration.  It  was  alto- 
gether in  the  manner  of  Eossini  as  displayed  in 
the  "  Barber  of  Seville."  a 

The  scomers  of  the  Italian  school,  who  would 
fain  destroy  the  character  of  this  sort  of  music, 
will  not  escape  their  well-deserved  punishment  in 
hell,  and  are  perhaps  damned  in  advance  to  hear 
through  all  eternity  nothing  but  the  fugues  of 
Sebastian  Bach.  It  grieves  me  to  think  that  so 
many  of  my  friends  will  not  escape  this  punish- 
ment, and  that  among  them  is  Eellstab,  who  will 
be  damned  with  the  rest,  unless  before  his  death 
he  is  converted  to  the  true  faith  of  Bossini. 
Rossini !  divino  Maestro !  Helios  of  Italy,  who 
Bpreadest  forth  thy  ringing  rays  over  the  world, 
pardon  my  poor  countrymen  who  slander  thee  on 

VOL.  II.  » 


65 


t: 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


writing  and  blot  thee  on  printing  paper !  I,  how- 
ever, rejoice  in  thy  golden  tones,  in  thy  melodious 
rays,  in  thy  gleaming  butterfly  dreams,  which  so 
merrily  played  around  me,  and  kissed  my  heart  as 
with  the  lips  of  the  Graces.  Divino  Maestro,  for- 
give my  poor  countrymen  who  do  not  see  into  thy 
depth,  because  thou  coverest  it  with  roses,  and  to 
whom  thou  dost  not  seem  sufficiently  profound,  be- 
cause thou  soarest  so  lightly  as  on  divine  wings ! 
It  is  true  that  to  love  the  Italian  music  of  the 
present  day,  and  to  arrive  through  love  at  its  com- 
prehension, one  should  have  the  people  themselves 
before  his  eyes — ^their  heaven,  their  character, 
their  glances,  their  joys,  their  sorrows ;  in  short, 
their  entire  history  from  Bomulns,  who  founded 
the  Holy  Roman  realm,  until  that  later  time  when 
it  perished  under  Romulus  Augustulus  II.  Even 
the  use  of  speech  is  forbidden  to  poor  enslaved 
Italy,  and  she  can  only  express  by  music  the 
feelings  of  her  heart.  All  her  resentment  against 
foreign  dominion,  her  inspiration  of  liberty,  her 
rage  at  the  consciousness  of  weakness,  her  sorrow 
at  the  memories  of  past  greatness,  her  faint  hopes, 
her  watching  and  waiting  in  silence,  her  yearning 
for  aid — all  is  masked  in  those  melodies  which 
glide  from  an  intense  intoxication  of  very  life 
into  elegiac  weakness,  and  in  those  pantomimes 
which  burst  in  a  second  from  flattering  caresses 
into  threatening  rage. 


^.itiliriUd 


:-'■••:-,.   ITALY.      -•:■;■-■ '■^•^^''■^,:., «r. 

This  is  the  esoteric  sense  of  the  comic  opera. 
The  exoteric  dnll  sentinel,  in  whose  presence  they 
are  sung  and  acted,  does  not  surmise  the  inner 
meaning  of  those  jovial  love-stories,  love-longings, 
and  love-mockeries,  beneath  which  the  Italian 
hides  his  deadliest  thoughts  of  freedom,  as  Har- 
modins  and  Aristogeiton  hid  their  daggers  in 
wreaths  of  laurel.  "  It  is  all  nonsensical  stuff," 
says  the  exoteric  sentinel,  and  it  is  well  that  he 
sees  it  not.  For  if  he  did,  then  the  impresario, 
with  his  ^Tn'ma  donna  and  primo  itomo,  would  soon 
be  compelled  to  walk  those  planks  which  lead  to  a 
prison ;  a  commission  of  inquiry  would  soon  be  in- 
stituted ;  all  treasonable  trills  and  revolutionary 
roiUades  would  be  protocolled ;  they  would  arrest 
innumerable  Harlequins  who  are  involved  in  ex- 
tensive ramifications  of  horrible  plots ;  even  Tar- 
taglia,  Brighella,  and  the  suspicious  old  Pantaloon 
would  be  locked  up,  the  papers  of  the  Dottore  of 
Bologna  would  be  put  under  seal — he  would  chat- 
ter himself  into  greater  suspicion ;  and  under  all 
these  family  troubles  Columbine  would  weep  her 
eyes  red.  But  I  myself  think  that  there  is  little 
danger  of  this  coming  to  pass,  for  the  Italian 
demagogues  are  far  shrewder  than  our  poor  Ger- 
mans, who,  with  a  similar  intention,  have  also 
disguised  themselves  like  black  fools  with  black 
foolscaps,  but  who  appeared  so  disagreeably  melan- 
choly, and  seemed  so  dangerous  by  their  deeply 


68 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


earnest  clown-leaping,  which  they  call  "  turning,'* 
and  made  np  such  serious  faces,  that  they  finally 
attracted  the  attention  of  Gk>vemment  and  got 
themselves  into  prison.^  « 


CHAPTEE  XX, 

The  little  harp-girl  must  have  remarked  that  I, 
while  she  sang  and  played,  often  looked  at  the 
rose  on  her  bosom,  and  when  I  laid  on  the  plate, 
when  it  went  round,  a  piece  of  money  which  was 
not  altogether  too  small,  she  slily  laughed,  and 
mysteriously  asked  in  a  whisper  "  if  I  would  like 
to  have  her  rose  ?  " 

Now  I  am  the  politest  man  in  the  world,  and 
would  not  for  all  the  world  slander  a  rose,  even 
though  it  be  a  rose  which  has  already  wasted 
some  of  its  perfume.  "  And  if,"  thought  I,  "  it 
no  longer  smells  perfectly  fresh,  and  no  longer 
breathes  the  odour  of  sanctity  and  virtue,  like  the 
Rose  of  Sharon,  what  is  that  to  me  who  have 
such  a  devil  of  a  cold  in  my  head  ?  And  it  is 
only  mankind  who  are  so  particular  in  these  little 


^  In  allusion  to  the  Tumvereine  or  gymnastio  auociationa, 
which  were  also  revolutionary  political  unions. — Note  hy  Tram- 
UUor. 


■■     "  "       ;.     '    ITALY,    ,  t;/'^-  ;/■--.% 

matters.  The  butterfly  asks  not  of  the  rose, 
"  Hath  another  already  kissed  thee  ?  "  Nor  does 
the  rose  inquire,  "  Hast  thou  ere  this  fluttered 
around  another  ?  "  And  it  happened  about  this 
time  that  night  came  stealing  on,  "  and  by  night," 
thought  I,  "all  flowers  are  grey, — the  sinfuUest 
rose  quite  as  much  so  as  the  most  virtuous  pars- 
ley." Well  and  good ;  without  hesitation  I  said 
to  the  little  harp-girl,  "  Si,  Signora,  .  .  .   ." 

Gentle  reader,  form  no  evil  fancies.  It  had 
grown  dark,  and  the  stars  shone  clear  and  holily 
into  my  heart,  while  in  the  heart  itself  trembled 
the  memory  of  the  dead  Maria.  I  recalled  that 
night  when  I  stood  before  the  bed  whereon  lay 
the  beautiful  pale  corpse  with  soft,  silent  lips.  I 
thought  again  on  the  strange  glance  which  the 
old  dame  who  was  to  watch  the  body  cast  on  me 
when  for  some  hours  I  was  to  relieve  her  of  the 
task.  I  thought  agaiu  of  the  night- violet,^  which 
stood  in  a  glass  on  the  table,  and  which  smelt  so 
strangely.  And  a  suspicion  shuddered  through 
my  veins  as  to  whether  it  were  really  a  draught 
of  air  which  extinguished  the  lamp,  or  was  there 
really  no  third  person  in  the  chamber  ? 

^  iyTofe^vjofe,  night-amellini^  rocket. 


> 


?o 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


CHAPTER  XXL  j 

I 

I  WENT  early  to  bed,  and  quickly  fell  to  sleep, 
losing  myself  in  the  wildest  dreams.  I  dreamed 
myself  a  few  hours  back,  I  came  again  into  Trent, 
I  was  again  in  amazement  as  before,  and  all  the 
more  so  because  I  saw  nothing  but  flowers  instead 
of  human  beings  walking  in  the  streets.  | 

There  were  wandering  glowing  pinks,  who 
voluptuously  fanned  themselves,  coquettish  bal- 
samines,  hyacinths  with  pretty  empty  bell-heads, 
and  behind  them  a  party  of  mustachioed  vain  nar- 
cissuses and  disorderly  larkspurs.  At  one  comer 
two  loose-strifes  *  were  quarrelling  and  scolding. 
From  the  windows  of  a  sickly-looking  old  house 
peered  a  spotted  stock-gilliflower,  decked  off  in 
ridiculous  wise,  while  from  within  pealed  a  deli- 
cately perfumed  violet  voice.  On  the  balcony  of 
the  great  pcUdzzo  in  the  market-place  all  the  nobi- 
lity were  assembled,  all  the  high  noblesse,  viz.,  the 
lilies,  who  toil  not,  neither  do  they  spin,  and  yet 
fancy  that  Solomon  in  all  his  glory  was  not  arrayed 


1  Loose-strife,  Lyrimaehia  gtrieta.  In  the  original,  Heina 
makes  these  quarrelling  flowers  to  be  Maduitchen,  which  means 
maple-daisy  or  marsh-marigold. 


':■;.;'■;:    Italy.  -v  :-V::t| 

like  one  of  themselves.  I  even  thought  that  I  savr 
the  plump  fruit-wife,  though  when  I  looked  more 
closely  it  was  indeed  the  fruit-wife  no  longer,  but 
a  wintry  sass-afras,  who  at  once  burst  out  on  me 
with,  "  What  d'ye  want,  you  green-top,  you 
pickled  cowcumber  ?  You're  a  blossom  now,  am't 
ye?  with  your  one  stamen!  Wait  till  I  water 
you  ! "  In  terror  I  ran  into  the  cathedral,  and 
almost  ran  over  an  old  lame  mother- wort,  whose 
prayer-book  was  carried  for  her  by  a  little  cox- 
comb. But  in  the  cathedral  all  was  right  pleasant ; 
there  in  long  rows  were  the  sweet  tulips,  piously 
nodding  their  heads.  In  the  confessional  sat  a 
dark  monk's-hood,  and  before  him  kneeled  a 
flower  whose  face  was  not  visible,  but  it  breathed 
forth  a  perfume  so  strangely  familiar,  that  I 
shuddered  as  I  thought  of  the  night-violet  which 
stood  in  the  chamber  where  the  dead  Maria  lay. 
As  I  again  left  the  cathedral,  I  met  a  funeral 
procession  of  nothing  but  roses  with  black  "weeds" 
and  white  handkerchiefs,  and  ah !  on  the  bier 
lay  the  early  plucked  rose  with  which  I  had 
become  acquainted  on  the  bosom  of  the  little 
harp-maiden.  She  now  looked  far  gentler,  but 
all  snow-white — a  white-rose  corpse.  They  set 
down  the  coffin  in  a  little  chapel,  where  there 
was  nothing  but  weeping  and  sighing,  and  finally 
an  old  hell'ebore  got  up  and  delivered  a  long 
funeral  sermon,  in  which  he  said  much  of  the 


T« 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


yirtues  of  the  departed,  of  this  earthly  camivale 
of  tears,  which  availeth  nanght,  of  a  better  being, 
of  Love,  Hope,  and  Faith,  all  in  a  nasal,  singing 
tone— a  well- watered  oration,  and  so  long  and 
long-winded  that  I  at  last  awoke.^ 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

Mt  vettwrino  had  harnessed  his  horses  in  advance 
of  Phoebus,  and  we  reached  Ala  before  dinner- 
time. Here  the  vetturiru  are  accustomed  to  stop 
a  few  hours  and  change  horses. 

Ala  is  a  real  Italian  nest  of  a  place.  It  is 
picturesquely  situated  on  the  slope  of  a  mountain, 
a  river  ripples  past  it,  and  pleasant  green  vines 
flourish  here  and  there,  amid  the  stuck-together 
beggar  palaces  which  hang  one  over  the  other. 
On  a  comer  of  the  warped  market-house,  no 
bigger  than  a  hencoop,  is  inscribed  in  great 
imposing  letters.  Piazza  di  San  Marco.  On  the 
stone  fragment  of  a  massive  coat  of  arms  of  an 
ancient  noble  family  sat  a  little  boy,  manifesting 
in  his  need  anything  but  respect  for  the  relic. 


1  Olement  Brentano  has  in  his  Qcekd  vmd  Ooekdeia  oarried 
•at  this  conceit  of  le$  JUun  animiei  to  »  greater  extent,  ia 
much  the  Mine  manner  as  Heine. 


r 


ITALY.      :'-v::--^^-V  ;■>•'.■•.  ■!»' 

The  clear  sunlight  shone  on  his  n^ve  nudity, 
uid  he  held  in  his  hand  a  picture  of  a  saint, 
which  he  devoutly  kissed.  A  little  girl,  beau* 
tiful  as  a  statue,  stood  by  in  rapt  attention, 
blowing  at  times  an  accompaniment  on  a  penny 
trumpet. 

The  tavern  where  I  dined  was  thoroughly 
Italian.  Above  on  the  first  storey  was  a  full 
gallery  looking  towards  the  courtyard,  in  which 
lay  ruined  waggons  and  anxious  piles  of  manure, 
and  wherein  were  turkeys  with  ridiculous  red 
wattles  and  beggarly  proud  peacocks,  besides 
half  a  dozen  ragged,  sunburnt  children,  who 
were  aiding  in  the  mutual  improvement  of  their 
capillary  attractions  after  the  Bell  and  Lancas- 
terian  methods.  By  means  of  this  balcony  I 
passed  by  the  broken  iron  balustrade  into  a 
broad  echoing  chamber.  The  floor  was  of  marble ; 
in  the  midst  stood  a  great  bed,  on  which  fleas 
were  consummating  their  nuptials,  while  on  every 
side  was  all  the  magnificence  of  dirt.  The  host 
leaped  here  and  there  to  fulfil  my  commands. 
He  wore  a  violently  green  frock-coat,  and  a  mani- 
foldly moving  countenance,  in  which  was  a  hump- 
backed nose,  on  the  centre  of  which  sat  a  red 
wart,  which  reminded  me  of  a  red-coated  monkey 
on  a  camel's  back.  He  sprang  hither  and  thither, 
and  it  seemed  to  me  as  though  the  red  monkey 
were  leaping  about  in  like  manner.    He  was  an 


74 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


bonr  in  bringing  anything,  and  when  I  rated 
him  Bonndly  for  it,  he  assured  me  on  his  word 
that  I  spoke  Italian  admirably. 

I  was  obliged  to  content  myself  for  a  long  time 
with  the  agreeable  perfume  of  roast  meat,  which 
was  wafted  towards  me  from  the  doorless  kitchen 
just  opposite,  in  which  the  mother  and  daughter 
sat  side  by  side,  singing  and  plucking  chickens. 
The  first  was  remarkably  corpulent,  with  breasts 
which  sprang  boldly  outward,  and  yet  were  still 
diminutive  as  compared  to  the  colossal  antitype, 
so  that  the  one  reminded  me  of  the  "  Institutes  " 
of  the  Roman  Law,  while  the  other  seemed  their 
enlargement  in  the  "  Pandects."  The  daughter, 
a  by  no  means  very  large,  but  still  stoutly  built 
person,  was  also  inclined  to  corpulency,  but  her 
rosy  fatness  was  by  no  means  to  be  compared  to 
the  ancient  tallow  of  the  mother.  Her  features 
were  not  soft,  not  enchanting  with  the  charms  of 
youth,  but  still  beautifully  cut,  noble,  and  antique ; 
the  eyes  and  hair  of  brilHant  black.  The  mother, 
on  the  contrary,  had  flat,  stumpy  features,  a  rosy- 
red  nose,  blue  eyes,  which  looked  like  violets 
boiled  in  milk  and  lily-white  powdered  hair.  Now 
and  then  U  Signor  padre  came  leaping  in  and 
asked  for  this  or  that  dish  or  implement,  when  he 
was  advised  in  calm  recitative  to  look  for  it  him- 
self. Then  he  smacked  with  his  tongue,  hunted 
in  the  drawer,  tasted  from  the  boiling  pot,  burned 


■■_';  ITALY,    ■:'[^^--:'i''/'''\■:^'■'ri$ 

his  month,  and  hopped  again  out,  and  with  him 
his  camel  nose  and  the  red  monkey  on  it  And 
behind  him  rang  forth  merry  trills,  like  pleasant 
mockery  and  family  joking. 

But  a  thunder-stroke  suddenly  interrupted  this 
agreeable  and  almost  idyllic  family  scene,  as  a 
square-built  fellow  with  a  lowering,  murderous 
face  leaped  in,  and  screamed  something  that  I 
did  not  understand.  As  both  the  women  made 
emphatic  gestures  of  denial,  he  became  insane 
with  rage,  spitting  fire  and  flame  like  an  ill- 
natured  young  Vesuvius.  The  landlady  seemed 
to  be  in  trouble,  and  whispered  assuaging  words, 
which  had,  however,  a  contrary  effect,  so  that  the 
raging  wretch  seized  an  iron  shovel,  smashed 
divers  unfortunate  plates  and  bottles,  and  would 
have  struck  down  the  unfortunate  woman  had 
not  the  daughter  grasped  a  long  kitchen  knife 
und  threatened  to  run  him  through  unless  he  at 
once  vanished.  /' 

It  was  a  beautiful  sight — ^that  of  the  girl 
standing  there  sallow  and  pale,  and  petrified  with 
rage,  like  a  marble  statue,  her  very  lips  pale,  the 
eyes  deep  and  death-like,  a  blue  swollen  vein 
crossing  her  brow,  the  black  locks  twining  around 
it  like  snakes,  a  bloody  knife  in  her  hand.  I 
trembled  with  delight,  for  I  fancied  that  I  saw 
before  me  the  image  of  Medea,  as  I  have  often 
dreamed  her  in  my  youthful  nights  when  I  have 


y6  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL, 

fallen  to  sleep  on  the  dear  bosom  of  Melpomene, 
the  darkly  beautiful  goddess. 

While  all  this  was  going  on,  the  Signer  padre 
never  once  ran  off  his  track,  but  with  habitual 
busy  calmness  picked  up  the  shards  from  the  soil, 
collected  the  plates  which  yet  remained  alive,  and 
brought  me  first  soup  with  Parmesan  cheese,  roast 
meat,  hard  and  solid  as  German  fidelity,  crabs 
red  as  love,  spinach  green  as  hope,  with  eggs; 
and  for  dessert,  onions  which  brought  tears  of 
emotion  to  my  eyes.  "  It's  nothing ;  it's  only 
Pietro's  way,"  said  he,  as  I  glanced  in  wonder 
towards  the  kitchen,  and  in  fact,  after  the  great 
cause  of  all  the  difficulty  had  made  himself  scarce, 
it  seemed  as  if  nothing  had  happened ;  mother 
and  daughter  singing  calmly  as  before,  as  they 
sat  and  plucked  chickens. 

The  bill  convinced  me  that  the  Signor  Padre 
also  understood  the  sublime  art  of  "  plucking," 
and  when  I,  in  addition  to  his  demand,  also  gave 
him  a  huona  mano,  he  sneezed  in  such  ecstatic 
delight  that  the  red  monkey  nearly  fell  from  its 
seat.  Then  I  nodded  in  a  friendly  manner  into 
the  kitchen,  received  as  friendly  a  salute  in  return, 
quickly  jumped  into  the  new  coach,  drove  rapidly 
along  the  plains  of  Lombardy,  and  arrived  about 
erening  in  the  ancient  world-renowned  town 
Verona.  I 


/riiLy:>^^  -■;•.'■  /'/-",- 


CHAPTER  XXIIL 

The  varied  power  of  new  appearances  moved  me 
only  dimly  and  forebodingly  in  Trent,  liko  the 
tremor  of  a  legend ;  but  in  Verona  I  was  seized 
by  a  mighty  feverish  dream  full  of  hot  colours, 
accurately  designed  forms,  ghostly  trumpet-clang, 
and  the  far-away  roar  of  weapons.  Many  a  dark 
old  palace  stared  on  me  as  though  it  would  con- 
fide to  me  some  ancient  secret,  and  withheld  it 
only  on  account  of  the  oflBcious  crowd  of  every- 
day mortals,  begging  me  to  come  again  by  night. 
Yet,  despite  the  tumult  of  the  throng  and  the 
wild  sun  which  cast  over  me  its  red  light,  here 
and  there  some  dark  old  tower  whispered  to  me 
some  deeply  significant  word ;  here  and  there  I 
overheard  the  murmurings  of  broken  columns,  and 
as  I  passed  along  a  small  flight  of  steps  which  led 
to  the  Piazzi  de  Signori,  the  stones  narrated  to 
me  a  fearfully  bloody  story,  and  I  read  on  the 
comer  the  words  Scala  Ammaaati. 

Verona,  the  ancient  world-renowned  city,  situ- 
ated on  both  sides  of  the  Adige,  has  been  in  all 
ages  the  first  halting-place  for  the  great  German 
emigrations  of  tribes  who  left  their  cold  Northern 
forests   and  crossed  the  Alps  to  rejoice  in  the 


yS  PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL.  I 

golden  sunshine  of  pleasant  Italy.  Some  went 
farther  on ;  others  were  well  enough  pleased  with 
the  place  itself,  and  made  themselves  at  home  and 
comfortable  in  it,  and  put  on  their  silk  dressing- 
gowns  and  promenaded  cheerfully  among  flowers 
and  cypresses,  until  new-comers,  who  still  had  on 
their  iron  garments,  arrived  from  the  North  and 
crowded  them  away,  an  oft-repeated  tale,  and 
one  called  by  historians  the  emigration  of  races. 
If  we  wander  through  the  district  of  Verona,  we 
find  startling  traces  of  those  days,  as  well  as  relics 
of  an  earlier  and  of  a  later  age.  The  amphitheatre 
and  the  triumphal  arch  remind  us  of  the  Boman 
age ;  the  fabulous  relics  of  so  many  Romanesqne 
ante-gothic  buildings  recall  Theodoric,  that  Diet- 
rich of  Bern,  of  whom  Germans  yet  sing  and  tell ; 
mad  fragments  bring  up  Alboin  and  his  raging 
Longobardi ;  legendary  monuments  speak  of  Caro- 
lus  Magnus,  whose  paladins  are  chiselled  on  the 
gate  of  the  cathedral  with  the  same  frank  rough- 
ness which  characterised  them  in  life.  It  all  seems 
as  though  the  town  were  a  great  tavern,  and  as 
people  in  inns  are  accustomed  to  write  their  names 
on  walls  and  windows,  so  have  the  races  who  have 
travelled  through  Verona  left  in  it  traces  of  their 
presence.  Frequently,  it  is  true,  not  in  the  most 
legible  hand,  since  many  a  German  tribe  had  not 
then  learned  to  write,  and  was  obliged  to  smash 
something  by  way  of  leaving  its  mark,  which  was 


••..:;■    /^v;  ITALY.   ^":;"^--.;^-;":^- :,-;■-:# 

also  very  well  in  its  way,  as  these  ruins  which 
they  made  speak  more  intelligibly  than  the  most 
elaborate  writing.  And  the  barbarians  who  now 
dwell  in  the  old  hostelrie  will  not  fail  to  leave 
similar  tokens  of  their  presence,  having  neither 
poets  nor  sculptors  to  hand  down  their  memory  to 
posterity. 

I  remained  but  one  day  in  Verona,  constantly 
marvelling  at  novelties,  gazing  at  one  time  on 
the  ancient  buildings,  at  another  on  the  human 
beings  who  thronged  past  in  mysterious  haste,  and 
finally  at  the  divinely  blue  heaven  which  limited 
the  whole  strange  scene  like  a  costly  frame,  and 
seemed  to  make  of  it  a  painting.  But  it  is  right 
queer  when  a  man  sticks  himself  into  a  picture 
which  he  has  just  been  looking  at,  and  is  occa- 
sionally laughed  at  by  his  fellow-figures,  and  by 
the  female  ones  at  that,  as  happened  to  me  very 
pleasantly  in  the  Piazza  delle  Erbe.  This  place 
is  the  vegetable  market,  and  there  I  found 
abundance  of  delightful  forms,  women  and  girls, 
longing,  great-eyed  faces,  bodies  in  which  one 
could  dwell  very  comfortably,  excitingly  brunette- 
coloured,  naively  dirty  beauties,  much  better 
adapted  to  night  than  to  day.  The  white  or 
black  veils  which  the  city  women  wear  were  so 
cunningly  entwined  around  their  breasts  that  they 
displayed  more  of  the  beautiful  forms  than  they 
concealed.    The  girls  wore  their  hair  in  chignons. 


to  PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 

pierced  with  one  or  more  golden  arrows  or  silver 
rods  terminated  by  an  acorn.  The  peasant  women 
generally  wore  small  straw-hats  shaped  like  plates, 
with  coqaettish  flowers  on  one  side  of  the  head. 
The  dress  of  the  men  differed  less  from  that  of 
our  own,  and  only  the  immense  black  beard  which 
came  like  bashes  over  their  cravats  was  to  me  a 
little  startling. 

If  we  study  these  people  more  attentively,  the 
men  as  well  as  the  women,  we  find  in  their  fea- 
tures as  well  as  in  their  whole  being  the  traces 
of  a  civilisation  which  differs  from  our  own  in 
this,  that  it  is  evidently  derived  from  the  Roman 
times — not  from  mediaeval  barbarism — and  has 
only  modified  itself  according  to  the  character 
of  the  casual  rulers  of  the  land.  Civilisation 
has  with  them  no  new  and  startling  features,  as 
among  us,  where  the  oaken  trunk  was  first  sawn, 
as  it  were,  but  yesterday,  and  where  everything 
smells  of  varnish.  It  seems  as  though  this 
race  in  the  Piazza  delle  Erhe  has  during  the 
course  of  time  only  changed  clothes  and  language, 
while  the  spirit  of  their  customs  has  undergone 
but  little  modification.  The  buildings  which  sur- 
round the  place  do  not  appear  to  have  adapted 
themselves  so  well  to  the  change  of  circumstances, 
but  they  do  not  look  on  us  the  less  pleasantly, 
and  their  glance  strangely  moves  the  soul.  There 
stand  the  high  old  palaces  in  Venetian-Lombard 


ITALY.      ;;\  :•%-',  >■■:;.■       81 

si^le,  with  countless  balconies  and  smiling  fres- 
coes; in  the  midst  rises  a  single  monumental 
column,  a  fountain,  and  the  stone  image  of  a  saint ; 
here  we  see  a  whimsical  white  and  red  striped  Po- 
desta,  who  stands  behind  a  vast  pillar-gate ;  there 
we  behold  an  old  four-comer  church  tower,  on 
which  the  hand  of  the  clock  is  broken  and  its 
figures  half  obliterated,  so  that  even  time  seems 
destroying  itself ;  and  over  all  rests  that  romantic 
enchantment  which  breathes  so  pleasantly  over 
us  from  the  fantastic  poems  of  Ludovico  Ariosto 
or  of  Ludovico  Tieck. 

Near  this  place  is  a  house  which,  on  account 
of  a  hat  which  is  chiselled  in  stone  over  the  inner 
door,  is  supposed  to  be  the  palace  of  the  Capulets. 
It  is  now  a  dirty  inn  for  waggoners  and  coach- 
men, and  has  for  a  sign  a  red-painted  hat  of  sheet 
metal  full  of  holes.  Not  far  off,  in  a  church,  they 
show  the  chapel  in  which,  according  to  the  legend, 
the  unfortunate  lovers  were  married.  Apoet  gladly 
visits  such  places,  even  when  he  himself  laughs  at 
the  easy  superstition  of  his  heart.  I  found  in  this 
chapel  a  solitary  woman,  a  care-worn,  faded  being, 
who,  after  long  kneeling  and  praying,  arose  sigh- 
ing, gazed  strangely  on  me  with  a  sickly,  silent 
glance,  and  finally  tottered  weakly  away. 

The  tombs  of  the  Scaligeri  are  also  near  the 
Piazza  delle  JErbe.  They  are  as  wonderfully  splen- 
did as  becomes  such  a  proud  race,  and  it  is  a 

VOL.  n.  / 1 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


pity  that  they  should  stand  in  a  narrow  corner, 
where  they  must  crowd  together  to  take  up  as 
little  room  as  possible,  and  where  there  remains 
but  little  space  for  the  visitor  to  behold  them 
aright.  It  seems  as  though  we  saw  in  this  an 
historical  comparison.  The  race  of  the  Scaligeri 
fills  but  a  small  comer  in  Italian  history,  but 
that  comer  is  crowded  with  deeds  of  daring, 
splendid  plans,  and  all  the  magnificence  of  pride. 
And  we  find  them  on  their  monuments,  as  in 
history,  proud  iron  knights  on  iron  steeds,  and 
among  them,  surpassing  in  splendour.  Can  Grande, 
the  uncle,  and  Mastino,  the  nephew. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


Much  has  been  said  of  the  amphitheatre  of 
Verona;  it  is  large  enough  to  give  space  to 
many  remarks,  and  there  is  no  remark  which 
may  not  find  a  space  in  it.  It  is  built  altogether 
in  that  earnest,  practical  style  whose  beauty  con- 
sists of  perfect  solidity,  and  which,  like  all  public 
buildings  of  the  Romans,  breathes  out  a  spirit 
which  is  nothing  else  save  the  spirit  of  Rome 
itself.  And  Rome !  Who  is  so  soundly  igno- 
rant that  his  heart  does  not  beat  at  the  mention 
of   this    name,  and  whose  soul  is  not  at  least 


■   -'  ■■    ITALY,  ■■■-"■;;     -"-'■'  *S^- 

thrilled  by  a  traditional  terror?  For  myself,  I 
confess  that  my  feelings  are  rather  those  of  fear 
than  pleasure  when  I  reflect  that  I  shall  soon 
tread  on  the  lair  of  old  Rome  itself.  "  Old  Rome 
is  long  dead,"  said  I,  soothingly  to  myself,  "  and 
thou  wilt  have  the  pleasure  of  regarding  her  fair 
corpse  without  danger.  But  then  the  Falstaffian 
thought  came  into  my  head,  "  What  if  she  were 
not  as  yet  really  dead,  and  has  only  feigned  to 
be  so,  and  should  suddenly  arise — the  thought  is 
terrible ! " 

When  I  visited  the  amphitheatre,  comedy  was 
being  played  in  it ;  a  little  wooden  stage  was 
erected  in  its  midst,  on  which  all  sorts  of  Italian 
harlequinry  was  being  acted,  and  the  spectators 
sat  partly  on  little  chairs  and  partly  on  the  high 
stone  benches  of  the  ancient  amphitheatre.  There 
I  too  sat,  and  saw  Brighella's  and  Tartaglia's 
mock  fighting,  on  the  same  spot  where  the 
Romans  once  sat  and  gazed  on  their  battles  of 
gladiators  and  wild  beasts.  The  heaven  above 
me  with  its  crystal-blue  shell  was  still  the  same 
as  of  old.  Little  by  little  it  grew  dark,  the  stars 
shimmered  out,  Trufialdino  ^  laughed,  Smeraldina 
wailed,  and  finally  Pantaloon  came   and  joined 

^  Those  familiar  with  the  "  Fantasies  of  Callot "  will  have 
an  accurate  idea  of  the  characters  and  appearance  of  these 
popular  buffo  individuals.  Vide  also  Maiquea  et  Buffimu,  bj 
Maurice  Sand. — Note  by  Trandator. 


84  PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 

their  hands.  The  mnltitade  clapped  their  appro- 
bation, and  went  their  way  rejoicing.  The  whole 
play  had  not  cost  one  drop  of  blood ;  but  it  was 
only  a  play.  But  the  plays  of  the  Bomans  were 
no  plays ;  these  men  could  never  have  satiated 
their  souls  with  mockeries,  they  lacked  that 
childlike  cheerfulness  of  soul;  and  according  to 
their  stem  natures  they  manifested  in  their 
sports  the  harshest,  bloodiest  earnestness.  They 
were  not  great  men,  but  by  their  position  they 
were  greater  than  all  the  other  children  of  earth, 
for  they  stood  on  Rome.  When  they  descended 
from  the  Seven  Hills  they  were  again  small. 
Hence  the  littleness  which  we  discover  in  their 
private  life ;  in  Hercnlaneum  and  Pompeii,  those 
palimpsests  of  Nature,  where  the  original  old 
stone  text  is  again  brought  to  life,  showing  the 
traveller  Roman  life  in  little  houses,  with  dimi- 
nutive rooms,  which  contrast  so  singularly  with 
those  colossal  buildings  which  set  forth  their 
public  life,  and  those  theatres,  aqueducts,  foun- 
tains, highways,  and  bridges,  whose  ruins  still 
awake  our  wonder.  And  this  is  just  it ;  the 
Greeks  were  great  in  the  idea  of  art,  the  Hebrews 
in  the  idea  of  a  holiest  God,  and  the  Romans  in 
the  idea  of  their  eternal  Rome,  wherever  it  was 
by  them  fought,  written,  or  built  in  the  inspira- 
tion of  this  idea.  The  greater  Rome  became 
the  more  she  extended  this  idea,  the  individual 


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ir    ■ 


■■/■    ITALY.  .-"'•■    WS 

was  lost  in  it;  the  great  who  rose  above  it 
were  still  borne  along  by  it,  and  it  makes  the 
littleness  of  the  little  still  more  apparent.  On 
this  account  the  Bomans  were  at  the  same  time 
the  greatest  heroes  and  the  greatest  satirists — 
heroes  while  they  acted  and  thought  of  Bome, 
satirists  if  they  thought  of  Bome  and  judged  of 
the  deeds  of  their  contemporariea  Measured  by 
such  an  enormous  standard  as  the  greatness  of 
Bome,  the  greatest  personality  mast  have  appeared 
dwarf-like,  and  even  have  attracted  mockery. 
Tacitus  is  the  grimmest  of  masters  in  this  satire, 
because  he,  more  than  any  other,  felt  in  his  soul 
the  grandeur  of  Bome  and  the  littleness  of  men. 
He  is  gloriously  in  his  element  whenever  he  can 
tell  us  what  slanderous  tongues  prattled  in  the 
forum  ov*»'-  — o  '  =^d  of  imperial  infamy,  and 
fiercely  f^  aghted  whc  he  has  an  opportunity  of 
detailing  some  senatoii  ^  scandal,  or  some  abject 
flattery  which  missed  its  .  lark. 

I  remained  walking  foi  a  long  time  on  the 
upper  benches  of  the  amphitheatre,  dreaming  my 
way  back  into  the  dim  past.  As  all  buildings 
reveal  most  clearly  in  twilight  their  inner  spirit, 
so  did  these  walls  whisper  to  me  in  their  frag- 
mentary lapidary  style  the  most  mysterious  things, 
for  they  spoke  of  the  men  of  old  Bome,  and  it 
seemed  to  me  that  I  beheld  their  spirits  wan- 
dering far  below  me  like  white  shadows  in  the 


'W 


86 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


darkened  circus.  I  seemed  to  see  the  Greeks  with 
their  inspired  martyr  eyes !  "  Tiberius  Sem- 
pronius !  "  cried  I  aloud,  "  I  will  vottf  with  thee 
for  the  agrarian  law !  "  And  I  saw  Caesar  too, 
wandering  arm-in-arm  with  Marcus  Brutus.  "  Are 
ye  again  reconciled  ?  "  I  cried.  "  We  both  be- 
lieved that  we  were  in  the  right,"  laughed  Caesar 
up  to  me.  "  I  knew  not  that  a  Eoman  still 
existed,  and  therefore  thought  myself  justified  in 
putting  Home  in  my  pocket;  and  because  my 
son  Marcus  was  just  this  Soman,  he  thought 
himself  justified  in  making  away  with  me."  Be- 
hind the  two  glided  Tiberius  Nero,  with  cloud- 
like limbs  and  undetermined  mien.  And  there 
were  women  too  in  the  spectral  throng ;  among 
them  Agrippina,  with  beautiful  ambitious  features, 
like  those  of  an  antique  statue,  and  on  which 
the  traces  of  pain  seemed  petrified.  "  Whom 
seekest  thou,  daughter  of  Germanicus?"  Scarcely 
had  I  heard  her  wail  ere  there  rolled  over  all  the 
heavy  tones  of  a  vesper-bell,  and  the  horrible 
drumming  of  the  evening  roll-call.  The  proud 
Roman  spirits  passed  away,  and  I  found  myself 
once  more  in  the  Austrian  Christian  present  age. 


ITALY, 


CHAPTER  XXV: 

As  soon  as  it  is  dark,  the  heau  monde  of  Yerona 
promenades  on  the  place  La  Bra,  or  sits  there  on 
little  chairs  before  the  caf^s,  sipping  sherbet  and 
evening  air  and  music.  It  is  right  pleasant  sit- 
ting there ;  the  dreaming  heart  cradles  itself  in 
soft  tones,  and  rings  back  in  echo  to  them.  Often, 
as  if  reeling  with  sleep,  it  trembles  when  the 
trumpets  re-echo  and  join  in  with  full  orchestra. 
Then  the  soul  is  again  revived  as  with  fresh  sun- 
shine, great  flowering  feelings  and  memories  with 
vast  black  eyes  come  blooming  up,  and  over  them 
sweep  thoughts  like  trains  of  clouds,  proud  and 
slowly  and  eternally 

I  wandered  until  midnight  through  the  streets 
of  Verona.  Little  by  little  they  were  deserted 
and  re-echoed  strangely.  The  buildings  and 
their  armaments  glimmered  in  the  half  moon- 
light, and  many  a  marble  face  looked  pale  and 
painfully  upon  me.  I  walked  quickly  past  the 
tombs  of  the  Scaligeri,  for  it  seemed  to  me  as 
though  Can  Grande — courteous  as  ever  towards 
poets — would  descend  from  his  horse  and  accom- 
pany me  as  guide.  "  Still  where  thou  art,"  I 
cried,  "  I  need  thee  not.  My  heart  is  the  best 
guide,  and  tells  all  that  passes  in  the  houses,  and 


88 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


excepting  names  and  dates,  tells  them  trxdj 
enough." 

As  I  came  to  the  Roman  triamphal  gate,  there 
swept  throngh  it  a  black  monk,  and  far  in  the 
distance  sounded  a  rumbling  German  "  Wer  daf" 
("  Who  goes  there  ?  ")  "  Good  firiend !  "  answered 
a  laughing  soprano.  \ 

But  what  woman's  voice  was  that  which  thrilled 
so  strangely  sweet  through  my  soul  as  I  ascended 
the  Scala  Ammazati  ?  It  was  a  song  which  echoed 
as  if  from  a  dying  nightingale — death-delicately, 
and  which  seemed  to  cry  to  the  very  stone  walls 
for  aid.  On  this  spot  Antonio  della  Scala  mur- 
dered his  brother  Bartolomeo,  as  the  latter  went 
to  meet  his  lady-love.  And  my  heart  told  me 
that  she  sat  in  her  chamber  awaiting  her  beloved, 
and  sang  to  drown  foreboding  fears.  But  soon 
the  song  and  air  seemed  to  me  so  strangely  fami- 
liar— I  had  before  heard  those  silken,  fearful, 
bleeding  tones  ;  they  twined  around  me  soft,  tear- 
ful memories,  and — 0  thou  stupid  heart,  said  I 
to  myself,  hast  thou  then  forgotten  the  song  of 
the  sick  Moorish  king  sung  to  thee  so  often  by 
the  dead  Maria  ?  And  the  voice  itself ;  knowest 
thou  no  longer  the  voice  of  the  dead  Maria  ?       I 

The  long-drawn  notes  followed  me  through 
every  street  into  the  hotel  Due  Torre,  into  my 
bedroom,  into  my  dream.  And  there  I  saw  once 
more  my  sweet,  dead  life,  lying  beautiful  and 


'■       ITALY.  ■■■•>;■ 

motionless ;  the  old  washerwoman  stole  away  with 
a  meaning  side-glance,  the  night-violet  breathed 
ont  its  perf ame ;  I  again  kissed  the  lovelj  lips,  and 
the  dear  corpse  slowly  arose  to  offer  again  a  kiss. 
If  I  only  knew  what  it  was  that  blew  ont  the 
light! 


CHAPTER  XXVL 

"  Know'st  thou  the  land  where  the  bright  lemon  blows  ?  " 

Knowest  thou  the  song  ?  All  Italy  is  sketched 
in  it,  bat  in  the  sighing  tones  of  longing  and 
desire.  Goethe  in  his  "Italian  Journey"  has 
Sung  it  more  in  detail,  and  whenever  ?ie  paints  he 
always  has  the  original  before  his  eyes,  and  we 
can  rely  on  the  truthfulness  both  of  outline  and 
of  colouring.  And  I  find  it  appropriate  to  speak 
here,  once  for  all,  of  Goethe's  "  Italian  Journey," 
and  I  do  this  the  more  willingly  since  he  made 
the  same  tour  from  Verona  through  the  Tyrol  I 
have  already  spoken  of  that  work  before  I  was 
personally  familiar  with  its  subject,  and  I  now  find 
my  presentiment  as  to  its  merits  fuUy  established. 
Everywhere  in  it  we  find  a  practical  comprehen- 
sion and  the  calm  repose  of  Nature.  Goethe  holds 
the  mirror  up  to,  or,  to  speak  more  accurately,  is 
himself  the  mirror  of  Nature.  Nature  wished 
to  know  how  she  looked,  and  therefore  created 


r/^' 


^  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

Goethe.  He  even  reflects  the  thoughts  and  inten- 
tions of  Nature,  and  we  should  not  judge  harshly 
of  some  enthusiastic  "  Goethian,"  especially  in  the 
dog-days,  if  he  is  at  times  so  astonished  at  the 
identity  of  the  object  mirrored  with  its  original, 
that  he  ascribes  to  the  mirror  a  power  of  creating 
similar  objects.  A  certain  Mr.  Eckermann  once 
wrote  a  book  on  Goethe,  in  which  he  solemnly 
assures  us  that  if  the  Lord  on  creating  the  world 
had  said  to  Goethe,  "  Dear  Goethe,  I  am  now,  the 
Lord  be  praised,  at  an  end ;  I  have  created  every- 
thing except  the  birds  and  the  trees,  and  you 
would  oblige  me  by  getting  up  these  trifles  for 
me,"  then  Goethe  would  have  finished  them  all  in 
the  spirit  of  the  original  design,  the  birds  with 
feathers,  and  the  trees  of  a  green  colour.  I 

There  is  some  truth  in  all  this,  and  I  even 
believe  that  in  some  particulars  Goethe  could 
have  given  the  Lord  a  few  valuable  hints  as  to 
the  improvement  of  certain  articles,  and  would, 
for  instance,  have  created  Herr  Eckermann  much 
more  correctly  by  covering  him  with  green 
feathers.  It  is  at  least  a  pity  that  a  tuft  of 
green  feathers  does  not  grow  out  of  Eckermann's 
head,  and  Goethe  did  in  fact  strive  to  remedy 
the  defect,  as  far  as  possible,  by  writing  to  Jena 
for  a  doctor's  hat,  and  by  placing  it  with  his  own 
hands  on  his  admirer's  poll. 

Next  to  Goethe's  "Italian  Journey,"  I  would 


commend  Lady  Morgan's  "  Italy  "  and  the  **  Cor- 
inna"  of  Madame  de  StaeL  What  these  ladies 
lack  in  talent  they  make  up ;  in  order  to  eqnal 
the  original ;  in  the  manliness  of  thought,  which 
is  wanting  in  him.  For  Lady  Morgan  has 
spoken  like  a  man ;  she  spoke  scorpions  to  the 
hearts  of  many  brazen  hirelings,  and  sweet  were 
the  notes  of  this  fluttering  nightingale  of  freedom. 
Of  like  nature,  as  many  well  know,  was  Madame 
de  Stael,  an  amiable  vivandUre  in  the  liberal 
army,  who  ran  courageously  through  the  ranks  of 
the  combatants  with  her  canteen  of  enthusiasm, 
strengthening  the  weary,  and  fighting  with  them 
too,  better  than  the  best. 

As  for  works  on  Italian  travel,  William  Miiller 
gave  us  a  review  of  them  some  time  since  in 
"  Hermes,"  and  their  number  is  legion.  Among 
the  older  German  writers  in  this  line,  the 
most  distinguished  in  genius  or  originality  are 
Moritz,  Auchenholtz,  Bartels,  the  brave  Seume, 
Amdt,  Meyer,  Benkowitz,  and  Rehfues.  I  know 
but  little  of  the  more  recent  tourists,  and  I  have 
derived  from  only  a  few  of  them  pleasure  or  profit. 
Among  these  I  may  mention  the  "  Rome,  the 
Romans,  and  the  Roman  Women,"  of  the  too 
early  deceased  W.  Mtiller — ah!  he  was  a  Ger- 
man poet.  Then  the  journey  of  Kephalides, 
which  is  a  little  dry ;  Lesmann  s  "  Cisalpine 
Leaves,"  which  is  a  little  too  watery ;  and  finally, 


93 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


the  **Toars  in  Italy,  since  1822,  of  Frederick 
Thiersch,  Ludwig  Schom,  Edward  Gerhardt,  and 
Leo  von  Klenze."  Only  the  first  part  of  this 
work  has  as  yet  appeared,  and  it  consists  princi- 
pally of  contribations  from  my  dear  and  noble- 
hearted  friend  Thiersch,  whose  humane  glance  is 
evident  in  every  line.^ 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

"  Know'st  thon  the  land  where  the  bright  lemon  blows  t    1 
'Mid  dark  green  leaves  the  golden  orange  glows  ; 
A  gentle  breeze  from  its  blue  heaven  blows,  I 

Calm  lies  the  mjrrtles,  high  the  laurel  grows.  I 

Know'st  thou  it  well  ?  , 

Oh,  there,  oh,  there,  with  thee, 
How  glad  were  I,  loved  one,  to  wander  free  I " 


Only  don't  go  in  the  beginning  of  August,  when 
you  are  liable  to  be  roasted  by  the  sun  during  the 
day,  and  to  be  devoured  by  fleas  at  night.  And 
I  moreover  counsel  thee,  thou  best  of  readers,  not 
to  travel  from  Verona  to  Milan  in  the  post-coach. 
I  rode  in   company  with  six   bandits  in   an 

^  Frederick  Thiersch,  well  known  from  his  contributions  to 
the  knowledge  of  the  Greek  language  and  art,  and  to  sesthetiosL 
The  translator,  who  was  while  in  Grermany  a  pupil  of  Thiersch, 
trusts  that  he  will  not  be  accused  of  undue  intrusion  in  warmly 
assenting  to  Heine's  commendation  of  one  whom  he  (the  trans- 
lator) has  also  learned  to  esteem  and  admir& 


wv^ 


ITALY.    ^ :-'_%:■:'::-■::'-:/]:  ^,,:      93 

nnwieldly  bnmping  carozza,  which,  on  account 
of  the  all-prevailing  dust,  was  so  carefully  shut 
up  that  I  could  see  but  little  of  the  beauty  of  the 
scenery.  Only  twice  ere  we  gained  Brescia  did 
my  neighbour  lift  the  side  leather  curtain  in  order 
to  spit.  The  first  time  he  did  this,  I  saw  nothing 
but  some  perspiring  fir-trees,  which,  in  their  green 
winter  overcoats,  seemed  to  suffer  greatly  from  the 
sultry  summer  heat ;  the  second  time  I  saw  a  frag- 
ment of  a  wondrous  clear  blue  lake,  wherein  the 
Bun  and  a  lean  grenadier  mirrored  themselves. 
The  latter  of  the  pair — an  Austrian  Narcissus — 
gazed  admiringly  and  joyfully  at  the  accuracy 
with  which  his  reflections  imitated  all  his  move- 
ments when  he  presented,  shouldered,  or  aimed 
with  his  gun.  ^  ^^^^^^^- ^v/     :  ; ;  • 

I  have  but  little  to  tell  of  Brescia,  as  I  occu- 
pied myself  during  the  time  of  my  "  residence  " 
there  in  eating  a  good  luncheon.  No  one  can 
blame  a  poor  traveller  for  satisfying  bodily  hun- 
ger in  preference  to  the  spiritual  Still  I  was 
conscientious  enough,  ere  I  re-entered  the  coach, 
to  inquire  a  few  particulars  relative  to  the  town 
from  a  waiter,  and  learned  of  him  that  Brescia 
contained,  among  other  things,  forty  thousand 
inhabitants,  one  town-hall,  twenty-one  coffee- 
houses, twenty  Catholic  churches,  a  madhouse,  a 
synagogue,  a  menagerie,  a  house  of  correction,  a 
hospital,  an  equally  good  theatre,  and  a  gallows 


94  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL, 

for  those  thieves  who  steal  less  than  one  hondred 
thousand  dollars. 

I  arrived  about  midnight  in  Milan,  and  went 
to  Herr  Reichmann's,  a  German,  whose  hotel  is 
fitted  up  entirely  in  the  German  manner.  It 
was  the  best  inn  in  all  Italy,  said  certain  friends 
whom  I  there  met,  and  who  had  mournful  tales 
to  relate  relative  to  Italian  swindling  and  taking 
in.  Especially  did  Sir  William  curse  as  he 
assured  me  that  if  Europe  is  the  head  of  the 
world,  Italy  is  its  bump  of  theft.  The  poor 
baronet  had  been  obliged  to  pay  in  the  Locanda 
Croce  Bianco  at  Padua  not  less  than  twelve  francs 
for  a  poor  breakfast,  and  at  Vicenza  some  wretch 
of  a  waiter  had  demanded  a  gratuity  for  picking 
up  for  him  a  glove  just  dropped  from  his  coach.^ 
His  cousin  Tom  said  that  all  Italians  are  rogues, 
except  that  they  do  not  steal.  Had  he  been  more 
attractive,  he  might  have  said  the  same  of  their 
women.  The  third  in  the  party  was  a  Mr.  Liver, 
whom  I  had  left  as  a  young  calf  in  Brighton,  and 
whom  I  now  found  a  bosuf  a  la  mode  in  Milan. 
He  was  dressed  entirely  as  a  dandy,  and  I  have 
never  met  a  mortal  who  better  knew  how  to 
bring  out  the  comers  with  his  figure.  When  he 
stuck  his  thumbs  into  his  vest  armlets  he  made 


^  Here,  m  in  other  passages,  Heine  borrows  an  idea  from 
Bteme. — Trandator. 


ITALY,    .:-■-■..:  95 

nothing  bat  angles,  his  very  month  folded  np 
square  as  a  brick.  Withal  he  had  a  square  head, 
small  behind,  pointed  above,  with  a  low  forehead 
and  a  very  long  chin.  Among  the  English 
acquaintances  whom  I  met  in  Milan  was  Liver's 
corpulent  aunt,  who  seemed  like  an  avalanche  of 
fat,  which  had  rolled  down  from  the  Alps  in  com- 
pany with  two  snow-white,  snow-cold  winter  geese, 
Miss  Polly  and  Miss  Molly. 

Do  not  accuse  me,  dear  reader,  of  Anglomania, 
should  I  very  frequently  speak  of  English  people 
in  this  book.  They  are  too  numerous  in  Italy 
not  to  be  mentioned ;  they  sweep  over  the  land 
in  swarms,  they  lodge  in  every  inn,  crowd  every- 
where to  see  everything,  and  it  is  impossible  to 
imagine  an  Italian  orange  blossom  without  think- 
ing of  some  pretty  English  girl  smelling  at  it,  or 
a  picture-gallery  without  a  mob  of  Englishmen, 
who,  guide-book  in  hand,  go  rushing  around  to 
make  certain  that  everything  is  there  which  is 
described  in  their  guide-books.  When  we  see 
this  blonde,  red-cheeked  race,  with  their  shining 
coaches,  many-coloured  lackeys,  neighing  race- 
horses, green-veiled  chamber-maids,  and  other 
costly  apparatus,  inquisitive  and  ornamented, 
sweeping  over  the  Alps  and  through  Italy,  we  can 
imagine  that  we  see  an  elegant  invasion,  or  rather 
migration  of  a  race.  And,  in  fact,  the  son  of  Albion, 
albeit  he  wears  clean  linen  and  pays  cash  down 


96  PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 

for  eveiytliing,  is  a  civilised  barbarian  as  compared 
with  the  Italian,  who  indicates  a  civilisation  now 
passing  into  barbarism.  The  former  shows  a  sup- 
pressed rudeness,  the  latter  a  neglected  refinement. 
And  even  the  pale  Italian  faces,  with  the  suffering 
white  of  their  eyes  and  their  sickly  delicate  lips, 
how  silently  aristocratic  do  they  seem  as  com- 
pared to  stiff  British  faces,  with  their  vulgar 
ruddy  health !  The  whole  Italian  race  is  inter- 
nally sick,  and  sick  people  are  invariably  more 
refined  than  the  robust,  for  only  the  sick  man  is 
really  a  man ;  his  limbs  have  a  history  of  suffering, 
they  are  spiritualised.  I  believe  that  by  suffering 
animals  could  be  made  human.  I  have  seen  a 
dying  hound,  who  in  his  last  agonies  gazed  on 
me  with  the  glance  of  a  man.  i 

The  suffering  expression  of  the  Italians  is  most 
visible  when  we  speak  to  them  of  the  misfortunes 
of  their  country,  and  in  Milan  there  is  plenty  of 
opportunity  for  that.  Th/it  is  the  sharpest  wound 
in  the  breast  of  an  Italian,  and  it  quivers  and 
twitches  when  touched  ever  so  lightly.  They 
have  on  such  occasions  a  peculiar  shrug  of  the 
shoulders,  which  inspires  in  me  a  strange  pity. 
One  of  my  Britons  regarded  the  Italians  as  being 
politically  indifferent,  because  they  seemed  to 
listen  with  equanimity  when  we  strangers  chatted 
on  the  Catholic  emancipation  and  the  Turkish 
war ;  and  he  was  unjust  enough  to  say  as  much. 


ITALY.    ■-:_  91 

mockingly,  to  a  pale  Italian  with  a  jet  black 
beard.  We  had  the  previous  evening  seen  the 
debut  of  a  tiew  opera  in  La  Scala,  and  witnessed 
the  tremendous  enthusiasm  which  a  first  success 
excites.  "  You  Italians,"  said  the  Englishman, 
"  appear  to  be  dead  to  everything  save  music, 
which  is  the  only  thing  that  seems  to  excite  you." 
"You  do  us  injustice,"  said  the  pale  one,  shrugging 
his  shoulders.  "  Ah  !  "  he  sighed,  "  Italy  sits 
elegiacally  dreaming  on  her  ruins,  and  when  she 
is  at  times  suddenly  awakened  by  the  melody  of 
a  song,  and  springs  wildly  up,  this  sudden  inspira- 
tion is  not  due  to  the  song  itself,  but  rather  to 
the  ancient  memories  and  feelings  which  the  song 
has  awakened,  which  Italy  has  ever  borne  in  her 
heart,  and  which  now  gush  forth  mightily ;  and 
this  is  the  meaning  of  the  wild  tumult  which  you 
have  heard  in  Za  Scala." 

Perhaps  this  confession  also  explains  the  enthu- 
siasm which  Rossini's  or  Meyerbeer's  operas  have 
everywhere  produced  on  the  other  side  of  the 
Alps.  If  I  ever  in  my  life  saw  human  madness, 
it  was  at  a  representation  of  the  Crociato  in  Egitto, 
when  the  music  frequently  underwent  a  sudden 
transition  from  soft  wailing  tones  to  exulting 
defiant  pain.  Such  madness  is  termed  by  Italians 
furore. 


VOL.  n.  # 


98 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


r'\ 


^        CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

Although  I  have  here,  dear  reader — the  Brera 
and  Ambrosiana  being  in  my  way — a  glorious 
opportunity  to  serve  up  views  on  art,  I  will  still 
sufifer  this  cup  to  pass  away  from  you,  content- 
ing myself  with  the  remark  that  I  have  observed 
the  pointed  chin,  which  gives  such  a  sentimental 
impression  to  so  many  pictures  of  the  Lombard 
school,  on  many  a  pretty  Lombardess  in  the  streets 
of  Milan. 

It  has  always  been  marvellously  comforting 
and  edifying  to  me,  when  an  opportunity  pre- 
sented itself,  to  compare  the  works  of  a  school 
with  the  originals  which  served  as  its  models ; 
for  thus  I  more  accurately  appreciated  its  char- 
acter. Thus  in  the  great  fair  of  Rotterdam,  the 
divine  geniality  of  Jan  Steen  was  suddenly  re- 
vealed to  me ;  and  thus  at  a  later  date  I  learned 
on  LuTig  'Amo  the  truth  of  form  and  the  effec- 
tive spirit  of  the  Florentines,  while  in  San  Marco 
I  caught  the  truth  of  colour  and  the  dreamy 
superficiality  of  the  Venetians.  Go  to  Rome, 
my  dear  soul,  go  to  Rome,  and  there  perhaps 
you  may  soar  to  a  perception  of  the  ideal,  and  to 
the  appreciation  of  Raphael. 


ITALY.  99 

However,  there  is  one  marvel  at  Milan,  and 
by  long  odds  the  greatest,  which  I  cannot  leave 
nnnoted — that  is  the  Cathedral. 

From  a  distance  it  looks  as  though  cat  from 
white  note-paper,  and  when  near  it  the  observer 
is  startled  to  find  that  this  lace-like  scissoring  is 
all  of  undeniable  white  marble.  The  countless 
images  of  saints  which  cover  the  entire  building, 
which  peep  forth  under  little  Gothic  baldachins, 
and  which  rise  from  every  point,  form  a  petrified 
multitude  which  well  nigh  bewilders  our  senses. 
Yet,  if  we  study  the  entire  work  a  while  longer, 
we  find  that  it  is  right  pretty,  colossally  neat,  a 
plaything  for  giant  children.  But  it  appears 
best  in  the, midnight  moonshine,  for  then  all  the 
white  stone-men  come  swarming  down  from  their 
height,  and  sweep  together  over  the  place,  and 
whisper  old  legends  in  our  ears,  or  a  quaintly 
sacred  secret  tale  of  Galeazzo  Visconti,  who 
begun  the  Cathedral,  and  of  Napoleon  Bonaparte, 
who  at  a  later  day  continued  it. 

"  D'ye  see,"  said  to  me  a  singular-looking 
saint,  who  had  evidently  been  but  recently  manu- 
factured from  bran  new  marble,  "  d'ye  see,  my 
old  friends  here  cannot  understand  why  the  Em- 
peror Napoleon  worked  away  so  industriously  at 
the  Cathedral ;  but  I  flatter  myself  that  I  have 
seen  into  the  matter.  He  knew  perfectly  well 
that  this  great  stone  house  was  at  any  rate  a  very 


loo  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

Ttsefnl  building,  and  that  it  might  be  nsed  when 
Christianity  shall  have  gone  out  of  date." 

"  When  Christianity  shall  be  out  of  date ! "  I  j 
was  fairiy  frightened  to  hear  that  there  were 
saints  who  talked  this  way  in  Italy,  and  that  in 
a  place  where  Austrian  sentinels,  with  bearskin 
caps  and  knapsacks,  were  marching  up  and  down. 
Anyhow,  the  old  stone  chap  was  right,  for  the 
interior  of  the  Cathedral  is  pleasant  and  cool  in 
summer,  and  cheerful  and  agreeable,  and  will  be 
worth  something,  do  what  they  will  with  it. 

The  completion  of  this  Cathedral  was  one  of 
Napoleon's  favourite  ideas,  and  he  was  not  far 
from  it  when  his  power  came  to  an  end.  The 
Austrians  are  now  carrying  it  on.  They  are  also 
working  at  the  celebrated  triumphal  arch,  which 
is  to  conclude  the  Simplon  road,  though,  of 
course.  Napoleon's  statue  will  not  be  placed  on 
the  summit  of  the  arch,  as  was  originally  deter- 
mined. At  all  events,  the  great  Emperor  has 
left  behind  him  a  monument  which  is  better  and 
more  durable  than  marble,  and  which  no  Austrian 
can  hide  from  observation.  Long  after  the  rest 
of  us  ordinary  mortals  shall  have  been  mowed 
down  by  the  scythe  of  Time,  and  blown  away 
like  chaff  of  the  field,  that  statue  monument  will 
remain  unscathed ;  new  races  will  rise  from  the 
earth,  will  gaze  bewildered  on  the  image,  and 
pass  away  again  to  earth;  and  time,  incapable 


ITALY.  Mi 

of  injuring  the  form,  will  seek  to  involve  it  in 
legendary  myths,  and  its  tremendous  history  will 
finally  be  a  myth. 

Perhaps  after  thousands  of  years  some  won- 
derfully shrewd  schoolmaster  in  a  fearfully  pro- 
found dissertation  will  prove  beyond  cavil  that 
Napoleon  Bonaparte  was  identical  with  that  other 
Titan  who  stole  fire  from  the  gods,  and  who  for 
this  trespass  was  chained  to  a  solitary  rock  in  the 
midst  of  the  sea,  as  a  prey  to  a  vulture,  which 
day  by  day  gnawed  away  at  his  heart. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

My  excellent  friend  and  reader,  I  sincerely  hope 
that  you  will  not  mistake  me  for  an  unconditional 
Bonapartist;  my  adoration  is  entirely  for  the  genius, 
and  not  for  the  deeds  of  the  man.  I  love  him 
beyond  all  limit  up  to  the  eighteenth  Brumaire, 
when  he  betrayed  freedom.  And  this  he  did,  not 
from  necessity,  but  from  a  secret  predilection  for 
aristocracy.^  Napoleon  Bonaparte  was  an  aristo- 
crat, a  noble  enemy  of  middle-class  equality,  and 
it  was  an  enormous  mistake  and  misunderstanding 

^  Heine  hinnelf  being  not  one  whit  behind  Napoleon  in  the 
same  weakness,  while  he  seldom  refers  to  the  bourgeoii,  or 
middle  class,  save  in  ridicule. — Note  by  Tramdaior. 


,j^  ^ >■■'"       .^-vl  r  '^■" '^■■'■''-'■^ 


I02 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


when  the  European  aristocracy,  represented  by 
England,  made  such  deadly  war  on  him ;  for  al- 
though he  intended  to  introduce  a  few  changes 
into  the  personnel  of  this  aristocracy,  he  still 
wished  to  uphold  the  majority  of  them  and  their 
actual  principle  ;  he  would  have  regenerated  this 
aristocracy,  which  now,  after  its  last  and  certainly 
final  victory,  lies  exhausted  by  age,  loss  of  blood, 
and  weariness.  I 

Dear  reader,  let  us  here,  once  and  for  all, 
understand  one  another.  I  never  praise  the  deed, 
but  the  human  soul  whose  garment  the  deed  is, 
and  history  is  nothing  but  the  soul's  old  wardrobe.^ 
But  love  sometimes  loves  old  hats  and  coats,  and 
even  so  do  I  love  the  cloak  of  Marengo. 

"  We  are  on  the  battlefield  of  Marengo ! " 
How  my  heart  laughed  as  the  postillion  said  this. 
I  was  in  company  with  a  very  gentlemanly 
Lieflander,  who  rather  played  the  Russian  the 
evening  before  we  had  left  Milan,  and  the  next 
morning  we  saw  the  sun  rise  over  the  famed 
field  of  battle. 

It  was  here  that  General  Bonaparte  drank  so 
mighty  a  draught  from  the  goblet  of  renown,  that 
in  his  intoxication  he  became  Consul,  Emperor, 


^  This  passage  is  a  brief  epitome  of  "Sartor  Resartns."  The 
■imile  is  more  clearly  and  fully  expressed  in  a  Rosicrucian  treatise 
on  Fire  and  Salt  by  Lord  Blaise,  seventeenth  century. — Not« 
by  TranAator. 


ITALY.      :-/  103 

World-conqueror,  and  first  grew  sober  at  St. 
Helena.  And  it  fared  no  better  with  us,  who 
also  got  tipsy  with  him,  dreamed  the  same  wild 
dreams,  awoke  in  the  same  manner,  and  now  in 
all  the  misery  of  soberness  are  makiug  all  sorts 
of  reasonable  reflections.  And  it  often  seems  to 
us  as  if  warlike  reputation  were  an  old-fashioned, 
out-of-date  sort  of  pleasure,  for  under  Napoleon  a 
battle  attained  its  acme  of  significance,  and  he 
was  perhaps  the  last  of  the  conquerors. 

It  really  seems  as  though  more  spiritual  than 
material  interests  were  now  being  fought  out, 
and  as  though  universal  history  were  no  longer  a 
robber-legend,  but  a  ghost-story.  The  grand  lever 
which  ambitious  and  avaricious  princes  were  once 
wont  to  employ  so  industriously — that  is  to  say, 
nationality,  with  all  its  vanity  and  hatred,  is  now 
musty  and  used  up;  day  by  day  the  ridiculous 
prejudices  of  races  are  disappearing;  all  harsh 
peculiarities  are  perishing  in  the  universality 
of  European  civilisation.  There  are  no  longer 
nations  but  parties,  and  it  is  wonderful  to  behold 
how  these,  despite  the  most  varied  colours,  recog- 
nise each  other,  and  make  themselves  mutually 
intelligible,  notwithstanding  the  difierence  of  lan- 
guage. As  there  is  a  material  policy  of  States, 
so  there  is  also  a  spiritual  party-policy ;  and  as 
the  States*  policy  would  quickly  bring  to  a  general, 
zealous  European  war  the  smallest  strife  which 


M^-*— — -■^»  ,v    «"*■'>..    f'**       '    'V     •«•      '      '  "..-l-ir"";,**^.. 


104  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

should  spring  up  betw^een  the  smallest  Powers, 
where  interest  is  the  governing  principle,  so,  on 
the  other  hand,  the  smallest  strife  could  not  take 
place  in  which,  owing  to  the  party-policy  already 
alluded  to,  the  general  spiritual  tendencies  and 
meanings  would  not  be  at  once  understood,  and 
by  which  the  most  distant  and  heterogeneous 
parties  would  find  themselves  compelled  to  take 
side  pro  or  contra.  \ 

On  account  of  this  party- policy,  which  I  call  a 
spiritual-policy,  because  its  interests  are  more 
spiritual  and  its  ultimce  rationes  not  metallic, 
there  are  now  formed,  as  if  by  the  medium  of  the 
States'  policy,  two  great  masses  opposed  to  each 
other,  fighting  with  glance  and  word.  The  watch- 
words and  representatives  of  these  two  great  parties 
change  day  by  day — there  is  no  lack  of  confusion 
— the  greatest  misunderstandings  often  arise,  and 
these  are  often  rather  increased  than  lessened 
by  the  authors,  who  form  the  diplomatists  of 
the  spiritual  party ;  but  though  heads  may  err, 
hearts  still  feel  what  they  need,  and  Time  presses 
on  with  her  great  question. 

But  what  is  the  great  question  of  the  age  ? 

It  is  that  of  emancipation.  Not  simply  the 
emancipation  of  the  Irish,  Greeks,  Frankfort  Jews, 
West  Indian  Negroes,  and  other  oppressed  races, 
but  the  emancipation  of  the  whole  world,  and 
especially  that  of  Europe,  which  has  attained  its 


ITALY.  V        los 

majority,  and  now  tears  itself  loose  from  the  iron 
leading-strings  of  a  privileged  aristocracy.  A 
few  philosophical  renegades  from  freedom  may 
forge,  if  they  will,  for  us  the  most  elaborate 
chains  of  conclusions,  to  prove  that  millions  of 
men  are  bom  to  be  beasts  of  burden  for  a  few 
thousand  nobles,  but  they  will  never  convince  us 
until  they  make  it  clear,  to  borrow  the  expres- 
sion of  Voltaire,  that  the  former  are  bom  with 
saddles  on  their  backs,  and  the  latter  with  spurs 
on  their  heels. 

Every  age  has  its  problem,  whose  solution 
advances  the  world.  The  earlier  inequality 
established  by  the  feudal  system  in  Europe  was 
perhaps  necessary,  or  a  necessary  condition  of 
the  advance  of  humanity;  but  now  it  impedes 
the  latter,  and  represses  the  pulsations  of  the 
civilised  heart.*  The  French,  who  are  pre-emi- 
nently the  race  of  social  intercourse,  have  neces- 
sarily suffered  most  from  this  inequality,  which 
grates  so  harshly  against  the  principles  of  soci- 
ability; they  have  sought  to  force  equality  by 
gently  nipping  off  those  heads  which  persisted 
in  rising  above  the  rest,  and  their  revolution 
was  the  signal  for  a  war  of  independence  for 
the  whole  world. 

^  Thus  serfdom  was  in  Russia  a  great  advance  from  nomadic 
barbarism,  and  the  Southern  United  States  would  have  still 
been  a  wilderaess  but  for  slavery. — Note  by  Trandator. 


*H  rvwiili  ^..».*i„- 1..  ,     ^ ..1/  >■ .    *  w.  ..i     *\*   ■.*  i,  _  . .   _      _      >..  ju.^-  -*.  .    *  -V.  ,%    1       .V  '•■''       '  '*  -.  .      .   j«  m-t  —..-".  At .     • 


io6 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


Honour  to  the  French ! — they  have  taken  good 
care  of  the  two  greatest  needs  of  human  society — 
of  good  eating  and  citizenly  equality ;  they  have 
made  the  greatest  advances  in  cookery  and  in 
freedom ;  and  if  it  ever  comes  to  pass  that  we 
all  hold  together  one  grand  dinner  of  jolly  good- 
fellowship — and  on  this  earth  there  is  nothing 
better  than  an  assembly  of  peers  at  a  well-spread 
table — we  will  give  the  Frenchmen  the  first  toast. 
It  will  be  some  time,  I  know,  before  this  grand  feast 
comes  off,  and  before  emancipation  is  finished  up  ; 
but  it  is  bound  to  come,  this  blessed  time,  when 
we,  all  reconciled  and  on  a  par,  will  sit  together 
around  the  same  table.  ^  Then  in  union  we  will 
fight  against  other  evils  of  the  world,  perhaps  at 
last  against  death  itself — death,  whose  stem  sys- 
tem of  equality  is  not,  to  say  the  worst,  so  oppres- 
sive as  the  smiling  theory  of  inequality  held  by 
aristocracy. 

Laugh  not,  thou  later  reader.  Every  age  be- 
lieves that  its  battle  is  the  most  important ;  this 
is  the  true  creed  of  the  time  in  which  it  lives  and 
dies,  and  we,  too,  will  live  and  die  in  this  religion 
of  freedom,  which   perhaps  better  deserves  the 

*  The  only  question  will  be  to  know  of  whom  "  we  "  are  to 
consist.  Heine  wrote  this  before  the  age  of  railways  and  steam 
vessels.  England  and  America  are  beginning  to  find  that 
there  are  some  hundreds  of  millions  of  outside  barbarians  who 
are  ooming  in  much  more  rapidly  than  oor  own  poor  can  be 
civiliBed — Note  hy  Translator.  I 


ITALY.  107 

name  of  religion  than  the  hollow,  long  dead  soul- 
spectre  which  we  have  qualified  by  that  name. 
Our  holy  battle  seems  to  us  to  be  by  far  the 
mightiest  ever  yet  fought  on  earth,  though  a  his- 
torical presentiment  tells  us  that  our  descendants 
will  look  down  on  this  strife  with  perhaps  the 
same  indifference  with  which  we  regard  the  com- 
bats of  the  first  men  who  fought  against  quite  as 
terrible  monsters,  dragons  and  robber-giants. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

On  the  battlefield  of  Marengo  reflections  come 
flying  around  in  such  flocks  that  one  can  almost 
believe  that  they  are  the  same  which  many  tra- 
vellers have  suddenly  abandoned  there  in  a  hurry, 
and  which  now  go  sweeping  about.  I  love  battle- 
fields ;  for,  terrible  as  war  is,  it  still  sets  forth  the 
spiritual  greatness  of  man,  who  has  gone  so  far 
as  to  defy  his  mightiest  hereditary  enemy — Death. 
And  just  so  with  this  battle-plain,  where  Freedom 
danced  on  blood-roses  her  wanton  bridal  mea- 
sures. For,  in  those  days,  France  was  a  bride- 
groom who  had  invited  all  the  world  to  a 
wedding,  and  then,  as  the  song  says — 

"  Hurrah  1  upon  the  bridal  eve, 
In  merry  joke,  for  pots  they  broke 
Aristocratic  heads." 


io8 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


But  alas  !  every  inch  which  humanity  advances 
costs  streams  of  blood,  and  is  not  that  paying 
rather  dear?  Is  not  the  life  of  the  individual 
worth  as  much  as  that  of  the  entire  race  ?  For 
every  single  man  is  a  world  which  is  bom  and 
which  dies  with  him ;  beneath  every  gravestone 
lies  a  world's  history.  "  Be  silent,"  Death  would 
say,  "  as  to  those  who  lie  here ;  "  but  we  still  live, 
and  will  fight  on  in  the  holy  battle  for  the  freedom 
of  humanity. 

"  Who  now  thinks  of  Marengo  ?  "  said  my  tra- 
velling companion,  the  Liefland  Kussian,  as  we 
rode  over  the  fallow  field.  "  At  present  all  eyes 
are  turned  towards  the  Balkan,  where  my  country- 
man Diebitsch  is  fitting  the  turban  to  the  Turk's 
head;  and  you'll  see  that  we'll  take  Constan- 
tinople this  very  year.    Are  you  for  Russia  ?  " 

This  was  a  question  which  I  had  rather  have 
answered  anywhere  but  on  the  field  of  Marengo. 
I  saw,  in  the  morning  mists,  the  man  in  the  little 
cocked  hat  and  the  grey  cloak  of  battle;  he 
darted  onwards,  swift  as  a  spirit,  and  far  in  the 
distance  rang  a  terribly  sweet  "  Allons,  enfans 
de  la  patrie."  Yet,  notwithstanding  all  this,  I 
answered,  "  Yes,  I  am  sound  as  to  Russia."       | 

And  in  fact,  in  the  wonderful  change  of  watch- 
words and  of  representatives  in  the  great  battle, 
it  has  come  to  such  a  pitch  that  the  most  enthu- 
siastic Mend  of  revolution  can  only  see  the  safety 


*T  "v..  V^"--'*'-  -'•f  "  *' 


•^'^' 


ITALY.  109 

of  the  world  in  the  victory  of  Russia,  and  must 
regard  the  Czar  Nicholas  as  the  gonfaloniere  of 
freedom.  Singular  mutation !  Two  years  ago  we 
cast  the  robe  of  this  noble  office  upon  an  English 
Minister.  The  howl  of  high  Tory  hatred  against 
George  Canning  led  our  choice;  in  the  noble, 
humiliating  sufferings  which  he  endured  we  saw 
guarantees  of  his  fidelity,  and  as  he  died  the  death 
of  a  martyr,  we  put  on  mourning,  and  the  8th 
of  August  became  a  sacred  day  in  the  calendar  of 
freedom.  But  we  took  the  flags  from  Downing 
Street  and  planted  them  anew  in  St.  Petersburg, 
and  chose  for  our  standard-bearer  the  Emperor 
Nicholas,  the  Knight  of  Europe,  who  protected 
Greek  widows  and  orphans  against  Asiatic  bar- 
barians, and  who  in  that  brave  battle  won  his 
spurs.  Again  the  enemies  of  freedom  had  be- 
trayed themselves,  and  we  again  availed  ourselves 
of  the  shrewdness  of  their  hatred  to  learn  what 
was  for  our  own  benefit.  Again  the  wonted  vision 
came  to  view,  that  we  owed  our  representatives 
more  to  the  elective  majority  of  our  enemies 
than  to  our  own  choice ;  and  as  we  gazed  on  the 
marvellously  assorted  multitude  who  sent  forth 
their  best  wishes  to  Heaven  for  the  safety  of  Turkey 
and  for  the  destruction  of  Russia,  we  quickly 
found  out  who  was  our  friend,  or  rather  who  was 
the  terror  of  our  foe.  How  the  blessed  Lord  in 
heaven  must  have  laughed  when  he  listened  to 


no  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL.  1 

the  cotemporary  prayers  of  Wellington,  the  Grand 
Mufti,  the  Pope,  Rothschild  I.,  Mettemich,  and 
an  endless  mess  of  little  nobles,  stockjobbers, 
priests,  and  Turks,  and  all  for  one  and  the  same 
thing — the  safety  of  the  Crescent !  I 

What  the  alarmists  have  fabled  over  the  danger 
to  which  we  are  exposed  by  the  overgrowth  of 
Bussia  is  rank  nonsense.  We  Germans,  at  least, 
have  nothing  to  risk ;  a  greater  or  less  degree  of 
servitude  need  not  concern  ns,  when  the  greatest 
of  blessings,  the  being  set  free  from  the  relics  of 
feudalism  and  of  priesthood,  is  at  stake.  They 
threaten  us  with  the  dominion  of  the  knout,  but 
I  for  one  will  gladly  take  a  little  thrashing  if  I 
can  only  know  for  a  certainty  that  our  enemies 
will  get  their  share  of  it.  But  I  will  bet  that 
they  will  go  as  of  old,  fawning  and  wheedling  up 
to  the  new  powers  that  be,  graciously  smiling  and 
proffering  the  most  shameless  services,  and  if  it 
happens  that  they  once  for  all  must  be  knouted, 
they  will  condition  for  the  privilege  of  a  knout 
of  honour — just  as  a  nobleman  in  Siam,  when 
punished,  is  stuck  into  a  silken  bag  and  is  beaten 
with  perfumed  rods,  while  the  criminal  citizen  is 
put  into  a  common  linen  sack,  and  has  his  blows 
laid  on  with  a  stick  utterly  devoid  of  a  sweet- 
smelling  savour.  Well,  we  will  grant  them  this 
privilege  (since  it  is  the  only  one),  if  they  are  only 
well  whipped,  and  especially  the  English  nobility. 


:  ITALY.   1    v  .     :  in 

People  may  recall,  if  they  please,  and  as  mnch  as 
they  please,  that  it  was  this  very  nobility  which 
forced  from  despotism  the  Magna  Charta,  and  that 
England,  despite  all  her  maintenance  of  social  in- 
equality, has  ever  secured  the  personal  liberty  of 
the  subject,  and  that  that  country  was  a  place  of 
refuge  for  free  souls  when  despotism  subdued  the 
entire  Continent ;  those  are  tempi  passati  !  Eng- 
land, with  her  aristocracy,  is  gradually  sinking; 
independent  spirits  have  now  a  better  place  of 
refuge,  and  if  all  Europe  become  a  single  prison, 
there  would  still  be  another  hole  for  escape — I 
mean  America — and  God  be  praised,  that  hole  is 
larger  than  all  the  prison  itself.^ 

But  these  are  all  ridiculous  whimsies,  for  if 
any  one  compares  England  and  Russia  with  a 
view  to  freedom,  no  doubt  remains  as  to  which 
is  the  right  side  to  choose.  Freedom  has  sprung 
in  England  from  historical  events,  from  privi- 
leges; in  Russia,  from  principles.  The  results 
of  those  events — like  the  events  themselves — bear 
the  stamp  of  the  Middle  Ages.  All  England  is 
congealed  in  mediaeval,  never  to  be  rejuvenated 
institutions,  behind  which  her  aristocracy  is  en- 
trenched, awaiting  the  death-struggle  But  those 
principles  from  which  Russian  freedom  sprung — 

^  Which  "  hole  "  Heine  on  an  another  occasion  abased  as  an 
intolerably  dull  place,  unfit  to  live  in,  or  where  freedom  is  aa 
yet  only  in  raw  ignorant  youthfulness. — NaU  by  Trandator- 


112  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

or,  to  speak  more  correctly,  from  which  Rusaian 
freedom  is  daily  developing  itself,  are  the  liberal 
ideas  of  our  most  recent  times;  the  Knssian 
government  is  penetrated  through  and  through 
with  these  ideas;  its  unlimited  absolutism  is 
rather  a  dictatorship,  by  which  those  ideas  will 
be  brought  directly  to  life.  This  government  is 
not  rooted  in  feudalism  and  priestcraft ;  it  fights 
directly  against  the  power  of  the  nobles  and  of 
the  Church,  for  even  Catherine  limited  the  power 
of  the  Church,  and  the  Russian  nobility  exists  by 
Church  service.  Russia  is  a  democratic  state — I 
would  gladly  say,  a  Christian  state — if  I  might  be 
permitted  to  use  this  so  often  misused  word  in  its 
sweetest  and  most  cosmopolite  sense,  for  the  Rus- 
sians, by  the  very  extent  of  their  realm,  are  freed 
from  the  narrow-mindedness  of  a  heathenish 
national  vanity ;  they  are  citizens  of  the  world, 
lacking  only  five-sixths,  since  Russia  embraces 
one-half-dozenth  of  the  inhabited  globe. 

And  faith !  when  a  German-Russian,  like  my 
travelling  companion,  plays  the  brag-patriot,  and 
talks  about  "  our  Russia  "  and  "  our  Diebitsch," 
it  seems  to  me  as  though  I  heard  a  herring 
calling  the  ocean  his  country  and  the  whale  his 
compatriot. 


ITALY.  irs 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

*  I  AM  sound  as  to  Bnssia,"  I  said  on  the  battle- 
plain  of  Marengo,  and  quitted  for  a  few  minutes 
the  coach  to  offer  up  my  morning  devotions. 

The  sun  came  forth  gloriously,  genially,  confi- 
dently from  beneath  a  triumphal  arch  of  colossal 
masses  of  clouds.  But  my  soul  was  like  the  poor 
moon,  which  stood  paling  away  in  heaven.  She 
had  wandered  on  in  her  lonely  course  in  the 
desolate  night,  where  happy  Fortune  slept,  and 
only  spectres,  owls,  and  felons  carried  on  their 
dark  vocations ;  and  now,  when  the  young  day 
arose  amid  rays  of  rejoicing,  and  fluttering  flags 
of  early  morning  flame,  she  must  pass  silently 
away ;  a  single  glance  at  .the  great  world  of  light, 
and  she  is  lost  in  eternal  mist. 

"  It  will  be  a  fine  day,"  cried  my  travelling 
companion  from  the  coach.  "Yes,  it  wiU  be  a 
fine  day,"  slowly  re-echoed  my  praying  heart,  as 
it  trembled  with  grief  and  joy.  Yes,  it  will  be  a 
beautiful  day ;  the  sun  of  freedom  will  warm  the 
world  with  a  more  thrilling  joy  than  that  which 
comes  from  cold  aristocratic  stars;  there  will 
spring  up  a  new  race,  begotten  in  the  embraces 
of  free  choice,  and  not  in  the  bed  of  compulsion 
and  under  the  control  of  clerical  tax-gatherers; 
and  with  &ee  birth  there  will  arise  in  mankind 

VOL.  II.  H 


• )  '■ 


114  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL, 

free  thonghts  and  free  feelings  of  which  we,  poor 
born  serfs,  have  no  conception.  Oh,  as  little 
will  they  imagine  how  terrible  was  the  night  in 
which  we  lived,  and  how  cruel  was  our  strife 
with  terrible  phantoms,  gloomy  owls,  and  hypo- 
critical sinners  !  Ah  !  we  poor  warriors  !  who 
must  waste  our  life  in  such  battles,  and  are 
exhausted  and  pale  when  the  day  of  victory 
dawns !  The  glow  of  sunrise  will  no  more  gild 
our  cheeks,  and  no  longer  warm  our  hearts ;  we 
must  die  like  the  fading  moon.  All  too  short 
is  the  measure  of  man's  allotted  path,  at  whose 
end  lies  the  pitiless  grave. 

I  really  do  not  know  whether  I  deserve  that 
a  laurel  wreath  be  laid  on  my  coflBn.  Poetry, 
dearly  as  I  have  loved  it,  has  always  been  to  me 
only  a  holy  plaything  or  a  consecrated  means 
whereby  to  attain  a  heavenly  end.  I  have  never 
attached  much  value  to  a  poetic  reputation,  and 
I  care  little  whether  my  songs  are  praised  or 
found  fault  with.^  But  ye  may  lay  a  sword  on 
my  coffin,  for  I  was  a  brave  soldier  in  the  war  of 
freedom  for  mankind. 

^  Heine's  attack  on  Von  Platen  in  the  next  chapter  is  an 
amusing  illustration  of  this  asserted  indifference  as  to  whether 
his  own  poems  were  found  fault  with.  To  judge  by  his  retorts, 
our  author  stood  at  the  very  bead  of  the  irritabiU  genu*  vatum. 
—NoU  by  Translator.  \     . 


ITALY.  IIS 


CHAPTER  XXXIL  .     ; 

Ddeing  the  noonday  heat  we  sought  shelter  in  a 
Franciscan  monastery,  situated  on  a  lofty  eleva- 
tion, and  which,  with  its  dark  cypresses  and  white 
monks,  peeped  out  like  a  holy  shooting-box,  look- 
ing down  into  the  pleasant  green  valleys  of  the 
Apennines.  It  was  a  beautiful  building  that  of  the 
Carthusians  at  Monza.  I  only  saw  it  externally,  and 
I  also  passed  many  other  remarkable  cloisters  and 
churches.  Often,  in  regarding  these  old  churches, 
I  know  not  which  most  to  admire,  the  beauty  of 
their  vicinity,  their  great  size,  or  the  equally  great 
and  rock-like  firm  souls  of  their  builders.  They 
well  knew  that  only  their  far-off  descendants 
could  complete  the  work ;  and  yet  they  quietly 
laid  the  foundation-stone,  and  calmly  placed  one 
stone  upon  another  until  death  called  them  from 
the  work,  and  other  architects  continued  that 
work,  and  in  turn  were  laid  in  the  grave^all  in 
unshaken  belief  in  the  eternity  of  the  Catholic 
Church,  and  all  equally  assured  of  the  same  faith 
in  the  generations  to  come,  who  would  build  oa 
where  they  had  ceased  to  labour. 

It  was  the  faith  of  the  age,  and  the  old  archi- 
tects lived  and  sank  to  sleep  in  this  faith.  Now 
they  lie  before  the  doors  of  their  antique  churches, 
aud  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  their  slumbers  may  be 


ti6 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


Bound,  and  that  they  may  not  be  awakened  by 
the  laughter  of  the  later  age.  And  it  would  be 
a  sad  thing  for  them,  particularly  for  those  who 
are  buried  near  old  unfinished  cathedrals,  should 
they  suddenly  revive  some  night,  and  gaze  by  the 
cold  sad  moonlight  on  their  unfinished  day's  work, 
and  find  that  the  time  for  finishing  them  had 
passed  away,  and  that  their  whole  life  had  been 
spent  in  vain.  i 

Such  is  the  voice  of  our  own  age,  which  has 
other  problems  and  another  faith. 

I  once,  in  Cologne,  heard  a  little  boy  ask  his 
mother  why  they  did  not  finish  the  half-built 
cathedral.  He  was  a  pretty  child,  and  I  kissed 
his  bright  intelligent  eyes;  and  as  his  mother 
could  give  no  answer  to  the  question,  I  told  him 
that  now-a  days  people  had  altogether  different 
things  to  do.^  I 

On  the  summit  of  the  Apennines,  not  far  from 
Genoa,  we  behold  the  sea;  between  the  green 


^  It  was  a  characteristic  failing  with  Heine,  as  with  many 
highly  imaginative  men,  that  he  generally  took  but  one  element 
or  cause  into  consideration.  Here  he  forgets  that  national  pride 
and  ffistbetic  culture  might  continue  the  work  begun  by  religion. 
The  Cathedral  of  Cologne  has  been  finished  since  this  was 
written,  Protestants  having  greatly  aided  the  work.  The  fa9ad 
of  Santa  Croce,  in  Florence,  was  executed  more  recently  by  an 
Englishman  ;  in  fact,  there  seems  to  be  little  reason  to  doubt 
that  all  the  buildings  here  referred  to  will  be  sooner  or  latw 
completed. — Note  by  Tramlator. 


itALY.  117 

mountain  peaks  we  catch,  glimpses  of  its  blue 
waters,  and  ships  which  come  forth  here  and  there 
seem  to  sail  strangely  over  the  mountains.  If 
we  see  this  view  during  twilight,  when  the  last 
rays  of  the  sun  begin  playing  a  wondrous  game 
with  the  earliest  shades  of  evening,  and  when  all 
hues  and  shapes  twine  dreamily  together,  then  a 
feeling  as  of  old  legends  steals  over  the  mind  ;  the 
coach  rolls  along,  the  sweetest  dreamiest  shadows 
of  the  soul  are  revived  ;  they  tenderly  greet,  until 
at  last  in  a  vision  we  seem  to  be  in  Genoa. 


CHAPTER  XXXHL 

This  city  is  old  without  antiquity,  narrow  with- 
out home-like  snugness,  and  ugly  beyond  descrip- 
tion. It  is  built  on  a  rock,  at  the  foot  of  amphi- 
theatre-like hills,  which  bold  in  their  embrace  the 
loveliest  bosom  of  the  sea.  The  Genoese  have 
consequently  from  Nature  one  of  the  best  and 
securest  of  harbours.  And  as  the  whole  town 
stands  on  a  single  rock,  the  houses  must,  for  the 
sake  of  room,  be  built  very  high,  while  the  streets 
are  very  narrow,  so  that  the  latter  are  very  dark 
and  close,  only  two  of  them  admitting  carriages. 
But  the  houses  are  chiefly  used  by  their  inhabi- 
tants, who  are  principally  merchants,  as  store- 
houses, and  as  sleeping-places  by  night.     Daring 


.„_-.>.--«  -*''• 


ii8 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL, 


the  whole  trafficking  day,  they  run  abont  town 
or  sit  before  their  house-doors — I  should  say, 
within  their  house-doors — otherwise  opposite 
neighbours  would  knock  their  knees  together,    i 

Seen  from  the  sea  side,  especially  towards 
evening,  the  whole  town  gains  in  appearance.  It 
lies  there  on  the  shore  like  the  bleached  skeleton 
of  some  castaway  monstrous  beast;  dark  ants 
which  call  themselves  Genoese  creep  over  it,  blue 
waves  dash  it  with  foam,  humming  a  lullaby, 
and  the  moon,  the  pale  eye  of  night,  looks  down 
on  it  with  sorrow. 

In  the  garden  of  the  Palazzo  Doria  the  old  sea- 
hero  stands  like  a  Neptune  in  a  great  water- basin. 
But  the  statue  is  forlorn  and  mutilated,  the  foun- 
tain is  dry,  and  seamews  nestle  amid  the  dark 
cypresses.  Like  a  boy  always  thinking  of  plays,  I 
was  at  once  reminded  by  the  name  of  Doria  of 
that  of  Frederic  Schiller,  the  noblest,  if  not  the 
greatest,  of  our  German  poets. 

Though  mostly  in  decay,  the  palaces  of  the 
once  powerful  lords  of  Genoa,  the  TioMli,  are 
still  very  beautiful,  displaying  an  excess  of  magni- 
ficence. They  are  nearly  all  situated  on  the  two 
great  streets  known  as  the  Strada  Nuova  and 
Balhi.  Of  these  palaces,  the  Durazzo  is  the  most 
remarkable.  Here  are  many  good  pictures,  among 
them  Paul  Veronese's  Mary  Magdalene  washing 
the  feet  of  Christ.     The  Mary  is  so  beautiful  that 


ITALY.         V    C'  "' 

were  she  alive  she  would  be  in  danger  of  a  second 
seduction.  I  stood  a  longtime  before  her,  but 
ah !  she  did  not  look  up.  Christ  stands  there 
like  a  pious  Hamlet — "  Go  to  a  nunnery  !  "  Here 
I  also  found  excellent  Dutch  paintings,  and  splen- 
did works  by  Rubens,  the  latter  inspired  to  the 
fullest  extent  by  the  colossal  geniality  of  the 
Netherlandish  Titan,  whose  spirit-wings  were 
BO  powerful  that  he  would  have  soared  to  the 
Bun,  though  a  hundred  tons  of  Dutch  cheese  had 
been  tied  to  his  legs.  I  cannot  pass  the  smallest 
painting  by  this  master  without  paying  my  tribute 
of  admiration,  and  all  the  more  because  it  is  now 
the  fashion  to  glance  at  him  with  a  shrug  of  the 
shoulder  on  account  of  his  lack  of  ideality.  The 
historical  school  of  Munich  spreads  itself  with 
peculiar  magnificence  in  this  sort  of  criticism. 
With  what  high-flown  depreciation  do  the  long- 
haired disciples  of  Cornelius  wander  through  the 
Reubens  Hall !  But  perhaps  their  error  is  more 
intelligible  when  we  reflect  on  the  great  con- 
trast which  Peter  Cornelius  himself  forms  to  Peter 
Paul  Rubens,  No  greater  opposites  can  be  ima- 
gined ;  and  yet,  with  all  this,  a  notion  occasion- 
ally comes  into  my  head  that  there  are  points  of 
affinity  between  them,  which  I  rather  surmise 
than  understand.  Perhaps  there  are  peculiari- 
ties of  their  Northern  country  hidden  in  them, 
which   proclaim    themselves   to    a  third  fellow- 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


conntryman — that  is,  to  myself — like  soft  secret 
whispers.  But  this  secret  affinity  does  not  con- 
sist of  the  Netherlandish  joyousness  and  spright- 
liness  of  colour  which  laughs  from  all  the  pictures 
of  Rubens,  so  that  we  might  almost  believe  that 
he  had  painted  them  in  a  glorious  Rhine-wine 
carouse,  while  dancing  fair-music  rang  and  piped 
around.  Truly  the  pictures  of  Cornelius  seem, 
on  the  contrary,  to  have  been  painted  on  Good 
Friday,  while  the  doleful  songs  of  the  processions 
swept  through  the  street,  and  re-echoed  in  the 
atelier  and  in  the  heart  of  the  painter.  In  pro- 
ductiveness, in  boldness  of  conception,  in  genial 
originality,  both  are  alike  ;  both  are  bom  painters, 
and  belong  to  the  cycle  of  great  masters,  who  for 
the  most  part  flourished  in  the  time  of  Raphael — 
an  age  which  was  still  capable  of  exercising  a 
direct  influence  on  Rubens,  but  which  is  so  utterly 
removed  from  our  own  that  we  are  almost  terrified 
by  the  appearance  of  Cornelius,  for  he  seems  to 
us  like  the  ghost  of  one  of  those  great  artists  of 
Raphael's  time  who  hagjdsenfrom  the  grave  to  paint 
a  few  more  pictures — a  dead  creator,  self-conjured 
by  the  indwelling  word  of  life  which  was  buried 
with  him.  If  we  study  his  pictures,  they  gaze  on 
as  with  eyes  of  the  fifteenth  century ;  their  gar- 
ments are  ghost-like,  as  though  they  rustled  past 
in  midnight;  the  bodies  are  strong  with  magic 
power,  drawn  with  dream-like  accuracy,  power- 


ITALY.     .      ■  lai, 

fally  true,  only  they  want  blood-throbbing  Ufe  and 
colour.  Yes,  Cornelins  is  a  creator ;  but  if  we  look 
at  his  creations  it  seems  to  us  as  though  they 
could  not  live  long;  as  though  they  were  all 
painted  a  few  hours  before  death ;  as  though 
they  all  were  prophetic  signs  of  approaching 
dissolution.  Despite  their  hearty  geniality,  the 
paintings  of  Eubens  awaken  in  us  a  similar 
feeling — they  also  seem  to  bear  within  them  the 
germ  of  death,  and  a  feeling  comes  over  us  that 
notwithstanding  their  superabundance  of  life  and 
their  fulness  of  red  blood,  they  must  suddenly  be 
struck  down.  This  is  perhaps  the  secret  of  that 
affinity  which  we  so  strangely  feel  when  com- 
paring these  masters.  The  excess  of  pleasure 
in  certain  pictures  by  Rubens,  and  the  infinite 
sorrow  in  others  by  Cornelius,  awake  in  us  per- 
haps the  same  emotions.  But  whence  comes  this 
sorrow  in  a  Dutchman  ?  It  is  perhaps  the  terrible 
consciousness  that  he  belongs  to  an  age  long 
passed  away,  and  that  his  life  is  a  mystical  re- 
appearance— for  oh !  he  is  not  merely  the  only 
great  artist  who  now  paints,  but,  it  may  be,  the 
only  great  one  who  ever  will  paint.  Before  him, 
to  the  time  of  the  Caracci,  is  a  long  darkness, 
and  after  him  the  shadows  again  close  together ; 
his  hand  is  a  bright,  solitary  spirit-hand  in  the 
night  of  Art,  and  the  pictures  which  it  paints 
bear  the  unearthly  confidence  of  such  an  earnest, 


■■•*;.. 


122 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


mgged  seclusion.  I  have  never  looked  at  this 
hand  of  the  Last  of  the  Painters  without  a  secret 
shudder  when  I  gazed  on  the  man  himself,  the 
little  sharp  man  with  glowing  eyes ;  and  yet  that 
hand  has  awakened  in  me  feelings  of  the  warmest 
love  and  devotion,  when  I  have  remembered  that 
it  once  rested  lovingly  on  my  little  fingers,  and 
aided  me  to  design  outlines  of  faces,  when  I,  a 
little  boy,  was  learning  to  draw  in  the  academy 
in  Diisseldorf. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

I  CANNOT  leave  unmentioned  the  collection  of  por- 
traits of  beautiful  Genoese  women  exhibited  in  the 
Palace  Durazzo.  Nothing  in  the  world  inspires 
the  soul  with  such  melancholy  as  the  sight  of 
portraits  of  fair  dames  who  have  been  dead  for 
centuries.  Sadness  steals  over  the  soul  when  we 
reflect  that  of  all  the  originals  of  those  pictures, 
of  all  the  beauties  who  were  so  lovely,  so  coquet- 
tish, so  witty,  so  roguish,  and  so  dreamy — of  all 
those  May  heads  with  April  moods,  of  that  spring- 
tide of  ladies  of  the  olden  time,  nothing  now  re- 
mains but  these  many-coloured  shadows  which 
some  artist,  who,  like  them,  has  long  been  dead, 
has  painted  on  a  perishable  canvas,  which,  like  the 
originals,  must  pass  away  in  time  to  decay  and 


;     ITALY.  M3 

dust.'  And  so  all  life  passes  away,  the  beantifal 
as  well  as  the  hideoas,  without  leaving  a  trace. 
Death,  the  dry  pedant,  spares  the  rose  as  little 
as  the  thistle ;  he  forgets  not  a  lonely  straw  in 
the  most  remote  wilderness ;  he  thoroughly  and 
incessantly  destroys ;  everywhere  we  behold  him 
treading  into  dust  plants  and  animals,  mankind 
and  their  works ;  and  even  those  Egyptian  pyra- 
mids, which  seem  to  defy  his  annihilating  rage, 
are  only  trophies  of  his  power,  monuments  of  all 
long  passed  away,  primeval  royal  graves. 

But  sadder  far  than  this  idea  of  an  endless 
dying  and  of  a  desolate  yawning  annihilation  is 
the  thought  that  we  do  not  even  perish  as  origi- 
nals, but  as  copies  of  long- vanished  mortals  who 
were  spiritually  and  bodily  like  us,  and  that  after 
us  men  will  again  be  bom,  who  will  in  turn  see, 
and  feel,  and  think  like  us,  and  be  again  in  turn 
annihilated  by  death ; — a  comfortless,  endless 
game  of  reproduction,  wherein  the  prolific  earth 
must  constantly   be   bringing  forth   more  than 


*  *'  Say  in  what  land  is  there  a  trace 
Of  Flora,  once  the  Roman  fair? 
Archipiada  or  Thais, 
Who  were,  like  her,  of  beauty  raret 
Echo  will  fling  the  question  back 
O'er  silent  lake  and  streamlet  lone ; 
All  earthly  beauty  fades  away, 
Where  has  the  fore-year's  snowfall  gone  ?  " 

—  ViOon,  trandated  by  0.  0.  Ldand,  18391 


134  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

death  can  destroy,  so  that  she,  in  her  need,  mnsfe 
give  more  heed  to  the  maintenance  of  the  species 
than  to  the  originaKty  of  the  individual 

Strangely  was  I  thrilled  by  the  mystical  terror 
of  this  thought,  when  I,  in  the  Durazzo  Palace, 
gazed  upon  the  portraits  of  the  lovely  Genoese 
ladies,  and  among  them,  on  a  picture  which  awoke 
in  my  soul  a  sweet  storm,  which  even  yet,  when 
I  recall  it,  causes  my  eyelashes  to  tremble.  It 
was  the  picture  of  the  dead  Maria. 

The  guardian  of  the  gallery  believed,  indeed, 
that  the  picture  was  that  of  a  Duchess  of  Genoa, 
and  in  the  cicerone  tone  began  to  tell  that  "  it 
was  painted  by  Giorgio  Barbarelli  de  Castelfranco 
nel  Trevigiano,  commonly  known  as  Giorgione. 
He  was  one  of  the  greatest  painters  of  the  Vene- 
tian school,  was  bom  in  the  year  1477,  and  died 
in  the  year  1 5 1 1 ."  } 

"  That  will  do.  Signer  Custode.  The  likeness 
is  caught  exactly,  although  it  was  painted  a  few 
centuries  too  early.  Drawing  accurate,  style  of 
colour  excellent ;  why,  the  folds  of  drapery  on  the 
breast  are  admirable.  Be  so  kind  as  to  take  the 
picture  down  from  the  wall.  I  will  only  blow 
away  the  dust  from  the  lips  and  brush  away  the 
spider  which  lurks  in  a  comer  of  the  frame. 
Maria  was  always  so  much  afraid  of  spiders." 

"  ExcdleTiaa  appears  to  be  a  connoisseur." 

"  If  80,  I  did  not  know  it,  Signor  Custode. 


■  »>■  *~ 


ITALY.  '  125 

have  the  talent  of  being  singularly  moved  when 
I  behold  certain  pictures,  and  then  my  eyes  water. 
But  what  do  I  see  ?  Whose  portrait  is  that  of 
the  man  in  the  black  cloak  hanging  yonder  ?  " 

"  Also  by  Giorgione — a  masterpiece." 

"  Signor,  I  beg  you  be  so  kind  as  to  take  this 
picture,  too,  from  the  wall  and  hold  it  near  the 
mirror,  that  I  may  see  if  I  resemble  it ! " 

"Your  Excellency  is  not  so  pale.  The  pic- 
ture is  a  masterpiece  by  Giorgione,  the  rival  of 
Titian.  He  was  born  in  1477,  and  died  in  the 
year  1 5  1 1 ." 

Dear  reader,  I  much  prefer  Giorgione  to  Titian, 
and  am  especially  obliged  to  him  for  painting 
Maria  for  me.  And  it  must  also  be  evident  to 
you  that  Giorgione  painted  that  other  portrait 
for  m«,  and  not  for  some  old  Genoese.  And  it 
is  very  like,  death-silent  like;  it  even  has  the 
sorrow  in  the  glance — a  sorrow  which  belongs 
rather  to  an  imagined  pain  than  to  one  which 
has  been  experienced,  and  one  which  is  very  hard 
to  paint.  The  whole  picture  seems  to  have  been 
sighed  upon  canvaa  Even  the  man  in  the  black 
mantle  is  well  painted,  and  the  maliciously  senti- 
mental lips  are  like  life — speakingly  so,  as  though 
they  were  just  about  to  tell  a  story,  the  story  of 
the  knight  who  fain  would  kiss  his  lady-love  to 
life,  and  as  the  light  was  blown  out 


II. 

THE  BATHS   OF  LUCCA. 


DKDICATKD 
TO 

KARL    IMMERMANN, 

XHX  FOKT, 
A  TOKXN  or  THB  MOST  GBATIFUL  BEBPKOT 
(Preudig$ter  Verthrung) 
BT  THI  AUTHOB. 


**  I  am  as  woman  is  to  man."  .    j 

— Ck>TntT  AoQUBT  VON  Platen  HALtminwDa 

**  Would  the  Count  like  a  dance  t 
Let  him  but  say  so, 
m  play  him  a  tune." — Fiqabow 


CHAPTER  L 

When  I  sought  Matilda  in  her  chamber,  she  had 
just  fastened  the  last  button  of  her  green  riding- 
habit,  and  was  putting  on  a  chapeau  with  a  white 
plume.     She  hastily  cast  it  down  as  soon  as  she 

ia6 


THE  BA  THS  OF  L  UCCA.  Vf 

saw  me,  and  ran  to  me  with  all  her  waving, 
golden  locks.  "  Doctor  of  heaven  and  earth !  " 
she  cried,  and,  according  to  her  old  custom,  she 
caught  me  by  the  ears  and  kissed  me  with  the 
drollest  heartinesa  v    -    -         ' 

"  How  are  you  ?  maddest  of  mortal  men !  How 
glad  I  am  to  see  you  again;  for  never  in  this 
world  shall  I  find  a  crazier  soul.  There  are  fools 
and  blockheads  in  plenty,  and  people  often  do 
them  the  honour  to  consider  them  crazy,  but  real 
.  insanity  is  as  scarce  as  real  wisdom ;  perhaps  it 
is  nothing  but  wisdom  which  is  vexed  to  think 
that  it  knows  everything — all  the  infamy  of  this 
world — and  has  consequently  come  to  the  wise 
conclusion  to  go  mad.  The  Orientals  are  a 
shrewder  race,  they  honour  a  maniac  as  a  pro- 
phet, but  we  look  upon  prophets  as  maniacs." 

"  But,  my  lady,  why  have  you  not  written  to 
me?" 

"  Surely,  Doctor,  I  wrote  you  a  long  letter, 
and  directed  it  to  '  New  Bedlam.'  But  as  you, 
contrary  to  all  expectation,  were  not  there,  they 
sent  it  to  St.  Luke,  and  as  you  were  not  there 
either,  it  went  to  another  establishment  of  the 
same  sort,  and  so  it  went  the  rounds  of  all  the 
lunatic  asylums  in  England,  Scotland,  and  Ire- 
land, until  they  returned  it  to  me  with  the  re- 
mark that  the  gentleman  to  whom  the  letter 
was  addressed  was  not  as  yet '  in  bonds  contracted.' 


lit  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

And  how  under  the  sun  have  you  oounter-acted,* 
80  as  to  keep  at  liberty  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  I  did  it  cunningly,  my  lady.  Wherever  I 
went,  I  contrived  to  slip  away  from  the  mad-houses, 
and  I  think  that  I  shall  succeed  in  Italy  too." 

"  Oh,  friend,  here  you  are  safe  enough,  for,  in  the 
first  place,  there  is  no  mad-house  in  the  neighbour- 
hood, and,  secondly,  we  are  here  in  the  majority." 

"  We  ?  my  lady !  You  count  yourself  then  as 
<me  of  us?  Permit  me  to  imprint  the  kiss  of 
brotherhood  upon  your  brow." 

"  Ah !  I  mean  we  watering-place  guests,  among 
whom  I  am  really  the  most  rational.  And  so 
you  can  easily  imagine  who  the  maddest  must  be, 
I  mean  Julia  Maxfield,  who  always  maintains  that 
green  eyes  signify  the  spring  of  the  soul ;  and 
Desides  we  have  two  young  beauties "         t 


"  English  beauties,  of  course,  my  lady- 


"  Doctor,  what  does  this  mocking  tone  mean  ? 
The  yellow,  greasy,  maccaroni  faces  in  Italy  must 
suit  your  taste,  if  you  have  no  fancy  now  for 
British " 

"  Plum-puddings  with  raisin-eyes,  roast-beef 
bosoms  festooned  with  white  strips  of  horse-radish, 
proud  pies "  I 

"  There  was  a  time,  Doctor,  when  you  were 
enchanted  if  a  lovely  EngKsh  woman "       | 

'  In  the  original  eingefangen, '  caught,'  is  here  contrasted  with 
angefangen,  'managed.' 


THE  BATHS  OF  LUCCA.  129 

"  Yes,  but  that  was  onu !  I  always  have  a 
proper  reverence  for  your  fellow-conntrywomen  ; 
they  are  bright  as  suns,  but  suns  of  ice ;  they  are 
white  as  marble,  but  are  also  marble  coldj  on 
their  bosoms  are  frozen  the  poor " 

"  Oho !  I  know  one  who  did  not  freeze  there, 
but  who  jumped  fresh  and  alive  over  the  sea,  and 
he  was  a  great  German  impertinent " 

"  At  least  he  got  such  a  cold  on  that  British 
frosty  heart  that  he  still  has  a  cold  in  his  head 
in  consequence." 

My  Lady  seemed  vexed  at  this  answer,  she 
grasped  the  riding-whip  which  lay  between  the 
leaves  of  a  novel  as  a  book-marker,  switched  it 
jround  the  ears  of  her  great  white  hound,  who 
slowly  growled,  hastily  clapped  her  hat  jauntily 
on  her  locks,  looked  once  or  twice  with  approba- 
tion at  herself  in  the  mirror,  and  said  proudly, 
"  I  am  still  beautiful !  "  But  then,  all  at  once, 
as  if  penetrated  by  a  gloomy  thrill  of  pain,  she 
remained  silent,  musing,  slowly  drew  the  long 
white  riding  glove  from  her  hand,  held  the  hand 
out  to  me,  and,  reading  my  thoughts  like  light- 
ning, said,  "  This  hand  is  not  as  beautiful  as  it 
was  in  Ramsgate.  Ha !  Since  that  time  Matilda 
has  suffered — much !  " 

Dear  reader,  we  can  seldom  see  a  flaw  in  a 
bell ;  we  must  hear  its  ring  to  know  if  it  exists. 
Could  you  have  heard  the  ring  of  the  voice  where- 

VOL.  II.  I 


Ijo  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

with  those  words  were  spoken,  you  would  have 
felt  at  once  that  my  Lady's  heart  was  a  bell  of 
the  best  metal,  but  that  a  secret  flaw  strangely 
mingled  a  discord  with  its  sweetest  tones,  and 
gave  it  an  air  of  strange  sadness.  Yet  I  love 
such  bells ;  they  ever  find  a  true  echo  in  my  own 
breast ;  and  I  again  kissed  my  Lady's  hand,  almost 
as  earnestly  as  of  old,  though  it  was  no  longer  in 
its  first  bloom,  and  the  veins  which  rose  from  it, 
almost  all  too  blue,  seemed  to  repeat, "  Since  that 
time  Matilda  has  suffered — much."  | 

Her  eyes  gazed  on  me  like  sorrowful  solitary 
stars  in  the  autumnal  heaven,  and  she  said,  softly 
and  sadly,  from  her  inmost  soul,  "  You  seem  to 
love  me  less  now,  Doctor !  for  that  was  a  tear 
of  pity  which  you  just  wept  on  my  hand.  It 
seemed  like  an  alms."  I 

"  Who  taught  you  to  interpret  so  unkindly  the 
silent  language  of  my  tears  ?  I'll  bet  that  your 
white  hound  there,  who  fawns  on  you,  understands 
me  better.  He  looks  first  at  me  and  then  at 
you,  and  seems  to  be  wondering  that  human 
beings,  those  proud  lords  of  creation,  are  inter- 
nally so  wretched.  Ah !  my  Lady,  only  a  sym- 
pathetic sorrow  draws  forth  such  tears ;  in  reality 
we  each  weep  for  ourselves." 

"  Enough,  enough.  Doctor.  It  is  good,  at  any 
rate,  that  we  are  cotemporaries,  and  that  we  meet 
asfain  with  our  foolish  tears  in  the  same  comer 


THE  BATHS  OF  LUCCA.  131 

of  the  earth.  Oh,  our  bad  luck !  If  you  had  only 
lived  two  centuries  earlier,  when  I  was  getting 
on  so  well  with  my  friend,  Michael  de  Cervantes 
Saavedra,  or  rather  if  you  had  only  been  bom  a 
hundred  years  later,  as  another  intimate  friend 
of  mine,  whose  name  I  don't  just  now  happen  to 
know,  because  his  first  birthday  won't  be  cele- 
brated until  the  year  1900.  But  tell  me  how 
you've  been  getting  on  since  we  parted." 

"  At  the  old  business,  my  Lady,  rolling  the 
great  stone.  When  I  had  shoved  it  to  the  top 
of  the  hill,  then  it  rolled  all  at  once  down  again, 
and  I  had  to  go  at  it  once  more ;  and  this  up- 
and-down  hill  work  lasted  until  at  last  I  lie 
crouched  beneath  it,  and  Master  Stone-mason  has 
carved  on  it  with  great  letters,  *  Here  rests  in 
the  Lord '" 

"  By  my  soul.  Doctor,  I'll  bring  you  to  life 
again.  Don't  you  dare  to  be  melancholy  \  Laugh, 
or " 

"  No ;  don't  tickle  me.  I'd  rather  laugh  of 
myself." 

"  That's  right.  Now  you  please  me  just  as 
you  did  in  Ramsgate,  where  we  first  became  so 
intimate " 

"  And  finally  a  little  more  than  intimate.  Yes, 
I  v)Ul  be  merry.     It  is  fortunate  that  we  have 

met,  and  the  great  German will  again  find 

his  greatest  pleasure  in  risking  his  life  near  you.'* 


132  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

My  Lady's  eyes  laughed  like  sunshine  after  a 
soft  rain,  and  her  merry  mood  again  flashed  out 
as  John  entered,  and,  with  the  stiffest  flunkey 
pathos,  announced  his  Excellency  the  Marquis 
Christophero  di  Gumpelino.  1 

"  He's  welcome  !  And  now,  Doctor,  you  will 
become  acquainted  with  a  peer  of  the  realm  of 
fools.  Don't  be  shocked  at  his  personal  appear- 
ance, particularly  at  his  nose.  The  man  has 
excellent  qualities ;  for  instance,  a  great  deal  of 
money,  common  sense,  and  the  desire  to  embody 
in  himself  all  the  follies  of  the  age ;  moreover, 
he  is  in  love  with  my  green-eyed  friend,  Julia 
Maxfield,  and  calls  her  his  Julia  and  himself  her 
Romeo,  and  declaims  and  sighs ;  and  Lord  Max- 
field,  the  brother-in-law  to  whom  the  faithful 
Julia  has  been  intrusted  by  her  husband,  is  an 
Argus " 

I  was  just  about  to  remark  that  Argus  had 
charge  of  a  cow,  when  the  door  opened,  and,  to 
my  utmost  amazement,  in  waddled  my  old  friend, 
the  banker  Christian  Gumpel,  with  his  opulent 
smile  and  blessed  belly.  After  his  broad  shining 
lips  had  sufficiently  scoured  my  Lady's  hand,  and 
delivered  themselves  of  the  usual  questions  as  to 
health,  &c.,  he  recognised  me — and  the  friends 
sank  into  each  other^s  arms. 


THE  BATHS  OF  LUCCA.  133 

* 


CHAPTER   II. 

Matilda's  warning  not  to  be  struck  by  Gumpe- 
lino's  nose  had  some  foundation  in  fact,  for  he 
came  within  an  ace  of  knocking  out  one  of  my 
eyes  with  it.  I  will  say  nothing  against  this 
nose  ;  on  the  contrary,  it  was  one  of  the  noblest 
form  and  seemed  of  itself  to  give  my  friend  full 
right  to  claim,  at  least,  the  title  of  a  Marquis. 
For  it  was  evident  from  the  nose  that  Gumpel 
was  of  high  nobility,  and  descended  from  that 
very  ancient  world  family  into  which  the  blessed 
Lord  himself  once  married  without  fear  of  a 
mesalliance.  Since  those  days,  it  is  true  that 
the  family  has  come  down  a  little,  and  in  fact 
since  the  reign  of  Charlemagne  they  have  been 
obliged  to  pick  up  a  living  by  selling  old  panta- 
loons and  Hamburg  lottery  tickets,  but  without 
diminishing  in  the  least  their  pride  of  ancestry, 
or  losing  the  hope  that  some  day  they  will  all 
come  again  into  their  long  lost  property,  or  at 
least  obtain  emigration  damages,  with  interest, 
when  their  old  legitimate  sovereign  keeps  the 
promises  made  when  restored  to  office— promises 
by  which  he  has  been  leading  them  about  by  the 
nose  for  two  thousand  years.     Perhaps  this  lead- 


134 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


ing  them  about  by  the  nose  is  the  canse  why  the 
latter  has  been  pnlled  out  to  such  a  length  !  Ch- 
it may  be  that  these  long  noses  are  a  sort  of 
uniform  whereby  Jehovah  recognises  his  old  body- 
guards even  when  they  have  deserted.  Such  a 
deserter  was  the  Marquis  Gumpelino,  but  he 
always  wore  his  uniform,  and  a  brilliant  one 
it  was,  sprinkled  with  crosses  and  stars  of  rubies, 
a  Ked  Eagle  order  in  miniature  and  other  decora- 
tiona  I 

"  Look !  "  said  my  Lady,  "  that  is  my  favourite 
nose,  and  I  know  of  no  more  beautiful  flower  in 
all  the  world." 

"This  flower,"  grinned  Gumpelino,  "cannot  be 
placed  on  your  fair  bosom,  unless  I  lay  my  bloom- 
ing face  there  also,  and  such  an  addition  might 
trouble  you  in  this  warm  weather.  But  I  bring 
you  an  equally  precious  flower,  which  is  here 
very  rare."  I 

Saying  this,  the  Marquis  opened  a  tissue  paper 
horn,  which  he  had  brought  with  him,  and  with 
great  care  slowly  extracted  from  it  a  magnificent 
tulip. 

Scarcely  had  my  Lady  seen  the  flower  ere  she 
screamed  with  all  her  might.  "  Murder !  murder ! 
would  you  murder  me  ?  Away  with  the  horrible 
vision !  "  With  this  she  acted  as  if  about  to  be 
murdered,  held  her  hands  before  her  eyes,  ran 
madly  about  the  room,  invoked  maledictions  on 


THE  BATHS  OF  LUCCA,   j  11$ 

Gumpelino's  nose  and  tulip,  rang  the  bell,  stamped 
on  the  ground,  struck  the  hound  with  her  riding 
switch  till  he  bayed  aloud,  and  as  John  entered 
she  cried  aloud,  like  Kean,  in  Kichard  III. — 

"  A  horse  !  a  horse ! 
My  kingdom  for  a  horse  !  *  v 

and  stormed  like  a  whirlwind  from  the  room. 

"  A  queer  woman  ! "  said  Gumpelino,  motion- 
less with  astonishment,  and  still  holding  the  tulip 
in  his  hand,  so  that  he  looked  like  one  of  those 
lotus-bearing  fat  idols  carved  on  antique  Indian 
temples.  But  I  understood  the  lady  and  her 
idiosyncrasy  far  better  than  he — this  comedy 
delighted  me  beyond  description,  and  opening  the 
window,  I  cried,  "My  Lady,  how  you  act!  Is 
this  sense — ^propriety — especially  is  it  love?" 

Up  laughed  the  wild  answer — 

"  When  I  am  o'  horseback,  I  will  swear 
I  love  thee  infinitely." 


CHAPTER  III 

*•  A  CURIOUS  woman,"  repeated  Gumpelino,  as  we 
went  our  way  to  visit  his  two  lady  friends,  Signora 
Letitia  and  Signora  Francesca,  whose  acquaint- 
ance he  promised  me.  As  the  dwelling  of  these 
ladies  was  situated  on  a  somewhat  distant  emi- 


>'i.4 /».*■-.».,  ,^,;i.  .:'..  »/:■<.■/  ".  /':  '••■■■■"•, . '  >K-  '.  -  -■^^,•  ,-■■  "   '•-.    .-     ;i      ■' 


136  PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 

nence,  I  appreciated  all  the  more  this  kindness 
of  my  corpulent  friend,  who  found  hill-climbing 
somewhat  difficult,  and  who  stopped  on  every 
little  mound  to  recover  his  breath,  and  sigh,  "  O 
Jesu!"  I 

The  dwellings  at  the  baths  of  Lucca  are  situated 
either  below,  in  a  village  surrounded  by  high  hills, 
or  are  placed  on  one  of  these  hills,  which  is  not 
far  from  the  principal  spring,  where  a  picturesque 
group  of  houses  peeps  down  into  the  charming 
dale.  But  many  are  scattered  here  and  there 
on  the  sides  of  the  hill,  and  are  attainable  only 
by  a  wearisome  climb  through  a  wild  paradise  of 
vines,  myrtle  bushes,  honeysuckles,  laurels,  olean- 
ders, geraniums,  and  similar  high-bom  plants. 
I  have  never  seen  a  lovelier  valley,  particularly 
when  one  looks  from  the  terrace  of  the  upper 
bath ;  where  the  solemn  green  cypresses  stand ; 
down  into  the  village.  We  there  see  a  bridge 
bending  over  a  stream  called  the  Lima,  which 
cuts  the  village  in  two.  At  its  either  end  there 
are  waterfalls  leaping  over  rocky  fragments  with 
a  roar,  as  though  they  would  fain  utter  the 
pleasantest  things,  but  could  not  express  them- 
selves distinctly  on  account  of  the  roaring  echo. 

The  great  charm  of  the  valley  is  owing  to  the 
circumstance  that  it  is  neither  too  great  nor  too 
small,  that  the  soul  of  the  beholder  is  not  forcibly 
elevated,  bat  rather  calmly  and  gradually  inspired 


.  ■'•:-*-.M- 


THE  BATHS  OP  LUCCA. 


»S7 


with  the  glorious  view ;  that  the  summits  of  the 
mountains  themselves,  true  to  their  Apennine 
nature,  are  not  magnificently  misshapen  in  ex- 
travagant Gothic  form,  like  rocky  caricatures, 
just  as  the  men  in  German  lands  on  them  are 
human  caricatures ;  but  so  that  their  nobly 
rounded,  cheerful  green  forms  seem  of  themselves 
inspired  with  the  civilisation  of  art,  and  accord 
melodiously  with  the  blue  heaven. 

"  O  Jesu ! "  sighed  Gumpelino,  as  we,  weary 
with  climbing,  and  a  little  too  well  warmed  with 
the  morning  sun,  attained  the  above-mentioned 
cypresses,  and  gazing  down  into  the  village,  saw 
our  English  lady  friend  sweeping  proudly  along 
on  her  steed  over  the  bridge,  like  the  queen  in 
a  fairy  legend,  and  then  vanish,  swift  as  a  dream. 
"  0  Jesu  !  what  a  curious  woman !  In  all  my 
born  days  I  never  did  see  such  a  woman.  Only 
in  plays.  Don't  you  think  the  actress  Holzbecher 
could  play  her  part  well  ?  There's  something  of 
the  waterwitch  about  her — hey ! " 

"You're  right,  Gumpelino.  When  I  went 
with  her  from  London  to  Rotterdam,  the  captain 
compared  her  to  a  rose  sprinkled  with  pepper. 
Out  of  gratitude  for  this  spicy  comparison  she 
emptied  a  whole  box  of  pepper  in  his  hair  as  he 
lay  asleep  in  the  cabin.  Nobody  could  come 
near  the  man  without  sneezing." 

"  A  carious  woman ! "  quoth  Gumpelino  onoe 


■  .-.«„.,><<.■  ".I., 


.«L^.^.M^*.»  -•— +— ..^  **_  1.V"  "-^ -i.^.*  ^.^e»- 


138  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

again.  "  Delicate  as  white  silk,  but  every  bit  as 
strong,  and  she  rides  horseback  as  well  as  I.  I 
only  hope  she  won't  ride  herself  out  of  health. 
There,  did  you  see  that  long  lean  EngKshman  on 
his  lean  horse,  racing  after  her  like  a  galloping 
consumption  ?  Those  English  people  ride  too 
outrageously;  why,  they'd  spend  all  the  money 
in  the  world  on  horses.  Lady  Maxfield's  white 
horse  cost  three  hundred  golden  live  louis-d'ors ; 
ah !  and  louis-d'ors  are  at  such  a  premium  now, 
and  keep  rising  every  day  !  " 

"  Yes,  the  louis-d'ors  will  end  by  rising  so 
high  that  a  poor  scholar  like  myself  will  never 
be  able  to  reach  them." 

"  You  can't  have  an  idea,  Doctor,  of  how  much 
money  I  have  to  spend,  and  yet  I  keep  only  one 
attendant,  and  only  when  I  am  in  Rome  hire  a 
chaplain  for  my  private  chapel.  Look,  there 
comes  my  Hyacinth  ! "  I 

The  little  figure  who  at  this  instant  appeared 
approaching  us  from  behind  the  turn  of  a  hill, 
reminded  me  more  of  a  "  burning  bush  "  than  a 
hyacinth.  It  appeared  like  a  waddling  great 
scarlet  coat  overloaded  with  gold  embroidery, 
which  flashed  in  the  sun-rays,  and  above  this  red 
splendour  sweated  a  little  face  well  known  to  me 
of  old,  and  which  gaily  nodded  to  me.  And  in 
fact,  when  I  saw  the  sallow,  cautious  face  and  the 
bosy,  winking  eyes,  I  recognised  a  countenance 


».. ;._,*-.-._,.**-■    - 


THE  BATHS  OF  LUCCA.  »» 

which  I  should  sooner  have  expected  to  see  on 
Mount  Sinai  than  on  the  Apennines,  and  that 
was  the  face  of  Herr  Hirsch,  citizen  of  Hamburg, 
a  man  who  was  not  only  a  very  honourable  lottery 
agent,  but  one  who  was  also  learned  in  hard  and 
soft  corns,  and  in  jewels,  inasmuch  as  he  not  only 
knew  the  difference  between  them,  but  had  skill 
in  cutting  the  former,  and  in  putting  a  good 
round  price  on  the  latter. 

"  I  do  hope,"  he  said,  as  he  approached,  "  that 
you  haven't  forgot  me,  though  my  name  ain't 
Hirsch  now.  I'm  called  Hyacinth,  and  I'm  ser- 
vant of  Herr  Gumpel." 

"Hyacinth!"  cried  his  master,  in  raging 
amazement  at  this  indiscretion  of  his  servant. 

"Oh,  be  easy,  Herr  Gumpel,  or  Herr  Gumpe- 
lino,  or  Herr  Marquis,  or  your  Excellence;  we 
needn't  put  ourselves  out  of  the  way  with  this 
here  gentleman.  He  knows  me ;  he's  bought 
lots  of  lottery  tickets  of  me;  I'm  not  afraid  to 
swear  that  he  still  owes  me  seven  marks  and  nine 
schilling  on  the  last  drawing.  I  am  really  glad, 
Doctor,  to  meet  you  again.  You're  here,  I  s'pose, 
on  pleasure-business.  What  else,  of  course,  can 
a  man  be  doing  here  when  it's  so  hot,  a-climbing 
up  and  down  hill  ?  I'm  as  used  up  every  night 
as  if  I'd  gone  twenty  times  from  the  Altona 
Gate  to  the  Stone  Gate  without  earning  a 
copper." 


•  M*  .-_—^_^.,^™— ,^  ^  ^"•••-*-*^**^****'^*v.>r*..  fti>.-'*-r^  ■-•■■•»■.*. 


140 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


"  0  Jesa,"  cried  the  Marquis ;  "  hold  your 
tiongne !     I'll  get  another  servant,  I  will." 

"  Why  hold  my  tongue  ? "  replied  Hirsch 
Hyacinthus.  "I  do  so  love  to  get  a  chance  to 
talk  good  German  with  a  face  whom  I've  known 
in  Hamburg,  and  when  I  think  of  Hamburg " 

Here,  at  the  memory  of  his  bit  of  a  step-father- 
land, his  eyes  gleamed  with  tears,  and  he  said, 
sighing  as  he  spoke,  "  What  is  man  ?  He  goes 
walking  with  pleasure  out  of  the  Altona  Gate 
and  on  the  Hamburg  Hill,  and  there  he  sees  the 
sights,  the  lions,  the  birds,  the  poll-parrots,^  the 
monkeys,  the  great  folks,  and  he  takes  a  turn  on 
the  flying  horses,  or  gets  electrified,  and  then 
thinks  how  jolly  he'd  be  if  he  was  only  in  a  place 
a  thousand  miles  off,  in  Italy,  where  the  oranges 
and  lemons  are  a-growing  !  What  is  man  ?  When 
he's  before  the  Altona  Gate  he  wants  to  be  in 
Italy,  and  when  he's  in  Italy  he  wants  to  be  back 
again  before  the  Altona  Gate.  Oh,  I  wish  I  was 
a-standing  there  now,  looking  at  the  Michael's 
steeple,  and  the  big  clock  on  it  with  the  great 
gold  figures — great  gold  figures — how  often  I've 
looked  at  'em,  when  they  were  a-shining  so  jolly 
in  the  afternoon  sun,  till  I  felt  like  kissing  'em. 
Now  I'm  in  Italy,  where  the  lemons  and  oranges 


1  Papagoyim,  the  poUy-theiati.     Ooyim  in  Hebrew  means 
Creatiles,  who  worship  more  gods  tb»n  one.  1 


_♦* __«-..—. .» -fc  -..» ■ 


THE  BATHS  OF  LUCCA.     ,  141 

grow,  and  when  I  see  'em  growing,  it  pats  me  in 
mind  of  the  Steinweg  in  Hamburg,  where  there's 
lots  of  'em  lying  in  great  heaping  piles  in  the 
wheelbarrows,  and  where  a  man  can  eat  and  eat 
*em  to  his  heart's  content,  without  all  this  trouble 
of  going  up  hill  and  down,  and  getting  so  warm. 
As  the  Lord  may  have  mercy  on  me,  Herr  Mar- 
quis, if  it  wasn't  for  the  honour  of  the  situation, 
and  the  genteel  edecation  I'm  getting,  cuss  me  if 
I'd  a-come  here.  But  I  vnll  say  this  for  you. 
Marquis,  that  in  your  service  there's  both  hon- 
our and  genteel  bringing  up  to  be  had,  and  710 
mistake." 

"  Hyacinth  ! "  said  Gumpelino,  who  had  been 
somewhat  mollified  by  this  flattery,  "  Hyacinth, 
goto " 

"Yes,  I  know." 

"  I  say  you  don't  know.  Hyacinth." 

"And  /  say,  Herr  Gumpel,  I  do  know.  No 
use  a-telling  me.  Your  Excellency  was  a-going 
to  say  that  I  must  go  to  Lady  Maxfield.  Sho  ! 
I  know  all  your  thoughts  before  you've  thought 
them,  and  some  maybe  that  you  never  will  think 
in  all  your  bom  days.  Such  a  servant  as  I  am 
isn't  to  be  found  easy,  and  I  only  do  it  for  the 
honour  and  the  genteel  edecation,  and  it's  a  fact, 
I  do  get  both  by  you."  With  these  words,  he  wiped 
his  face  with  a  very  clean  white  handkerchief 

"  Hyacinth,"  said  the  Marquis^  "  go  to  Lady 


142  PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 

Julia  Maxfield,  to  my  Julia,  and  give  her  this 
tulip ;  take  good  care  of  it,  for  it  cost  five  paoli, 

and  say  to  her "  I 

"Yes,  I  know "  I 


"  You  know  nothing.    Tell  her  that  the  tulip 

is  among  the  flowers " 

"  Yes,  I  know ;  you  want  to  say  something  to 
her  with  this  here  flower.  I've  made  up  such 
mottoes  many  a  time  for  my  lottery  tickets." 

"  I  don't  want  any  of  your  lottery  ticket 
notions.    Go  to  Lady  Maxfield,  and  say  to  her — 

•  I 
'  The  tulip  is  among  the  flowers  j 

Like  among  cheeses  good  Stracbino, 
But  more  than  cheese  and  more  than  flowers 
Thou'rt  honoured  by  thy  Gumpelino.' "  | 

"  Now,  as  I  hope  to  be  saved,  that's  first  rate," 
cried  Hyacinth.  "  Oh,  you  needn't  be  a-nodding 
to  me,  Herr  Marquis ;  what  you  know,  I  know, 
and  what  I  know,  you  know.  And  you.  Doctor, 
good-bye !  Never  mind  that  little  trifle  you  didn't 
settle  with  me."  With  these  words  he  descended 
the  mountain,  and  as  he  went  I  could  hear 
him  murmur,  "Gumpelino,  Strachino — Strachino 
Gumpelino." 

"  He's  an  honest  fellow,"  said  the  Marquis, 
"  or  I  should  have  sent  him  off  long  ago,  on 
account  of  his  want  of  etiquette.  However,  before 
you  it  isn't  of  much  consequence ;  you  understand 


THE  BATHS  OF  LUCCA.  143 

me.  How  do  you  like  his  livery  ?  There's  thirty 
dollars'  worth  of  gold  on  it  more  than  there  is 
on  that  of  Rothschild's  servants.  It  is  my 
greatest  delight  to  see  how  the  man  perfects 
himself.  Now  and  then  I  give  him  lessons  in 
refinement  and  accomplishment  myself.  I  often 
say  to  him,  '  What  is  money  ?  Money  is  round 
and  rolls  away,  but  culture  remains.*  Yes, 
Doctor,  if  I — which  the  Lord  forbid — should 
ever  lose  my  money,  I  still  have  the  comfort  of 
knowing  that  I'm  a  great  connoisseur  in  art — a 
connoisseur  in  painting,  music,  and  poetry.  Yes, 
sir.  Bind  my  eyes  tight,  and  lead  me  all  around 
in  the  gallery  of  Florence,  and  before  every  picture 
I'll  tell  you  the  name  of  the  painter  who  painted 
it,  or  at  least  the  school  to  which  he  belongs. 
Music  !  Stop  up  my  ears,  and  I  can  hear  every 
false  note.  Poetry!  I  know  every  actress  in 
Germany,  and  have  got  the  poets  all  by  heart. 
Yes,  sir,  and  Nature,  too.  I'm  great  on  Nature. 
I  travelled  once  two  hundred  miles  in  Scotland — 
two  hundred  miles,  just  to  see  one  single  hill! 
But  Italy  surpasses  everything.  How  do  you 
like  this  landscape  here  ?  What  creation  !  Just 
look  at  the  trees,  the  hills,  the  heaven,  and  the 
water  down  yonder  there  ;  don't  it  all  look  as  if 
it  were  painted  ?  Did  you  ever  see  anything  of 
the  kind  finer,  even  in  the  theatre  ?  Why,  a 
man  gets  to  be,  as  you  might  say,  a  poet ;  verses 


146 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


great  whole  poets.  We  may  honour  these  poets 
and  delight  ourselves  with  them,  but  every 
imitation  of  their  wholeness  is  a  lie — a  lie  which 
every  sound  eye  penetrates;  and  which  cannot 
escape  scorn.  Lately,  with  much  trouble,  I 
obtained  in  Berlin  the  writings  of  one  of  these 
"perfect  poets"  who  so  bewailed  my  Byronic 
discordancy ;  and  by  the  affected  verdancy,  the 
delicate  appreciation  of  Nature,  which  breathed 
like  fresh  hay  from  his  poems,  my  own  poor  heart, 
which  has  been  so  long  discordant,  well  nigh 
burst  with  laughter,  and  unthinkingly  I  cried, 
"  My  dear  Herr  Intendant  Councillor  William 
Neumann,  what  do  you  care  for  them  green 
treeses  ? " 

"You  are  a  morbid,  discordant  soul — so  to 
speak,  a  Byron,"  quoth  the  Marquis,  still  gazing, 
as  if  enraptured,  down  into  the  valley,  clucking 
at  times  his  tongue  against  his  gums  in  sighing 
admiration,  and  saying,  "  Lord  !  Lord !  everything 
just  as  if  it  were  painted  !  " 

Poor  Byron !  such  a  calm  enjoyment  was 
denied  to  thee.  Was  thy  heart  so  ruined  that 
thou  couldst  only  see,  yes,  and  even  describe 
Nature,  but  wert  incapable  of  being  blessed  by 
her  ?  Or  was  Bysshe  Shelley  in  the  right  when 
he  said  that  thou  hadst,  Actaeon-like,  surprised 
Nature  in  her  chaste  nakedness,  and  wert  on  that 
account  torn  by  her  hounds  ?  , 


mpi 


■VH 


I 


THE  BATHS  OF  LUCCA.  147 

Enough  of  all  this.  We  are  coming  to  pleasanter 
subjects,  namely,  to  the  dwelling  of  Signoras 
Letitia  and  Francesca,  which  itself  seemed  to 
be  en  negligee,  and  had  in  front  two  great  round 
windows,  about  which  grape-vines  curled,  so 
that  they  looked  like  a  profusion  of  beautiful 
green  ringlets  falling  about  its  eyes.  And  at 
a  distance  we  heard  ringing  from  within  warbling 
trills,  guitar-tones,  and  merry  laughter. 


CHAPTER  V. 

SiGNORA  Letitia,  a  young  rose  of  fifty  summers, 
lay  in  bed,  trilling  and  prattling  with  her  two 
gallants,  one  of  whom  sat  upon  a  foot-stool, 
while  the  other  leaning  back  in  a  great  arm-chair 
played  the  guitar.  From  an  adjoining  room  rang 
scraps  of  a  sweet  song,  or  of  a  far  sweeter  won- 
drously- toned  laughter.  With  a  certain  cheap 
and  easy  irony,  which  he  occasionally  assumed, 
the  Marquis  presented  me  to  the  lady  and  to  the 
two  gentlemen,  remarking  that  I  was  the  same 
John  Henry  Heine  so  celebrated  in  German  legal 
literature.  Unfortunately  one  of  the  gentlemen 
was  a  professor  in  the  University  of  Bologna,  and 
a  jurist  at  that,  though  his  fat,  round  belly  seemed 
rather  to  indicate  that  his  forte  was  spherical 


148 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


trigonometry.  Feeling  as  if  I  were  rather  in  a 
ecrape,  I  replied  that  I  did  not  write  under  my 
own  name,  bnt  under  that  of  Jarke — a  statement 
made  from  pure  modesty,  as  the  name  which  came 
into  my  head  was  that  of  one  of  the  most  miserable 
insects  among  our  legal  writers.  The  Bolognese 
regretted  from  his  soul  that  he  never  had  heard 
this  distinguished  name— which  will  probably  be 
your  own  case  also,  reader — ^but  still  entertained 
no  doubt  that  its  splendour  would  ere  long  irra- 
diate the  entire  earth.  With  this  he  leaned  back 
in  the  chair,  touched  a  few  cords  on  the  guitar, 
and  sang  from  "  Axur  *' — 


•*  Oh,  powerful  Broma ! 
Ah  !  let  the  weak  stammer 
Of  innocence  please  thee, 
Its  stammer  and  clamour ! " 


While  a  delicious  mocking  nightingale-echo  war- 
bled in  the  adjoining  chamber  the  same  air. 
Meanwhile  Signora  Letitia  trilled  in  the  most 
delicate  soprano — 


"  For  thee  alone  these  cheeks  are  glowing, 

For  thee  alone  these  palses  htai ; 
With  Love's  sweet  impulse  overflowing, 
This  heart  now  throhs,  and  all  for  thee." 


And  with  the  commonest  prose  voice  she  added, 
"  Bartolo,  bring  me  the  spittoon."  , 


THE  BATHS  OP  LUCCA.  !«» 

Then  from  his  lowly  seat  arose  Bartolo,  with 
his  dry  wooden  legs,  and  presented,  with  all  due 
honour,  a  spittoon  of  blue  porcelain. 

This  second  gallant,  as  Gnmpelino  said  to  me 
aside  in  German,  was  a  far-famed  poet,  whose 
songs,  though  written  twenty  years  ago,  still  ring 
through  Italy,  and  intoxicate  with  their  wild  glow 
of  love  both  old  and  young ;  while  he  himself  is 
but  a  poor  elderly  man,  with  dimmed  eyes  in  a 
pale  face,  scanty  white  hair  on  his  trembling 
^head,  and  cold  poverty  in  his  care-worn  heart. 
Snch  a  poor  old  poet,  with  his  bald  dryness, 
resembles  a  vine  which  we  see  standing  leafless 
in  winter  on  the  bleak  hillside,  trembling  in  the 
wind  and  covered  with  snow,  while  the  sweet 
juice  which  once  ran  from  it  warms,  in  far  dis- 
tant lands,  the  heart  of  many  a  boon-companion, 
and  inspires  songs  in  its  praise.  Who  knows 
but  that  when  that  wine-press  of  thought,  the 
printing-press,  has  squeezed  me  dry,  and  the 
ancient  tapped  spirit  is  only  to  be  found  in  the 
bookseller's  vaults  of  Hoffman  &  Campe,  I  too 
may  sit,  as  thin  and  care-worn  as  old  Bartolo,  on 
a  cricket  near  the  bed  of  some  old  inamorata, 
and  hand  her,  when  called  on — a  spittoon. 

Signora  Letitia  made  ezcu^s  for  lying  a-bed. 
She  lay,  in  fact^  in  pretty  much  the  attitude  of  a 
Sphinx,  her  high  frisked  head  supported  on  both 
arms. 


150  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

"  You  are  a  German  ?  "  she  inquired. 

"I  am  too  honourable  to  deny  it,  Signora," 
replied  my  Littleness. 

"  Ah  !  the  Germans  are  honourable  enough  !  ** 
she  sighed,  "  but  what  does  it  avail  that  the 
Germans  who  rob  us  are  honourable ! — they  are 
ruining  Italy.  My  best  friends  are  imprisoned 
in  Milan,  and  only  slavery "  ) 

"  No,  no,"  cried  the  Marquis,  "  do  not  com- 
plain of  the  Germans;  we  are  conquered  con- 
querors, vanquished  victors,  so  soon  as  we  come 
to  Italy.  To  see  you,  Signora,  and  to  fall  at  your 
feet,  are  one  and  the  same."  And  with  this  he 
spread  his  great  yellow  silk  pocket-handkerchief  on 
the  floor,  and  kneeling  on  it,  exclaimed,  "  Here 
I  kneel  and  honour  you  in  the  name  of  all 
Germany."  ,1 

"  Christophoro  di  Gumpelino ! "  sighed  the 
Signora,  deeply  moved,  "  arise  and  embrace  me !  " 

But  lest  the  beloved  shepherd  might  disturb 
her  curling  locks  and  the  rouge  of  her  cheeks, 
she  did  not  kiss  him  on  the  glowing  lips,  but  on 
his  noble  brow,  so  that  his  face  reached  lower 
down,  and  its  rudder,  the  nose,  steered  about  in 
the  red  sea  below. 

"  Signer  Bartolo,"  I  cried,  "  permit  me  also  to 
officiate  with  the  spittoon  ! "  I 

Sorrowfully  smiled  Signer  Bartolo,  but  never 
a  word  spake  he,  though  said  to  be,  next  to  Mezzo- 


THE  BATHS  OP  LUCCA.  IJt 

fanti,  the  best  teacher  of  languages  in  Bologna. 
We  never  converse  willingly  when  talking  is  our 
profession.  He  served  the  Signora  as  a  silent 
knight — only,  from  time  to  time,  he  was  called 
on  to  recite  the  poem,  which  he,  twenty-five 
years  before,  had  thrown  on  the  stage  when  she 
first  in  Bologna  made  her  debut  in  Ariadne.  It 
may  be  that,  in  those  days,  he  himself  was  in 
full  leaf  and  glowing  enough — perhaps  as  much 
BO  as  the  holy  Dionysios  himself — while,  beyond 
doubt,  his  Letitia-Ariadne  leapt  wildly,  like  a 
Bacchante,  into  his  passionate  arms — Evoe  Bacche! 
In  those  days  he  wrote  many  poems,  still  living 
in  Italian  literature,  while  the  poet  himself,  and 
the  beloved  one,  have  long  been  mere  waste 
paper. 

For  five-and-twenty  years  his  devotion  has 
endured,  and  I  think  that  even  until  he  dies  he 
will  sit  on  the  cricket  and  recite  his  poem,  or 
serve  his  lady  as  commanded.  The  professor  of 
law  has  been  entwined  as  long  as  the  other  in 
the  love-chains  of  the  Signora ;  he  courts  her 
still  with  as  much  ardour  as  at  the  beginning  of 
the  century,  and  must  still  pitilessly  shorten  his 
legal  lectures  when  she  requires  his  escort  to  any 
place,  and  he  is  still  burdened  with  all  the  servi- 
tude of  a  genuine  patito. 

The  constancy  of  these  two  adorers  of  a  long 
mined  beauty  may  be  perhaps  mere  habit,  per- 


iSa 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


hape  a  regard  for  an  earlier  feeling,  and  perhaps 
the  feeling  itself,  which  is  now  entirely  inde- 
pendent of  the  present  condition  of  its  former 
object,  and  which  now  regards  it  with  the  eyes 
of  memory.  Thas  in  Catholic  cities  we  often 
see,  at  some  street  comer,  old  people  kneeling 
before  an  image  of  the  Madonna,  which  is  so 
faded  that  bat  few  traces  of  it  are  visible— yes, 
it  may  be  that  it  is  entirely  obliterated,  nothing 
remaining  bnt  the  niche  wherein  it  was  painted, 
and  the  lamp  hanging  oyer  it ;  but  the  old  people 
who  so  piously  kneel  there  have  done  so  since 
yonth — ^habit  sends  them  thither  daily  at  the 
same  honr — ^they  have  not  noted  the  gradual 
disappearance  of  the  picture,  and  at  last  they 
become  so  dim  of  sight  with  age  that  it  makes 
no  difference  whether  the  object  of  adoration  is 
visible  or  not.  Those  who  believe  without  seeing 
are,  at  any  rate,  happier  than  the  sharp-sighted, 
who  at  once  perceive  every  little  irregularity  in 
the  face  of  their  Madonna.  There  is  nothing  so 
terrible  as  such  observations !  Once,  I  admit,  I 
believed  that  infidelity  in  woman  was  the  most 
dreadfhl  of  all  possible  things,  and  to  give  them 
the  most  dreadful  name,  once  and  for  all,  I  called 
them  serpenta  But  now,  alas !  the  most  terrible 
thing  to  me  is  that  they  are  not  altogether  serpents, 
for  then  they  would  come  out  every  year  with  a 
freeh  skin,  revived  and  rejuvenated ! 


THB  BATHS  OF  LUCCA.  153 

Whether  either  of  the  ancient  Celadons  felt 
a  thrill  of  envy  that  the  Marquis— or  rather  his 
noee — swam  in  a  sea  of  delight  in  the  manner 
above  described,  is  more  than  I  know.  Bartolo 
sat  calmly  on  his  low  seat,  his  stick  legs  crossed, 
and  played  with  the  Signora's  lap-dog,  one  of 
those  pretty  creatures  peculiar  to  Bologna,  and 
known  among  us  by  the  familiar  term  of  "  Bolog- 
nas." The  professor  was  not  in  the  least  put 
out  in  his  song,  which  was  occasionally  interrupted 
by  tittering  sweet  tones  in  the  next  room,  which 
drowned  it  in  a  merry  parody,  and  which  he  him- 
self at  times  discontinued  in  order  to  illuminate 
me  with  legal  questions.  When  we  did  agree  in 
our  opinions,  he  swept  a  few  impatient  chords 
and  jingled  quotations  in  proof.  I,  however, 
supported  my  views  on  those  of  my  teacher,  the 
illustrious  Hugo,  who  is  greatly  celebrated  in 
Bologna  under  the  name  of  Ugone,  and  also  of 
Ugolina 

"  A  great    man ! "   cried   the    professor,  and 

"  The  gentle  summons  of  his  voice 

Still  sounds  so  deeply  in  thy  hreast, 
Its  very  pain  makes  thee  rejoice, 
And  rapture  hrings  thee  heavenly  rest" 

Thibaut,  whom  the  Italians  call  Tibaldo,  is  also 
much  honoured  in  Italy,  though  his  writings  are 
not  so  much  known  there  as  his  principal  opinions 


154 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


and  their  objections.  I  found  that  only  the 
names  of  Gans  and  Savigny  were  familiar  to  the 
professor,  who  was  under  the  impression  that  the 
latter  was  a  learned  lady. 

"  Ah,  indeed ! "  he  remarked,  as  I  corrected 
this  very  pardonable  error ;  "  really  no  lady ! 
I  have  been  erroneously  informed.  Why,  I  was 
even  told  that  once,  at  a  ball,  Signer  Gans  invited 
this  lady  to  dance,  but  met  with  a  refusal,^  and 
that  from  this  originated  a  literary  enmity."        I 

"  You  have  really  been  misinformed.  Signer 
Gans  does  not  dance,  and  for  the  philanthropic 
reason  that  he  might  cause  an  earthquake  should 
he  do  so.  The  invitation  to  dance,  of  which  you 
speak,  is  probably  an  allegory  misunderstood. 
The  historical  and  philosophical  schools  are  re- 
garded as  dancers,  and  thus  we  may  readily 
imagine  a  quadrille  between  Ugone,  Tibaldo, 
Gans,  and  Savigny.  And  in  this  sense  Signer 
Ugone,  though  he  be  the  didble  hoitevx  of  juris- 
prudence, still  dances  as  daintily  as  Lemiere,  while 
Signer  Gans  has  recently  made  some  jumps  which 
entitle  him  to  be  regarded  as  the  Hoguet  of  the 
philosophical  school." 

"  Signer  Gans,  then,"  amended  the  professor, 
"  dances  only  allegorically,  so  to  say,  metapho- 
rically."    Then  suddenly,  without  saying  more. 


R^fBtf  pun  on  a  name. 


THE  BATHS  OP  LUCCA.  155 

he  again  swept  the  strings  of  his  gnitar,  and, 
amid  the  maddest  playing,  sang— 

"  It  is  true,  his  well-loved  name 
Is  the  joy  of  every  bosom, 
Though  the  ocean  waves  be  storming, 
And  the  clouds  o'er  heaven  be  swarming, 
Still  we  hear  Tarar  loud  calling. 
As  though  heaven  and  earth  were  bowing 
To  the  mighty  hero's  name."  ' 

As  for  HeiT  Goeschen,  the  professor  did  not 
BO  much  as  know  that  he  existed.  But  this  was, 
however,  natural  enough,  for  the  name  of  the 
great  GQschen  has  not  yet  got  so  far  as  Bologna, 
but  only  to  Poggio,  which  is  four  German  miles 
distant,  and  where  it  will  for  amusement  remain 
awhile.  Gottingen  itself  is  by  no  means  so  well 
known  in  Bologna  as  it  ought  to  be,  merely  on 
the  common  principles  of  gratitude,  since  it  calls 
itself  the  German  Bologna.  I  will  not  inquire 
whether  this  name  be  appropriate  or  not  j  suffice 
it  to  say,  that  the  two  universities  are  really 
distinguishable  by  the  simple  fact  that  in  Bologna 
they  have  the  smallest  dogs  and  the  greatest 
scholars,  while  in  Gottingen,  on  the  contrary,  are 
the  smallest  scholars  and  the  greatest  dogs.^ 

^  It  may  also  be  remarked  that  Bologna  is  as  famous  in  Italy 
as  Gottingen  in  Germany  for  sausages  1  The  joke  as  to  the 
name  or  reputation  of  a  person  being  on  its  travels  is  one  which 
Heine  repeats  several  times  in  his  works. — Note  by  Trandator. 


156  PICTURBS  OF  TRAVEL. 


CHAPTER  VL  ! 

i 

As  the  Marqnis  Christophoro  di  Gampelino  drew 
his  nose  from  the  red  sea,  wherein  it  had  been 
wallowing  like  a  very  Pharaoh,  his  countenance 
gleamed  with  selfish  delight  Deeply  moved,  he 
promised  the  Signora  that  so  soon  as  she  should 
again  be  in  a  condition  to  sit  down,  he  would 
bring  her  in  his  coach  to  Bologna.  It  was  at 
once  arranged  that  the  professor  should  ride  on 
before,  but  that  Bartolo  should  sit  on  the  box, 
and  hold  the  Signora's  lap-dog,  and  that  they 
all  would  go  in  a  fortnight  to  Florence,  where 
Signora  Francesca,  who  intended  travelling  during 
the  same  time  with  my  Lady  to  Pisa,  would 
finally  meet  us.  While  the  Marquis  counted  up 
the  cost  of  all  this  on  his  fingers,  he  hummed  di 
tanti  palpiti,  Signora  sang  the  clearest-toned 
trills,  and  the  professor  stormed  away  on  his 
guitar,  carolling  such  burning  words,  that  the 
sweat  ran  down  from  his  brow,  and,  mingled  with 
the  tears  from  his  eyes,  formed  a  perfect  torrent. 
While  all  this  ringing  and  singing  went  merrily 
on,  the  door  of  the  adjoining  chamber  was  sud- 
denly opened  and  in  sprang  a  being ! 

I  adjure  you,  ye  Muses  of  the  Old  and  New 
World,  and  ye  also,  oh  I  undiscovered  Muses  who 


mmmimiim^''''^''''''''^''mif'ff'^^^ 


mm 


r^t: 


■*J'X  ■ 


t 


The  Aa»«-*'i.3HEJ*«tj 


THS  BATHS  OP  LUCCA.  157 

are  as  jet  to  be  honoured  by  later  races — sprites 
of  whom  I  have  dreamed  in  the  gay  greenwood 
and  by  the  sounding  sea — that  ye  give  me  colours 
wherewith  to  paint  that  being  which  next  to 
virtue  is  the  most  glorious  of  this  world.  Virtue, 
of  course,  is  the  first  among  glories,  and  the 
Creator  adorned  her  with  so  many  charms,  that 
it  would  really  seem  that  he  could  produce 
naught  beside  to  be  compared  to  her.  Tet  in  a 
happy  hour  he  once  again  concentrated  all  his 
energies  and  made  Signora  Francesca,  the  fair 
dansettse,  that  great  masterpiece,  who  was  bom 
after  the  creation  of  Virtue,  and  in  whom  he  did 
not  in  a  single  particular  repeat  himself,  as 
earthly  artists  are  wont  to  do.  No,  Signora 
Francesca  is  perfectly  original ;  she  hath  not  the 
least  resemblance  to  Virtue,  and  there  are  critics 
and  connoisseurs  who  even  prefer  her  to  the 
latter,  to  whom  they  award  only  the  precedence 
due  to  superior  antiquity.  But  is  that  much 
of  a  defect  when  a  dansettse  is  only  some  six 
thousand  years  too  young  ? 

Ah!  methinks  I  see  her  again  as  she  sprung 
from  the  open  door  to  the  midst  of  the  room,  and 
after  an  incredible  pirouette,  cast  herself  at  full 
length  on  the  sofa,  hiding  both  eyes  with  her 
hands,  and  crying,  "Ah I  I  am  so  tired  with 
sleeping!"  The  Marquis  now  approached  and 
entered  into  a  long  address,  in  which  his  ironical, 


I5S  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

\        I 

broadly  respectful  manner  enigmatically  con- 
trasted with  his  sudden  pauses,  when  moved  by 
common-sense  business  recollections,  and  his 
fluency  when  sentimentally  inspired.  Still  this 
style  was  not  unnatural  It  was  probably  formed 
in  him  by  his  inability,  through  want  of  courage, 
to  set  forth  successfully  that  supreme  influence 
to  which  he  believed  himself  to  be  entitled  by 
his  money  and  intelligence,  and  he  therefore 
sought,  coward-like,  to  conceal  it  in  language  of 
exaggerated  humility.  His  broad  laughter  on 
such  occasions  was  disagreeably  delightful,  as  it 
inspired  a  doubt  whether  it  was  a  matter  of  duty 
to  reward  him  with  kindness — or  a  kicking.  In 
this  wise  he  delivered  his  morning  service  to 
Signora  Francesca,  who,  half-asleep,  hardly  lis- 
tened to  him.  Finally  he  begged  permission  to 
kiss  at  least  her  left  foot,  and  as  he,  preparing  for 
the  job,  spread  his  yellow  handkerchief  again  on 
the  floor,  she  held  it  indifferentlv  out  to  him.  It 
was  enveloped  in  an  exquisitely  neat  red  slipper, 
in  contrast  to  that  on  the  right,  which  was  Hue,  a 
droll  coquetry  by  which  the  dainty  littleness  of 
both  became  more  apparent.  As  the  Marquis 
with  deep  reverence  kissed  the  small  foot,  he 
arose  with  a  sighing  "Oh,  Jesu!"  and  begged 
permission  to  present  me,  which  was  also  accorded 
in  a  gaping,  sleepy  manner,  when  my  introducer 
delivered  another  oration,  filled  with  praises  of 


THE  BATHS  OF  LUCCA.  iff 

my  excellence,  not  omitting  the  declaration,  on 

his  word  of  honour  as  a  gentleman,  that  I  had 

sung  with  great  ability  of  unhappy  love. 

I  also  begged  of  the  lady  to  be  allowed  to  kiss 

her  left   foot,  and   at  the  instant  in   which   I 

enjoyed  my  share  of  this  honour,  she  awoke  as  if 

from  a  dim  dream,  bent  smilingly  down  to  me, 

gazed  on  me  with  great  wondering  eyes,  leaped 

joyfully  up  to  the    centre    of    the    room,   and 

pirouetted  times  without  number  on  one  foot.     I 

felt  strangely  that  my  heart  in  my  bosom  spun 

around  also,  until  it  was  well  nigh  dizzy.     Then 

the  professor  merrily  played  on  his  guitar  and 

sang — 

"  An  Opera  Signora 

Once  loved  and  married  me^ 
A  step  I  soon  regretted, 
And  wished  that  I  were  free. 

I  sold  her  soon  to  pirates, 

They  carried  her  afar, 
E're  she  could  look  around  her; 

Hey  I  bravo  I  Biscromii!" 

Once  more  Signora  Francesca  measured  me 
from  head  to  foot  with  a  sharp  glance,  and  then, 
as  if  fully  contented,  thanked  the  Marquis,  some- 
what as  if  I  were  a  present  which  he  had  been 
kind  enough  to  make  her.  She  found  little  to 
object  to  in  me,  save  that  my  hair  was  of  too 
light  a  brown;   she  could  have  wished  that  it 


i6o 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


were  darker,  like  that  of  the  Abbate  Ceoco ;  and 
mj  ejea  were  also  too  small,  and  rather  green 
than  blue.  In  revenge,  dear  reader,  I  in  turn 
should  also  describe  Signora  Francesca  as  depre- 
ciatingly ;  but  I  have  really  no  shadow  of  a  defect 
to  point  out  in  her  lovely  form,  whose  perfection 
was  that  of  the  Graces,  and  yet  which  was  almost 
frivolous  in  its  lightness.  The  countenance  was 
entirely  divine,  such  as  we  see  in  Grecian  statues, 
the  brow  and  nose  forming  an  almost  accurate 
straight  line,  while  the  lower  line  of  the  nose 
formed  a  sweet  right  angle,  which  was  wondrously 
short  As  close,  too,  was  the  distance  from  the 
nose  to  the  mouth,  whose  lips  at  either  end 
seemed  scarcely  long  enough,  and  which  were 
extended  by  a  soft  dreamy  smile,  while  beneath 
them  arched  a  dear  round  chin.  And  the  neck  t 
— ah !  my  pious  reader,  I  am  getting  along  too  far 
and  to  fast,  and,  moreover,  I  have  no  right  in  this 
inaugural  description  to  speak  of  the  two  silent 
flowers  which  gleamed  forth  like  white  poetry 
when  the  Signora  loosened  the  silver  neck-button 
of  her  black  silk  dress.  Dear  reader,  let  us  rather 
climb  up  again  to  a  portrayal  of  the  face,  of 
which  I  have  yet  to  remark  that  it  was  clear  and 
gold-yellow,  like  amber;  that  the  black  hair 
which  framed  its  temples  in  a  bright  oval  gave  it 
a  childlike  turn,  and  that  it  was  lighted  up  by 
two  black  abrupt  eyes,  as  if  with  a  magic  light 


THE  BATHS  OF  LUCCA.  Ut 

You  see,  dear  reader,  that  I  would  willingly 
give  you  an  accurate  local  description  of  my  good 
fortune,  and  as  other  travellers  are  accustomed  to 
give  maps  of  the  remarkable  regions  into  which 
they  have  penetrated,  so  would  I  gladly  serve  up 
Francesca  on  a  plate— of  copper.  But,  ah !  what 
avails  the  dead  copy  of  mere  outline  in  forms 
whose  divinest  charm  consists  of  living  move- 
ment. Even  the  best  painter  cannot  bring  this 
before  our  eyes,  for  painting  is  but  a  flat  lie.  Of 
the  two,  a  sculptor  would  be  more  successful,  for, 
by  a  changing  illumination,  we  can  to  a  certain 
degree  realise  motion  in  forms,  and  the  torches 
which  light  them  from  without  appear  to  inspire 
a  real  life  within.  Yes,  there  is  a  statue,  dear 
reader,  which  may  give  you  some  faint  idea  of 
Francesca's  loveliness,  and  that  is  the  Venus  of 
the  great  Canova  which  stands  in  the  last  hall  of 
the  Palazzo  Pitti  at  Florence.  I  often  think  of 
this  statua  At  times  in  dreams  it  slumbers  in 
my  arms,  until  little  by  little  it  awakens  to  warm 
life,  and  whispers  with  the  accents  of  Francesca ! 
But  it  was  the  tone  of  this  voice  which  gave  to 
every  word  the  gentlest  and  most  infinite  signifi- 
cance, and  should  I  attempt  to  give  her  phrases, 
it  would  be  only  a  dry  herbarium  of  flowers 
whose  real  charm  was  in  their  perfume.  She 
often  leaped  up,  dancing  as  she  spoke,  and  it  is 
possible  that  dancing    was    her    most    natural 

VOL.  n.  L 


l62 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


language.  And  my  heart  danced  ever  with  her, 
executing  the  most  difficult  pas  and  exhibiting  a 
capacity  for  Terpsichorean  accomplishments  which 
I  had  never  suspected. 

In  this  language  Francesca  narrated  the  history 
of  the  Abbate  Cecco,  a  young  blade  who  had 
loved  her  while  she  was  still  plaiting  straw  hats 
in  the  valley  of  the  Amo,  assuring  me  that  I  was 
so  fortunate  as  to  resemble  him.  During  this 
description  she  indulged  in  the  most  delicate 
pantomime,  pressing  one  over  the  other  the 
points  of  her  fingers  on  her  heart,  then  seemed 
with  cup-like  hand  to  be  scooping  out  the 
tenderest  emotions,  cast  herself  finally  with  up- 
heaving breasts  on  the  sofa,  hid  her  face  in  the 
cushions,  raised  her  feet  high  in  the  air,  and 
played  with  them  as  if  they  were  puppets  in  a 
show.  The  blue  foot  represented  the  Abbate 
Cecco  and  the  red  his  poor  Francesca ;  and  while 
she  parodied  her  own  story,  she  made  the  two 
loving  feet  part  from  each  other,  and  it  was 
touchingly  ludicrous  to  see  them  kiss  with 
their  tips,  saying  the  tenderest  things ;  and  the 
wild  girl  wept  withal  delightful  tittering  tears, 
which,  however,  came  at  times  unconsciously 
from  the  soul  with  more  depth  than  the  part 
required.  In  her  pride  of  pain  she  delivered  for 
Cecco  a  long  speech,  in  which  he  praised  with 
pedantic    metaphors   the    beauty  of  poor  Fran- 


THE  BATHS  OF  LUCCA.  163 

cesca ;  and  the  manner  in  which  she  replied  in 
person,  copying  her  own  earlier  sentimentalism, 
had  in  it  something  puppet-like  and  mournful, 
which  strangely  moved  my  heart.  "Adieu, 
Cecco!"  ''Adieu,  Francesca!"  was  the  endless 
refrain ;  and  I  was  finally  rejoiced  when  a  pitiless 
destiny  parted  them  far  asunder,  for  a  sweet 
foreboding  whispered  in  my  soul  that  it  would  be 
an  unfortunate  thing  for  me  should  the  two  lovers 
remain  continually  united. 

The  professor  applauded  with  droU,  shrill  guitar 
tones,  Signora  trilled,  the  lap-dog  barked,  the 
Marquis  and  I  clapped  our  hands  as  if ,  mad,  and 
Signora  Francesca  arose  and  gracefully  curtesied 
her  thanks.  "  It  is  really  a  pretty  comedy,"  said 
she,  '*  but  it  is  now  a  long  time  since  it  was  first 
brought  out,  and  I  am  now  so  old — ^guess  how  old  ? " 

But  without  waiting  for  my  answer,  she  sprang 
up  and  cried,  "  Eighteen  years  !"  and  spun  round 
eighteen  times  on  one  foot.  "  And,  Doctor,  how 
old  are  you  ? " 

"  I,  Signora,  was  born  on  the  New  Year's  night 
of  the  year  eighteen  hundred." 

"  I  always  said,"  quoth  the  Marquis,  "  that  he 
Mas  one  of  the^s^  men  of  our  century." 

"And  how  old  should  you  suppose  I  am?'* 
suddenly  cried  Signora  Letitia,  as  she,  forgetful 
of  her  Eve-costume,  suddenly  leaped  up  in  great 
excitement.  ... 


i64  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

Startled  at  this  cry  I  contrived  to  stammer  out 
a  few  phrases  as  to  the  difficulty  of  answering 
such  a  question,  "having  as  yet  only  half  seen 
Signora,"  but  as  she  pressed  me  all  the  more 
zealously  for  an  answer,  I  confessed  that  in  truth 
I  had  not  as  yet  learned  the  proportion  of  the 
years  in  Italy  to  those  of  Germany. 

"Is  the  difference  great?"  inquired  Signora 
Letitia.  I 

"  Of  course,"  replied  I,  "  for  since  heat  expands 
all  bodies,  it  follows  that  the  years  in  your  warm 
Italy  must  be  longer  than  those  of  our  cold 
Germany." 

The  Marquis  extricated  me  better  from  this 
embarrassment  by  gallantly  asserting  that  her 
beauty  had  now  first  begun  to  manifest  itself  in 
all  its  luxuriant  maturity.  "And,  Signora,  he 
added,  "  as  the  pomegranate,  the  older  it  is,  the 
yellower  it  becomes,  so  will  your  beauty  too 
become  riper  with  age."  I 

The  lady  seemed  to  be  gratified  with  this  com- 
parison, and  confessed  that  she  really  did  feel 
much  riper  now  than  of  old,  when  she  was  but 
a  thin,  little  thing,  and  had  made  her  debut  in 
Bologna — and  that,  in  fact,  she  could  not  com- 
prehend how  it  was  that  with  such  a  figure  she 
could  ever  have  made  such  a  furore.  And  then 
she  narrated  all  the  particulars  of  this  first  appear- 


THE  BATHS  OF  LUCCA.  165 

ance  as  Ariadne — a  subject  to  which,  as  I  subse- 
quently ascertained,  she  frequently  recurred,  on 
which  occasions  Signer  Bartolo  was  obliged  to 
recite  the  poem  which  he  had  thrown  upon  the 
stage.  It  was  a  good  poem,  full  of  touching 
melancholy  at  the  infidelity  of  Theseus,  and  of 
wild  aspirations  for  Bacchus,  and  the  glowing 
apotheosis  of  Ariadne.  "  Bella  cosa  !  "  cried  Sig- 
nora  Letitia  at  every  verse;  and  I  also  praised 
the  metaphors,  the  construction  of  the  verse,  and 
the  entire  treatment  of  the  myth. 

"Yes,  it  is  very  beautiful,"  said  the  professor, 
"  and  has  beyond  doubt  a  foundation  in  historical 
fact,  for  several  writers  distinctly  state  that  Oeneus, 
a  priest  of  Bacchus,  married  the  mourning  Ariadne 
when  he  found  her  abandoned  on  Kaxos ;  and,  as 
often  happens  in  the  legend,  the  priest  of  the 
.  god  has  been  taken  for  the  god  himself." 

I  could  by  no  means  agree  with  him  in  this 
opinion,  since  in  mythology  I  rather  incline  to  his- 
torical interpretation,  and  consequently  asserted, 
"  I  can  see  nothing  in  the  whole  fable  that  Ariadne, 
after  being  left  by  Theseus  in  the  island  of  Naxos, 
submitted  her  person  to  the  embraces  of  Bacchus, 
but  an  allegorical  statement  that  she  took  to 
drinking — an  hypothesis  maintained  by  many 
learned  men  in  my  fatherland.  You,  Signer 
Marquis,  are  probably  aware  that,  in  accordance 
with  this  hypothesis,  the  late  Banker  Bethmanu 


.W'"*-*!!   #■ 


1 66  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

has  SO  contrived  to  illuminate  his  Ariadne  that 
she  appears  to  have  a  red  nose."  ^ 

"  Yes,  yes,  Bethmann  in  Frankfort  was  a  great 
man ! "  cried  the  Marquis.  But  at  the  same 
instant,  some  deep  reflection  seemed  to  flit  across 
his  brain,  and  with  a  sigh  he  said,  "  Lord  !  Lord ! 
I  have  forgotten  to  write  to  Eothschild  in  Frank- 
fort!" And  with  a  serious  business  face,  from 
which  all  parodising  mockery  seemed  to  have 
vanished,  he  departed  somewhat  abruptly,  pro- 
mising to  return  towards  evening. 

When  he  had  left,  and  I  was  about — as  is 
usual  in  this  world — to  pass  my  comments  on  the 
man  to  whose  kindness  I  was  indebted  for  the 
most  agreeable  of  introductions,  I  found,  to  my 
astonishment,  that  the  whole  party  could  not 
praise  him  sufficiently,  and  that,  above  all,  his 
enthusiasm  for  the  beautiful,  his  noble  and  re- 


1  "  Danneker's  statue  of  Ariadne,  in  the  garden  of  Mr.  Beth- 
mann, near  the  Friedburg  Gate,  is  the  pride  and  boast  of 
Frankfort,  and  deserves  to  be  ranked  among  the  most  distin- 
guished productions  of  modem  art."  By  drawing  a  crimson 
curtain  over  the  window  which  illuminates  the  room  in  which 
the  statue  is  placed,  a  rosy  hue  is  communicated  not  only  to 
the  no$e  of  the  lady,  but  to  her  entire  person.  I  have  heard  it 
disputed  whether  the  colour  thus  given  most  resembles  that  of 
healthy  flesh  or  of  a  nettle-rash — a  point  settled  by  ascertaining 
that  those  who  differed  in  opinion  had  seen  the  statue  at  different 
periods  of  time.  When  the  curtain  is  new,  Ariadne  certainly 
appears  rather  ultra-incarnadine,  but  as  it  fades  she  gradually 
lapses  into  a  paler,  healthier  hue. — Note  by  Trandator.  . 


■f%   A 


THE  BATHS  OP  LUCCA.  rty 

fined  deportment,  and  his  utter  want  of  selfishness, 
inspired  in  them  the  most  exaggerated  expressions 
of  admiration.  Even  Signora  Francesca  joined  in 
this  hymn  of  praise,  but  naively  confessed  that 
his  nose  was  rather  alarming,  and  that  its  enormous 
size  reminded  her  of  the  tower  of  Pisa.        ,    ' 

When  taking  leave,  I  begged  as  a  favour  to  be 
allowed  to  kiss  her  left  foot  once  more,  when  she 
with  smiling  seriousness  drew  off  not  only  the  red 
shoe  but  her  stocking  also :  and,  as  I  knelt,  held 
up  to  me  the  white,  fresh,  blooming,  lily  foot, 
which  I  pressed  to  my  lips,  more  believingly, 
perhaps,  than  I  would  have  done  that  of  the 
Pope.  Of  course,  I  then  performed  the  duties  of 
ladies'  maid,  aiding  her  to  draw  on  the  stocking 
and  shoe. 

"  I  am  contented  with  you,"  said  Signora  Fran- 
cesca, after  the  pedal  toilette  was  over,  and  in 
accomplishing  my  share  of  which  I  had  been  by 
no  means  in  a  hurry,  "  I  am  contented ;  and  you 
shall  often  have  an  opportunity  of  pulling  on  my 
stockings.  To-day  you  have  kissed  my  left  foot, 
to-morrow  the  right  shall  be  at  your  disposal. 
The  next  day  you  may  kiss  my  left  hand,  and 
the  day  after  the  right.  If  you  do  your  duty 
well,  by  and  bye  you  will  get  to  my  mouth,  and 
so  on.  You  see  that  I'm  inclined  to  help  you 
along,  and  as  you  are  still  quite  young,  you  may 
yet  get  along  very  well  in  the  world," 


i::;^:^:,l;::^v-^-*.if.^--«-*-^...,:,-^-.i,^_.,^^  •  ^....^  -  v-.. 


f    * 


168  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

I  did,  indeed,  advance  far  into  the  world  of 
which  she  spoke !  Be  my  witnesses,  ye  Tuscan 
nights,  thou  clear  blue  heaven  with  great  silver 
stars,  ye  wild  laurels  and  secret  myrtles,  and  ye, 
too,  0  nymphs  of  the  Apennines,  who  swept 
around  us  in  a  bridal  dance,  and  dreamed  your- 
selves once  more  in  those  better  days  of  the 
immortals,  when  there  were  no  Gothic  lies,  which 
permit  only  blind,  groping  pleasures  in  secret,  and 
hasten  to  stick  before  every  free  feeling  their 
hypocritical  fig-leaf. 

There  was,  however,  in  this  case,  no  occasion 
for  any  particular  fig-leaves,  since  a  whole  fig-tree, 
with  broad  spreading  branches,  rustled  over  the 
heads  of  the  happy  pair  I  | 


CHAPTER  VIL 

Every  one  knows  what  whippings  are,  but  no  one 
has  as  yet  made  out  what  love  is.  Some  natural 
philosophers  have  asserted  that  it  is  a  sort  of 
electricity,  which  is  not  impossible,  for  in  certain 
rapturous  periods  of  love  we  feel  as  though  an 
electric  flash  from  the  eyes  of  the  loved  one  had 
penetrated  our  heart.  Ah !  such  lightnings  are 
the  most  destructive  of  all;  and  I  will  honour 
above  Franklin  the  man  who  will  invent  a  con- 


:'-^''.'y 


•^A      .^A 


THE  BATHS  OP  LUCCA.  ;  169 

ductor  which  will  protect  us  against  them.  If 
there  were  only  little  conductors  running  to  the 
heart,  to  which  lightning-rods  were  attached, 
which  could  divert  the  dreadful  fire  to  some  other 
quarter!  But  I  fear  that  it  is  not  so  easy  a 
matter  to  rob  Cupid  of  his  arrows  as  Jupiter 
of  his  lightning  and  tyrants  of  their  sceptres. 
Besides,  every  love  does  not  work  in  the  lightning 
style;  many  a  time  it  is  hidden  like  a  snake 
amid  roses,  and  looks  for  the  first  crevice  in  the 
heart  wherein  to  nestle — often  it  is  only  a  word, 
a  glance,  the  light  narration  of  some  secret  deed 
which  falls  like  a  seed  into  the  heart,  lies  there 
through  the  long  winter  time  until  spring  comes, 
when  the  little  grain  shoots  up  into  a  flaming 
flower,  whose  perfume  benumbs  the  brain.  The 
same  sun  which  hatches  forth  crocodile's  eggs  in 
Egypt,  may  at  the  same  time  fully  ripen  the  love- 
seed  in  a  young  heart  in  Potsdam — for  in  Potsdam, 
as  in  Egypt,  there  are  tears.  But  tears  are  far 
from  being  explanations — what  is  love  ?  Has  no 
one  penetrated  their  being  ?  has  no  one  solved  the 
riddle?  Perhaps  such  a  solution  would  cause 
greater  pain  than  the  riddle  itself,  and  the  heart 
would  be  by  it  stricken  with  horror,  and  petrified 
as  at  the  sight  of  the  Medusa.  Serpents  twine 
around  the  awful  word  which  reveals  this  mystery. 
Oh,  I  will  never  know  that  word  of  solution,  for 
the  burning  misery  in  my  own  heart  is  dearer 


^j(«„-i<^v„t* :  •     ......W;••-.'v•*•t*»-<**^~^'•»"'.S/ir^••'~n'u•- 


170 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


to  me  than  cold,  marble-like  death.  Oh,  utter  it 
not,  ye  forms  of  the  dead,  which,  painless  as  stone, 
but  as  feelingless,  wander  through  the  rose  gardens 
of  this  world,  and  smile  with  pale  lips  on  the 
foolish  soul  who  praises  the  perfume  of  the  roses 
and  bewails  their  thorns.  I 

But  if  I,  dear  reader,  cannot  tell  thee  what  love 
really  is,  I  can  at  least  describe  with  the  utmost 
accuracy  how  a  man  behaves,  and  how  he  feels 
when  he  is  enamoured  among  the  Apennines. 
For  he  then  behaves  like  a  fool;  he  dances  on 
rocks  and  hills,  believing  that  the  whole  world 
dances  with  him.  He  feels  as  if  the  earth  had 
just  been  finished  on  that  very  day,  and  that  he 
was  the  first  man  made.  "Ah!  how  beautiful 
everything  is ! "  I  carolled,  as  I  left  Francesca's 
dwelling.  "How  fair  and  precious  is  this  new 
world!"  I  felt  as  though  I  must  give  to  all 
plants  and  animals  a  new  name,  and  I  called 
every  one  according  to  its  inner  nature  and  my 
own  feelings,  which  blended  so  marvellously  with 
all  things  without.  My  breast  was  a  well-spring 
of  revelation,  and  I  understood  all  forms  and 
figures,  the  perfume  of  plants,  the  song  of  birds, 
the  piping  of  the  wind,  and  the  rustling  of  water- 
falls. Often,  too,  I  seemed  to  hear  the  divine 
voice,  "  Adam,  where  art  thou  ? "  "  Here  am  I, 
Francesca ! "  I  replied.  '*  I  pray  to  thee,  for  well 
I  know  that  thou  hast  created  sun,  moon,  and 


./-■•' 


THE  BATHS  OF  LUCCA.  171 

stars,  and  the  earth  with  all  its  creatures ! "  Then 
there  was  soft  laughter  among  the  myrtles,  and  I 
secretly  sighed  within  myself,  "  Oh,  delicious  folly, 
do  not  forsake  me  ! " 

But  it  was  when  twilight  stole  over  me  that 
the  delirious  happiness  of  love  first  truly  began. 
The  trees  danced  on  the  rocks,  while  their  heavy 
heads  were  ruddily  flushed  over  by  the  setting 
sun  as  though  intoxicated  from  their  own  embrac- 
ing vines.  Below  them  the  brook  darted  more 
hurriedly  along  and  murmured  anxiously  as  though 
fearing  to  undermine  and  overthrow  the  enrap- 
tured quivering  trees.  And  over  all  flashed  the 
summer  heat-lightning,  rising  and  falling  as 
charmingly  as  light  kisses.  "  Yes,"  I  cried,  "  the 
laughing  heaven  kisses  laughing  earth — 0  Fran- 
cesca !  lovely  heaven,  let  me  be  thy  earth  ?  I  am 
all  so  earthly,  and  sigh  for  thee,  my  heaven ! "  So 
I  cried,  holding  my  hands  in  wild  prayer  up  to 
heaven,  and  ran  and  struck  my  head  against 
many  a  tree,  which  instead  of  scolding  I  embraced, 
and  my  whole  soul  cried  out  with  joy  in  all  the 
intoxication  of  love — when  I  suddenly  beheld  a 
gleaming  scarlet  form,  which  at  once  tore  me 
violently  from  my  dreams  and  brought  me  back 
to  a  sense  of  the  coldest  reality. 


ira 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL, 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


On  a  mossy  bank,  beneath  a  wide  -  branching 
laurel,  sat  Hyacinthos,  the  Marquis's  servant,  and 
near  him  his  dog  Apollo.  The  latter,  however, 
might  rather  be  said  to  be  standing,  as  he  had 
both  fore-paws  on  the  scarlet  knee  of  the  little 
man,  and  inquisitively  beheld  how  the  latter, 
holding  a  tablet  in  his  hand,  wrote  from  time  to 
time  therein.  At  times,  whilst  thus  employed, 
Hyacinthos  smiled  sorrowfully,  then  shook  his 
head,  and  then  handkerchiefed  his  face  with  an 
air  of  satisfaction. 

"  What  the  devil ! "  I  cried,  "  Hirsch  Hyacinth  I 
are  you  composing  poetry  ?  Well  the  symptoms 
are  favourable,  Apollo  is  by  your  side  and  the 
laurel  hangs  over  your  head." 

But  I  did  the  poor  sinner  injustice.  He  amiably 
answered,  "  Poems !  no ;  I'm  a  lover  of  poems,  but 
don't  write  'em.  What  should  I  write  ?  I  hadn't 
anything  to  do  just  then,  and  so  just  for  fun  I 
was  writing  off  a  list  of  the  names  of  those  gentle- 
men who've  played  in  my  lottery — some  of  them 
are  a  little  in  debt  to  me  yet — oh  !  don't  suppose 
Doctor,  I  meant  to  hint  anything ! — plenty  of  time 
for  that.    I  know  that  you're  good.     If  you'd  only 


^K     "k 


THE  BATHS  OF  LUCCA.  173 

taken  ticket  number  1365  last  time,  instead  of 
1364,  you'd  have  been  worth  a  hundred  thousand 
marks  banco  now,  and  needn't  have  been  running 
around  here,  and  might  be  sitting  cosy  and  easy 
in  Hamburg,  telling  folks,  as  you  laid  off  on  the 
sofa,  how  things  looked  in  Italy.     As  true  as  the 
Lord  may  help  me,  I  wouldn't  have  come  here  if 
it  hadn't  been  for  Herr  Gumpel !     Oh,  what  heat 
and  danger  and  getting  tired  I  have  to  stand,  and 
wherever  there's  anything  out  of  the  way  or  crazy, 
there's  Herr  Gumpel,  and  I  must  take  my  share 
in  it.     I'd  have  gone  away  long,  long  ago,  if  I 
thought  he  could  do  without  me.    For  if  I  didn't, 
who  could  certify  for  him  at  home  how  much 
honour  and  cultivation  he'd  enjoyed  when  travel- 
ling ?    And  to  tell  the  truth,  Doctor,  I  begin  to  set 
great  store  myself  on  cultivation  and  manners. 
In  Hamburg,  the  Lord  be  praised!  I  don't  need 
it,  but  a  man  never  knows  what  he  may  want 
when  he  goes  anywhere  else.   And  folks  are  right, 
for  a  little  accomplishment  ornaments  the  whole 
man.     And  how  much  honour  you  get  by  it  too. 
For  instance,  how  Lady  Maxfield  received  me  this 
morning,  and  how  handsome  she  *  came  down,' 
just  on  a  horizontal  level  with  ma    And  she  gave 
me  a  francesconi  to  drink  her  health,  though  the 
flower  only  cost  five  paoli.    Besides,  oh !  isn't  it  a 
pleasure  to  hold  the  little,  white  naked  foot  of  a 
pretty  lady  individual  in  your  hand  V* 


174 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


I  was  startled  by  this  last  remark,  and  at  once 
thought,  "  Is  he  making  fun  of  me  ?  "  But  how 
could  the  vagabond  know  of  the  good  fortune 
which  I  had  encountered  at  the  same  hour,  when 
he  was  on  the  other  side  of  the  hill  ?  Was  there 
perhaps  a  similar  scene,  and  was  there  perhaps 
displayed  in  it  the  irony  of  the  great  world-stage-, 
poet,  who  has  acted  at  the  same  instant  a  thousand 
similar  scenes,  each  parodying  the  other  for  the 
amusement  of  the  heavenly  host  ?  But  my  sus- 
picions were  unfoimded,  for  after  many  and  oft- 
lepeated  questions,  ending  with  my  solemn  pro- 
mise not  to  tell  the  Marquis,  the  poor  fellow 
admitted  that  when  he  gave  the  flower  to  Lady 
Maxfield  she  was  still  abed,  and  that  just  at  the 
instant  in  which  he  was  about  to  deliver  it,  and 
with  it  a  fine  speech,  one  of  her  pretty  naked 
feet  was  thrust  out  from  beneath  the  counterpane  ' 
Observing  a  corn  on  it,  he  at  once  begged  permis- 
sion to  extract  the  annoyance,  which  was  readily 
granted,  and  for  which,  with  the  tulip,  he  was 
rewarded  with  a  francesconi.  1 

"  Yet  I  only  did  it  for  the  honour  of  the  thing," 
added  Hyacinth,  "  and  that's  just  what  I  said  to 
Baron  Kothschild  when  I  had  the  honour  to  cut 
his  corns.  It  took  place  in  his  cabinet.  He  sat 
there  in  his  green  arm-chair  like  a  king,  with  his 
courtiers  standing  around,  and  he  all  the  while 
was  a-sending  expresses  to  all  the  kings.     And 


THE  BATHS  OF  LUCCA.  I75 

while  I  was  cutting  his  corns  I  thought  in  my 
heart,  *  Now,  you've  got  in  your  hands  the  foot  of 
the  man  who  holds  all  the  world  in  his  hands,  and 
you  too  are  a  man  that's  somebody,  for  if  you  cut 
too  deep  he'll  be  angry,  and  cut  the  kings  himself 
more  cruelly.'  It  was  the  happiest  moment  of 
my  life!" 

"  I  can  readily  imagine  your  delightful  feelings, 
Herr  Hyacinth.  But  whom  among  the  Rothschild 
dynasty  did  you  thus  amputate?  Was  it  the 
high-hearted  Briton,  the  man  in  Lombard  Street, 
who  has  set  up  a  pawnbroker's  shop  for  emperors 
and  kings  ?  " 

"Of  course,  Doctor,  I  mean  the  great  Eoths- 
child,  the  great  Nathan  Rothschild,  to  whom  the 
Emperor  of  Brazil  pawned  his  diamond  crown. 
But  I  had  the  honour  too  to  make  the  acquaint- 
ance of  Baron  Solomon  Rothschild  in  Frankfort, 
and  though  I  wasn't  on  exactly  the  same  footing 
with  him,  and  had  not  the  same  foothold  as  with 
the  other,  he  still  knew  how  to  esteem  me.  When 
the  Marquis  said  to  him  that  I  had  once  been  a 
lottery  agent,  the  Baron  answered  very  wittily, 
*  I'm  head  agent  of  the  Rothschild  lottery  myself, 
and  a  colleague  of  mine  mustn't  eat  among  servants, 
he  must  sit  alongside  of  me  at  the  table.*  And  as 
true  as  God  be  good  to  me.  Doctor,  I  sat  by  Solo- 
mon Rothschild,  and  he  treated  me  just  like  one 
of  his  equals,  quite  famillionaire.   I  was  with  him 


176 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


too  at  the  children's  ball,  which  was  in  the  news« 
papers.  I  shall  never  see  such  a  grand  show  again 
in  all  my  born  days.  I  was  once  in  Hamburg  at 
a  ball,  which  cost  fifteen  hundred  marks  and  eight 
schillings ;  but  that  was  nothing  but  a  hen-dirt 
compared  to  a  dunghill  What  lots  of  gold  and 
silver  and  diamonds  I  saw  there !  Such  stars  and 
orders !  The  falcon  order,  the  golden  fleece,  a  lion 
order,  the  eagle  order,  yes,  even  a  child,  a  right 
down  small  child,  wore  the  whole  order  of  the 
elephant.  The  children  were  masked  very  pretty, 
and  played  at  pawns,  and  were  dressed  up  like 
kings,  with  crowns  on  their  heads;  but  one  of 
the  biggest  was  dressed  precisely  like  old  Nathan 
Rothschild.  He  acted  his  part  very  well,  kept 
both  his  hands  in  his  breeches  pockets,  shook  his 
money,  shook  his  head,  as  if  vexed  when  any  of  the 
little  kings  wanted  to  borrow  anything,  and  only 
showed  favour  to  the  little  one  with  the  white 
coat  and  red  pantaloons.  This  fellow  he  patted 
on  the  cheeks  and  praised  him, '  You're  my  boy, 
my  pet,  my  pride;  but  let  your  cousin  Michael 
keep  out  of  my  way ;  I'll  not  lend  the  goose  a 
penny,  he  spends  more  men  in  a  year  than  he 
has  to  eat ;  he'll  make  some  trouble  yet  in  the 
world,  and  spoil  my  business.'  As  true  as  the 
Lord  may  help  me  the  little  fellow  played  his 
part  very  well,  particularly  when  he  helped  a 
child  to  walk  along,  who  was  dressed  in  white 


THE  BATHS  OP  LUCCA.  177 

satin  with  real  silver  lilies,  and  now  and  then 
said  to  him,  *  Now,  now,  only  take  good  care  of 
yourself,  get  your  living  honestly,  and  look  out 
that  you're  not  driven  away  again,  or  I'll  lose  my 
money/  I  tell  you  what.  Doctor,  it  was  a  real 
pleasure  to  hear  how  the  little  chap  and  the  other 
children — right  nice  children  they  were — played 
their  parts  very  well  till  cakes  were  brought 
to  them,  and  they  begun  to  fight  for  the  best 
pieces,  and  grabbed  the  crowns  off  one  another's 
heads,  and  screamed  and  cried,  and  some  of  'em 
even " 


CHAPTER  IX 

There  is  nothing  so  stupid  on  the  face  of  the 
earth,  as  to  read  a  book  of  travels  in  Italy,  unless 
it  be  to  write  one ;  and  the  only  way  in  which  its 
author  can  make  it  in  any  degree  tolerable  is  to  say 
as  little  in  it  as  possible  of  Italy.  But  though 
I  have  availed  myself  of  this  artistic  trick,  I  still 
cannot  venture  to  promise  the  reader  anything 
strikingly  captivating  in  the  coming  chapter.  And 
if  you  who  read  become  tired  of  the  stupid  stuff 
in  it,  just  think  of  what  a  dreary  time  I  must 
have  had  writing  it!  I  would  recommend  you, 
on  the  whole,  to  once  in  a  whUe  skip  half  a  dozen 
leaves,  for  in  that  way  you  will  arrive  much 
VOL.  n.  It 


178  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

sooner  at  the  end.  Lord  !  how  I  wish  that  I  could 
follow  the  same  plan.  And  do  not  believe  that 
I  am  jesting,  for  if  I  were  to  speak  out  in  saddest 
earnestness  the  real  opinion  of  my  very  heart,  I 
would  advise  you  to  at  once  close  these  pages, 
and  read  no  more  therein.  By  and  bye  I  will 
improve;  and  when  we,  in  a  book  as  yet  un- 
written, meet  Matilda  and  Francesca  together,  the 
dear  creatures  shall  delight  you  far  more  than 
anything  in  the  present  chapter,  or  even  in  the 
next. 

The  Lord  be  praised,  I  hear  without,  before 
my  window,  a  hand-organ  with  merry  tunes.  My 
befogged  head  needed  such  a  clearing  up,  parti- 
cularly as  I  must  now  describe  my  visit  to  his 
Excellency  the  Marquis  Christophero  di  Gumpe- 
lino.  I  will  narrate  this  deeply  moving  history 
with  the  utmost  accuracy,  the  most  literal  truth, 
and  in  all  its  filthy  purity. 

It  was  late  as  I  reached  the  home  of  the 
Marquis.  As  I  entered  the  room.  Hyacinth  stood 
alone,  cleaning  the  golden  spurs  of  his  master, 
who,  as  I  perceived  through  the  half-opened  door 
of  his  chamber,  was  on  his  knees  before  a  Madonna 
and  a  great  crucifix. 

For  you  must  know,  dear  reader,  that  thjs  noble- 
man is  now  a  good  Catholic;  that  he  observes 
with  the  utmost  strictness  all  the  ceremonies  of 
that  Church  which  alone  confers  happiness ;  and 


THE  BATHS  OP  LUCCA.     ^    r       v^ 

that  when  he  is  in  Rome  he  even  keeps  his  own 
chaplain,  on  the  same  principle  which  induces 
to  him  keep  in  England  the  fastest  horse,  and  in 
Paris  the  prettiest  dancing  girl.         : 

"  Hen*  Gumpel  is  just  now  doing  his  prayers," 
whispered  Hyacinth  with  a  significant  smile,  and, 
pointing  to  the  cabinet  of  his  master,  added  in  a 
softer  tone,  "  He  lies  that  way  every  evening  two 
hours  on  his  knees  before  the  Prima  Donna  with 
the  Jesus-child.  It  is  a  splendid  affair,  and  cost 
him  six  hundred  francesconis." 

"  And  you,  Mr.  Hyacinth,  why  don't  you  kneel 
behind  him  ?  Or  perhaps  you  are  not  inclined  to 
the  Catholic  religion  ? " 

"  I'm  inclined,  and  again  I  a'n't  inclined,"  re- 
plied he,  reflectively  shaking  his  head.  "It's  a 
good  religion  for  a  genteel  Baron  who  can  go 
about  all  day  at  his  leisure,  or  for  one  who  under- 
stands the  fine  arts,  but  it's  no  religion  for  a 
Hamburgher,  for  a  man  who  has  his  business  to 
mind,  and  no  religion  at  all,  any  way  you  take 
it,  for  a  lottery  collector.  I  must  write  down  fair 
and  square  every  number  that's  drawn,  and  if  I 
happen  to  think  of — bum !  bum !  bum ! — the 
Catholic  bells,  or  if  my  eyes  swim  like  Cathoh'c 
incense,  and  I  make  a  mistake,  and  set  down  the 
wrong  number,  the  worst  sort  of  trouble  may  come 
out  of  it.  Many  a  time  have  I  said  to  Herr 
Gumpel,  '  Your  Excellency  is  a  rich  man,  and  can 


i8o  PICTURES  OP  fAAYEL. 

be  as  Catholic  as  yon  please,  and  may  Bttioke  tip 
your  wits  with  incense  as  much  as  you  like,  and 
may  be  as  stupid  as  a  Catholic  bell,  and  still 
have  victuals  to  eat;  but  Fm  a  business  man, 
and  must  keep  my  seven  senses  about  me  to  earn 
something.*  Herr  Gumpel  thinks,  of  course,  that 
it's  necessary  for  my  accomplishment,  and  that  if 
I  don't  become  Catholic  that  I  can't  understand 
the  pictures  which  accomplish  people,  such  as 
John  of  Fizaley,  the  Verygreeno,  the  Correctshow, 
Caratshow,  and  Cravatshow ;  but  I've  always  held 
that  all  the  Correctshows  andCravatshows  wouldn't 
help  much  if  nobody  bought  tickets  of  me,  and 
then  I  should  make  a  mighty  poor  show !  And 
I  must  own,  Doctor,  that  the  Catholic  religion 
don't  amuse  me ;  and,  as  a  reasonable  man,  you 
must  allow  that  when  it  comes  to  that,  I'm  right. 
I  don't  see  any  fun  in  it — it's  something  such  a 
religion  as  if  the  Lord  (the  Lord  forbid  it !)  had 
just  died,  and  everything  smelt  of  burial  incense, 
and  with  it  all,  they  roll  out  such  a  melancholy 
funeral  music  as  to  give  one  the  blues ;  and  the 
long  and  short  of  it  is,  that  it's  no  religion  for 
a  Hamburger." 

"Well,  then,  Mr.  Hyacinth,  how  do  you  like 
the  Protestant  religion  ? "  I 

"That  is  altogether,  on  t'other  hand,  too  common- 
sense  like,  and  if  the  Protestant  churches  hadn't 
an  organ,  it  wouldn't  be  a  religion  at  all.    Between 


THE  BATHS  OF  LUCOA.  l8i 

yott  and  I,  the  religion  does  no  harm,  and  is  as 
pure  as  a  glass  of  water — but  it  don't  help  any. 
I've  tried  it,  sir,  and  the  trial  cost  me  four  marks 
fourteen  schilling." 

"  How  so,  my  good  Mr.  Hyacinth  ? " 
"Well,  do  you  see,  Doctor,  that  I  once  came 
to  the  conclusion  that  it  was  a  very  enlightened 
religion,  without  any  visionary  notions  or  miracles, 
though,  by  the  way,  I  still  think  that  a  church 
mvst  have  a  few  visionary  notions  and  a  trifle  in 
the  way  of  miracles  to  be  one  of  the  proper  sort 
'  But  who'd  ever  work  any  miracle  there  1 '  thought 
I  one  day  in  Hamburg,  as  I  peeped  into  a  Pro- 
testant church,  one  of  the  regular  bald  sort,  with 
nothing  but  brown  benches  and  white  walls,  and 
on  the  walls  nothing  but  a  blackboard  with  half 
a  dozen  white  numbers  on  it.  'But,*  thinks  I, 
•  maybe  you  don't  do  justice  to  this  religion.  Who 
knows  but  what  these  numbers  can  work  a  miracle 
as  well  as  the  image  of  the  Virgin  Mary,  or  a 
bone  of  her  husband,  St.  Joseph  ? '  and,  to  settle 
the  matter,  I  went  straight  to  Altona  and  set 
these  very  numbers  in  the  Altona  lottery.  The 
deuce  I  set  with  eight  schilling,  the  feme  with  six, 
the  quaterne  with  four,  and  the  guinterne  with  two 
Bohilling.  But  I  tell  you,  upon  my  honour,  that 
not  a  single  one  of  the  Protestant  numbers  came 
out  a  prize.  I  very  soon  made  up  my  mind  what 
to  think  of  the  Protestant  business.    A  great 


I82 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


religion  that,  which  can't  so  much  as  bring  out 
the  deuce . — and  a  nice  goose  I'd  be  to  stake  my 
salvation  on  a  religion  by  which  I've  already  lost 
four  marks  and  fourteen  schilling." 

"I  daresay  that  the  old  Jewish  religion  suits 
you  much  better,  my  friend."  I 

"Doctor,  the  mischief  take  the  old  Jewish 
religion !  I  don't  wish  it  to  my  worst  enemy. 
It  brings  nothing  but  abuse  and  disgrace.  I  teU 
you  it  ain't  a  religion,  but  a  misfortune.  I  keep 
out  of  the  way  of  everything  that  puts  me  in 
mind  of  it,  and  because  Hirsch  is  a  Hebrew  word, 
and  means  hyacinth,  I've  let  the  old  Hirsch  run,* 
and  now  subscribe  myself,  *  Hyacinth,  Collector, 
Operator,  and  Appraiser.'  And  then  I  have  this 
advantage,  that  I've  got  an  H  on  my  seal  ring, 
and  my  new  name  begins  with  an  H,  so  that 
there's  no  need  of  having  a  new  one  cut.  I  tell 
you  what — it  amounts  to  a  good  deal  in  the  long 
run,  if  you  reckon  up  what  a  good  name  is  worth 
to  a  man.  Name's  everything.  When  I  write, 
'  Hyacinth,  Collector,  Operator,  and  Appraiser,'  it 
has  another  sort  of  a  sound  from  plain  Hirsch. 
Nobody  can  treat  me  like  a  common  blackguard 
then."  I 

'*  My  good  Hyacinth,  who  would  ever  treat  you 
in  such  a  manner  ?    You  appear  to  have  done  so 


^  Hirteh  is  also  a  German  word,  and  signifies  a  stag  or  deer. 


THE  BATHS  OF  LUCCA.  183 

much  towards  accomplishing  yourself,  that  it  is 
easy  to  recognise  a  refined  character  in  you  before 
you  open  your  mouth/* 

"  You're  right,  Doctor.  I  have  gone  ahead  like 
a  giantess  in  improving  myself.  I  really  don't 
know  who  I  ought  to  keep  company  with  when 
I  get  back  to  Hamburgh ;  but  I  know  what  I'll 
do  in  the  religion  line.  Just  for  the  present  I 
can  get  along  with  the  New-Israelite  temple,  I 
mean  the  pure  Mosaic-Lord's  service,  with  ortho- 
graphic German  hymns  and  moving  sermons,  and 
a  few  visionary  notions,  which  are  things  no 
religion  can  do  without.  As  true  as  the  Lord 
may  help  me,  I  don't  want  any  better  religion, 
and  it  is  worth  keeping  up.^  I  mean  to  do  my 
part  for  it  any  how,  and  every  Saturday,  when 

^  The  reformed  Jews  are  those  who  have  laid  aside  to  a 
greater  or  less  degree  the  old  ceremonies,  observances,  super* 
stitions,  and  forms  to  which  the  orthodox  adhere.  There  is  also 
a  very  obscure  and  little  known  sect  calling  itself  the  Neu- 
Reformirte  or  New- Reformed  which  claims  to  be,  however,  ex- 
tremely ancient,  its  members  asserting  that  they  are  descendants 
from  the  Sadducees,  whom  they  declare  are  much  misrepresented 
in  the  New  Testament,  also  that  they  have  existed  for  2500 
years.  Their  belief  is  the  purest  and  simplest  Agnosticism. 
"  We  hold,"  said  a  very  intelligent  member  of  the  sect  to  me, 
"  that  no  one  can  prove  or  disprove  the  existence  of  a  God  or  a 
future  state,  but  that  every  man  knows  enough  of  right  or 
wrong  to  guide  him  in  his  relations  to  others.  If  he  follows 
bis  conscience,  and  there  should  be  a  future  life,  he  will  be 
rewarded ;  if  there  be  none,  he  and  the  world  will  be  none  tha 
worse." — Note  by  Translator. 


i84 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


it  isn't  a  day  for  drawing  in  the  lottery,  I'm  going 
there.  There  are  men,  and  mere's  the  pity,  who 
give  this  new  faith  a  bad  name,  and  say  that  it 
gives  occasion  for  a  schism;  but  I  give  you  my 
word,  it's  a  good  sound  religion — perhaps  a  little 
too  good  for  common  folks,  for  whom  the  old 
Jewish  religion  is  good  enough.  A  common  man 
must  have  something  stupid  to  make  him  happy, 
and  he  does  feel  happier  in  something  of  the  sort. 
A  regular  old  Jew,  with  a  long  beard  and  a  ragged 
coat,  and  who  can't  speak  a  word  correct,  perhaps 
feels  better  than  I  do,  with  all  my  accomplishment. 
There  lives  in  Hamburgh,  in  the  Baecker  Breiten- 
gang  by  a  gutter,  a  man  named  Moses  Lump,* — 
the  folks  call  him  Lumpy,  for  short, — and  he  runs 
around  the  whole  week  in  wind  and  rain,  with 
his  pack  on  his  back,  to  earn  a  few  marks.  "Well, 
when  Friday  evening  comes  round,  he  goes  home, 
and  finds  the  seven-branched  lamp  all  lighted,  a 
clean  white  cloth  on  the  table,  and  he  puts  off 
his  pack  and  all  his  sorrows,  and  sits  down  at 
the  table  with  his  crooked  wife  and  crookeder 
daughter,  and  eats  with  them  fish  which  have 
been  cooked  in  nice  white  garlic  sauce,  and  sings 
the  finest  songs  of  King  David,  and  rejoices  with 
all  his  heart  at  the  Exodus  of  the  children  of 


^  Lump  means  in  German  not  only  a  tatter  or  rag,  bat  alao  • 
ragamuffin  or  blackguard. 


THE  BATHS  OP  LUCCA.  185 

Israel  from  Egypt.  He  feels  glad,  too,  that  all 
the,  bad  people  who  did  anything  bad  to  them 
died  at  last ;  that  King  Pharaoh,  Nebuchadnezzar, 
Haman,  Antiochus,  Titus,  and  such  like,  are  all 
dead,  but  that  Lumpy  is  still  alive,  and  eats  fish 
with  his  wife  and  child.  And  I  tell  you  what. 
Doctor,  the  fish  are  delicate,  and  the  man  is 
happy;  he  hasn't  any  cause  to  torment  himself 
with  any  *  accomplishment ; '  he  sits  just  as  con- 
tented in  his  religion  and  in  his  green  night-gown 
as  Diogenes  in  his  cask,  and  he  looks  with  joy  at 
the  lights  burning,  which  he  hasn't  even  the 
trouble  of  cleaning.  And  I  tell  you  that  if  the 
.lights  should  happen  to  burn  dim,  and  the  Jewess 
who  ought  to  snuff  them  isn't  at  hand,  and  if 
Eothschild  the  Great  should  happen  to  come  in, 
with  all  the  brokers,  discounters,  forwarders,  and 
head-clerks  with  whom  he  overcomes  the  world, 
and  if  he  should  say,  'Moses  Lump,  ask  what 
thou  wilt,  it  shall  be  given  thee,' — Doctor,  I 
believe  that  Moses  would  say,  quiet  and  easy, 
'  Pick  the  lamp,  then ! '  and  Eothschild  the  Great 
would  answer  in  wonder,  '  If  I  wasn't  Eothschild, 
I'd  like  to  be  such  a  Lump  as  this ! ' " 

As  Hyacinth,  according  to  custom,  thus  de- 
veloped his  doctrines  with  epic  copiousness,  the 
Marquis  rose  from  his  cushions  and  came  towards 
OS,  still  mumbling  a  paternoster  through  his  nose. 
Hyacinth  then  drew  the  green  curtain  over  the 


I«» 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


image  of  the  Madonna  which  hang  over  the  bed, 
extinguished  the  two  candles,  took  down  the  bronze 
crucifix,  and  approaching  us,  began  to  clean  it 
with  the  same  rag  and  with  the  same  care  with 
which  he  had  just  cleaned  his  master's  spurs. 
But  the  Marquis  was  melting  with  heat  and  with 
soft  sentiment;  instead  of  a  coat  he  wore  a  full 
blue  silk  domino  with  silver  fringe,  and  his  nose 
shone  sorrowfully,  like  an  enamoured  louis-d'or. 
*  Oh,  Jesus ! "  he  sighed,  as  he  sank  among  the 
cushions  of  the  sofa.  "  Don't  you  think,  Doctor, 
that  I  have  a  very  dreamy,  visionary,  poetical 
look  this  evening  ?  I  am  very  much  moved ;  my 
soul  is  melting;  I  perceive  from  afar  a  higher 
world.  I 

*  My  eye  beholds  the  heaven  open,  \ 

My  heart  leaps  up  in  wondrous  bliss.' " 

"  Herr  Gumpel,  you  must  take  something,"  in- 
terrupted Hyacinth.  "  The  blood  in  your  inside 
has  got  to  going  again.  I  know  what  is  the  matter 
with  you." 

"  You  don't  know,"  sighed  his  master. 

"  I  tell  you  I  do,"  replied  the  man,  nodding  with 
his  good-natured,  going-to-work  little  face.  "I 
know  you  in  and  out — I  know.  You  are  just  my 
opposite;  when  you're  hungry  I'm  thirsty,  and 
when  I'm  thirsty  you're  hungry.  You  are  too 
corpulent,  and  I'm  too  lean.  You  have  lots  of 
imagination,  and  I've  got  all  the  more  business 


THE  BATHS  OP  LUCCA.  187 

capacity.  I'ln  a  practicuSf  and  you're  a  diar- 
rheticus^ — in  short,  you  are  altogether  my  arUi- 
podex." 

"Ah,  Julia!"  sighed  Gumpelino,  "would  that 
I  were  the  yellow  glove  upon  thy  hand,  and  kissed 
thy  cheek.  Doctor,  did  you  ever  see  the  actress 
Crelinger  in  Romeo  and  Juliet  ? " 

"  Of  course,  and  my  whole  soul  is  still  enrap- 
tured with  the  memory," 

"Well,  then,"  cried  the  Marquis  with  enthusiasm, 
and  fire  flashed  from  his  eyes,  illuminating  his 
nose,  "then  you  appreciate  my  feelings — then 
you  know  what  I  mean  when  I  say  /  love  1  I 
will  show  myself  to  you,  and  expose  everything. 
Hyacinth,  just  step  out  of  the  room ! " 

"  I  needn't  go  out,"  said  his  man,  as  if  vexed ; 
"you  needn't  stand  on  any  ceremony  with  me, 
for  I  know  what  love  is,  too,  and  how  it " 

"  You  dofHt  know ! "  cried  the  Marquis. 

"  I'll  prove  that  I  know,  Herr  Marquis,  by  just 
speaking  the  name  of  Julia  Maxfield.  Oh,  be 
easy !     You're  loved,  too,  but  it's  of  no  use.     The 


^  Hyacinth,  in  this  sentence,  is  supposed  to  be  attempting  to 
"air  "  the  Latin  which  he  has  picked  up  under  his  master.  For 
diarrheticiu  read  ikeoretieut,  and  for  antipodex,  arUipode*.  An 
instance  of  the  erudite  character  of  the  Germans  may  be  found 
in  the  fact  that  even  among  very  vulgar  people  the  Latin  word 
podex  is  frequently  used  for  its  German  equivalent. — Note  5f 
Trtmtlator. 


i88 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


brother-in-law  of  your  lady  never  lets  her  go  out 
of  sight,  and  watches  her  night  and  day  like  a 
diamond." 

"  Ah !  wretched  that  I  am,"  moaned  Gumpelino. 
''I  love  and  am  loved  again;  we  secretly  press 
each  other's  hands — we  tread  on  each  other's  feet 
under  the  table — glance  meaningly  at  each  other — 

and  yet  can't  find  an  opportunity  to Ah! 

how  often  I  stand  in  the  moonlight  on  the  bal- 
cony, and  imagine  that  I  am  Julia  and  that  my 
Romeo  or  my  Gumpelino  has  promised  me  a  ren- 
dezvous— and  then  I  declaim  exactly  like  the 
Crelinger : —  ' 

*  Come,  night !  come,  Gumpelino  1 — come,  day  in  night  I 
For  thou  wilt  lie  upon  the  wings  of  night 
Whiter  than  snow  upon  a  raven's  back — 
Come,  gentle  night ;  come,  loving  black -browed  night, 
Give  me  my  Komeo — or  Gumpelino  1 ' 

But  ah !  Lord  Maxfield  watches  us  all  the  time, 
and  we're  both  dying  with  intense  desire.  I 
shall  never  survive  the  day  when  either  sets  the 
blossom  of  youthful  purity  at  stake,  winning  to 
loose.  Ah !  I'd  rather  enjoy  one  such  hour  with 
Julia  than  win  the  great  prize  in  the  Hamburg 
lottery ! " 

"  What  a  crazy  notion ! "  cried  Hyacinth ;  "  the 
great  prize ! — one  hundred  thousand  marks ! " 

"  Yes,  rather  than  the  great  prize,"  continued 
Gumpelino,  "could  I  have  one  such  hour — md 


THE  BATHS  OP  LUCCA.  189 

she  has  promised  me  often  that  I  should  have 
such  when  the  first  opportunity  occurs,  and  I've 
often  thought  that  she  would  declaim  to  me — just 
like  Grelinger —  v    •     . 

*  Wilt  thou  begone  1  it  is  not  yet  near  day  1 
It  waa  the  nightingale,  and  not  the  lark. 
That  pierced  the  fearful  hollow  of  thine  eaf ; 
Nightly  she  singB  on  yon  pomegranate  tree  : 
Believe  me,  love,  it  was  the  nightingale.' " 

"  The  great  prize  for  only  one  night,"  repeated 
Hyacinth  several  times,  as  if  he  could  never 
assent  to  such  an  assertion.  "I  have  a  very 
high  opinion,  Herr  Marquis,  of  your  accomplish- 
ments, but  I  never  did  think  you'd  have  brought 
your  visionary  fancies  up  to  such  a  pitch.  That 
any  man  could  ever  prefer  love  to  the  great 
prize!  Eeally,  Herr  Marquis,  since  I've  waited 
on  you  I've  got  used  to  a  great  deal  of  accomplish- 
ment, but  this  much  I  know,  I  wouldn't  give  an 
eighth  of  the  great  prize  for  all  the  love  afloat. 
The  Lord  keep  me  from  itl  Why,  if  I  reckon 
ofiP  five  hundred  marks  premium,  there'd  still  re- 
main twelve  thousand  marks.  Love  J  Why,  if  I 
reckon  up  all  together  that  I've  ever  paid  out  for 
love  in  all  my  life,  it  only  comes  to  twelve  marks 
and  thirteen  schilling.  Love!  Why,  I've  had 
lots  of  love,  free,  gratis,  for  nothing ;  only  once  in 
a  while,  to  please  my  woman,  I've  cut  her  corns 
for  her.     I  never  had  a  real  sentimental  pas- 


I90  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

sionate  love-scrape  but  once  in  my  life,  and  that 
was  for  fat  Sally  of  DreckwalL  She  used  to  buy 
lottery  tickets  of  me,  and  whenever  I  called  on 
her  to  square  accounts,  she  used  to  give  me  a  piece 
of  cake — very  good  cake  indeed — and  sometimes 
she'd  make  up  a  nice  little  fancy  dish  for  me, 
with  a  drop  of  liquor  to  it;  and  when  I  once 
told  her  that  I  was  troubled  with  the  blues,  she 
gave  me  a  recipe  for  the  powder  which  her  own 
husband  used.  I  use  the  powder  to  this  very 
day,  it  always  works  on  me ;  and  that  was  the 
only  consequence  which  our  love  ever  had.  I 
thought,  Herr  Marquis,  that  maybe  you  needed 
one  of  those  powders.  When  I  came  to  Italy 
they  were  the  first  thing  I  thought  of,  so  I  went 
to  the  apothecary  and  had  *em  made  up,  and  I 
always  carry  'em  about  with  me.  Just  wait  a 
minute  and  I'll  hunt  for  'em ;  and  if  I  hunt  for 
'em,  I'll  find  *em ;  and  if  I  find  *em,  your  Excel- 
lency's got  to  take  'em."  i 

It  would  require  too  much  time  to  repeat  all 
the  comments  with  which  Hyacinth  accompanied 
his  researches  as  he  drew  in  succession  each  of 
the  following  articles  from  his  pocket.  These 
were : — I.,  half  a  wax  candle ;  IL,  a  silver  case, 
in  which  he  kept  his  instruments  for  cutting 
corns ;  III.,  a  lemon ;  IV.,  a  pistol,  which,  though 
unloaded,  was  carefully  wrapped  in  paper  lest 
the  sight  of  it  might  awaken  apprehension ;  Y.,  a 


THE  BATHS  OF  LUCCA.  191 

scheme  of  the  last  drawing  of  the  Hamburgh 
lottery;  VI,,  a  black  leather  bound  little  book, 
containing  the  Psalms  of  David  and  the  debts  not 
as  yet  collected ;  VII.,  a  dry  willow  withe  twined 
in  a  true-love  knot;*  VIII.,  a  little  packet 
covered  with  faded  rose-coloured  silk,  and  con- 
taining the  receipt  in  full  for  a  lottery  prize 
which  had  once  won  fifty  thousand  marks ;  IX., 
a  flat  piece  of  bread  resembling  ship's  biscuit  with 
a  hole  in  the  middle;  and  X.,  the  above-men- 
tioned powder,  which  the  little  man  took  out, 
not  without  a  certain  emotion  and  a  sorrowful 
shaking  of  the  head. 

"When  I  think,"  he  sighed,  "that  ten  years 
ago  fat  Sally  gave  me  this  receipt,  and  that  I'm 
in  Italy  now,  and  have  the  same  receipt  in  my 
hands,  and  see  the  same  words  on  it,  '  ScU  mirdble 
Glatt^eri' — that  means  in  German  'extra  fine 
Glauber  salt  of  the  best  quality ' — ah !  I  feel  as  if 
I  had  already  taken  the  salt  and  could  feel  it 
a-working  inside.  What  is  man !  I'm  in  It^y 
a-thinking  of  fat  Sally  of  Dreckwall !  Who'd  a 
thought  it?  I  can  think  I  see  her  now  in  the 
country  in  her  garden,  where  the  moon  shines, 


•  Among  Gypsies  in  Hungary  and  other  people  in  Eastern 
Europe  certain  twists  or  gnarls  of  willow  leaves  or  twigs  are 
supposed  to  possess  nuigic  virtues,  especially  as  love  channa. 
Vide  "Gypsy  Sorcery  and  Fortune  Telling,"  by  Charles  Q. 
Leland.     London :  T.  Fisher  TTnwin,  iS9a 


«»• 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


and  where  there  must  be  for  certain  a  nightiiigale 

singing,  or  maybe  a  lark " 

"It  is  the  nightingale,  and  not  the  lark  I" 
sighed  Gumpelino  in  parenthesis. 

"  *  Nightly  she  sings  on  yon  pomegranate  tree  : 
Believe  me,  love,  it  was  the  nightingale.'" 

*  It's  all  one  to  me,"  continued  Hyacinth ;  "  it 
may  be  a  canary  for  all  I  care ;  only  wild  birds  in 
the  garden  don't  cost  so  much.  The  main  thing 
is  the  hot-house,  and  the  carpet  in  the  pavilion, 
and  the  statuaries  *  all  round  it,  and  among  *em 
there's  a  naked  General  of  the  gods  and  the 
Venus  Urinia;  both  cost  three  hundred  marks. 
And  in  the  middle  of  the  garden  Sally's  got  a 
fontenelle,  and  may  be  she's  a-standing  there 
having  make-believe  pleasures  in  her  fancy,  and 
thinking — of — me ! " 

After  this  sigh  followed  a  rapt  silence,  which 
the  Marquis  finally  broke  with  a  languishing  tone 
and  question,  "  Tell  me,  Hyacinth,  on  your  hon- 
our, do  your  really  believe  that  your  medicine 
will  have  its  effect  ? " 

"  Yes,  upon  honour,  it  wiU.  Why  shouldn't  it 
work?  It  works  on  me.  And  ain't  I  a  living 
man  just  the  same  as  you  ?  Glauber  salts  make 
all  men  alike,  and  when  Eothschild  takes  Glauber 
salts,  they  operate  on  him  just  as  they  would  on 


THE  BATHS  OF  LUCCA.  193 

the  smallest  broker.  And  I'll  just  tell  you  now 
how  it's  all  done.  I  shake  the  powder  into  a 
glass,  pour  some  water  on  it,  and  as  soon  as 
you've  swallowed  it  you  twist  up  your  face  and 
say,  'Prr — phew! — pooh!'  Then  you  feel  it  a 
sort  of  quarrelling  about  inside  of  you,  and  you 
feel  queer,  and  you  lie  down  on  the  bed,  and 
then  I  promise  you,  'pon  honour,  that  by  and  bye 
you'll  get  up,  then  you'll  lay  down  again  and  get 
up  again,  and  so  on  and  so  forth,  and  the  next 
morning  you  feel  as  light  as  an  angel  with  white 
wings,  and  you'll  dance  about  because  you  feel  so 
well;  only  you'll  look  a  little  pale,  but  I  know 
you  like  to  look  pale,  because  its  languishing- 
like,  and  that's  interesting." 

While  thus  chattering.  Hyacinth  had  prepared 
the  powder ;  but  as  for  the  Marquis,  he  would  have 
taken  this  pains  for  nothing  had  not  the  passage 
suddenly  flashed  into  his  mind  where  Julia  takes 
the  draught  which  has  such  a  dire  effect  on  her 
destiny.  "  What  do  you  think.  Doctor,"  he  cried, 
"  of  the  actress  Mueller  in  Vienna  ?  I  have  seen 
her  as  Julia,  and  Lord  I  Lord !  how  she  did  play  I 
I'm  the  greatest  enthusiast  for  Crelinger  living ; 
but  Mueller,  when  she  drank  off  the  goblet,  com 
pletely  tore  me  down  !  See ! " — this  was  his  ex- 
clamation, as  he  took  with  a  comic  gesture  the 
glass  into  which  Hyacinth  had  poured  the  powder 
— "  See !  this  was  the  way  in  which  she  took  the 

VOL.  n.  N 


194 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


cup,  and  shuddered,  so  that  you  could  feel  every 
thrill  which  she  felt,  as  she  said —  , 

*  There  is  a  faint  cold  fear  which  thrilla  my  veins, 
And  almost  freezes  up  the  heat  of  life.' 

And  so  she  stood,  just  as  I  stand,  and  held  the 
goblet  to  her  lips,  saying — 

*  Stay,  Talbot,  stay  ! 
Romeo,  I  come  1  this  do  I  drink  to  thee.' 

And  with  these  words  she  swallowed  the  medicine." 
"  Much  good  may  it  do  you,  Herr  Gumpel ! "  said 
Hyacinth  in  a  joyful  tone,  for  the  Marquis  had, 
in  imitative  inspiration,  drained  the  entire  dose, 
and  sunk  weary  with  declamation  on  the  sofa. 

He  did  not  remain  long  in  this  position,  for 
almost  immediately  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door, 
and  there  entered  Lady  Maxfield's  little  jockey, 
who  gave  to  the  Marquis,  with  a  laugh  and  a  bow, 
a  note,  and  at  once  retired.  Hastily  did  Gumpelino 
break  the  seal,  and  while  he  read,  his  eyes  and  nose 
gleamed  with  delight;  but  suddenly  a  spectral 
paleness  covered  his  face,  emotion  was  apparent 
in  every  muscle,  and  he  sprang  about  with  gestures 
of  despair,  laughing  grimly,  and  rushed  about  the 
chamber,  exclaiming — 

"  Woe  to  me,  fool  of  fortune  I " 

"  What  is  it  ?  what  is  it  ?  cried  Hyacinth,  with 
a  trembling  voice,  as  he  distractedly  cleaned  away 


THE  BATHS  OF  LUCCA.  195 

at  the  crucifix,  which  he  had  again  taken  up ;  "  are 
we  going  to  make  our  attack  to-night  ? " 

"What  is  the  matter,  Herr  Marquis?"  I  in- 
quired, equally  astonished. 

"  Read !  read  ! "  cried  Gumpelino,  as  he  threw 
towards  us  the  note,  and  again  rushed  despairingly 
about  the  room,his  blue  domino  streaming  behind 
him  like  a  storm-cloud. 

It  was  a  note  from  Lady  Maxfield,  inviting  him 
to  call  on  her  immediately,  stating  that  she  would 
leave  on  the  following  morning  for  England. 

"  Woe  me,  fool  of  fortune  ! "  bewailed  Gumpe- 
lino. "  Love  holds  out  to  me  his  nectar  cup,  and  I, 
alas  !  the  Jack- fool  of  fortune,  have  already  drained 
a  goblet  of  Glauber  salts!  Who  can  get  the 
accursed  stufif  out  of  me  now  ?     Help !  help ! " 

"  No  earthly  living  man  can  help  you  now  ! " 
sighed  Hyacinth. 

"  I  pity  you  from  my  very  heart,"  said  I  con- 
dolingly.  "  To  drain  a  tumbler  of  Glauber  salts 
instead  of  a  goblet  of  nectar  is  bitter ! " 

"  0  Jesus !  0  Jesus ! "  cried  the  Marquis ;  "  I  feel 
it  thrill  through  my  every  vein.  Oh,  true  apothe- 
cary, thy  drugs  are  quick !  but  it  shall  not  hinder 
me.   I  will  hasten  to  her ;  I  will  sink  at  her  feet !' 

"  Don't  be  passionate ! "  replied  Hyacinth. 
"  Don't  go  oflf  into  rhapsodies." 

"  No,  no  I  I  will  hasten  to  her,  and  in  her 
arms Oh,  night  1  oh,  night ! " 


196 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


"  I  tell  you,"  continued  Hyacinth,  with  philo- 
sophical indiflference,  "  that  you  will  find  no  repose 
in  her  arms.  Don't  be  so  passionate.  Your  mind 
plays  into  the  hands  of  Nature.  You  must  endure 
like  a  man  what  your  fate  has  determined.  Maybe 
it's  good  that  it's  come  so,  and  perhaps  it  came  so 
because  it's  good.  Man  is  an  earthly  being,  and 
doesn't  understand  the  ways  of  Divinity.  Folks 
often  think  they're  going  straight  ahead  to  their 
happiness,  and  bad  luck  stands  in  the  way  with  a 
stick;  and  when  a  plain  vulgar  stick  strikes  a 
noble  back,  they  feel  it,  Herr  Marquis ! " 

"  Woe  me !  a  fool  of  fortune ! "  raved  Gum- 
pelino.     But  his  servant  calmly  continued — 

"  A  man  often  expects  a  cupful  of  nectar,  and 
instead  of  it  gets  horse-whip  soup — ^if  the  nectar 
is  sweet,  then  the  horsewhipping  is  all  the  bitterer ; 
and  it  is  really  lucky  that  the  man  who  thrashes 
another  must  tire  out  sooner  or  later,  or  the  fellow 
he  whips  could  never  stand  it.  But  it  is  a  great 
deal  worse  when  bad  luck  with  dagger  and  poison 
hides  in  a  man's  way  to  love,  so  that  his  life's  in 
danger.  Maybe,  Herr  Marquis,  it  is  really  all  right 
that  things  have  gone  as  they  have,  or  perhaps,  who 
knows,  you  might,  while  running  in  the  heat  of 
love,  have  been  met  on  the  way  by  a  little  Italian 
with  a  dirk  six  yards  long,  who  would  have  gone 
slap  at  you,  and  have  stuck  you  (not  to  put  too 
fine  a  point  upon  it)  through  your  calves.     For  a 


THE  BATHS  OF  LUCCA.  197 

man  can't  holler  for  the  watch  here  as  in  Ham- 
burgh, and  there  are  no  policemen  among  the 
Apennines.  Or  maybe,"  continued  the  pitiless 
consoler,  without  paying  the  slightest  attention  to 
the  growing  rage  of  his  master,  "  maybe  when  you 
were  sitting  snug  and  warm  by  Lady  Maxfield, 
the  brother-in-law  would  have  come  rushing  back 
and  clapped  a  pistol  to  your  breast,  and  made 
you  sign  a  bill  of  a  hundred  thousand  marks.  I 
don't  want  to  make  mischief  or  tell  lies — but  I 
say,  suppose  now — only  suppose  that  you  were  a 
good-looking  man,  and  Lady  Maxfield  was  in 
despair  for  fear  she  should  lose  her  beau,  and  was 
jealous — ^like  all  women — for  fear  some  other 
woman  might  get  you  after  she  was  gone,  what 
would  she  do  ?  Why,  she'd  just  take  an  orange 
or  a  lemon  and  put  a  little  white  powder  on  it,  and 
say,  *  Here,  dear,  just  suck  this  and  cool  yourself  off 
a  little ;  you've  got  warm  a-running  so  fast,'  and 
the  next  day  you'd  be  cooled  down  and  no  mistake. 
There  was  a  man  named  Piper,  who  had  a  passional 
attraction  for  a  female  individual  who  was  called 
Trumpet- Angel  Jenny,  and  she  lived  in  the '  Coffee- 
factory,*  and  the  man  by  the  Duck  Pond " 

"  I  wish,  Hirsch,"  screamed  the  Marquis  in  a 
rage,  "  I  wish  that  your  Piper  of  the  Duck- Pond, 
and  his  Trumpet-Angel  of  the  Coffee-Mill,  and 
you  and  your  Sally,  all  had  my  Glauber's  salts 
rammed  down  your  throats  I " 


198 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


"What  would  you  have,  Herr  Gumpel?"  ex- 
claimed Hyacinth,  not  without  heat.  "Was  it 
my  fault  that  Lady  Maxfield's  a-going  away  to- 
morrow and  invited  you  to  come  to-night  ?  Could 
I  know  that  beforehand  ?  Am  I  Aristotle  ?  Have 
I  got  a  situation  in  a  prophecy  office  ?  I  only 
said  that  the  powder  would  work,  and  it  ivill  work, 
just  as  sure  as  I'm  a-going  to  heaven,  and  if  you 
go  running  about  the  room  in  such  a  disparaging 
and  passional  way,  it'll  work  all  the  sooner." 

"  Well,  then,  I'll  sit  down  calmly  on  the  sofa," 
groaned  Gumpelino ;  and,  stamping  on  the  ground, 
he  rolled  in  a  rage  on  the  sofa,  restrained  his 
mood  by  a  mighty  effort,  and  both  servant  and 
master  gazed  long  and  silently  at  each  other,  until 
the  latter  said,  with  a  deep  sigh  and  in  a  whimper- 
ing tone — 

"  But,  Hirsch,  what  will  the  lady  say  if  I  don't 
come  ?  She  waits  for  me,  yes,  lingers  and  trembles 
and  burns  with  love." 

"She  has  a  beautiful  foot,"  said  Hyacinth  to 
himself,  and  sorrowfully  shook  his  little  head. 
But  there  were  mighty  throbs  of  emotion  at  work 
in  his  heart,  and  a  daring  idea  was  working  itself 
out  under  his  scarlet  coat.  I 

"  Herr  Gumpel,"  said  the  words,  as  they  came 
forth,  " send  me ! " 

And  as  he  spoke,  a  deep  blush  stole  over  the 
sallow  business  countenance. 


THE  BATHS  OF  LUCCA.  199 


CHAPTER  X.  -- 

When  Candide  came  to  El  Dorado,  he  saw  several 
boys  in  the  street  who  were  playing  with  nuggets 
of  gold  instead  of  stones.  This  extravagance 
made  him  think  that  they  must  be  royal  children, 
and  he  was  not  a  little  astonished  to  learn  that 
in  El  Dorado  nuggets  of  gold  were  as  valueless  as 
flint-pebbles  with  us,  so  that  the  very  school- 
boys played  with  them.  Something  very  similar 
happened  to  one  of  my  friends,  who,  when  he  first 
came  to  Germany  and  read  German  books,  was 
greatly  amazed  at  the  wealth  of  thought  which  he 
found  in  them,  but  soon  observed  that  thoughts 
are  as  common  in  Germany  as  gold  ingots  in  El 
Dorado,  and  that  many  a  writer  who  seems  to  be  an 
intellectual  prince  is,  after  all,  a  mere  schoolboy.* 
This  reflection  often  occurs  to  me  when  I  am 
about  to  write  down  the  most  admirable  reflections 
on  Art  and  Life.  Then  I  laugh,  and  keep  my 
thoughts  in  my  pen,  or  scribble  in  their  stead  a 
picture  or  a  carpet-pattern  on  the  paper,  persuad- 

^  So  with  wit  and  humour  in  France,  as  with  the  exquisite 
ornaments  in  its  Gothic  architecture.  ( Vide  Introduction  to  the 
Study  of  Oothic  Architecture,  p.  144,  by  J.  H.  Parker.)  We 
are  at  first  struck  by  their  abundance,  but  find  after  a  time  that 
they  are  often  repeated  and  worked  over  into  common  property 
— Note  by  Trandator, 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

ing  myself  that  such  carpets  are  more  useful  in 
Germany — that  intellectual  El  Dorado — than  the 
goldenest  thoughts.  I 

Dear  reader,  I  shall  hring  on  the  carpet  now, 
spreading  out  before  thee,  the  familiar  figures  of 
Gumpelino  and  his  Hirsch-Hyacinth ;  and  if  the 
former  be  painted  with  less  accurate  traits,  I  trust 
that  you  will  be  sharp-witted  enough  to  appreciate 
a  negative  character,  even  if  positive  points  be 
wanting  in  it.  For  he  might  bring  a  suit  for  libel 
against  me,  or  something  even  more  significant. 
For  the  Marquis  is  mighty  with  money  and  many 
friends.  Besides,  he  is  the  natural  ally  of  my 
enemies ;  he  upholds  them  with  subsidies ;  he  is 
an  aristocrat,  an  ultra-papist;  in  fact,  he  only 
wants  one  thing  as  yet  to  be  as  bad  as  possible, 
and  that  one  thing  he  must  soon  learn,  having 
the  book  which  teaches  it  already  in  his  hands, 
as  you  will  perceive  from  my  picture-carpet.     1 

It  was  again  evening.  On  the  table  stood  two 
candelabras  with  lighted  wax-candles,  and  their 
gleam  flashed  on  the  golden  frames  of  the  pictures 
of  saints  hanging  on  the  wall,  and  which,  in  the 
flickering  light  and  wavering  shadow,  seemed 
inspired  with  life.  Without,  before  the  window, 
the  dark  cypress  trees  stood  strangely  motionless 
in  the  silver  moonlight,  while  far  in  the  distance 
resounded  a  sad  hymn  to  the  Virgin,  rising  and 
falling  in  broken  tones,  apparently  the  voice  of 


THE  BATHS  OF  LUCCA. 


a  sick  child.  The  air  within  was  close  and  warm, 
and  the  Marquis  Christophoro  di  Gumpelino  sat, 
or  rather  reclined,  in  aristocratic  indolence  on  the 
cushions  of  the  sofa,  his  noble  though  overheated 
figure  being  again  clad  in  its  blue  silk  domino, 
while  in  his  hands  he  held  a  book  bound  in 
scarlet  morocco  -  paper,  heavily  gilt,  and  from 
which  he  declaimed  in  a  loud  yet  languishing  tone. 
His  eyes  had  that  sticky-pasty  lustre  peculiar 
to  enamoured  tomcats,  and  his  cheeks,  including 
the  side-wings  of  the  nose,  were  pale  as  if  from 
suffering.  Still  this  pallor  admits  of  a  philo- 
sophically anthropological  explanation  if  we  re- 
member that  the  Marquis  had  swallowed  the 
night  before  a  whole  tumbler  of  Glauber  salts. 

Hirsch-Hyacinthus  was  down  on  all  fours  on 
the  floor,  and  with  a  great  piece  of  white  chalk 
was  busy  in  drawing  on  the  brown  tiles  the 
following  characters,  or  something  like  them  :■ — 


202 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


This  business  appeared  to  be  anything  but 
agreeable  to  the  little  man,  for,  puffing  at  every 
stoop,  he  growled  vexedly,  "Spondee,  Trochee, 
Iambus, — I  am  bust! — Pyrr-hic,  Anapest — and 
the  pest ! "  For  the  sake  of  working  more  at  his 
ease,  he  had  taken  ofif  his  red  coat,  and  there  now 
appeared  two  short  modest-looking  legs  in  tight 
scarlet  breeches,  and  somewhat  longer  arms  in 
white  loose  sleeves. 

"  What  curious  figures  are  those  ? "  I  inquired, 
after  watching  his  work  for  a  while. 

"  These  are  feet  the  size  of  life,"  he  groaned  for 
answer,  "  and  I,  wretched  man,  must  keep  these 
feet  in  my  head,  and  my  hands  already  ache  with 
all  the  feet  they've  had  to  write.  These  are  the 
real  true  feet  of  poetry,  and  if  it  wasn't  for  the 
accomplishments  I'm  getting,  I'd  let  the  poetry 
run  with  all  its  feet.  Just  now  I  have  private 
lessons  from  the  Marquis  in  the  poetry  business. 
The  Marquis  reads  the  poem  and  explains  how 
many  feet  there  are  in  it,  and  then  I  must  note 
them  down  and  reckon  up  whether  the  poem  is 
all  right." 

"  You  find  us,"  remarked  the  Marquis  in  didac- 
tically pathetic  tone,  "  engaged  in  a  truly  poetic 
occupation.  I  well  know.  Doctor,  that  you  belong 
to  that  body  of  poets  who  have  ideas  of  their  own, 
and  do  not  perceive  that  in  poetry  the  feet  come 


<*^»» 


THE  BATHS  OF  LUCCA.  ^^         »$. 

first,  and  that  metre  is  the  main  thing ;  but  a  re- 
fined spirit  can  only  express  itself  in  refined 
forms,  and  these  are  only  to  be  learned  from  the 
Greeks,  and  from  those  modern  poets  who  strive  to 
think  like  Greeks,  feel  like  Greeks,  and  bring  their 
feelings  home  in  the  Greek  fashion  to  a  man." 

"To  man,  of  course,  and  not  to  woman,  as  an 
xmclassic,  romantic  poet  is  bound  to  do,"  replied 
my  Insignificance. 

"Herr  Gumpel  talks  now  and  then  like  a 
book,"  whispered  Hyacinth  aside  to  me,  as  he 
contracted  his  thin  lips,  winked  his  little  eyes 
with  delighted  pride,  and  significantly  shook  his 
small  head,  whose  every  motion  was  one  of  won- 
dering amazement.  "I  tell  you,"  he  continued, 
in  somewhat  louder  tones,  "he  talks  sometimes 
like  a  book,  and  then  he's  what  you  might  call  no 
sort  of  a  man  at  all,  but  a  higher  sort  of  being 
and  I  become  regularly  dumb  the  nearer  I  come 
to  him." 

"And  what  have  you  there  in  your  hands?"  I 
inquired  of  the  Marquis. 

"  Gems,"  he  replied  laconically,  holding  out  the 
book. 

At  the  word  "  gems  "  Hyacinth  leaped  up,  but, 
when  he  saw  the  book,  smUed  pityingly.  The 
precious  gem  in  question  had  on  its  title-page  the 
following  words : — 


r>a  .  .A  »4.«.#  Ik  .. . 


aoi 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 
POEMS 

OP 
AUGUST,  COUNT  VON  PLATEN. 

8T0TTOARD  AND   TOBINQEN  : 

PUBLISHSD  BT  J.    0.   OOTTA. 

1828. 


On  the  blank  leaf  was  neatly  written,  "  A  Gift 
of  True  Brotherly  Friendship." 

"  I  haven't  slept  a  wink  all  night,"  he  complained 
to  me.  Fortunately,  I  had  this  glorious  bit  of 
reading  by  me,  and  I  got  from  it  not  only  poetical 
instruction,  but  also  sound  consolation  for  life.  I 
swear,  sir,  by  our  blessed  Lady  of  Loretto,  and 
as  true  as  I'm  an  honourable  man,  that  these 
poems  haven't  their  equal !  You  know  that  I  was 
in  a  state  of  desperation  yesterday  evening — au 
d^se^oir,  as  one  might  say — because  Fate  forbade 
me  to  possess  my  Julia.  Then  I  read  these  poems, 
one  every  time  when  I  had  to  get  up,  and  the 
result  has  been,  that  I  feel  so  indifferent  to  women 
that  my  own  passion  became  repulsive  to  me. 
And  that  is  the  beauty  of  this  poet,  that  he  only 
bums  with  friendship  for  men.  Yes,  he  prefers 
us  to  women;  and  for  this  very  preference  we 
ought  to  be  grateful  to  him.  How  much  greater 
he  is  in  this  than  common  poets!  You  do  not 
find  him   flattering  the  every- day  tastes  of  the 


THE  BATHS  OF  LUCCA.  205 

masses;  he  cures  us  of  that  passion  for  women 
which  causes  us  so  much  suffering.  0  woman! 
woman !  what  a  benefactor  to  his  race  is  that  man 
who  frees  us  from  your  chains !  It  is  an  eternal 
shame  that  Shakespeare  never  applied  his  wonder- 
ful theatrical  talent  to  this  end,  since  he,  as  I 
have  just  found  in  these  poems,  was  inspired 
by  the  same  greatness  of  soul  as  the  great 
Count  Platen,  who  says,  in  his  sonnets  of  Shake- 
speare: 

*  A  maid's  caprices  never  broke  thy  slumbers, 
And  yet  for  Mendship  still  we  see  thee  yearning ; 
From  female  snares  a  friend  thy  steps  is  turning, 
His  beauty  is  thy  care,  and  fires  thy  numbers.'" 

While  the  Marquis  declaimed  these  verses  with 
enthusiasm,  and  while  the  moisture  gathered  on 
his  tongue,  Hyacinth  was  making  a  series  of 
grimaces  which  were  evidently  inspired  by  any- 
thing but  assent,  though  they  appeared  partly  to 
be  those  of  vexation  and  partly  of  affirmation, 
until  he  at  last  exclaimed — 

"  Herr  Marquis,  you  talk  like  a  book,  and  the 
verses  go  out  like  a  purge,  but  I  don't  like  their 
contents.  As  a  man,  I  feel  flattered  that  Count 
Platen  gives  us  the  preference,  but  as  a  friend  to 
women,  I  go  against  such  men.  Such  is  man! 
One  likes  onions,  and  another  has  the  feeling  for 
warm  friendship ;  but  I,  as  an  honest  man,  must 


2o6 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


confess  that  I  prefer  onions,  and  that  a  cross-eyed 
cook-maid  is  more  to  my  taste  than  any  friend 
such  as  your  poet  talks  about.  And,  in  fact,  I 
must  say  that  I,  for  one,  can't  begin  to  see  so 
much  beauty  in  the  male  sex  that  one  can  fall 
in  love  with  it."  I 

Hyacinth  spoke  these  last  words  while  giving 
a  side  squint  at  his  own  reflection  in  the  mirror 
as  though  he  were  the  ideal  pattern  of  manly 
perfection.     But  the  Marquis,  without  suffering 

himself  to  be  disturbed,  read  on — 

'   1- 

"  *  Hope's  foam-built  palaces  may  fall  together ; 
We  strive,  yet  do  not  come  at  all  together  ; 
Melodious  from  thy  mouth  my  name  is  ringing. 
And  yet  my  verse  thou  wilt  not  call  together. 
Like  sun  and  moon  must  we  be  ever  parted. 
That  use  and  custom  may  be  all  together  ? 
Oh,  lean  thine  head  on  mine,  for  sweet  in  union 
Thy  dark  locks  and  my  light  ones  fall  together ; 
But  ah  !  I  dream,  for  lo  I  see  thee  parting 
Ere  joy  has  found  us  in  one  thrall  together  ; 
Our  souls  are  bleeding  since  our  forms  are  parted, 
Would  we  were  flowers,  oft  bound  and  all  together  ! ' " 


"  Queer  poetry  that ! "  exclaimed  Hyacinth,  as 
he  re-echoed  the  rhymes :  " '  Use  and  custom  all 
together,'  '  thrall  together,'  and  '  fall  together  I ' 
Queer  poetry!  I've  got  a  brother-in-law  who, 
when  he  reads  poetry,  often  for  fun  puts  *  from 
before '  and  '  from  behind  *  in  turn  at  the  end  of 


THE  BATHS  OF  LUCCA.  207 

every  other  verse,  but  I  declare  I  never  knew  that 
the  poems  he  made  up  that  way  ought  to  be  called 
*  gazelles.'  I  must  try  myself  and  see  whether  the 
verses  which  the  Marquis  has  just  declaimed  won't 
be  improved  by  putting  *  from  before' and  'from 
behind 'in  turn  after  the 'together.'  Depend  upon 
it  they'll  be  twenty  per  cent,  stronger!" 

Without  attending  to  this  speech,  the  Marquis 
drove  ahead  in  his  declamation  of  "  gazelles  "  and 
sonnets,  in  which  the  loving  one  sings  his  "friend 
of  beauty,"  praises  him,  wails  over  him,  accuses 
him  of  indifference,  devises  plans  to  attain  him, 
ogles  him,  is  jealous  of  him,  languishes  for  him, 
fondles  through  a  whole  scale  of  love-tones  with 
him,  and  that  so  meltingly,  amorously,  and  lecher- 
ously,  that  the  reader  would  suppose  that  the 
poet  were  a  maiden  suffering  with  nymphomania. 
One  thing,  however,  must  seem  to  him  to  a  cer- 
tain degree  extraordinary,  that  this  maiden  is 
always  complaining  that  her  love  is  contrary  to 
the  usual  manner  or  "  custom ;"  that  she  cherishes 
as  intense  a  hatred  of  this  "custom  which  parts" 
as  a  pickpocket  could  against  the  police ;  that  in 
her  love  she  would  fain  embrace  "the  limbs"  of  I     ' 

her  friend ;  that  she  laments  dolefully  over  envious 
wretches  who  cunningly  part  us,  "  to  hinder  us  and 
keep  us  ever  parted;"  that  she  bewails  annoying 
personal  afiflictions  on  the  part  of  her  friend;  that 
she  assures  him  that  she  will  only  casually  glance 


2o8 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


at  him ;  that  she  protests  that  "  no  single  syllable 
shall  shock  thine  ear,"  and  finally  confesses,  that 

"  My  wish  in  others  but  gave  birth  to  strife ; 
Thou  hast  not  granted  it,  but  oh  1  as  yet 
Thou  hast  not  said  me  nay,  oh  my  sweet  life  ! " 

I  must  do  the  Marquis  the  justice  to  admit, 
that  he  declaimed  these  verses  well,  sighed  at 
full  length  in  repeating  them,  and  groaned  while 
Hyacinth  continued  to  babble  the  verses  after 
him,  not  omitting  to  interweave  with  them  his 
own  original  chatter.  He  honoured  the  odes  with 
the  most  attention.  "  There's  a  heap  more  to  be 
learned,"  quoth  he,  "  from  this  sort  of  poetry  than 
from  your  sonnets  and  gazelles ;  for  in  the  odes 
the  feet  are  set  down  all  fair  and  square,  and  a 
man  can  count  up  every  poem  nice  and  easy. 
Every  poet  ought  to  do  in  his  hardest  poetry- 
verses  like  Count  Platen — that  is,  set  it  down 
with  the  feet  up,  and  say  to  folks, '  See  here !  I'm 
an  honourable  man,  one  of  the  kind  that  don't 
cheat.  The  straight  and  crooked  marks  which  I 
put  before  every  poem  are  what  you  may  call 
the  counter-feet^  of  it,  and  you  may  reckon  up 
for  yourself  the  trouble  it  all  cost  me.  In  fact, 
they're  a  kind  of  yard-stick  for  every  poem ;  take 
it  and  measure  'em  with  it,  and  if  you  find  I 
cheat  you  out  of  a  single  syllable,  why  then  call 


Conto-finto,  a  simulated  account. 


THE  BATHS  OF  LUCCA.  209 

me  a  d d  rascal — that's  all ! '    But  then  the 

public  may  be  taken  in  just  by  the  honourable 
face  he  puts  on  it.  When  the  feet  are  all  set 
down  so  honest-looking  and  plain,  the  reader'll 
say,  'Well,  I'm  not  going  to  be  one  of  your 
suspicious  sort ;  what's  the  use  of  counting  after 
the  man.  I  daresay  it's  all  right  ;  I  ain't  a-going 
to  do  it ! '  And  he  dorCt  do  it — and  gets  cheated. 
And  who  can  always  count  'em  up  ?  Now  we're 
in  Italy,  and  I've  got  time  to  write  the  feet  on 
the  ground  with  chalk,  and  collationate  every  ode. 
But  in  Hamburgh,  where  I've  my  business  to 
attend  to,  I've  no  time  for  it,  and  must  take  Count 
Platen  without  calling  him  to  an  account,  just  as 
a  man  takes  the  bags  of  money  from  the  treasury 
with  the  number  of  the  dollars  they  hold,  written 
on  'em.  They  go  about,  sealed  up,  from  one  man 
to  another,  everybody  takes  it  for  granted  that 
they  hold  as  much  as  the  number  says ;  and  yet 
it  lias  happened  that  a  man  who  didn't  have 
much  to  do  has  opened  one  and  counted  the 
specie,  and  found  it  ran  short  a  few  dollars.  And 
there  may  be  just  the  same  sort  of  swindling  in 
poetry.  Particularly  do  I  mistrust  when  I  think 
of  bags  of  money.  For  my  own  brother-in-law 
has  told  me  that  in  the  House  of  Correction  at 
Odensee  they've  got  a  fellow  who  had  some  sort 
of  a  situation  in  the  Post  Ofi&ce,  and  who  opened 
the  specie-bags  that  went  through  his  hands,  and 
VOL.  n.  o 


210 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


then  sewed  *em  up  again  and  forwarded  'em. 
When  one  hears  of  such  rascality,  he  loses  his 
trust  in  fellow-mortals,  and  gets  to  be  a  mistrust- 
ful man.  There's  ever  so  much  rascality  in  this 
world,  and  I  suppose  it's  the  same  in  the  poetry 
business  as  in  any  other." 

"Honesty,"  continued  Hyacinth,  while  the 
Marquis  declaimed  on,  all  absorbed  in  feeling 
and  without  attending  to  us, — "  Honesty,  Doctor,  is 
the  correct  thing,  and  a  man  who  isn't  honest  I 
consider  as  a  scamp,  and  when  I  consider  a  man  as 
a  scamp,  I'll  buy  nothing  from  him,  read  nothing 
of  his — in  short,  devil  the  bit  of  business  of  any 
sort  will  I  do  with  him.  I'm  a  man,  Doctor,  who 
don't  set  myself  up  on  anything,  but  if  there's  any- 
thing I  would  set  myself  up  on,  it  would  be  on 
doing  the  correct  thing.  If  you've  no  objection, 
I'd  like  to  tell  you  of  a  noble  trait  in  my  char- 
acter, and  you'll  be  astonished  at  it.  I  tell  you 
you'll  be  astonished  as  sure  as  I'm  an  honourable 
man.  There's  a  man  lives  in  the  Spear  Place  in 
Hamburgh,  and  he's  a  greengrocer,  and  his  name's 
Blocky — that  is  to  say,  I  say  that  his  name's 
Blocky,  because  we're  good  friends,  for  his  real 
name  is  Block.^  And  his  wife  of  course  is  Madam 
Block,  and  she  never  could  bear  that  her  husband 
should  buy  lottery  tickets  of  me,  and  when  he  did, 
I  didn't  dare  to  go  to  his  house  with  'em.     So 


^  Klotz,  log,  block,  stump ;  a  blockhead. 


THE  BATHS  OF  LUCCA.  211 

he  used  to  tell  me  in  the  street,  '  I  want  this  or 
that  number,  and  here's  the  money,  Hirsch ! ' 
And  I'd  say,  *  All  right,  Blocky  ! '  And  when  I 
got  home,  I  used  to  lay  the  number  he'd  taken 
apart  for  him  under  cover,  and  write  on  it  in 
German  hand,  'On  account  of  Herr  Christian 
Hinrich  Block.'  And  now  just  listen  and  be 
astonished.  It  was  a  fine  spring  day,  and  the 
trees  round  the  Exchange  were  all  green,  and  the 
zephyr  airs  were  nice,  and  the  sun  shone  in  the 
heaven,  and  I  stood  by  the  Bank  of  Hamburgh. 
And  then  Blocky — my  Blocky,  you  know — came 
walking  along  with  fat  Mrs.  Blocky  on  his  arm, 
and  was  the  first  to  speak  to  me,  and  spoke  of 
the  Lord's  splendid  spring,  and  made  some  patriotic 
remarks  on  the  town-guard,  and  asked  me  how 
business  was,  and  I  told  him  that  a  little  while 
before  there'd  been  a  chap  in  the  piUory,  and  so 
as  we  talked  he  told  me  that  the  night  before 
he'd  dreamed  that  number  1538  had  drawn  the 
grand  prize;  and  just  at  that  instant,  while 
Madam  Block  was  looking  at  the  statutes  ^  of  the 
Emperors  before  the  town-hall,  he  put  thirteen 
louis-d'ors,  full  weight,  into  my  hand.  Lord !  it 
seems  to  me  that  I  can  feel  them  now ;  and  before 
Madam  could  turn  around  I  said,  'All  right, 
Blocky ! '  and  went  away.     And  I  went  at  once, 

^  Kaitentatitten. 


212 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL 


without  stopping,  to  the  head  office,  and  got 
number  1538,  and  covered  it  up  as  soon  as  I  was 
home,  and  wrote  on  the  cover,  'On  account  of 
Herr  Christian  Hinrich  Block/  And  what  did 
the  Lord  do  ?  Fourteen  days  later,  to  try  my 
honesty,  he  let  number  1538  turn  up  a  prize  of 
fifty  thousand  marks.  And  what  did  Hirsch  then 
do,  the  same  Hirsch  who  now  stands  before  you  ? 
This  Hirsch  put  on  a  clean  white  shirt  and  a 
clean  white  cravat,  and  took  a  hackney-coach  and 
went  to  the  head  office,  and  drew  his  fifty  thou- 
sand marks  and  rode  with  'em  to  the  Spear  Placa 
And  when  Blocky  saw  me  he  says,  '  Hirsch,  what 
are  you  dressed  up  so  fine  for  to-day  ? '  I,  how- 
ever, didn't  answer  a  word,  but  set  a  great  aston- 
ishing bag  of  gold  on  the  table,  and  said,  right 
cheerful  and  jolly, '  Herr  Christian  Hinrich  Block ! 
number  1538,  which  you  were  so  kind  as  to  order 
of  me,  has  been  so  lucky  as  to  draw  fifty  thousand 
marks.  I  have  the  honour  to  present  you  that 
same  money  in  this  bag,  and  take  the  liberty  of 
begging  a  receipt  for  the  amount.'  When  Blocky 
heard  t?iat,  he  began  to  cry ;  when  Madame  Block 
heard  it,  she  cried;  the  fat  red  servant-girl  cried; 
the  crooked  shop-boy  cried;  the  children  cried; 
and  I,  a  man  of  feelings  as  I  am,  couldn't  cry  at 
all,  but  fainted  dead  away,  and  it  wasn't  till  I 
came  to  that  the  tears  came  into  my  eyes  like 
a  river,  and  I  cried  for  three  hours ! "  1 


THE  BATHS  OF  LUCCA.  .'',^'0$ 

The  voice  of  the  little  man  quivered  as  he  told 
this  story,  and  with  an  air  of  joy  he  drew  from 
his  pocket  the  packet  I  have  already  spoken  of, 
unrolled  the  faded  rose  silk,  and  showed  me  the 
document  in  which  Herr  Christian  Hinrich  Block 
acknowledged  the  receipt  of  fifty  thousand  marks. 
"  When  I  die,"  said  Hyacinth  with  a  tear  in  his 
eye,  "  this  receipt  must  be  buried  with  me,  and  on 
the  judgment-day,  when  I  must  give  an  account 
of  all  my  deeds,  then  I  will  go  with  this  receipt 
in  my  hand  before  the  throne  of  the  Lord,  and 
when  my  evil  angel  has  read  off  the  list  of  all 
the  evil  deeds  I've  been  guilty  of,  and  my  good 
angel  has  read  off  in  turn  all  my  good  deeds,  I'll 
say,  calm  and  easy,  'Be  quiet!  all  I  want  to 
know  is  if  this  receipt  is  correct? — is  that  the 
handwriting  of  Herr  Christian  Hinrich  Block?' 
Then  a  little  angel  will  come  flying  up,  and  he'll 
say  that  he  knows  Block's  hand  perfectly  well, 
and  he'll  tell  the  whole  story  of  the  honourable 
business  I  carried  through.  And  the  Creator  of 
Eternity,  the  Almighty,  who  knows  all  things  will 
remember  it  all,  and  he  will  praise  me  before  the 
sun,  moon,  and  stars,  and  reckon  up  at  once  in  his 
head  that  if  the  value  of  my  evil  deeds  be  sub- 
tracted from  fifty  thousand  marks,  that  there'll 
remain  a  balance  to  my  account,  and  he'll  say, 
'Hirsch,  you  are  appointed  an  angel  of  the  first  class, 
and  may  wear  wings  with  white  and  red  feathers.'" 


314 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


CHAPTER  XL 


Who  is,  then,  the  Count  Platen,  whom  we  have 
in  the  previous  chapter  learned  to  know  as  a  poet 
and  warm  friend  ?  Ah !  dear  reader,  I  have  been 
reading  that  very  question  for  a  long  time  in  your 
countenance,  and  it  is  with  a  trembling  heart  that 
I  set  about  answering  it.  The  worst  thinsj  with 
German  authors  is,  that  whenever  they  show  up 
a  fool,  they  must  beforehand  set  him  forth  in  full 
by  means  of  wearisome  descriptions  of  character 
and  personal  peculiarities,  firstly,  that  the  reader 
may  know  of  his  existence,  and  secondly,  that 
they  may  understand  how,  where,  and  when  the 
lash  cuts — before  or  behind.  It  was  a  different 
matter  with  the  ancients,  and  it  is  still  different 
with  some  modern  nations,  for  instance,  the  English 
and  French,  who  have  a  public  life,  and,  in  con- 
sequence, public  characters.  We  Germans,  on  the 
contrary,  though  we  have  a  foolish  enough  public, 
have  very  few  fools  distinguished  enough  to  be 
generally  recognised  as  '  characters/  when  used  in 
prose  or  in  verse.  The  few  men  of  this  mould 
whom  we  possess  are  perfectly  justifiable  in  giving 
themselves  airs  of  importance.  They  are  of  in- 
estimable value,  and  are  entitled  to  the  highest 


THE  BATHS  OF  LUCCA.  215 

claim  to  our  consideration.  For  instance,  the 
Herr  Privy  Counsellor  Schmaltz,  professor  at  the 
University  of  Berlin,  is  a  man  worth  his  weight 
in  gold ;  a  humorous  writer  could  never  do  with- 
out him,  and  he  himself  is  so  perfectly  conscious 
of  his  personal  importance  and  needfulness  that 
he  loses  no  opportunity  to  supply  such  writers 
with  material  for  satire.  For  this  purpose,  there- 
fore, he  labours  night  and  day,  either  as  statesman, 
civil  villain,  or  civilian,^  deacon,  anti-Hegelian, 
and  patriot,  to  make  himself  as  ridiculous  as 
possible,  and  thus  advance  that  literature  for  which 
he  sacrifices  himself.  And  therefore  the  German 
universities  deserve  great  praise,  since  they  supply 
us  with  more  fools  than  any  other  trade-unions, 
especially  Gottingen,  which  I  have  never  failed 
to  appreciate,  so  far  as  this  point  is  concerned. 
This  is  the  true  and  secret  reason  why  I  have 
always  boldly  advocated  the  maintenance  of  the 
universities,  even  while  preaching  freedom  of 
exercising  a  trade,  and  recommending  the  aboli- 
tion of  the  guilds.  When  fools  of  note  are  thus 
wanting,  the  world  cannot  be  too  grateful  to  me 
should  I  bring  out  a  few  new  ones  and  render 
them  available.  For  the  advancement  of  litera- 
ture, I  will  therefore  now  speak  more  in  detail  of 


^  ServUist  in  the  original,  which  I  presume  to  be  a  Rabelaisian 
■twist"  of  the  word  Civilist. — Note  by  Translator. 


2l6 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


Count  August  von  Platen  Hallermunde.  I  will 
80  arrange  it  that  he  may  be  made  well  enough 
known  to  be  useful,  and  to  a  certain  degree  cele- 
brated, giving  him,  as  it  were,  a  literary  fattening, 
as  the  Iroquois  are  said  to  do  with  prisoners  who 
are  subsequently  devoured  at  their  festivals.  In 
this  business  I  shall  act  with  all  due  honour  and 
courtesy,  as  a  good  citizen  should,  touching  on 
the  material  or  so-called  personal  interests  only 
so  far  as  they  are  needed  to  throw  light  upon 
spiritual  phenomena,  always  giving  the  point  of 
view  from  which  I  regarded  him,  and  not  un- 
frequently  exhibiting  the  spectacles  wherewith  I 
took  my  peep. 

The  point  of  view  from  which  I  first  beheld 
Count  Platen  was  Munich,  the  scene  of  those 
efforts  which  rendered  him  very  celebrated  among 
his  acquaintances,  and  where  he  will  unques- 
tionably be  immortal,  so  long  as  he  lives.  The 
spectacles  with  which  I  saw  him  belonged  to  cer- 
tain inhabitants  of  the  city,  who,  in  their  merry 
moments,  occasionally  indulged  in  merry  remarks 
relative  to  his  personal  appearance.  I  have  never 
seen  him  myself,  and  when  I  have  a  fancy  to 
imagine  him,  I  recall  the  droll  rage  with  which 
my  friend  Doctor  Lautenbacher  attacked  poetic 
folly  in  general,  and  particularly  that  of  a  certain 
Count  Platen,  who,  with  a  wreath  of  laurel  on  his 
brow,  stood — in   the  way   of  passers-by — in  an 


THE  BATHS  OP  LUCCA,  r-:     m^ 

attitude  of  poetic  inspiration  on  the  public  prome- 
nade at  Erlangen,  staring,  with  spectacled  nose,  up 
at  heaven.  Others  have  spoken  better  of  the 
poor  Count,  lamenting  only  his  straitened  circum- 
stances, which,  as  he  was  very  ambitious  of  honour, 
compelled  him  to  extraordinary  industry,  and 
thus  at  least  gave  him  distinction  as  a  poet. 
Such  stories,  of  course,  moved  my  pity  to  a  cer- 
tain extent,  although  I  found  that  his  failures  in 
the  art  of  pleasing  were  very  natural. 

In  vain  the  poor  Count  declared  that  he  was 
destined  to  become  the  greatest  of  poets ;  that  the 
shadow  of  the  laurel  was  already  visible  on  his 
brow,  and  that  he  could  also  make  others  immor- 
tal in  poems  which  would  live  for  ever.  Alas ! 
even  this  celebrity  was  not  acceptable  to  any 
one,  nor  was  it,  in  fact,  a  thing  to  be  particularly 
desired.  So  far  as  I  am  concerned,  dear  reader, 
I  am  not  so  malicious  as  you  think ;  I  pity  the 
poor  Count,  and  when  others  mock  him,  I  doubt 
whether  he  has  ever  practically  revenged  himself 
on  the  hated  "  custom  "  spoken  of,  although  in  his 
songs  he  sighs  for  such  revenge;  no,  I  rather 
believe  in  the  repulsive  afflictions,  injurious  dis- 
regard, and  rejections  of  which  he  sings  so  plain- 
tively. I  believe,  in  fact,  that  he  acted  towards 
morality  in  a  far  more  laudable  manner  than  he 
was  desirous  of  doing,  and  it  is  possible  that 
he  can  boast,  with  General  Tilly, "  I  was  never 


2l8 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


intoxicated,  never  touched  a  woman,  and  never 
lost  a  battle."  It  was,  beyond  question,  for  this 
that  the  poet  says  of  himself — 

"  Thou  art  a  sober  and  a  modest  youth  * 

The  poor  youth,  or  rather  the  poor  old  youth, 
for  he  had  several  lustrums  behind  him,  once 
squatted,  unless  I  err,  at  the  University  of  Erlan- 
gen,  where  some  sort  of  occupation  had  been 
allotted  him,  but  as  this  was  insufficient  for  his 
soaring  spirit,  since  with  his  increasing  lustrums 
he  lusted  with  greater  lustiness  for  illustrious 
lustre,  and  as  he  day  by  day  felt  himself  more 
inspired  with  his  future  glory,  he  gave  up  his 
business,  being  determined  to  live  by  writing,  by 
gifts  from  heaven  whenever  they  might  turn  up, 
and  by  similar  earnings.  For  the  county  of  the 
Count  is  unfortunately  situated  in  the  moon, 
and,  owing  to  the  bad  state  of  the  roads  which 
communicate  with  Bavaria,  will  not  (according 
to  Gruithuisen's  calculation)  be  attainable  until 
20,000  years  have  elapsed,  after  which  time,  when 
that  planet  approaches  the  earth,  he  will  be  able 
to  draw  from  it  his  enormous  revenues.         -] 

At  an  earlier  period  Don  Platen  de  Colibrados 
Hallermunde  had  published  by  Brockhaus  in 
Leipzig  a  collection  of  poems  with  the  title  of 
Lyrical  Leaves,  No.  Z,  which  of  course  met  with 
no  success,  although  he  assured  us  in  the  preface 


THE  BATHS  OF  LUCCA.  Iilt9 

that  the  Seven  Wise  Men  had  lavished  their  praise 
on  the  author.  At  a  later  date  he  wrote,  in  Tieck's 
style,  several  dramatic  legends  and  stories,  which 
also  had  the  fortune  to  remain  hidden  from  the 
ignorant  multitude,  and  were  only  read  by  the 
Seven  Wise  Men.  In  order  to  get  a  few  more 
readers,  the  Count  applied  himself  to  controversy, 
and  wrote  a  satire  against  eminent  writers,  espe- 
cially against  Milliner,  who  was  already  univer- 
sally hated  and  morally  overthrown,  so  that  the 
Count  came  just  in  the  nick  of  time  to  give  the 
dead  Court  Counsellor  Oerindur  another  coup  de 
grdce;  not  gracefully,  however,  in  the  head,  but 
very  awkwardly,  in  the  Falstaflfian  manner,  in  the 
thigh.  A  dislike  of  Milliner  inspired  every  noble 
heart ;  the  attack  of  the  Count  "  took,"  and  "  The 
Mysterious  and  Terrible  Fork  "  met  here  and  there 
with  a  kindly  reception ;  not  from  the  public  at 
large,  but  among  literati  and  the  regular  school- 
people;  the  latter  being  pleased  with  the  satire 
because  it  was  not  an  imitation  of  the  romantic 
Tieck,  but  of  the  classic  Aristophanes. 

I  believe  that  it  was  about  this  time  that  the 
Count  travelled  to  Italy,  no  longer  entertaining  a 
doubt  but  that  he  would  be  able  to  live  by  his 
poetry.  Cotta  had  indeed  paid  him  the  common 
prosaic  honour  to  pay  him  money  for  his  bill  for 
poetry ;  for  Poetry,  the  nobly-born,  never  has  any 
money  herself,  and  when  in  difficulties  always 


t^'jV'., ^-.. 


220  PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 

goes  to  Cotta.  Now  the  Count  versified  day  and 
night ;  he  no  longer  copied  the  patterns  of  Tieck 
and  of  Aristophanes,  but  imitated  first  Goethe 
in  ballads,  then  Horace  in  odes,  then  Petrarch 
in  sonnets,  then  Hafiz  in  Persian  gazelles;  in 
short,  he  gave  us,  such  as  it  was,  a  selection  of 
flowers  of  the  best  poets,  and  with  it  his  own 
lyrical  leaves,  under  the  title  of  "  Poems  of  Count 
Platen,  &c." 

No  one  in  Germany  is  so  indulgent  as  I  towards 
poetic  productions,  and  I  am  willing  from  my  very 
soul  that  a  poor  devil  like  Platen  should  enjoy 
his  bit  of  celebrity  which  he  has  so  bitterly  earned 
by  the  sweat  of  his  brow;  and  no  one  is  more 
willing  to  praise  his  industry,  his  efforts  and  his 
poetry,  or  to  recognise  his  metrical  merits.  My 
own  efforts  enable  me  better  than  another  to 
appreciate  those  merits.  The  bitter  labour,  the 
indescribable  perseverance,  the  chattering  of  teeth 
through  weary  winter  nights,  the  restrained  anger 
at  a  fruitless  straining  for  effect,  is  far  more  appa- 
rent to  one  of  us  than  to  the  ordinary  reader  who 
supposes  that  the  smoothness,  neatness,  and  polish 
of  the  Count's  verses  are  the  effect  of  ease,  and 
who  thanklessly  enjoys  himself  over  the  glittering 
play  of  words,  just  as  spectators  at  the  feats  of 
circus  artistes,  when  they  behold  the  latter  dancing 
on  ropes,  hopping  among  eggs,  or  standing  on  their 
heads,  never  reflect  that  the  poor  fellows  have 


THE  BATHS  OF  LUCCA, 

acquired  this  pliancy  of  limb  and  poetry  of  motion 
only  by  long  years  of  hard  work  and  bitter  hunger. 
I,  who  have  never  worried  myself  so  much  in 
poetry,  and  who  have  always  exercised  it  in  com- 
pany with  good  eating,  esteem  poor  Platen  all  the 
more,  since  his  experiences  have  been  of  such  a 
sour  and  sober  nature ;  I  will  boast  for  him  that 
no  literary  rope-dancer  in  Europe  can  balance  so 
well  as  he  on  slack  gazelles,  that  no  one  can 
perform  so  well  as  he  such  an  egg-dance  as 


and  that  no  one  can  stand  so  well  on  his  head. 
If  the  Muses  are  not  complaisant  to  him,  he  at 
least  has  the  genius  of  our  language  in  his  power, 
or  knows  how  to  clothe  it  with  power.  As  for 
winning  the  willing  love  of  the  genius,  it  is  beyond 
his  power ;  he  must  perseveringly  run  after  this 
youtii  as  after  others,  and  his  utmost  ability  is  to 
catch  the  outward  form,  which,  despite  its  beauti- 
ful contour,  never  speaks  to  our  souL  Never  did 
the  deep  tones  of  Nature,  as  we  find  them  in  popu- 
lar song  among  children  and  other  true  poets, 
burst  from  the  soul  of  Platen,  or  bloom  forth  like 
an  apocalypse  from  it,  and  the  desperate  effort 
which  he  is  obliged  to  make  in  order  to  say  some- 
thing he  calls  a  "great  deed  in  words,"  for  so  utterly 


222 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


unfamiliar  is  he  with  the  true  spirit  of  poetry,  that 
he  does  not  know  that  the  successful  m£istery  of 
words  can  only  be  a  great  deed  for  the  rhetorician ;  * 
for  the  true  poet  it  should  be  a  natural  occurrence. 
Unlike  the  true  poet,  language  was  never  yet  his 
master.  On  the  contrary,  he  has  become  master 
of  it,  playing  on  it  as  a  virtuoso  plays  on  an 
instrument.  The  more  he  advanced  in  this 
mechanical  facility,  the  higher  opinion  did  he 
form  of  his  own  powers  of  performance.  He 
learned  how  to  play  in  every  manner  and  metre ; 
he  versified  even  the  most  difficult  passages,  often 
poetising,  so  to  speak,  on  the  G  string,  and  was 
vexed  when  the  public  did  not  applaud.  Like  all 
virtuosi  who  have  developed  this  sort  of  single- 
string  talent,  he  only  exerted  himself  for  applause, 
regarding  with  anger  the  celebrity  of  others.  He 
envied  his  colleagues  all  that  they  gained,  as,  for 
instance,  when  he  fired  five-act  pasquinades  at 
Clauren  at  a  time  when  he  could  not  attract  more 
than  a  mere  poetic  squib  at  himself ;  he  laid  a 
strong  hand  on  every  review  in  which  others  were 
praised,  and  cried  without  ceasing,  "I  am  not 
sufficiently  praised,  I  am  not  sufficiently  praised. 


^  It  may  here  be  observed  that  it  is  chiefly  for  this  mastery 
of  words,  and  of  "the  genius  of  language,"  which  he  himself 
considered  as  such  a  trifle,  that  Heine  has  been  so  greatly 
exalted  in  England.  Hence  the  cry  that  he  is  not  translatable. 
But  thought  is  always  translatable. — Note  by  Tratidator, 


THE  BATHS  OF  LUCCA.  ^       i|| 

for  I  am  the  poet,  the  poet  of  poets,"  &a  Such  a 
hunger  and  thirst  for  praise  and  for  alms  was 
never  yet  shown  by  a  true  poet — by  Klopstock  or 
by  Goethe,  to  whose  companionship  Count  Platen 
has  appointed  himself,  although  any  one  can  see 
that  he  justly  forms  a  triumvirate  only  with  Aug. 
Wilhelm  von  Schlegel,  and  perhaps  with  Eamler. 
"  The  great  Eamler,"  as  he  was  called  in  his  own 
time,  when  he,  without  a  laurel  crown,  it  is  true, 
but  with  all  the  greater  cue  and  hair-bag,  with 
his  eyes  raised  to  heaven,  and  with  a  canvas 
umbrella  under  his  arm,  wandered  scanning  about 
in  the  Berlin  Thiergarten^  believed  himself  to  be 
the  representative  of  poetry  on  earth.  His  verses 
were  the  most  perfect  in  the  German  language, 
and  his  adorers,  among  whom  even  a  Lessing 
went  astray,  believed  that  poetry  could  go  no 
further.  Such,  at  a  late  date,  was  almost  the 
case  with  Aug.  Wilhelm  von  Schlegel,  whose 
poetical  insufficiency  became  manifest  as  the  lan- 
guage was  more  fully  developed,  so  that  many 
who  once  looked  upon  the  singer  of  Arion  as  an 
Arion  himself,  now  regard  him  merely  as  a  school- 
master of  some  ability.  But  whether  Count  Platen 
is  as  yet  qualified  to  laugh  at  the  otherwise  really 
great  Schlegel,  as  the  latter  once  laughed  at 
Bamler,  I  cannot  take  it  on  me  to  say.  But  this 
I  do  know,  that  they  are  all  three  on  a  par  in 
poetry,  and  though  Count  Platen  in  his  gazelles 


2Z4 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


displays  ever  so  exquisitely  his  juggling  arts  of 
balance,  though  he  executes  his  egg-dance  ever  so 
admirably,  and  if  he  in  his  plays  even  stands  on 
his  head,  he  is  not  for  all  that  a  poet  Severe 
critics,  who  wear  first-class  spectacles,  add  their 
voice  to  this  verdict,  or  express  themselves  with 
more  laconic  significance.  I 

Everywhere  in  Platen's  poems  we  see  the 
ostrich,  which  only  hides  its  head,  the  vain,  weak 
bird,  which  has  the  most  beautiful  plumage,  and 
yet  cannot  fly;  and  which,  ever  quarrelsome, 
stumbles  along  over  the  polemic  sandy  desert  of 
literature.  With  his  fine  feathers,  without  the 
power  to  soar,  with  his  fine  verse,  without  poetic 
flight,  he  is  the  very  opposite  to  that  eagle  of  song 
who,  with  less  brilliant  wings,  still  rises  to  the 
sun.  I  must  return  to  my  old  refrain;  Count 
Platen  is  no  poet.  I  : 

Two  things  are  required  of  every  poet:  that 
there  should  be  natural  tones  in  his  Ijnnc  poems, 
and  characters  in  his  epic  or  dramatic  produc- 
tions. If  he  cannot  legitimately  establish  himself 
on  these  points,  he  must  lose  his  title  as  poet, 
although  all  his  other  family  papers  and  diplomas 
of  nobility  are  in  perfect  order.  I  have  no  doubt 
that  the  last  is  the  case  with  Count  Platen,  and  I 
am  convinced  that  he  would  only  deign  a  smile  of 
pitying  sorrow  to  any  one  who  should  attempt  to 
cast  doubt  on  his  title  as  Count.     But  dare  to  so 


;,        -^'"' 


THE  BATHS  OP  LUCCA.  --.MS 

mncli  as  level  a  couplet  at  his  poetic  title,  and  he 
will  at  once  set  himself  down  and  publish  five-act 
satires  against  you.  For  the  more  dubious  and  un- 
certain their  title  to  an  honour  may  be,  the  more 
earnestly  do  men  hold  to  it.  Perhaps  Count  Platen 
would  have  been  a  poet  had  he  lived  in  another 
age,  and  had  he  been,  moreover,  somebody  else. 
The  want  of  natural  chords  in  the  poems  of  the 
Count  is  the  more  touching  from  the  fact  that  he 
lives  in  an  age  when  he  dare  not  so  much  as  name 
his  real  feelings,  when  the  current  morality  which 
is  so  directly  opposed  to  his  love,  even  forbids  him 
to  openly  express  his  sorrows,  and  when  he  must 
anxiously  and  painfully  disguise  every  sentiment 
for  fear  of  offending  by  so  much  as  a  single  syllable 
the  ear  of  the  public  as  well  as  that  of  the  "  dis- 
dainful and  beautiful  one."  This  constant  fear 
suppresses  every  natural  chord  in  him — ^it  con- 
demns him  to  metrically  labour  away  at  the 
feelings  of  other  poets  which  have  abeady  passed 
muster  as  acceptable,  and  which  must  of  necessity 
be  used  to  cloak  his  own  conceptions.  It  may  be 
that  wrong  is  done  him  when  those  who  under- 
stand such  unfortunate  situations  assert  that 
Count  Platen  is  desirous  of  showing  himself  as 
Count  in  poetry  and  of  holding  in  it  to  his 
nobility,  and  that  he  consequently  only  expresses 
the  fe^ngs  of  such  well-known  families  as  have 
their  sixty-four  descents.  Had  he  lived  in  the 
VOL.  n.  P 


226 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


days  of  the  Koman  Pythagoras,  it  may  be  that  he 
would  have  expressed  these  feelings  more  openly 
and  perhaps  have  passed  for  a  true  poet.  Then 
natural  chords  at  least  would  not  have  been 
missed  in  his  lyric  poems — albeit  the  want  of 
characters  in  his  dramas  must  ever  have  re- 
mained, at  least  until  he  changed  his  physical 
nature  and  became  an  altogether  di£ferent  man. 
The  forms  of  which  I  speak  are  those  indepen- 
dent creatures  which  spring  perfect  and  fully 
armed  from  the  creative  power  of  the  poet,  as 
Pallas  Athene  sprang  from  the  head  of  Kronion 
— ^living  dream-forms  whose  mystic  birth  stands, 
far  more  than  is  imagined,  in  active  relation  with 
the  mental  and  moral  nature  of  the  poet — a 
spiritual  production  denied  to  the  one  who,  a 
mere  fruitless  creature,  vanishes  gazelle-like  in 
his  windy  weakness.  I 

These  are,  however,  after  all,  only  the  private 
opinions  of  a  poet,  and  their  importance  depends 
on  the  degree  of  credit  which  is  accorded  them. 
But  I  cannot  avoid  mentioning  that  Count  Platen 
has  often  assured  the  public  that  in  days  as  yet 
to  come  he  will  compose  the  most  remarkable 
poetry,  of  which  no  one  has  as  yet  even  a  pre- 
sentiment; yes,  and  that  he  will  publish  Iliads 
and  Odysseys  and  classic  tragedies,  and  similar 
immortally  colossal  poems,  after  he  has  toiled  so 
or  so  many  lustrums.     Header,  you  have  perhaps 


THE  BATHS  OF  LUCCA,  zzj 

read  some  of  these  outpourings  of  self-conscious- 
ness in  his  laboriously-filed  verses,  and  the  pro- 
mise of  such  a  glorious  future  was  probably  the 
pleasanter  to  you  when  the  Count  at  the  same 
time  represented  all  the  contemporary  German 
poets,  with  the  exception  of  the  aged  Goethe,  as 
a  set  of  nasty  wretches,  who  only  stood  in  his 
way  on  the  path  to  immortality,  and  who  were  so 
devoid  of  shame  as  to  pluck  the  laurels  and  the 
praise  which  of  right  belonged  to  him  alone. 

I  will  pass  over  what  I  heard  in  Munich  on 
this  theme ;  but  for  the  sake  of  chronology  I  must 
mention  that  it  was  at  this  time  that  the  King  of 
Bavaria  announced  his  intention  of  bestowing  on 
some  German  poet  a  pension  without  any  atten- 
dant official  duties ;  an  unusual  example,  which 
might  have  the  happiest  result  on  the  entire  lite- 
rature of  Germany.     I  was  told 

But  I  will  not  quit  my  theme.  I  spoke  of  the 
vain  boasting  of  Count  Platen,  who  continually 
cried,  "  I  am  the  poet,  the  poet  of  poets !  I  shall 
yet  write  Iliads  and  Odysseys,"  &c.,  &c.  I  know 
not  what  the  public  thinks  of  such  boasting,  but 
I  know  right  well  what  a  poet  thinks  of  them  * — 


^  There  are  not  a  few  passages  here  and  there  in  oar  author's 
works  in  which  "  this  good  Heine  "  is  not  a  whit  behind  Platen 
as  regards  making  a  brave  sound  in  blowing  his  own  poetical 
trumpet ;  which,  however,  renders  these  pages  the  more  amusing. 
'—Note  by  Tran$lator.  ,  . 


228 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


that  is  to  say,  a  tme  poet,  who  has  felt  the  ashamed 
sweetness  and  the  secret  trembling  of  poetry,  and 
who,  like  a  happy  page  who  enjoys  the  secret 
favours  of  a  princess,  most  assuredly  will  not 
boast  of  them  in  the  public  market-place. 

Not  unfrequently  has  the  Count  for  thus  puff- 
ing himself  up  been  soundly  taken  down,  yet, 
like  Falstaff,  he  always  knew  how  to  excuse  him- 
self. He  has  for  such  excuses  a  useful  talent, 
which  is  peculiarly  his  own,  and  one  deserving 
special  mention.  It  lies  in  this,  that  Count 
Platen,  who  is  familiar  with  every  failing  in 
his  own  breast,  is  also  quick  at  recognising  the 
faintest  trace  of  kindred  faults  in  any  great  man, 
and  is  not  less  prompt,  on  the  strength  of  this 
elective  affinity  of  vice,  to  institute  a  comparison 
between  the  other  and  himself.  Thus,  for  instance, 
having  observed  that  Shakespeare's  sonnets  have 
certain  defects  of  his  own,  praises  Shakespeare, 
compares  himself  with  him — and  that  is  all  which 
he  has  to  say  of  hinL  One  might  negatively  write 
an  apology  for  Count  Platen,  and  assert  that  he 
has  not  as  yet  developed  this  or  that  failing  be- 
cause he  has  not  as  yet  compared  himself  with 
this  or  that  great  man  who  has  been  reputed  guilty 
of  them.  Most  genial,  however,  and  amazing  did 
he  show  himself  in  the  choice  of  one  in  whose 
life  he  discovered  speeches  void  of  modesty,  and 
by  whose  example  he  fain  would  lend  a  colour  to 


V  THE  BATHS  OF  LUCCA.  I  ^'Ji  ■  _,'>^pl^ 

his  own  boasting.  In  fact,  the  words  of  this  man 
as  establishing  such  a  point  have  not  been  cited, 
for  it  was  none  other  than  Jesus  Christ  him- 
■  self,  who  has  hitherto  always  been  taken  for  the 
■  pattern  of  meekness  and  humility.  Christ  once 
'boasted!  the  most  humble  of  mankind,  and  the 
more  humble — since  he  was  the  divinest  ?  Yes, 
what  has  escaped  all  theologians  was  discovered 
by  Count  Platen,  for  he  insinuates  that  Christ, 
when  he  stood  before  Pilate,  was  not  humble  nor 
did  he  answer  humbly,  for  when  the  latter  asked 
him,  "  Art  thou  the  king  of  the  Jews  ?  "  he  an- 
swered, "  Thou  sayest  it."  And  so,  says  he,  the 
Count  Platen,  "  I  am  he ;  I  am  the  poet ! "  What 
the  hate  of  one  who  scorned  Christ  never  as  yet 
effected  was  brought  to  pass  by  the  exegesis  of 
self-enamoured  vanity. 

As  we  know  what  we  should  think  when  any 
one  thus  cries  out  without  intermission,  "I  am 
the  poetl"  so  we  also  understand  the  affinity 
which  it  has  to  the  immensely  remarkable  poems 
*  which  the  Count,  when  he  has  attained  due  ripe- 
ness, intends  to  write,  and  which  are  to  surpass 
in  such  an  unheard-of  manner  all  his  previous 
performances.  We  know  well  enough  that  the 
later  works  of  a  true  poet  are  no  more  superior  to 
his  first  than  the  later  children  to  which  a  woman 
gives  birth  are  superior  to  her  first-bom,  although 
the  bearing  them  is  easier.    The  lioness  does  not 


230 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


first  bring  forth  a  puppy,  then  a  hare,  then  a 
hound,  and  finally  a  lion.  Madame  Goethe,  at 
her  first  birth,  brought  forth  her  young  lion,  and 
he  in  turn,  at  the  first  throw,  gave  us  his  lion  of 
Berlichingen.  Even  so  did  Schiller  bring  forth 
his  "Bobbers,"  whose  claws  at  once  showed  the 
lion  breed.  At  a  later  date  came  the  polish  and 
refinement  and  finish  in  the  "  Natural  Daughter " 
and  the  "Bride  of  Messina."  It  was  not  thus 
with  Count  Platen,  who  began  with  anxious  and 
elaborate  art,  and  of  whom  the  poet  sings — 

"  Thou  who  from  naught  so  lightly  didst  advance, 
With  thy  smooth-licked  and  lackered  countenance, 
Like  some  toy-puppet  neatly  caryed.  from  cork." 

Yet  should  I  speak  out  the  very  thought  of  my 
soul,  I  would  confess  that  I  by  no  means  regard 
Count  Platen  as  the  extraordinary  fool  which 
one  would  take  him  to  be  from  his  boasting 
and  incessant  burning  of  incense  before  his  own 
shrine.  A  little  folly,  it  is  well  known,  always 
accompanies  poetry;  but  it  would  be  terrible  if 
Nature  should  burden  a  single  man  with  such  an 
incredible  quantity  of  folly  as  would  suffice  for  a 
hundred  poets,  and  give  him  therewith  such  an 
insignificant  dose  of  poetry.  I  have  reason  to 
suspect  that  the  Count  does  not  believe  in  his 
own  boasting,  and  that  he,  poverty-stricken  in 
life  as  in  literature,  is  compelled  in  literature  as 


THE  BATHS  OF  LUCCA.  231 

in  life  by  the  needs  of  the  instant  to  be  his  own 
self-praising  Rnffiano.^  Hence  the  phenomena  of 
which  one  might  say  that  they  have  rather  a 
psychological  than  an  aesthetic  interest ;  hence 
the  joint  company  of  the  most  lamentable  som- 
nambulism of  the  soul  and  affected  excess  of 
pride;  hence  the  miserable  little  deeds  with  a 
speedy  death  and  the  threatened  big  deeds  with 
their  future  immortality ;  hence  the  high  flashing 
beggarly  pride,  and  the  languishing  slavish  submis- 
siveness ;  hence  the  unceasing  cry  that  "  Cotta  lets 
him  starve,"  and  again  that "  Cotta  lets  him  starve," 
hence  the  paroxysms  of  Catholicism,  &c.,  &c.      • 

Whether  the  Coimt  is  in  earnest  with  all  his 
Catholicism  is  to  me  a  matter  of  doubt.  Nor  do  I 
know  whether  he  has  become  specially  Catholic, 
like  certain  of  his  high-bom  friends.  That  he 
intended  to  do  so  first  came  to  my  knowledge 
from  the  public  papers,  wherein  it  was  even 
stated  that  Count  Platen  was  about  to  become  a 
monk  and  retire  to  a  monastery.  Of  course,  when 
this  news  was  heard  in  Munich,  the  pious  chimes 
rang  loudly  in  the  hearts  of  his  friends.  His 
poems  were  praised  with  Kyrie  Meison  and  Hal- 
lelujah in  the  priestly  papers.  And  quite  as  little 
was  I  astonished  when  the  day  before  my  depar- 
ture for  Italy  I  learned  from  my  friend,  Doctor 

*  Souteneur,  male  bawd. 


■  '—  -- 


tS$  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

Kolb,  that  Count  Platen  was  very  inimically 
disposed  towards  me,  and  that  he  had  already 
prepared  my  utter  annihilation  in  a  comedy, 
entitled  "  King  CEdipus,"  which  in  Augsburg  had 
got  into  the  hands  of  certain  princes  and  counts, 
whose  names  I  have  either  forgotten  or  shall 
forget.  Others  also  told  me  that  Count  Platen 
hated  me,  assuming  the  position  of  an  enemy 
towards  me ;  and  I  would  much  prefer  having  it 
reported  that  Count  Platen  hated  me  to  my  face, 
than  that  he  loved  me  behind  my  back.  As  for 
the  holy  men  whose  holy  hatred  burst  out  at  the 
same  time  against  me,  and  which  was  inspired, 
not  only  by  my  anti-coelibatic  poems,  but  also  by 
the  "  Political  Annals  "  which  I  then  published,  it 
is  evident  enough  that  I  could  only  gain  when  it 
became  evident  enough  that  I  was  none  of  their 
party.  And  when  I  here  intimate  that  nothing 
good  is  said  of  them,  it  does  not  follow  that  I 
speak  evil  of  them.  I  am  even  of  the  opinion 
that  they,  purely  out  of  love  for  what  is  good, 
seek  to  weaken  the  words  of  the  Evil  One  by 
pious  deception  and  by  slander  pleasing  to  the 
Lord.  Those  good  people  who,  in  Munich,  pre- 
sented themselves  publicly  as  a  congregation,  have 
been  foolishly  honoured  with  the  title  of  Jesuits. 
They  are  in  faith  no  Jesuits,  or  they  would  have 
seen,  for  example,  that  of  all  men,  I — one  of  the 
bad — least  understand  the  literary  alchemic  art, 


^  j>»..^ 


THE  BATHS  OF  LUCCA.  23J 

by  which,  as  in  a  mental  mint,  I  strike  ducats  out 
of  my  enemies,  and  that  in  such  a  manner  that  I 
retain  the  ducats  while  my  foes  get  the  blows. 
They  would  have  seen,  too,  that  such  blows,  with 
their  impressions,  lose  nothing  of  their  value,  even 
when  the  name  of  the  mint-master  is  worn  away, 
and  that  a  wretched  criminal  does  not  feel  the 
lash  the  less  severely,  though  the  hangman  who 
lays  it  on  be  declared  dishonourable.  But — and 
this  is  the  chief  point — ^they  would  have  seen  that 
a  slight  prepossession  for  the  anti-aristocratic  Voss, 
and  a  few  merry  vergings  towards  jokes  on  the 
Virgin  Mary,^  for  which  they  pelted  me  with 
filth  and  stupidity,  did  not  proceed  from  any 
anti-Catholic  zeal.  In  truth  they  are  no  Jesuits, 
but  only  mixtures  of  filth  and  of  stupidity,  whom 
I  am  no  more  capable  of  hating,  than  I  do  a 
manure  waggon  and  the  oxen  which  draw  it,  and 
who,  with  all  their  efforts,  only  reach  the  very 
opposite  of  what  they  intended,  and  can  only 
bring  me  to  ^is  point,  that  I  show  them  how 
Protestant  I  am ;  that  I  exercise  my  good  Pro- 
testant right  to  its  fullest  extent,  and  swing 
around  the  good  Protestant  battle-axe  with  a 
right  good  will.  To  win  over  the  multitude,  they 
may  have  the  old  women's  tales  of  my  unbelief 
repeated  by  their  poet  laureate  as  much  as  they 

^  MutUrgottetwitze. 


•34 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


please,  but  by  the  well-known  blows  they  shall 
recognise  the  fellow-believer  with  Luther,  Lessing, 
and  Voss.  Of  course  I  could  not  swing  the  old 
axe  with  the  earnestness  of  these  heroes,  for  I 
burst  into  laughter  at  the  sight  of  such  enemies, 
and  I  have  a  bit  of  the  Eulenspiegel  nature  in  me, 
and  love  a  seasoning  of  jokes ;  and  yet  I  would 
not  rap  those  manure  oxen  less  soundly  although 
I  beforehand  wreathe  my  axe  with  smiling  flowers. 
But  I  will  not  wander  from  my  subject.  I  be- 
lieve that  it  was  about  the  time  in  question  that 
the  King  of  Bavaria,  from  the  motives  alluded  to, 
gave  to  Count  Platen  an  annual  pension  of  six 
hundred  florins,  and  that,  indeed,  not  from  the 
public  treasury,  but  from  his  own  royal  private 
purse,  this  being  requested  by  the  Count  as  an 
especial  favour.  I  mention  this  circumstance, 
trifling  as  it  seems  (since  it  characterises  the  caste 
of  the  Count),  for  the  benefit  of  the  investigator 
into  the  secrets  of  Nature,  and  who  perhaps  studies 
the  aristocracy.  Everything  is  of  importance  to 
science,  and  let  him  who  would  reproach  me  for 
devoting  myself  too  seriously  to  Count  Platen  go 
to  Paris,  and  see  with  what  care  the  accurate, 
exquisite  Cuvier,  in  his  lectures,  describes  the 
filthiest  insect  even  to  the  minutest  particulars. 
I  even  regret  that  I  cannot  more  accurately  deter- 
mine the  date  of  those  six  hundred  and  forty 
florins ;  but  this  much  I  know,  that  it  was  subse- 


THE  BATHS  OF  LUCCA.  235 

quent  to  the  composition  of  "  King  CEdipus,"  and 
that  the  play  would  not  have  been  so  biting  if  its 
author  had  had  something  more  to  bite. 

It  was  in  North  Grermany,  where  I  was  suddenly 
called  by  the  death  of  my  father,  that  I  first  re- 
ceived the  monstrous  creation  which  had  finally 
crept  from  the  great  egg  over  which  our  beauti- 
fully-plumed ostrich  had  so  long  brooded,  and 
which  had  been  greeted  long  in  advance  by  the 
night-owls  of  the  congregation  with  pious  croaking, 
and  by  the  noble  peacocks  with  joyful  spread- 
ing of  plumes.  It  was  to  be  at  least  a  destroying 
basilisk.  Dear  reader,  do  you  know  what  the 
legend  of  the  basilisk  is  ?  People  say  that  when 
a  male  bird  lays  an  egg  after  the  manner  of  the 
female,  that  a  poisonous  creature  is  hatched  from 
it,  whose  breath  poisons  the  air,  and  which  can 
only  be  destroyed  by  holding  a  mirror  before  it,  in 
which  case  it  dies  from  terror  at  its  own  ugliness.^ 

Sacred  sorrows,  which  I  would  not  profane, 
first  permitted  me,  two  months  later,  when  visit- 
ing the  watering-place  Heligoland,  to  read  "  King 
CEdipus,"  and  there,  raised  to  a  lofty  state  of  mind 
by  the  continual  aspect  of  the  great,  bold  sea,  the 

1  Demons  were  anciently  Bnpposed  to  have  a  great  aver- 
eion  for  their  own  likenesses,  hence  images  of  them  were  placed 
in  public  buildings  in  Assyria  to  drive  them  away.  (Vide 
Lenormant,  Magie  ChMdaUnne,  p.  52.)  This  was  probably  the 
reason  why  forms  of  devik  and  goblins  abound  in  Grothic  archi- 
tecture.— Trandaior. 


„,^  .».il».1i"i-»"i«4«-.»»ii»:,.:y>.Hiir->>^>  ;^   >w:.^'  —  - 


tl6 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


petty,  narrow  thoughts,  and  the  literary  botching 
of  the  high-born  writer  were  to  me  visible  enough. 
I  saw  him  at  length  in  that  master- work  exactly 
as  he  is,  with  all  his  blooming  decay,  all  his 
copiousness  of  want  of  spirit,  all  his  vain  imagin- 
ings without  imagination, — a  writer,  forced  with- 
out force,  piqued  without  being  piquant,  a  dry, 
watery  soul,  a  dismal  debauchee.  This  troubadour 
of  misery,  weakened  in  body  and  in  soul,  sought 
to  imitate  the  most  powerful,  the  richest  in  fancy, 
and  most  brilliant  poets  of  the  young  Grecian 
world !  Nothing  is  really  more  repulsive  than 
this  cramp-racked  inability,  which  would  fain  puff 
itself  up  into  the  likeness  of  bold  strength,  these 
wearily-collected  invectives,  foul  with  the  mouldi- 
ness  of  ancient  spite,  and  this  painfully-laboured 
imitation  of  delirious  rapture,  trembling  through- 
out at  syllables  and  trifles.  As  a  matter  of  course, 
there  is  nowhere  in  the  Count's  work  the  trace  of 
an  idea  of  a  deep  world-annihilation  such  as  lies 
darkling  at  the  base  of  every  Aristophanic  comedy, 
and  from  which  the  latter  shoots  like  a  phantastic 
ironic  magic  tree,  rich  in  the  blooming  garniture 
of  flowers  of  thought,  bearing  amid  its  branches 
nests  of  singing  nightingales  and  capering  apes. 
Such  an  idea,  with  the  death  merriment  and  the 
fireworks  of  destruction  which  it  involves,  cannot, 
of  course,  be  anticipated  from  the  poor  Count 
The  central  point,  the  first  and  last  idea,  ground. 


f  ^ 


THE  BATHS  OF  LUCCA.  {         237 

and  aim  of  his  so-called  comedy,  consists,  as  in 
the  "  Mysterious  and  Terrible  Fork,"  of  petty  lite- 
rary managing ;  the  poor  Count  indeed  could  only 
imitate  a  few  of  the  external  traits  of  Aristophanes 
— the  dainty  verses  and  the  vulgar  words.  I  say 
vulgar  words,  not  wishing  to  use  any  vulgar  ex- 
pression myself.  Like  a  brawling  woman,  he  casts 
whole  flower-pots  of  abuse  on  the  heads  of  the 
German  poets.  I  heartily  forgive  the  Count  his 
spite,  but  he  should  have  guarded  against  a  few 
oversights.  But  the  indelicate  wretch !  he  tells 
the  public  without  reserve  that  we  poets  in  North 
Germany  have  all  "  the  itch,  giving  us  cause,  alas  I 
to  use  a  salve,  in  filthy  scent  peculiarly  rich." 
The  rhyme  is  good ;  but  he  handles  Immermann 
the  most  rudely.  He  did  not  even  spare  Houwald, 
that  good  soul,  soft-hearted  as  a  maiden ;  ah !  per- 
haps it  is  on  account  of  this  gentle  woman-likeness 
that  a  Platen  hates  him.  Milliner,  whom  he,  as 
he  says,  "  long  since  by  real  wit  laid  low,  deprived 
of  force,"  rises  again  like  a  dead  man  from  the 
grave.  Child  and  child's  child  are  not  spared  in 
their  rights.    Raupach  is  a  Jew — 

**  The  small  Jew  canker-worm,    . , 
Who  now  as  Baupach  holds  so  high  Ms  nose."* 

**  Who  scrawls  tragedy  in  sickly,  drunken  head- 

'  Das  Jiidehen  Banpel, 
I^  jetit  als  Ranpacb  tragi  so  hocb  die  Naae. 


«38 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


aches."  Far  worse  does  it  fare  with  the  "  Baptized 
Heine."  Yes,  yes,  reader,  you  are  not  mistaken ; 
it  is  I  of  whom  he  speaks,  and  in  "  King  (Edipus  " 
you  may  read  how  I  am  a  real  Jew ;  how  I,  after 
writing  love-songs  for  a  few  hours,  sit  me  down 
and  clip  ducats ;  how  I  on  the  Sabbath  higgle  and 
trade  like  some  long-bearded  Moses  and  sing  the 
Talmud ;  how  I  on  Easter-night  slay  a  Christian 
youth,  and  out  of  malice  choose  some  unfortunate 
writer  for  the  purpose.  No,  dear  reader,  I  will 
not  tell  you  lies,  such  admirably-painted  pictures 
are  not  to  be  found  in  "  King  CEldipus,"  and  the  fact 
that  they  are  not  there  is  the  very  thing  which  I 
blame.  Count  Platen  has  sometimes  the  best  sub- 
jects and  does  not  know  how  to  treat  them.  If 
he  had  only  been  gifted  with  a  little  more  imagina- 
tion, he  would  have  shown  me  up  at  least  as  a 
secret  pawnbroker,  and  what  comic  scenes  he  might 
then  have  sketched !  It  really  vexes  me  when  I 
see  how  the  poor  Count  suffers  every  opportunity 
to  be  witty  to  escape  him.  How  gloriously  he 
could  have  represented  Eaupach  as  a  tragedy- 
Eothschild,  from  whom  the  royal  theatres  get 
their  loans!  By  slightly  modifying  the  plot  of 
the  fable,  he  might  have  made  far  better  use  of 
(Edipus  himself,  the  hero  of  his  play.  Again,  I 
do  not  find  it  politic  in  the  Count  that  he  assures 
us  in  his  comedies  that  he  has  "  real  wit"  Or  is 
he  working  to  bring  about  the  startling  and  un. 


THE  BATHS  OF  LUCCA.  239 

precedented  e£fect  as  a  coup  de  th^re  of  making 
the  public  continually  expect  wit,  which  after  all 
will  not  appear  ?  Or  does  he  wish  to  encourage 
the  public  to  look  for  the  real  secret  wit  in  the 
play,  the  whole  affair  being  a  game  at  blind-man's 
buff,  in  which  the  Platenic  wit  is  so  shrewd  as  not 
to  suffer  itself  to  be  caught  ?  It  is  probably  for 
this  reason  that  the  public,  which  is  accustomed 
to  laugh  at  comedies,  is  so  solemn  and  sad  over 
the  Platen  pieces ;  in  vain  it  hunts  for  the  hidden 
wit  and  cannot  find  it;  in  vain  the  hidden  wit 
squeaks  out  "  Here  I  am,"  and  again  more  clearly 
"  Here  I  am,  here  I  am  indeed ! " — all  is  of  no  avail, 
the  public  is  dumb,  and  makes  a  solemn  face. 
But  I,  who  know  where  the  joke  really  lies,  have 
laughed  from  my  heart  as  I  detected  the  meaning 
of  "  the  Count-like  imperious  poet,  who  veils  him- 
self in  an  aristocratic  nimbus,  who  boasts  that 
every  breath  which  passes  his  teeth  is  a  crushing 
to  fragments,"  and  who  says  to  all  the  German 
poets — 

"  Yes,  like  to  Nero,  I  would  ye  bad  but  one  head, 
That  by  one  blow  of  wit  I  might  decapitate  it* 

The  verse  is  incorrect  But  the  hidden  joke 
consists  in  this,  that  the  Count  really  wishes  that 
we  were  all  out  and  out  Neros,  and  he,  on  the 
contrary,  our  single  dear  friend,  Pythagoras. 

Perhaps  I  will,  for  the  benefit  of  the  Count,  yet 


340 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


praise  many  a  hidden  jest  of  his  up  into  notice ; 
but  since  he  in  his  "  King  CEdipus  "  has  touched 
me  on  my  tenderest  point — for  what  can  be  dearer 
to  me  than  my  Christianity  ? — it  should  not  be 
blamed  in  me  if  I,  yielding  to  human  weakness, 
honour  the  (Edipus,  this  "  great  deed  in  words," 
less  fervently  than  the  earlier  works  of  its  com- 
poser. J      .  ;  ,>l- 

Meanwhile,  true  merit  never  misses  its  reward, 
and  the  author  of  the  (Edipus  will  prove  to  be  no 
exception  to  the  rule,  though  he  has  here,  as  every- 
where, yielded  entirely  to  the  interest  of  his  noble 
and  spiritual  bum-bailiflfs,*  Ay,  there  is  a  very 
old  tradition  among  the  races  of  the  East  and  of 
the  West,  that  every  good  or  bad  deed  has  its 
direct  consequences  for  the  doer.  And  the  day 
will  come  when  they  will  come — get  ready,  I  beg 
you,  reader,  for  a  flourish  of  the  pathetic  and  the 
terrible  combined — the  day  will  come  when  they 
will  rise  from  Tartarus,  "  the  Eumenides,"  the  ter- 
rible daughters  of  Night.  By  the  Styx ! — and  by 
this  oath  we  gods  never  swore  falsely — the  day 
will  come  when  they  will  appear,  the  gloomy, 
primaevally  just  sisters,  and  they  will  appear  with 
countenances  serpent-locked  and  glowing  with 
rage,  with  the  same  scourges  of  snakes  with  which 
they  once  scourged  Orestes,  the  unnatural  sinner, 
who  murdered  his  mother,  the  Tyndaridean  Cly- 


HimtertoMen, 


THE  BATHS  OP  LUCCA,  •fl 

taemnestra.  It  may  be  that  even  now  the  Count 
hears  the  serpents'  hiss ;  I  beg  you,  reader,  just 
at  this  instant  to  think  of  the  Wolf's  Eavine  and 
the  Samiel  music ;  perhaps  even  now  the  secret 
shudder  of  the  sinner  seizes  on  the  Count,  heaven 
grows  dark,  night-birds  cry,  distant  thunders  roll, 
lightning  flashes,  there  is  a  smell  of  burning  rosin, 
— woe  1  woe !  the  illustrious  ancestors  rise  from 
their  graves,  they  cry  three  and  four  times  "  Woe ! 
woe ! "  over  their  wretched  descendant,  they  con- 
jure him  to  don  their  breeches  of  iron  mail  to 
protect  himself  from  the  terrible  lashes — for  the 
Eumenides  intend  slashing  him  with  them — the 
serpents  of  the  scourge  will  ironically  solace  them- 
selves with  him,  and  like  lascivious  King  Kodrigo, 
when  he  was  shut  in  the  Tower  of  Serpents,  the 
poor  Count  will  at  last  whimper  and  wail— 

"  Ah  !  they're  biting ;  ah  !  they're  biting 
That  with  which  I  chiefly  sinned  1  * 

Be  not  alarmed,  dear  reader,  'tis  all  a  joke! 
These  terrible  Eumenides  are  nothing  but  a  merry 
comedy,  which  I,  after  a  few  lustrums,  intend 
writing  under  this  title,  and  the  tragic  verses 
which  just  now  frightened  you  so  much,  are  to 
be  found  in  the  joUiest  book  in  the  world,  in  "  Don 
Quixote  de  la  Mancha,"  where  an  old  respectable 
lady  in  waiting  recites  them  before  all  the  court. 
I  see  that  you're  smiling  again.    Let  us  take  leave 

VOL.  n.  Q 


143 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


of  each  other  merry  and  laughing !  If  this  last 
chapter  is  tiresome,  it  is  owing  to  the  subject; 
besides,  it  was  written  rather  for  profit  than  for 
pleasure,  and  if  I  have  succeeded  in  making  a 
new  fool  fit  for  use  in  literature,  the  Fatherland 
owes  me  thanks.  I  have  made  a  field  capable 
of  cultivation,  on  which  more  gifted  authors  will 
sow  and  harvest.  The  modest  consciousness  of 
this  merit  is  my  best  reward.  To  such  kings 
as  are  desirous  of  presenting  me,  over  and  above 
this,  with  snuff-boxes  for  my  deserts,  I  would 
remark  that  the  book  firm  of  "Hoffmann  & 
Campe,"  in  Hamburgh,  are  authorised  to  receive 
anything  of  the  sort  on  my  account^  , 


^  Written  in  the  latter  part  of  the  autumn  of  1829. 


■^^li^finmmm 


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THE  PROSE  AND  POETICAL  WORKS 

HEINRICH  HEINE 


>^  Translated  •with  Introductions  hj 

CHARLES  GODFREY  LELAND 


IN  TWENTY  VOLUMES 


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Translated  by 

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VOLUME   SIX 

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CONTENTS 


VOLUME   SIX 
Italy  {1828)— 

The  City  of  Lucca 
Postscript        .... 


English  Fragments  (1828)—        .       .       . 
Dialogue  on  the  Thames 

London      

The  English    ...... 

John  Bull        .       .       .       .       ,       . 

Scott's  Life  of  Napoleon  Buonaparte 

Old  Bailey 

Corporal  Punishment  in  England    . 
The  New  Ministry         .... 

The  Debt 

The  Opposition  Party   .       .       .       . 
The  Emancipation  .       .       .        ,       , 


Q2 


PAGE 

334 

336 

344 
352 
362 

369 
380 
386 
389 

393 
410 

429 


^ViL. 


CONTENTS. 

English  Fragments  {1S2S)— continued. 

PAGB     . 

Wellington 445 

The  Liberation 452  ■ 

Conclusion 464  1 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

Sir  Walter  Scott Frontispiece 

From  the  Portrait  by  Sir  Henry  Raeburn. 

Boccaccio To  face  page  262 

From  an  Etching.  , 

The  Duke  of  Wellington  .        .        •      >,       ,.    444 

From  the  Portrait  by  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence.  i 

Charles  I >       »    46a 

From  a  Painting  by  Vandyck. 


■  III 

THE   CITY   OF  LUCCA. 

"I  must  always  laugh  at  the  English,  who  judge  this  their 
second  poet — since  after  Shakespeare  Byron  bears  the  palm — 
in  such  miserable,  petty-souled  manner,  because  he  mocked 
their  pedantry,  would  not  adapt  himself  to  their  small  provincial 
ways,  or  share  their  cold  belief.  Their  sobriety  revolted  him, 
and  he  bewailed  their  pride  and  hypocrisy.  Many  cross  them 
selves  when  they  speak  of  him,  and  even  the  women,  though 
their  cheeks  glow  with  enthusiasm  when  they  read  him,  publicly 
speak  with  zeal  against  their  secret  favourite." — Letters  by  a  Dead 
Man,  a  Fragmentary  Diary  in  England.     Munich,  1830. 

"  The  City  of  Lucca,"  which  is  connected  with  "  The  Baths 
of  Lucca,"  and  which  was  written  at  the  same  time,  is  not  given 
here  by  any  means  as  a  picture  by  itself,  but  as  the  conclusion 
of  a  period  of  life  corresponding  with  that  of  one  of  the  worid's. 


CHAPTER  L 

Nature  around  us  acts  upon  man — why  not 
man  upon  the  Nature  which  encircles  him  ?  In 
Italy  she  is  passionate,  like  the  people  who  live 
there ;  with  us  in  Germany  she  is  more  solemn, 
reflective,  and  patient  Was  there  once  a  time 
when  Nature  had,  like  man,  a  deeper  life  ?    The 

»43 


244  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

force  of  soul  in  Orpheus,  says  the  legend,  could 
move  trees  and  rocks  by  his  inspired  rhymes. 
Could  the  like  be  done  now  ?  Man  and  Nature 
have  become  phlegmatic,  and  stare  gaping  at 
each  other.  A  royal  Prussian  poet  will  never, 
with  the  cords  of  his  harp,  set  the  Tempelower 
Hill  or  the  Berlin  lindens  to  dancing. 

Nature  has  also  her  history,  and  it  is  an 
altogether  different  Natural  History  from  that 
which  is  taught  in  schools.  Let  one  of  those 
grey  old  lizards  which  have  dwelt  for  centuries 
in  the  rocky  crevices  of  the  Apennines  be  ap- 
pointed as  an  altogether  extraordinary  professor  ^ 
at  one  of  our  Universities,  and  we  should  learn 
from  him  some  very  extraordinary  things.  But 
the  pride  of  certain  gentlemen  of  the  legal  faculty 
would  rebel  against  such  an  appointment.  One 
of  them  already  cherishes  a  secret  jealousy  of  the 
poor  puppy,  Fido  Savant,  fearing  lest  he  may 
displace  him  in  erudite  fetching  and  carrying. 

The  lizards,  with  their  cunning  little  tails  and 
bright  crafty  eyes,  have  told  me  wonderful  things 
as  I  clambered  along  among  the   cliffs   of  the 


1  An  "extraordinary  professor"  at  a  German  University  is 
not,  as  might  be  supposed  from  the  name,  one  pre-eminent 
in  dignity  or  distinguished  by  very  remarkable  qualifications. 
He  is,  on  the  contrary,  a  sort  of  breveted  professor,  awaiting 
his  promotion  to  a  regular  appointment  in  ordinary. — Note  by 
2'randator. 


THE  CITY  OF  LUCCA.  a«S 

Apennines.  Truly  there  are  things  between 
heaven  and  earth  which  not  only  our  philo- 
sophers, but  even  our  commonest  blockheads 
have  not  comprehended. 

The  lizards  have  told  me  that  there  is  a  legend 
among  the  stones  that  God  will  yet  become  a 
stone  to  redeem  them  from  their  torpid  motion- 
less condition.  One  old  lizard  was,  however,  of 
the  opinion  that  this  stone-incarnation  will  not 
take  place  until  God  shall  have  changed  himself 
into  every  variety  of  animal  and  plant,  and  have 
redeemed  them.  •/'.:':.:  -/./y-:'  <'. 

But  few  stones  have  feeling,  and  they  only 
breathe  in  the  moonlight ;  but  these  few  which 
realise  their  condition  are  fearfully  miserable.* 
The  trees  are  better  off;  they  can  weep.  But 
animals  are  the  most  favoured,  for  they  can  speak, 


^  This  passage,  relative  to  the  feeling  and  life  of  stones, 
appears  to  have  been  suggested  by  that  strangest  of  strange 
books,  AiUhropodemus  Plutonictis ;  A  World-Detcriptum  of  all 
Kinds  of  Wonderful  Men,  by  M.  Johannes  Praetorius.  Mag- 
deburg, 1666.  Heine  was  very  familiar  with  this  work,  and 
cites  it  frequently  in  his  "  Grermany." 

"Stones  have  being  {i.e.,  existence  or  life),  but  they  do  not 
fed.  More  advanced  are  herbs  and  shrubs,  for  they  live  yet  do 
not  feel.  Yea,  they  live,  but  it  is  not  with  a  real  soul,  but  by 
blooming  and  greening.  Hence  St.  Paul  says,  'Thou  fool,  what 
thou  seest  does  not  live  unless  it  first  perish.'  And  so  are  the 
stones,  but  they  do  not  live,  and  so  are  the  shrubs,  which  livd 
yet  do  not  feel.  More  advanced  are  the  unreasoning  animals 
which  live  and  feel,  yet  cannot  understand.  .  .  .  Animals  have 


■V 


.  w.^(^.JC^^.......tf:..    .       ..^^ 


M« 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


each  after  its  manner,  and  man  the  best  of  all. 
At  some  future  time,  after  all  the  world  has 
been  redeemed,  then  all  created  things  will  speak, 
as  in  those  primeval  times  of  which  poets  sing. 

The  lizards  are  an  ironic  race,  and  love  to 
quiz  other  animals.  But  they  were  so  meek  and 
submissive  to  me,  and  sighed  with  such  honour- 
able earnestness  as  they  told  me  stories  of 
Atlantis,  which  I  some  day  will  write  out  for 
the  pleasure  and  profit  of  the  world.  It  went 
so  to  my  very  soul  among  those  little  creatures 
who   guard  the   secret  annals  of  Nature.     Are 


not  Bonis,  but  they  can  speak  and  laugh  like  men "  (Chapter 
XrV.,  Of  Men  who  Live  in  the  Ocean). 

Oardanus  also  writes :  "  Sie  aVftem  probatur,  lapidet  non 
tantum  vivere,  sed  etiam  intdligere.  Lapidet  et  trunci  nmt,  qui 
hoe  eredunt."  The  same  belief  occurs  in  Church  legends,  e.g., 
that  when  the  blind  Bede  preached  to  the  stones,  and  ended 
with,  "Omnia  teeula  secvlorum,"  they  all  cried  out,  "Amen, 
veneraiUit  pater/"  From  which  it  appears  that  they  also 
understand  Latin. 

In  reference  to  the  passage,  "  this  stone-incarnation  will  not 
take  place  until  Grod  shall  have  changed  himself  into  every 
variety  of  animal  and  plant,"  it  may  be  observed  that  it  was  an 
old  Chaldaic  conception  that  God  took  the  forma  of  all  the 
animals  pair  by  pair  and  thus  originated  them. 

PraetoriuB  asserts  effectively,  as  Heine  does,  that  there  are 
degioes  from  vitality,  or  Z«6«n,  to  feeling,  Oeitt  and  Sede,  This 
was  also  taught  by  Schubert,  who  was,  if  I  mistake  not, 
teacher  of  Natural  History  at  the  University  at  Munich  while 
Heine  lived  there.  Longfellow  makes  some  fun  of  it  in  "  Hy- 
perion." Schubert's  views  are  set  forth  in  a  book  entitled 
Oeaehichie  der  Seele. 


.  Vk'^t 


THE  CITY  OF  LUCCA.  247 

they  perhaps  enchanted  families  of  priests,  like 
those  of  ancient  Egypt,  who,  prying  into  the 
secrets  of  Nature,  dwelt  amid  labyrinthine  rocky 
grottoes  ?  And  we  see  on  their  little  heads, 
bodies,  and  tails  just  such  wondrous  characters 
and  signs  as  in  the  Egyptian  hieroglyphic  caps 
and  garments  of  the  hierophants.* 

My  little  friends  also  taught  me  a  language  of 
signs,  by  means  of  which  I  could  converse  with 
silent  Nature.  This  often  cheered  my  soul, 
especially  towards  evening,  when  the  mountains 
were  veiled  in  fearful  pleasant  shadows,  and  the 
waterfalls  roared,  and  every  plant  sent  forth  its 
perfume,  and  hurried  lightnings  twitched  hither 
and  thither. 

0  Nature !  thou  dumb  maiden !  well  do  I 
understand  thy  summer  lightning,  that  vain 
effort  at  speech  which  convulses  thy  lovely 
countenance,  and  thou  movest  me  so  deeply  that 
I  weep.  But  then  thou  understandest  me  also, 
and  thou  art  glad  and  smilest  on  me  with  thy 
golden  eyes.  Beautiful  one,  I  understand  thy 
stars  and  thou  understandest  my  tears ! 


^  In  Tuscany  the  tail  of  a  lizard,  bnt  especially  a  lizard  with 
two  tails,  is  beliered  to  be  a  powerfol  amulet  not  only  against 
wroery,  bat  as  conferring  intelligence  and  wisdom. — Trar^ator. 


«■*•.—«.     .^ 


348 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL, 


CHAPTER  n. 

"  Nothing  in  the  world  will  go  backwards,"  said 
an  old  lizard  to  me.  "Everything  pushes  on- 
wards, and  finally  there  will  be  a  grand  advance 
in  all  Nature.  The  stones  will  become  plants, 
the  plants  animals,  the  animals  human  beings, 
and  human  beings  gods." 

"  But,"  I  cried,  "  what  will  become  of  those 
good  folks,  the  poor  old  gods  ? " 

"That  will  all  arrange  itself,  good  friend,'* 
replied  he.  "  Probably  they  will  abdicate  or  be 
placed  in  some  honourable  way  or  other  on  the 
retired  list." 

I  learned  many  another  secret  from  my  hiero- 
glyph-skinned natural  philosopher,  but  I  gave 
him  my  word  of  honour  to  reveal  nothing.  I 
now  know  more  than  Schelling  and  HegeL 

"  What  do  you  think  of  these  two  ? "  once 
inquired  of  me  the  old  lizard  with  a  scornful 
smile,  as  I  chanced  to  mention  their  names. 

"  When  we  reflect,"  I  replied,  "  that  they  are 
merely  men  and  not  lizards,  we  should  be 
amazed  at  their  knowledge.  At  bottom  they 
teach  one  and  the  same  doctrine,  the  Philosophy 
of  Identity,  which  you  so  well  know,  but  differ 


f.'p-T.t   •  ." 


THE  CITY  OF  LUCCA.  249 

in  their  manner  of  representation.  When  Hegel 
sets  forth  the  principles  of  his  philosophy,  one 
imagines  that  he  sees  those  neat  figures  which 
an  expert  schoolmaster  knows  how  to  form  by 
an  artistic  combination  of  all  manner  of  numbers, 
so  that  a  common  observer  only  sees  in  them  the 
superficial — the  house,  or  boat,  or  absolute  soldier 
formed  from  the  figures,  while  a  reflecting  school- 
boy rather  sees  in  the  picture  the  solution  of  a 
deep  problem  in  arithmetic.  But  what  Schelling 
gives  reminds  us  of  those  Indian  images  of 
beasts  which  are  formed  themselves  by  bold 
combinations  from  other  beasts,  serpents,  birds, 
elephants,  and  similar  material.  This  sort  of 
representation  is  far  more  agreeable,  cheerful, 
and  causes  warmer  throbbings  of  the  heart.  All 
lives  in  it,  while  the  abstract  Hegelian  ciphers 
stare  at  us,  on  the  contrary,  so  grey,  so  cold  and 
dead." 

"  Good,  good !  "  replied  the  old  lizard.  "  I  see 
what  you  mean ;  but  tell  me,  have  these  philo- 
sophers many  auditors?"      .     V"     -  - 

I  explained  to  him  how,  in  the  learned  cara- 
vanserai at  Berlin,  the  "  camels  "  assemble  around 
the  fountain  of  Hegelian  wisdom,  kneel  down  to 
be  loaded  with  precious  skins,  and  then  wend 
their  way  on  through  the  sandy  deserts  of  the 
Mark.  I  further  described  to  him  how  the 
modern   Athenians  crowded  to  the  well  of  the 


aso 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


Bpiritual  wisdom  of  Schelling  as  though  it  were 
the  best  of  beer,  the  lush  of  life,  the  swizzle  of 
immortality. 

The  little  natural  philosopher  paled  with  all 
the  yellowness  of  envy  as  he  heard  that  his 
colleagues  had  such  a  run  of  customers,  and  he 
vexedly  asked,  "  Which  of  the  two  do  you  regard 
as  the  greater  ? "  «  That,"  I  replied,  "  is  as  diffi- 
cult to  answer  as  though  you  had  inquired  of  me 
if  the  Schechner  were  greater  than  the  Sunday, 
and  I  think "  1 

"  Think  !  "  cried  the  lizard,  in  a  sharp  aristo- 
cratic tone,  indicating  the  very  intensity  of  slight 
— "  Think  /  who  among  you  thinks  f  My  wise 
gentleman,  for  some  three  thousand  years  I  have 
devoted  myself  to  investigating  the  spiritual 
functions  of  animals,  with  especial  regard  to 
men,  monkeys,  and  snakes  as  objects  of  study. 
I  have  expended  as  much  untiring  industry  on 
these  curious  beings  as  Lyonnet  on  caterpillars, 
and  as  a  result  of  all  my  observations,  experi- 
ments, and  anatomical  comparisons,  I  can  plainly 
assure  that  no  human  being  thinks;  only  once 
in  a  while  something  occurs  to  a  man,  or  comes 
into  his  head,  and  these  altogether  unintentional 
accidents  they  call  thoughts,  while  the  stringing 
them  together  they  call  thinking.  But  in  my 
name  you  may  deny  it;  no  man  thinks,  no 
philosopher  thinks,  neither  Schelling  nor  Hegel 


THE  CITY  OF  LUCCA.  ^  ^ 

thinks  ;  and  as  for  all  their  philosophy,  it  is  empty 
air  and  water,  like  the  clouds  of  heaven.  I  have 
seen  myriads  of  such  clouds,  proud  and  confident, 
sweeping  their  course  above  me,  and  the  next 
morning's  sun  dissolved  them  again  into  their 
primeval  nothingness.  There  is  but  one  true 
philosophy,  and  that  is  written  in  eternal,  hiero- 
glyphs on  my  own  tail." 

With  these  words,  which  were  spoken  with 
disdainful  pathos,  the  old  lizard  turned  his  back 
on  me,  and  as  he  slowly  wriggled  away,  I  saw  on 
him  the  most  singular  characters,  which  in  varie- 
gated significance  spread  at  length  over  his 
entire  tail. 


CHAPTER  IIL 

The  dialogue  detailed  in  the  previous  chapter 
took  place  between  the  Baths  of  Lucca  and  the 
city  of  that  name,  not  far  from  the  great  chest- 
nut tree  whose  wild  green  twigs  overshadow  the 
brook,  and  in  the  vicinity  of  an  old  white- bearded 
goat  who  dwelt  there  as  a  hermit.  I  was  on  the 
way  to  Lucca,  to  visit  Francesca  and  Matilda, 
whom  I  was  to  meet  there,  as  agreed  on  eight 
days  before.  But  I  had  gone  thither  in  vain 
the  first  time,  and  now  I  was  once  more  on  the 
road.     I  went  on  foot  through  beautiful  moun- 


••n    ^-^^ 


a$9  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

tain  tracts  and  groves,  where  the  gold  oranges, 
like  day-stars,  shone  out  from  the  dark  green, 
and  where  garlands  of  grape-vines  in  festal 
drapery  spread  along  for  leagues.  The  whole 
country  is  there  as  garden-like  and  adorned  as 
the  rural  scenes  depicted  in  our  theatres,  even 
the  peasants  resembling  those  gay  figures  which 
delight  us  as  a  sort  of  singing,  smiling,  and 
dancing  stage  ornament.  No  Philistine  faces 
anywhere.  And  if  there  are  Philistines  here, 
they  are  at  least  Italian  orange-Philistines,  and 
not  the  plump,  heavy  German  potato-Philistines. 
The  people  are  picturesque  and  ideal  as  their 
country,  and  every  man  among  them  has  such 
an  individual  expression  of  countenance,  and 
knows  how  to  set  forth  his  personality  in  gestures, 
fold  of  the  cloak,  and,  if  needful,  in  ready  hand- 
ling of  his  knife.  With  us,  on  the  contrary,  one 
sees  nothing  but  mere  men  with  universally 
similar  countenances ;  when  twelve  of  them  are 
together  they  make  a  round  dozen,  and  if  any 
one  attacks  them  they  call  for  the  police.  | 

I  was  struck  in  the  Luccan  district,  as  in 
other  parts  of  Tuscany,  with  the  great  felt  hats 
with  long  waving  ostrich  plumes  worn  by  the 
women;  and  even  the  girls  who  plaited  straw 
had  these  heavy  coverings  for  the  head.  The 
men,  on  the  contrary,  generally  wear  a  light 
straw  hat,  and   young  fellows  receive  them  as 


.-..>.>v, 


THE  CITY  OF  LUCCA.  253 

presents  from  girls  who  have  braided  with  them 
their  love  thoughts,  and  it  may  be  many  a  sigh 
besides.  So  sat  Fiancesca  once  among  the  girls 
and  flowers  of  the  Val  d'Arno,  weaving  a  hat  for 
her  Caro  Cecco,  and  kissing  every  straw  as  she 
took  it,  trilling  at  times  her  pretty  "  Occhie,  Stdle 
moftale;"  the  curly-locked  head  which  after- 
wards wore  it  so  prettily  is  now  tonsured,  and 
the  hat  itself  hangs,  old  and  worn-out,  in  the 
corner  of  a  gloomy  abba's  cell  in  Bologna.  . . 
I  am  one  of  that  class  who  are  always  taking 
shorter  cuts  than  those  given  by  the  regular 
highway,  and  who  in  consequence  are  often 
bewildered  in  narrow,  woody,  and  rocky  paths. 
That  happened  to  me  during  my  walk  to  Lucca, 
and  I  was  beyond  question  twice  as  long  on  the 
journey  as  any  ordinary  high-road  traveller  would 
have  been.  A  sparrow,  of  whom  I  inquired  the 
way,  chirped  and  chirped,  and  could  give  me  no 
correct  information.  Perhaps  he  did  not  know 
himself.  The  butterflies  and  dragon-flies,  who 
sat  on  great  flower-bells,  would  not  throw  me  a 
word,  fluttering  away  even  before  my  question 
was  asked,  and  the  flowers  shook  their  soundless 
bell-heads.  Often  the  wild  myrtles  awakened 
me,  tittering  with  delicate  voices  from  afar. 
Then  I  hurriedly  climbed  the  highest  crags,  and 
cried,  "  Ye  clouds  of  heaven !  sailors  of  the  air ! 
which   is    the   way  to    Francesca?     Is   she   in 


i^  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

Lucca  ?  Tell  me  what  she  does  ?  What  is  she 
dancing  ?  Tell  me  all,  and  when  ye  have  told 
me,  tell  me  it  once  again  !  " 

In  such  excesses  of  folly  it  was  natural  enough 
that  a  solemn  eagle,  wakened  by  my  cry  from  his 
solitary  dreams,  should  have  gazed  on  me  with 
contemptuous  displeasure.  But  I  willingly  for- 
gave him ;  for  he  had  never  seen  Francesca,  and 
could  in  consequence  sit  so  sublimely  on  his  firm 
rock,  and  gaze  so  free  of  soul  at  heaven,  or  stare 
with  such  impertinent  calmness  down  on  ma 
Such  an  eagle  has  such  an  insupportably  proud 
glance,  and  looks  at  one  as  though  he  would  say, 
"  What  sort  of  a  bird  art  thou  ?  Knowest  thou 
not  that  I  am  as  much  of  a  king  as  I  was  in 
those  heroic  days  when  I  bore  Jupiter's  thunders 
and  adorned  Napoleon's  banners  ?  Art  thou  a 
learned  parrot,  who  hast  learned  the  old  songs  all 
by  heart,  and  pedantically  repeats  them  ?  Or  a 
sulky  turtle-dove,  who  feels  beautifully  and  coos 
miserably  ?  Or  an  almanack  nightingale  ?  ^  Or 
a  gander  who  has  seen  better  days,  and  whose 
ancestors  saved  the  Capitol?  Or  an  altogether 
servile  farmyard  cock,  around  whose  neck,  out  of 
irony,  men  hang  my  image  in  miniature,  the 
emblem  of  bold  flight,  and  who  for  that  reason 
spreads  himself,  and  struts  as  though  he  himself 

*  AlmanaehmaahtigalL 


THE  CITY  OP  LUCCA.  255 

were  a  veritable  eagle  ? "  But  you  know,  reader, 
how  little  cause  I  have  to  feel  injured  when  an 
eagle  thinks  so  of  me.  I  believe  that  the  glance 
which  I  cast  at  him  was  even  prouder  than  his 
own,  and  if  he  took  the  trouble  to  inquire  of  the 
first  laurel  in  his  way,  he  now  knows  who  I  anL 
I  had  really  lost  my  way  in  the  mountains  as 
the  twilight  shadows  began  to  fall,  as  the  forest 
songs  grew  silent,  and  as  the  trees  rustled  more 
solemnly.  A  sublime  tranquillity  and  an  inex- 
pressible joy  swept  like  the  breath  of  God  through 
the  changed  silence.  Here  and  there  beautiful 
dark  eyes  gleamed  up  at  me  from  the  ground, 
disappearing  in  the  same  instant  Delicate 
whispers  played  with  my  heart,  and  invisible 
kisses  merrily  swept  my  cheek.  The  evening 
crimson  hung  over  the  hills  like  a  royal  mantle, 
and  the  last  sun-rays  lit  up  their  summits  till 
they  seemed  like  kings  with  gold  crowns  on  their 
heads.  And  I  stood  like  an  Emperor  of  the 
World,  among  these  crowned  vassals,  who  in 
silence  did  me  homage. 


256  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

I  DO  not  know  if  the  monk  who  met  me  not  far 
from  Lucca  is  a  pious  man.  But  I  know  that 
his  aged  body  hides,  poor  and  bare,  in  a  coarse 
gown  year  out  and  year  in ;  his  torn  sandals  do 
not  sufl&ciently  protect  his  feet  when  he  climbs 
the  rocks  through  bush  and  thorn,  that  he  may, 
when  far  up  there,  console  the  sick  or  teach 
children  to  pray ;  and  he  is  content  if  any  one, 
for  his  pains,  puts  a  piece  of  bread  in  his  bag, 
and  lets  him  have  a  little  straw  to  sleep  on. 

"  Against  tJuU  man  I  will  write  nothing,"  said 
I  to  myself.  "When  I  am  again  at  home  in 
Germany,  sitting  at  ease  in  my  great  arm-chair 
by  a  crackling  stove,  by  a  good  cup  of  tea, 
well  fed  and  warm,  and  writing  against  Catho- 
lic priests,  I  will  write  nothing  against  that 
man " 

To  write  against  Catholic  priests  one  must 
know  their  faces.  But  the  original  faces  are 
only  to  be  found  in  Italy.  The  German  Catholic 
priests  and  monks  are  only  bad  imitations,  often 
mere  parodies  of  the  Italian,  and  a  comparison 
of  the  two  would  be  like  comparing  Eoman  or 
Florentine  pictures  of  the  saints  with  the  scare- 


THE  CITY  OP  LUCCA.         ;  aS7 

crow,  pious  caricatures  which  come  from  Uie 
blockhead  bourgeois  pencil  of  some  Nuremberg 
town-painter,  or  were  bom  of  the  blessed  sim- 
plicity of  some  soul-borer,  who  owes  his  dreary 
existence  to  the  long-haired  Christian  New  Ger- 
man school 

The  priests  in  Italy  have  long  settled  down 
into  harmony  with  public  opinion ;   the  people 
there  are  so  accustomed  to  distinguish  between 
clerical  dignity  and  priests  without  dignity,  that 
H^    they  can  honour  the  one  even  when  they  despise 
;  the  other.     Even  the  contrast  which  the  ideal 

duties  and  requirements  of  the  spiritual  condition 
form  with  the  unconquerable  demands  of  sensuous 
nature — that  infinitely  old,  eternal  conflict  be- 
tween the  spirit  and  matter — makes  of  the  Italian 
priest  a  standing  character  of  popular  humour  in 
satires,  songs,  and  novels.  Similar  phenomena 
are  to  be  found  all  the  world  over  where  there  is 
a  like  priestly  rank,  as,  for  instance,  in  Hindo- 
stan.  In  the  comedies  of  this  prime vally  pious 
land,  as  we  have  remarked  in  the  Sacuntaia,  and 
find  confirmed  in  the  more  recently  translated 
VasaTdasena,  a  Brahmin  always  plays  the  comic 
part,  or,  as  we  might  say,  the  priest-harlequin, 
without  the  least  disturbance  of  the  reverence 
due  to  his  sacrificial  functions  and  his  privileged 
holiness — as  little,  in  fact,  as  an  Italian  would 
experience  in  hearing  of  mass  or  confession  to  a 
VOL.  n.  B 


ft 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


priest  whom  he  had  found  the  day  before  tipsy 
in  the  mud  of  the  street.  In  Germany  it  is 
different ;  there  the  Catholic  priest  will  not  only 
set  forth  his  dignity  by  his  office,  but  also  his 
office  by  his  person ;  and  because  he  perhaps  in 
the  beginning  was  in  earnest  with  his  calling, 
and  subsequently  found  that  his  vows  of  chastity 
and  of  poverty  conflicted  somewhat  with  the  old 
Adam,  he  will  not  publicly  violate  them  (particu- 
larly lest  by  so  doing  he  might  lay  himself  open 
to  our  friend  Krug  of  Leipsig),  and  so  endeavours 
to  assume  at  least  the  appearance  of  a  holy  life. 
Hence  sham  holiness,  hypocrisy,  and  the  gloss  of 
outside  piety  among  German  priests,  while  with 
the  Italians  the  mask  is  more  transparent,  mani- 
festing also  a  certain  plump,  fat  irony,  and  a 
digestion  of  the  world  passing  right  comfortably. 
But  what  avail  such  general  reflections  ?  They 
would  be  of  but  little  use  to  you,  dear  reader,  if 
you  had  a  desire  to  write  against  the  Catholic 
priesthood.  To  do  this,  one  should  see  with  his 
own  eyes  the  faces  thereunto  pertaining.  Of  a 
truth  it  is  not  enough  to  have  seen  them  in  the 
royal  opera-house  in  Berlin.  The  last  head- 
manager  did  his  best  to  make  the  coronation 
array  in  the  Maid  of  Orleans  true  to  Ufe,  to  give 
his  fellow-countrymen  an  accurate  idea  of  a 
procession,  and  to  show  them  priests  of  every 
colour.    Bub  the  most  accurate  costumes  cannot 


THE  CITY  OF  LUCCA.  259 

supply  the  original  countenances,  and  though  an 
extra  hundred  thousand  dollars  should  be  fooled 
away  for  gold  mitres,  festooned  surplices,  em- 
broidered chasubles,  and  similar  stufif,  still  the 
cold  reasoning  Protestant  noses  which  come  pro- 
testing out  from  beneath  the  mitres  aforesaid, 
the  lean  meditative  legs  which  peep  from  under 
the  white  lace  of  the  surplices,  and  the  enlight- 
ened bellies,  a  world  too  wide  for  the  chasubles, 
would  all  remind  one  of  us  that  it  was  not 
Catholic  clergymen,  but  Berlin  worldlings  which 
wander  over  the  stage. 

I  have  often  reflected  whether  the  chief  stage- 
manager  would  not  have  succeeded  better,  and 
have  brought  more  accurately  before  our  eyes 
the  idea  of  a  procession,  if  he  had  had  the  priestly 
parts  played,  not  by  the  ordinary  supernume- 
raries, but  by  those  Protestant  clergymen  of  the 
theological  faculty  who  know  how  to  preach  so 
orthodoxically  in  the  Church  Journal  and  from 
the  pulpit  against  "  reason,"  "  worldly  lusts," 
"  Gesenius,"  and  "  devil-dom."  We  should  then 
have  seen  faces  whose  priestly  stamp  would  have 
corresponded  far  more  illusively  with  the  part. 
It  is  a  well-known  observation  that  priests,  all 
the  world  over,  whether  Rabbis,  Muftis,  Domini- 
cans, Councillors  of  the  Consistory,  Popes, 
Bonzes, — in  short,  the  whole  diplomatic  corps 
of  the  Lord,  have  a  certain  family  likeness  in 


260 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


their  faces,  sach  as  we  are  accustomed  to  find 
in  those  who  follow  the  same  trade.  Tailoxs 
in  every  quarter  of  the  globe  have  weak  legs, 
batchers  and  soldiers  all  have  a  fierce  colour 
and  style,  and  the  Jews  have  their  own  peculiar 
honourable  expression,  not  because  they  spring 
from  Abraham,  Isaac,  and  Jacob,  but  because 
they  are  business  men,  and  the  Frankfort  Chris- 
tian shopman  looks  as  much  like  a  Frankfort 
Jewish  shopman  as  one  rotten  egg  looks  like 
another.  And  the  spiritual  shop-people,  such  as 
get  their  living  by  the  religion  business,  also 
acquire  by  it  a  resemblance  in  countenance.  Of 
course  certain  shades  of  difference  result  from  the 
manner  and  fashion  in  which  they  do  business. 
The  Catholic  priest  manages  it  like  a  clerk 
who  has  a  place  in  an  extensive  establishment. 
The  firm  of  the  Church,  at  whose  head  is  the 
Pope,  gives  him  a  regular  occupation  and  a 
regular  salary ;  he  works  leisurely  or  lazily,  like 
every  man  who  is  not  in  business  on  his  own 
account,  and  has  many  fellow-labourers,  and  who 
escapes  observation  among  the  multitude;  only 
he  has  the  credit  of  the  house  at  heart,  and  still 
more  its  permanence,  since  by  a  bankruptcy  he 
would  lose  his  means  of  support.  The  Protes- 
tant clergyman  is,  on  the  contrary,  everywhere 
himself  principal,  and  he  carries  on  the  religion 
business   on   his   own   account.     He   does  not 


THE  CITY  OP  LUCCA.  ;  r      a6i 

drive  a  wholesale  business  like  his  Catholic 
colleague,  but  only  a  small  retail  trade,  and  as 
he  represents  his  .own  interests,  it  would  never 
do  for  him  to  be  negligent.  He  must  cry  up 
his  articles  of  faith  to  the  people,  depreciate  those 
of  his  rivals,  and,  like  a  real  retailer,  he  stands 
in  his  small  shop,  full  of  professional  envy  of  all 
the  large  houses,  particularly  of  the  great  firm 
in  Eome,  which  salaries  so  many  thousand  book- 
keepers and  salesmen,  and  has  its  factories  in 
every  quarter  of  the  globe.  :  ;: - 

Each  has,  of  course,  its  physiognomic  separate 
effect,  but  these  are  not  perceptible  from  the 
parquette.  In  their  main  features  the  family 
likeness  between  Catholic  and  Protestant  remains 
unchanged,  and  if  the  head-manager  would  pay 
down  liberally  to  the  gentlemen  aforesaid,  he 
could  induce  them  to  act  their  parts  admirably, 
as  they  are  in  the  habit  of  doing.  Even  their 
walk  and  gait  would  conduce  to  the  illusion, 
though  a  sharp  practised  eye  would  readily  de- 
tect certain  shades  of  difference  between  it  and  that 
of  Catholic  priests  and  monk& 

A  Catholic  priest  walks  as  if  heaven  belonged 
to  him ;  a  Protestant  clergyman,  on  the  contrary, 
goes  about  as  if  he  had  taken  a  lease  of  it 


♦♦.iff-*^  ;;,».,-,  qr^,,. 


a6a 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL, 


CHAPTER  V. 


It  was  not  till  night  that  I  reached  the  city  of 
Lucca. 

How  differently  it  had  appeared  to  me  the 
week  before,  as  I  wandered  by  day  through  the 
echoing  deserted  streets,  and  imagined  myself 
transported  to  one  of  those  enchanted  cities  of 
which  my  nurse  had  so  often  told  me.  T?ien 
the  whole  city  was  silent  as  the  grave,  all  was 
80  pale  and  death-like.  The  gleam  of  the  sun 
played  on  the  roofs  like  gold-leaf  on  the  head  of 
a  corpse.  Here  and  there  from  the  windows  of 
a  mouldering  house  hung  ivy  tendrils  like  dried 
green  tears ;  everywhere  glimmering,  dreary,  and 
dismally  petrifying  death.  The  town  seemed 
but  the  ghost  of  a  town,  a  spectre  of  stone  in 
broad  daylight.  I  sought  long  and  in  vain  for 
some  trace  of  a  living  being.  I  can  only 
remember  that  before  an  old  palazzo  lay  a 
beggar  sleeping,  with  outstretched  open  hand. 
I  also  remember  having  seen  above  at  the 
window  of  a  blackened  mouldering  little  house 
a  monk,  whose  red  neck  and  plump  shining  pate 
protruded  right  far  from  his  brown  gown,  and 
near  him  a  full-breasted  stark-naked  girl  was 


/< 


-t-  t 


^ 


./"  i    ^: 


} 


Vi 


i* 


if 


-'* 


r. 


■■'-■> 

■♦.-  V/ 


•.4v^i 


,  •> .  '■     r.. 


THE  CITY  OP  LUCCA.  263 

visible;  while  below,  in  the  half-open  house 
door,  I  saw  entering  a  little  fellow  in  the  black 
dress  of  an  abb^,  and  who  carried  with  both 
hands  a  mighty  full-bellied  wine-flask.  At  the 
same  instant  there  rang  not  far  off  a  delicately 
ironic  little  bell,  while  in  my  memory  tittered 
the  novels  of  Messer  Boccaccio.  But  these 
chimes  could  not  entirely  drive  away  the 
strange  shudder  which  ran  through  my  soul. 
It  held  me  the  more  ironly  bound  since  the  sun 
lit  up  80  warmly  and  brightly  the  uncanny 
buildings,  and  I  marked  well  that  ghosts  are  far 
more  terrible  when  they  cast  aside  the  black 
mantle  of  night  to  show  themselves  in  the  aloas 
light  of  noon. 

But  what  was  my  astonishment  at  the  changed 
aspect  of  the  city  when  I,  eight  days  later,  re- 
visited Lucca.  "  What  is  that  ? "  I  cried,  as  innu- 
merable lights  dazzled  my  eyes  and  a  stream 
of  human  beings  whirled  through  the  streets. 
"  Has  an  entire  race  risen  spectre-like  from  the 
grave  to  mock  life  with  the  maddest  mummery?" 
The  lofty  melancholy  houses  were  bright  with 
lamps,  variegated  carpets  hung  from  every 
window,  nearly  hiding  the  crumbling  grey  walls, 
and  above  them  peered  out  lovely  female  faces, 
so  fresh,  so  blooming,  that  I  well  marked  that  it 
was  Life  herself  celebrating  her  bridal  feast  with 
Death  and  who  had  invited  the  Beauty  of  Life 


264  PICTUkSS  OP  TRAVEL. 

as  a  guest.  Yes,  it  was  such  a  living  death- 
feast,  though  I  do  not  know  exactly  how  it  waa 
called  in  the  calendar.  At  any  rate,  it  was  the 
flaying-day  of  some  blessed  martyr  or  other,  for 
I  afterwards  saw  a  holy  skull  and  several  extra 
bones,  adorned  with  flowers  and  gems,  carried 
around  with  bridal  music.  It  was  a  fine  procession. 
First  of  all  went  such  Capuchins  as  were 
distinguished  from  the  other  monks  by  wearing 
long  beards,  and  who  formed,  as  it  were,  the 
sappers  of  this  religious  army.  Then  followed 
beardless  Capuchins,  among  whom  were  many 
noble  countenances,  and  even  many  a  youthful 
and  beautiful  face,  which  looked  well  with  the 
broad  tonsure,  since  the  head  seemed  through  it 
as  if  braided  around  with  a  neat  garland  of  hair, 
and  which  came  forth  with  the  bare  neck  in 
admirable  relief  from  the  brown  cowl.  These 
were  followed  by  cowls  of  other  colours,  black, 
white,  yellow,  and  gaily  striped,  as  well  as 
down-drawn  triangular  hats, — in  short,  all  those 
cloister  costumes  which  the  enterprise  of  our 
theatrical  manager  has  made  so  familiar.  After 
the  monkish  orders  came  the  regular  priests, 
with  white  shirts  over  black  pantaloons,  and 
wearing  coloured  caps,  who  were  in  turn  suc- 
ceeded by  still  more  aristocratic  clergymen, 
wrapped  in  different  coloured  silken  garments 
and  bearing  on  their  heads  a  sort  of  high  caps. 


r^ffi^^  »♦?•  .  -.•(-.  *■       -  .  *    ,     .-«     '  '■  ■'  >     ^   ^^JkA* 


THE  CITY  OF  LUCCA.  265 

which,  in  all  probability,  originated  in  E^ypt, 
and  with  which  we  are  familiar  from  the  works 
of  Denon,  from  the  "Magic  Flute,"  and  from 
Belzoni.  These  latter  had  faces  which  bore 
marks  of  long  service,  and  appeared  to  form  a 
sort  of  Old  Guard.  Last  of  all  came  the  regular 
staff  around  a  canopied  throne,  beneath  which 
sat  an  old  man  with  a  still  higher  head-dress 
and  in  a  still  richer  mantle,  whose  extremity 
was  borne  after  the  manner  of  pages  by  two 
other  old  men  clad  in  a  similar  manner. 

The  first  monks  went  with  folded  arms  in 
solemn  silence,  but  those  with  the  high  caps 
sang  a  most  miserable  and  unhappy  psalm,  so 
nasally,  so  shufflingly,  and  so  gruntingly,  that  I 
am  perfectly  convinced  that  if  the  Jews  had 
formed  the  great  mass  of  the  people,  and  if  their 
religion  had  been  the  established  religion,  the 
aforesaid  psalmodising  would  have  been  charac- 
terised with  the  name  of  "  Tnauscheln"  ^     For- 

^  MautcJidn,  a  slang  term  signifying  to  speak  like  a  Jew. 
tt  is  derived  ivoin  Maute  or  Mausohd,  an  equally  vulgar  name 
for  a  Jew,  corresponding  to  the  old-fashioned  English  word 
"smouch."  If,  as  is  said,  Mausehd  is  derived  from  Moses,  the 
verb  in  question  should  strictly  be  rendered  "to  mosey."  Un- 
fortunately this  word  is  already  preoccupied  in  English  with 
an  entirely  different  meaning.  To  mosey,  as  the  reader  donbt* 
leas  knows,  signifies  to  beat  a  rapid  retreat,  or,  musicalljr 
speaking,  to  perform  an  Exodus  in  the  time  of  Mose  in  Egitto. 
Matuchdn  as  a  noun  is  also  known  as  Yiddith,  Sehmutsen,  and 
lAunekutitek. — Note  bjf  Trandator. 


266  PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 

tunately  one  conld  only  half  hear  it,  since  there 
marched  behind  the  procession,  with  a  full 
accompaniment  of  drums  and  fifes,  several  com- 
panies of  troops,  besides  which  there  was  on  each 
side,  near  the  priests  in  their  flowing  robes, 
grenadiers  going  by  two  and  two.  There  were 
almost  as  many  soldiers  as  clergy,  but  it  requires 
many  bayonets  now-a-days  to  keep  up  religion, 
and  even  when  the  blessing  is  given,  cannon 
must  roar  significantly  in  the  distance. 

When  I  see  such  a  procession,  in  which 
clergymen  amid  military  escort  walk  along  so 
miserably  and  sorrowfully,  it  strikes  painfully  to 
my  soul,  and  it  seems  to  me  as  though  I  saw 
our  Saviour  himself  surrounded  by  lance-bearers 
and  led  to  judgment.  The  stars  at  Lucca  felt 
beyond  question  as  I  did,  and  as  I  sighing 
glanced  up  at  them,  they  looked  down  on  me, 
one  with  my  soul,  with  their  pious  eyes  so  clear 
and  bright.  But  we  needed  not  their  light. 
Thousands  and  fresh  thousands  of  lamps  and 
candles,  and  girls'  faces  gleamed  from  all  the 
windows.  At  the  corners  of  the  streets  flaring 
pitch-hoops  were  placed,  and  then  every  priest 
had  his  own  private  torch-bearer  to  keep  him 
company.  The  Capuchins  had  generally  little 
boys  who  carried  their  lights  for  them,  and  the 
youthful  fresh  little  faces  looked  up  from  time 
to  time  right  curiously  and  pleased  at  the  old 


THE  CITY  OF  LUCCA.  267 

solemn  beards.  A  poor  Capuchin  like  these 
cannot  afford  a  greater  torch-bearer,  and  the  boy 
to  whom  he  teaches  the  Ave  Maria,  or  whose 
old  aunt  confesses  to  him,  must,  at  the  procession, 
perform  this  service  gratis,  and,  beyond  question, 
it  is  not  done  with  the  less  love  on  that  account. 
The  monks  who  came  after  did  not  have  much 
larger  boys,  a  few  more  respectable  orders  had 
grown-up  youths,  and  the  high-minded  and 
mitred  priests  rejoiced  in  having  each  a  real 
citizen  to  hold  a  candle.  But  the  one  last  of 
all,  the  Lord  Archbishop — for  such  was  the  man 
who,  in  aristocratic  humility,  went  along  beneath 
the  canopy,  and  whose  train  was  borne  by  grey 
pages — had  on  either  side  a  lackey,  each  bril- 
liant in  blue  livery  with  yellow  laces,  and  who 
bore  a  white  wax  taper  as  ceremoniously  as 
though  he  officiated  at  court. 

At  all  events,  this  candle-bearing  seemed  to 
me  to  be  a  good  arrangement,  since  it  enabled 
me  to  see  so  plainly  the  faces  pertaining  to 
Catholicism ;  and  now  I  have  seen  them,  and  in 
the  best  of  lights  at  that  And  what  did  I  see  ? 
Well,  the  clerical  stamp  was  nowhere  wanting. 
But  if  this  was  not  thought  of,  there  was  as  great 
a  variety  in  the  faces  as  in  those  of  other  men. 
One  was  pale,  another  red ;  this  man  held  his 
nose  well  up,  that  one  was  dejected ;  here  there 
was  a  flashing  black,  there  a  flickering  grey  eye ; 


268 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


but  in  every  face  there  was  a  trace  of  the  same 
malady — a  terrible  incurable  malady,  which  will 
probably  be  the  reason  why  my  descendant^ 
when  he,  a  century  later,  looks  at  the  procession 
in  Lucca,  will  not  find  a  single  one  of  all  those 
faces.  I  fear  that  I  myself  am  infected  with 
that  illness,  and  that  one  result  of  it  is  that 
languor  which  so  strangely  steals  over  me  when 
I  see  the  sickly  face  of  a  monk  and  read  in  it 
such  sorrows  as  hide  under  a  coarse  cowl — 
aggravated  love,  gout,  disappointed  ambition, 
spine  complaint,  remorse,  hemorrhoids,  and  the 
heart- wounds  which  are  caused  by  the  ingrati- 
tude of  friends,  by  the  slander  of  enemies,  and 
by  our  own  sins.  Yea,  all  of  these,  and  far 
many  more,  which  find  no  more  difificulty  in 
settling  under  a  coarse  cowl  than  beneath  a 
fashionable  dress  coat.  Oh,  it  is  no  exaggera- 
tion when  the  poet  cries  out  in  his  agony,  "  Life 
is  a  sickness,  all  the  world  a  lazar-house  ! " 

"  And  Death  is  our  physician ! "  Ah !  I  will 
say  nothing  evil  of  him  and  disturb  none  in  their 
confidence  in  him,  for  as  he  is  the  only  physician, 
they  may  as  well  believe  that  he  is  the  best,  and 
that  the  only  remedy  which  he  employs — his 
eternal  earth-cure — is  also  the  best.  His  friends 
can  say  at  least  this  much  in  his  favour,  that  he 
is  always  at  hand,  and  that,  despite  his  immense 
practice,  he  makes  no  one  wait  who  earnestly 


'.'*'■»<•. 


* « 


THB  CITY  OF  LUCCA.  S69 

desires  to  see  hinL  And  often  does  he  follow  his 
patient,  even  to  the  procession,  and  bears  for 
them  the  torch.  Surely  it  was  Death  himself 
whom  I  saw  walking  by  the  side  of  a  pale, 
sorrowful  priest ;  bearing  in  his  thin,  quivering, 
bony  hands,  a  flickering  torch,  who  nodded  plea- 
santly and  consolingly  with  his  anxious,  bald 
pate,  and  who,  weak  as  he  himself  was  on  the 
legs,  still  held  up  from  time  to  time  the  old 
priest  whose  steps  seemed  growing  weaker  and 
readier  to  falL  He  seemed  to  be  whispering 
courage  to  the  latter,  "Only  wait  a  few  short 
hours,  then  we  will  be  home,  and  I  will  put  out 
thy  torch,  and  lay  thee  in  bed,  and  thy  cold, 
weary  limbs  may  rest  as  long  as  they  will,  and 
thou  shalt  sleep  so  soundly  that  thou  wilt  not 
hear  the  whimpering  of  the  little  St  Michael's 
bell."  ':rr--::-y--'^y-;:---\:: -:-'■■'■■■■: 

"And  against  that  man,  also,  I  will  write 
nothing,"  thought  I,  as  I  saw  the  poor  pale  priest, 
whom  Death  himself  was  lighting  to  his  bed. 

Alas!  one  ought  really  to  write  against  no 
one  in  this  world.  We  are  all  of  us  sick  and 
suffering  enough  in  this  great  lazaretto,  and 
many  a  piece  of  polemical  reading  involuntarily 
reminds  me  of  a  revolting  quarrel  in  a  little 
hospital  at  Cracow,  where  I  was  an  accidental 
spectator,  and  where  it  was  terrible  to  hear  the 
sick  mocking  an$i  reviling  each  other's  infirmities, 


aTO  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

how  emaciated  consumptives  ridiculed  those  who 
were  bloated  with  dropsy,  how  one  laughed  at 
the  cancer  in  the  nose  of  another,  and  he  again 
jeered  the  locked-jaw  and  distorted  eyes  of  his 
neighbours,  until  finally  those  who  were  mad 
with  fever  sprang  naked  from  bed,  and  tore  the 
coverings  and  sheets  from  the  maimed  bodies 
around,  and  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen  but 
revolting  misery  Eind  mutilation. 


CHAPTER  VL 

*'  He  then  also  poured  forth  to  the  other  immortals  assembled 
Sweetest,  pleasantest  nectar,  the  goblet  quickly  exhausting, 
And  still  an  infinite  laughter  rang  from  the  happy  immortals 
As  they  saw  how  Hephaestos  around  was  so  cleverly  passing. 
Thus  through  the  live-long  day,  until  the  sun  was  declining, 
The  feast  went  on,  nor  was  wanting  through  all  the  genial 

banquet 
Either  the  sound  of  the  strings  of  the  exquisite  lyre  of  Apollo, 
Nor  the  soft  song  of  the  Muse  with  voices  sweetly  replying." 

Suddenly  there  came  gasping  towards  them  a 
pale  Jew,  dripping  with  blood,  a  crown  of  thorns 
on  his  head,  bearing  a  great  cross  of  wood  on  his 
shoulder,  and  he  cast  the  cross  on  the  high  table 
of  the  gods,  so  that  the  golden  goblets  trembled 
and  fell,  and  the  gods  grew  dumb  and  pale,  and 
ever  paler,  till  they  melted  in  utter  mist. 


THE  CITY  OP  LUCCA.  xji 

Then  there  were  dreary  days,  and  the  world 
became  grey  and  gloomy.  There  were  no  more 
happy  immortals,  and  Olympus  became  an  hos- 
pital, where  flayed,  roasted,  and  spitted  gods 
went  wearily,  wandering  round,  binding  their 
wounds  and  singing  sorrowful  songs.  Eeligion 
no  longer  offered  joy,  but  consolation ;  it  was  a 
woeful,  bleeding  religion  of  transgressors. 

Was  it  perhaps  necessary  for  miserable  and 
oppressed  humanity?  He  who  sees  his  God 
sufifer  bears  more  easily  his  own  afflictions.  The 
merry  gods  of  old,  who  felt  no  pangs,  knew  not, 
of  course,  the  feelings  of  poor  tortured  man,  who 
in  turn  could  in  his  need  find  no  heart  to  turn 
to  them.  They  were  holiday  gods,  around  whom 
the  world  danced  merrily,  and  who  could  only 
be  praised  at  feasts.  Therefore  they  were  never 
loved  from  the  very  soul  and  with  all  the  heart. 
To  be  so  loved,  one  must  be  a  sufferer.  Pity  is 
the  last  consecration  of  love,  it  may  be  love 
itself.  Of  all  the  gods  who  loved  in  the  olden 
time,  Christ  is  the  one  who  has  been  the  most 
loved — especially  by  the  women  ! 

Avoiding  the  bustling  throng,  I  lost  myself  in 
a  solitary  church,  and  what  you,  dear  reader,  have 
just  read,  are  not  so  much  my  own  thoughts  as 
certain  involuntary  words  which  came  to  life 
in  me  while  I,  reclining  on  one  of  the  old 
benches  for  prayer,  let  the  tones  of  the  organ 


■.  ♦ 


272 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


flow  freely  through  my  breast.  Thus  I  lie  in 
soul  amid  strange  phantasies,  the  wondrous  music 
suggesting  from  time  to  time  a  more  wondrous 
text.  At  times  my  eyes  sweep  through  the  dim- 
growing  archways,  seeking  the  dark  visible  echoes 
of  forms  belonging  to  those  organ  melodies.  Who 
is  that  veiled  figure  kneeling  yonder  before  an 
image  of  the  Madonna?  The  swinging  lamp 
which  hangs  before  it  lights  up  fearfully  yet 
sweetly  the  beautiful  Mother  of  Suffering  of  a 
crucified  love,  the  Venus  dolorosa  ;  but  pander- 
ing gleams,  full  of  mystery,  fall  from  time  to  time 
as  if  by  stealth  on  the  beautiful  outlines  of  the 
veiled  and  praying  lady.  She  lay,  indeed,  motion- 
less on  the  stone  altar  steps,  but  in  the  quivering 
light  her  shadow  seemed  to  live  and  often  run 
up  to  me  and  then  retreated  in  haste,  like  a 
dumb  negro,  the  timid  love-messenger  of  a  harem 
— and  I  understood  him.  He  announced  the 
arrival  of  his  lady,  the  Sultaness  of  my  heart. 

Minute  by  minute  it  grew  darker  in  the  empty 
house ;  here  and  there  an  undefined  form  glided 
along  the  pillars ;  now  and  then  a  soft  murmur 
was  heard  in  a  side  chapel,  and  the  organ  groaned 
out  its  long-drawn  tones,  like  the  heart  of  a  sigh- 
ing giant  I 

It  seemed  as  though  those  organ-notes  would 
never  cease,  as  though  the  death-notes  of  that 
living  death  would  endure  for  ever.    I  felt  an 


THE  CITY  OF  LUCCA.  273 

indesciibable  depression  of  spirits,  and  such  a 
nameless,  anxious  terror,  as  though  I  had  been 
buried  in  a  tranca  Yes,  as  though  I,  one  of  the 
long  dead,  had  risen  from  my  grave  and  had 
gone  with  dark  mysterious  comrades  of  the  night 
into  the  church  of  phantoms,  to  hear  the  prayer 
of  the  dead  and  confess  the  sins  of  the  corpse.  I 
often  felt  as  though  I  saw  seated  near  me,  in  the 
spectral  twilight,  the  long  departed  of  the  city,  in 
obsolete  old  Florentine  dresses,  with  long  pale 
faces,  with  gold-bound  books  of  devotion  in  their 
thin  hands,  secretly  whispering,  nodding  in  silent 
melancholy-wise  one  to  the  other.  The  wailing 
tone  of  a  far-away  bell  of  the  dead  reminded  me 
again  of  the  sick  priest  whom  I  had  seen  in  the 
procession,  and  I  said  to  myself:  He  too  is  now 
with  the  departed,  but  he  will  come  here  to  read 
the  first  night  mass,  and  then  the  sad  spectre 
scene  will  begin  in  earnest.  But  suddenly  there 
arose  from  the  steps  of  the  altar  the  lovely  form 
of  the  veiled  and  praying  lady. 

Yes,  it  was  she ;  her  living  shade  had  already 
driven  afar  the  white  phantoms,  I  now  saw  but 
her  alone.  I  followed  her  quickly  from  the 
church,  and  as  she,  on  passing  the  door,  raised 
her  veil,  I  saw  it  was  Francesca's  face,  bedewed 
with  tears.  It  was  like  a  white  rose  flowered  to 
fulness  by  love-longing,  pearled  by  the  dew  of 
night  and  gleaming  in  the  moon  rays.  "Francesca, 

VOL.  II.  S 


tIA 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


dost  thou  love  me  ? "  I  asked  much  and  she 
answered  little.  I  accompanied  her  to  the 
Hotel  Croce  di  Malta,  where  she  and  Matilda 
lodged.  The  streets  were  empty,  the  houses  slept 
with  their  window-eyes  closed ;  only  here  and 
there,  through  their  wooden  lashes,  there  gleamed 
a  light.  High  in  heaven,  among  the  clouds, 
there  was  a  clear  green  space,  and  in  it  swam  the 
half-moon,  like  a  silver  gondola  in  an  emeraldine 
sea.  In  vain  I  begged  Francesca  to  look  up  for 
once  at  our  dear  old  trusty  friend — but  she  kept 
her  head  dreamily  bent  downwards.  Her  gait, 
once  80  elate  and  spirited,  yet  gliding,  was  now 
as  it  were  in  ecclesiastical  measure,  her  steps  were 
gloomy  and  Catholic,  she  moved  as  if  to  the 
music  of  an  organ  on  some  high  festival  day,  and 
as  her  limbs  had  in  other  nights  been  inspired 
by  Sin,  so  they  now  seemed  to  be  inspired  by 
Religion.  On  the  way  she  crossed  her  head  and 
breast  before  every  saint's  image;  and  in  vain 
did  I  attempt  to  aid  her  in  this.  But  when  we, 
on  the  Market  Place,  passed  the  Church  of  San 
Michele,  where  the  marble  Mother  of  Pain 
gleamed  forth  dimly  from  her  dark  niche,  with  a 
gilded  sword  in  her  heart  and  a  crown  of  lamps 
on  her  head,  Francesca  suddenly  cast  her  arms 
around  my  neck,  kissed  me,  and  whispered, 
"  Cecco,  Cecco,  caro  Cecco!  " 

I  calmly  took  charge  of  the  kiss,  though  I 


THE  CITY  OF  LUCCA.  275 

well  inew  that  it  was  really  intended  for  a 
Bolognese  abb^,  a  servant  of  the  Eoman  Catholic 
Church.  As  a  Protestant,  I  did  not  scruple  to 
appropriate  to  my  use  the  goods  of  the  Catholic 
Church,  and  I  consequently  secularised  the  pious 
kiss  of  Francesca  on  the  spot  I  know  that 
when  the  priests  come  to  hear  of  this  they  will 
rage,  they  will  scream  out  church  robbery  at  me, 
and,  if  possible,  would  gladly  apply  to  me  the 
French  Law  of  Sacrilege.  To  my  sorrow,  I  must 
confess  that  the  aforesaid  kiss  was  the  only  one 
which  I  got  hold  of  that  night  Francesca  had 
determined  to  devote  the  night,  kneeling  and  in 
prayer,  to  the  safety  of  her  soul.  In  vain  did  I 
beg  leave  to  share  her  pious  exercises ; — when 
she  reached  her  room  she  shut  the  door  in  my 
face.  In  vain  did  I  stand  a  whole  hour  without, 
begging  for  entrance,  sighing  every  possible  sigh, 
feigning  pious  tears,  and  swearing  the  most  sanc- 
tified oaths — of  course  with  clerical  reservation. 
— I  felt  that  I  was,  little  by  little,  becoming 
a  Jesuit,  I  grew  altogether  depraved,  and  finally 
offered  for  oTie  night  to  become  Catholic. 

"Francesca!"  I  cried,  "Star  of  my  thoughts! 
Thought  of  my  soul!  vita  della  mia  vital  my 
beautiful,  oft-kissed,  slender,  Catholic  Francesca ! 
for  this  one  night,  if  thou  wilt  grant  it  to  me,  I 
will  become  a  Catholic — but  only  for  this  night ! 
Oh  the  beautiful,  blessed.  Catholic  night !   I  will 


c<^^ 


276 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


lie  in  thy  arms,  with  deepest  Catholicism,  I  will 
believe  in  the  heaven  of  thy  love,  we  will  kiss 
the  sweet  confession  from  our  lips,  the  Word  wiU 
be  made  flesh,  Faith  will  become  corporeal  in 
body  and  in  form  !  oh  what  religion  !  Ye  priests, 
ring  forth  meanwhile  in  joy  your  Kyrie  Eleison, 
ring,  bum  incense,  sound  the  bells  !  let  the  organ 
be  heard,  peal  out  the  mass  of  Palestrina — that 
is  the  Body ! — I  believe,  I  am  blest,  I  sleep — 
but  so  soon  as  I  awake  on  the  next  morning,  I 
will  rub  away  sleep  and  Catholicism  from  my 
eyes,  and  see  again  clearly  the  sunlight  and  the 
Bible,  and  be  as  before,  Protestant,  reasonable, 
and  sober. 


CHAPTER  Vn. 

When  the  next  day  the  sim  smiled  gloriously 
down  from  heaven,  it  banished  all  the  sad 
thoughts  and  sombre  feelings  which  the  pro- 
cession of  the  previous  night  had  awakened  in 
me,  and  had  made  life  appear  like  a  sickness  and 
the  world  like  a  hospital. 

All  the  town  was  alive  with  a  cheerful  mul- 
titude— gaily  decked  mortals — while  here  and 
there  among  them  heistened  along  a  black  little 
priest.  All  was  noise  and  laughter  and  gossip ; 
scarce  could  we  hear  the  chiming  of  the  bells, 


THE  CITY  OF  LUCCA.  277 

which  summoned  us  to  grand  mass  in  the  Cathe- 
dral. This  is  a  beautiful  simple  church,  whose 
facade  of  variegated  marble  is  ornamented  with 
those  short  pillars,  rising  one  above  the  other, 
and  which  look  with  such  a  merry  melancholy 
on  us.  Within,  pillars  and  walls  were  clad  in 
scarlet  drapery,  and  serene  music  swelled  forth 
over  the  wave-like  masses  of  human  beings. 
Francesca  leaned  upon  my  arm,  and  as  I,  on 
entering,  gave  her  holy  water,  and  as  our  souls 
were  electrified  by  the  delicious  damp  touch  of 
each  other's  fingers,  I  received,  simultaneously, 
such  an  electric  shock  on  my  leg  that  I  very 
nearly  tumbled  for  terror  over  the  kneeling 
peasant  women  who,  clad  all  in  white  and  loaded 
with  long  ear-rings  and  necklaces  of  yellow  gold, 
covered  in  masses  the  floor.  As  I  looked  around 
I  saw  another  kneeling  female,  fanning  herself, 
and  behind  the  fan  I  spied  my  Lady's  merry 
eyes.  I  bent  towards  her,  and  she  breathed 
at  the  same  time  languishingly  into  my  ear, 
*' Delightful/" 

"For  God's  sake!"  I  whispered  to  her,  "be 
serious!  If  you  laugh  we  shall  certainly  be 
turned  out  of  doors!" 

But  prayer  and  entreaty  were  in  vain.  For- 
tunately no  one  understood  the  language  in 
which  we  spoke,  for  when  my  Lady  arose  and 
accompanied  us  through  the  throng  to  the  high 


278  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

altar  she  gave  herself  entirely  up  to  her  wild 
caprices  without  the  slightest  caution,  as  though 
we  had  stood  alone  on  the  Apennines.  She 
ridiculed  everything ;  even  the  poor  painted  pic- 
tures on  the  wall  did  not  escape  her  arrows. 

"  Look  there,"  she  cried,  "  at  Lady  Eve  nde  Eib, 
how  she  chats  with  the  Serpent !  It  was  a  good 
idea,  that  of  the  painter,  to  give  the  snake  a 
human  head  with  a  human  countenance ;  but  it 
would  have  been  much  more  sensible  if  he  had 
adorned  the  face  of  the  seducer  with  a  military 
moustache.  Look  there.  Doctor,  at  the  angel 
announcing  to  the  highly  blest  Virgin  her 
blessed  '  situation,'  and  who  laughs  at  the  same 
time  so  ironically.  I  know  what  the  rascal  is 
thinking  of.  And  that  other  Maria,  at  whose 
feet  the  holy  alliance  of  the  East  are  kneeling 
with  their  o£feringo  of  gold  and  incense,  doesn't 
she  look  like  Catalani  ?  "  I 

Signora  Erancesca,  who,  on  account  of  her 
ignorance  of  English,  understood  nothing  of  all 
this  chatter,  save  the  word  Catalani,  quickly 
remarked  that  the  lady  of  whom  our  friend 
spoke  had  really  lost  most  of  her  celebrity.  But 
our  friend  did  not  suffer  herself  to  be  in  the 
least  put  out,  and  passed  her  comments  on  the 
pictures  of  the  Passion  to  that  of  the  Crucifixion, 
an  exquisitely  beautiful  painting,  where,  among 
others,  three   stupid   idle    faces    were   painted. 


THE  CITY  OF  LUCCA,  279 

looking  on  at  their  ease  at  the  divine  martyrdom, 
and  which  my  Lady  insisted  represented  the 
deputies  plenipotentiary  of  Austria,  Russia,  and 
France. 

Saint  Joseph  had  to  endure  the  most.  She 
made  the  maddest  remarks  on  the  Flight  to 
Egypt,  where  Mary  sits  with  the  babe  on  the 
ass,  while  Joseph  follows  on  foot.  My  Lady 
declared  that  the  artist  had  made  the  donkey 
resemble  its  driver ;  and  it  is  true  that  in  both 
their  long  ears  hang  down  from  their  melancholy 
heads. 

"  Ah,  what  a  terrible  mess  and  perplexity  the 
poor  man  is  in ! "  cried  Matilda.  "  If  he  believes 
that  the  Lord  has  let  himself  down  to  his  level 
as  rival  and  fellow-labourer,  he  has  good  cause 
to  give  himself  to  the  devil ;  and  if  he  does  not, 
then  he  is  a  heretic,  and  must  go  to  the  devil  to 
a  certainty.  What  an  awful  dilemma !  There- 
fore he  bows  his  head  so  mournfully.  And  they 
have  adorned  his  head  with  a  glory  which  looks 
like  a  crown  of  horns.  How  the  history  of  the 
poor  ass-driver  goes  to  my  heart !  Never  unto 
this  day  did  anything  in  any  church  move  me 
so  deeply." 

Meanwhile  the  old  frescoes,  which  occasionally 
appeared  between  the  folds  of  scarlet  drapery, 
had,  with  their  wondrous  innate  earnestness, 
some  influence  in  subduing  the  British  love  of 


mIU.a.'^» 


2So 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


mockery.  There  were  among  them  faces  from 
the  heroic  age  of  Lucca,  of  which  so  much  is 
said  in  Machiavelli,  that  romantic  Sallust,  whose 
spirit  sweeps  towards  us  with  such  fire  from 
the  songs  of  Dante,  the  Catholic  Homer.  In 
those  faces  the  strong  feelings  and  barbaric 
thoughts  of  the  Middle  Age  are  well  expressed, 
although  on  the  mouth  of  many  a  silent  youth 
there  quivers  a  smiling  confession  that  in  those 
days  all  the  roses  were  not  of  stone  or  unblown, 
and  although  through  the  pious  down-drooping 
eyelashes  of  many  a  Madonna  of  the  day  there 
twinkles  a  roguish  leer  of  love,  as  though  she 
were  willing  to  present  us  with  another  infant 
Jesus.  At  all  events  it  is  a  higher  spirit  which 
speaks  to  us  from  those  old  Florentine  paintings ; 
it  is  the  truly  heroic  which  we  recognise  in  the 
marble  images  of  the  gods  of  antiquity,  and 
which  does  not  consist,  as  our  aesthetic  philo- 
sophers suppose,  in  eternal  calm  without  passion, 
but  in  an  eternal  passionate  emotion  without 
unrest  We  also  see,  in  several  oil  paintings  of 
a  later  day  which  hang  in  the  Cathedral  of 
Lucca,  the  same  old  Florentine  spirit,  perhaps 
as  a  traditional  echo.  I  was  particularly  pleased 
with  a  "Wedding  of  Cana,"  by  a  scholar  of 
Andrea  del  Sarto,  and  which  was  somewhat 
harshly  and  stiffly  painted.  In  it  the  Saviour 
sits  between  the  soft  fair  bride  and  a  Pharisee, 


M^-^*i.'    .^■■-    '*^  -Jl^'y  ■»-*  ^»»««»N^i^J 


./.Wl—.- 


THE  CITY  OF  LUCCA.  jgi 

whose  stonj  law-table  countenance  is  in  amaze- 
ment at  the  genial  prophet  who  so  cheerfully 
mingles  with  the  merry  guests  and  treats  them 
to  miracles  far  surpassing  those  of  Moses ;  for 
the  latter,  though  he  struck  with  all  his  force  on 
the  rocks,  brought  forth  nothing  but  water,  while 
the  latter  needed  only  to  speak  a  single  word 
to  fill  aU  the  jars  with  the  best  of  wine.  Far 
softer,  almost  Venetian  in  colour,  is  the  picture 
by  an  unknown  artist  hanging  near  it,  and  in 
which  the  pleasant  blending  of  hues  is  strangely 
qualified  by  a  pain  which  thrills  the  soul.  It 
represents  Mary  anointing  the  feet  of  Jesus  with 
a  pound  of  pure  and  costly  nard,  and  drying 
them  with  her  hair.  Christ  sits  there  sunong 
his  disciples,  a  beautiful,  intelligent  God,  who 
with  human  sorrow  feels  a  fearful  pious  com- 
miseration for  his  own  body,  which  ere  long 
must  suffer  so  much,  and  to  whom  the  flattering 
unction  of  honour  which  the  dead  receive  is 
already  due  and  already  realised.  He  smiles 
calmly  on  the  kneeling  woman,  who,  impelled  by 
a  presentiment  of  loving  anguish,  performs  her 
pitying  task,  a  deed  which  will  never  be  for- 
gotten so  long  as  suffering  humanity  shall  endure, 
and  which  will  breathe  forth  a  perfume  for  the 
refreshing  of  those  suffering  for  thousands  of 
years.  With  the  exception  of  the  youth  who 
rested  on  the  bosom  of  Christ,  and  who  remarks 


kLK'-^^f 


282 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


the  deed,  none  of  the  apostles  appear  to  realise 
its  peculiar  significance,  and  the  one  with  the 
red  beard  appears,  even  as  the  Scripture  states, 
to  make  the  morose  remark,  "  Why  was  not  this 
ointment  sold  for  three  hundred  pence  and  given 
to  the  poor  ? "  This  economical  apostle  was  the 
one  who  carried  the  purse  —  familiarity  with 
money  and  business  appears  to  have  rendered  him 
insensible  to  all  the  unselfish  perfume  of  love ; 
he  would  gladly  exchange  it  for  pence  for  a 
practical  purpose,  and  it  was  just  he,  the  penny- 
changer,  who  betrayed  the  Saviour  for  thirty 
pence.  Thus  does  the  Bible  symbolically,  in  the 
history  of  the  Banker  among  the  Apostles,  reveal 
the  unholy  power  of  seduction  which  lurks  in 
the  money-bag  and  warn  us  against  the  faith- 
lessness of  business  men.  Every  rich  man  is 
a  Judas  Iscariot.  I 

"You  are  making  faces  as  though  you  were 
trying  to  choke  down  your  piety,  dear  Doctor," 
whispered  my  Lady,  "  I  was  just  looking  and 
— excuse  me  if  the  remark  is  slanderous — but 
I  really  thought  that  you  looked  like  a  good 
Christian." 

"Between  you  and  me,  I  am  so;  yes,  Christ " 

"  Do  you  believe,  perhaps,  that  he  is  a  God  ? " 

"  That  of  course,  my  good  Matilda.    He  is  the 

God  whom  I  mostly  love — not  because  he  is  a 

legitimate  God  whose  Father  since  time  imme- 


i^MM 


MM 


:^V9I 


y- 


THE  CITY  OF  LUCCA.  283 

morial  ruled  the  world,  but  because  he,  though 
a  bom  Dauphin  of  Heaven,  is  democratically- 
minded,  loving  no  courtly  ceremonial  splendour ; 
because  he  is  not  a  God  of  shaven  and  shorn 
bookish  pedants  and  laced  men-at-arms ;  and 
because  he  is  a  modest  God  of  the  People,  a 
citizen-God,  %m,  Ion  dieu  citoyen.  Truly,  if  Christ 
were  no  God,  I  would  vote  that  he  should  be 
such,  and  much  rather  than  an  absolute  God 
who  has  forced  himself  to  power  would  I  obey 
him,  the  elected  God,  the  God  of  my  choice." 


CHAPTER  Vm. 

The  Archbishop,  a  solemn,  grey  old  man,  read 
mass  in  person ;  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  not  only 
I,  but  even,  to  a  certain  degree,  my  Lady,  was 
moved  by  the  spirit  latent  in  this  holy  ceremony 
and  by  the  sanctity  of  the  old  man  who  offici- 
ated ; — albeit  every  old  man  is  in  and  by  himself 
a  priest,  and  the  ceremonies  of  the  Catholic 
world  are  so  primsevally  old  that  they  are 
perhaps  the  only  ones  which  have  remained  from 
the  infancy  of  the  world  and  have  a  claim  on 
our  pious  feelings  as  a  memorial  of  the  first 
forefathers  of  all  mankind.  "  Look,  my  Lady,'* 
said  I;  "  every  gesture  which  you  here  behold, 


aSi 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


the  manner  of  laying  on  the  hands  and  the 
spreading  out  of  the  arms,  this  bowing,  this 
washing  of  the  hands,  this  burning  and  offering 
of  incense,  this  cup, — yes,  the  entire  clothing  of 
the  man  from  the  mytra^  to  the  hem  of  the  stole, 
all  is  ancient  Egyptian  and  the  remains  of  a 
priesthood  of  whose  wondrous  existence  the  oldest 
records  only  tell  us  a  little,  an  early  hierarchy 
which  investigated  the  first  wisdom  of  the  world, 
which  discovered  the  first  gods,  which  invented  the 
first  symbols,  and  by  whom  young  humanity " 

"  Was  first  cheated  and  betrayed,"  added  my 
Lady  in  a  bitter  tone;  "and  I  believe.  Doctor, 
that  of  this  earliest  age  of  the  world  there 
remains  nothing  but  a  few  dreary  formulas  of 
deceit,  and  they  are  still  active  and  potent. 
Only  look  there,  for  instance,  at  the  fearfully 
benighted  faces,  particularly  at  that  fellow  who 
is  planted  on  his  stupid  knees,  and  who,  with 
his  wide,  staring  mouth,  looks  so  much  like  an 
ultra- blockhead."  1 

"  For  Heaven's  sake  ! "  I  remarked  in  a  sooth- 
ing manner,  "  what  does  it  matter  if  that  head 
has  received  so  little  of  the  light  of  reason  ? 
What  is  that  to  us  ?  Why  should  that  irritate 
you  ?  Don't  you  see  every  day  oxen,  cows,  dogs, 
asses,  which  are  quite  as  stupid,  without  suffering 


^  Mitbra,  mytra,  mitre. 


THE  CITY  OF  LUCCA.  a«$ 

your  equanimity  to  be  disturbed  at  the  sight  or 
being  excited  to  angry  expressions  ? " 

"Ah,  that  is  an  entirely  different  matter," 
rejoined  my  Lady,  "for  those  beasts  have  tails 
behind,  and  I  vex  myself  just  for  that,  to  think 
that  a  fellow  who  is  so  bestially  stupid  has, 
however,  behind  him  no  tail  at  all." 

"  Yes,  that  is  a  very  different  matter  indeed, 
my  Lady." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

After  the  mass  there  was  still  much  to  see  and 
to  hear,  especially  the  sermon  of  a  great  two- 
fisted  monk,  whose  bold,  commanding  old  Eoman 
countenance  contrasted  singularly  with  his  coarse 
cowl,  so  that  he  looked  like  the  Emperor  of 
Poverty.  He  preached  of  heaven  and  of  hell, 
falling  at  times  into  the  wildest  enthusiasm. 
His  description  of  heaven  was  somewhat  bar- 
barously overloaded,  since  he  filled  it  with  gold, 
silver,  jewels,  costly  food,  and  wine  of  the  best 
vintages.  He  made,  too,  such  inspired  mouth- 
watering grimaces,  and  rolled  himself  to  and  fro 
in  his  gown  as  though  he  believed  himself  to  be 
flying  among  white-winged  angels  and  one  of 
them.  Much  less  delightful — yes,  even  very 
practically  earnest — was  his  description  of  helL 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


Here  the  man  was  far  more  in  his  element.  He 
was  especially  zealous  against  those  sinners  who 
do  not  believe,  as  Christianly  as  they  should,  in 
the  old  fires  of  hell,  and  even  think  that  they 
have  somewhat  cooled  down  of  late  preparatory 
to  a  general  extinguishment.  "  And,"  he  cried, 
"  if  hell  were  going  out,  then  would  I  with  my 
breath  blow  up  the  last  glimmering  coals  till 
they  should  blaze  up  again  into  all  the  first  fury 
of  their  flame."  Had  any  one  heard  the  voice, 
like  the  north  wind,  with  which  these  words 
were  howled  forth,  and  could  he  have  seen  the 
glowing  face,  the  red  neck  strong  as  a  buffalo's, 
and  the  mighty  fists  of  the  monk,  he  would  not 
have  regarded  this  hellish  threat  as  a  hyperbole. 
"  /  like  this  man,"  said  my  Lady.  i 

"  There  you  are  right,"  I  replied ;  "  and  he 
pleases  me  too,  better  than  our  soft  homoeopathic 
spiritual  doctors,  who  dilute  their  one  ten-thou- 
sandth grain  of  reason  with  a  bucket  of  moral 
water,  and  with  it  preach  us  to  repose  of  a 
Sunday." 

"  Yes,  Doctor,  I  have  respect  for  his  hell,  but  I 
can't  quite  agree  with  him  as  to  his  heaven.  In 
fact,  I  very  early  had  my  secret  doubts  as  to  the 
nature  of  heaven.  While  I  was  still  very  young 
in  Dublin,  I  often  lay  on  my  back  in  the  grass 
and  looked  up  at  heaven  and  wondered  if  it  really 
contained  so  many  splendid  things  as  people  said. 


THE  CITY  OF  LUCCA.         }    I       «ii^ 

'And,'  thought  I,  'if  it  does,  why  is  it  that 
none  of  these  fine  things  ever  fall  down,  say  a 
diamond  ear-ring  or  a  pearl  necklace,  or  at  least 
a  piece  of  pine-apple  cake  ?  And  why  is  it  that 
nothing  but  hail,  snow,  or  common  rain  is  ever 
vouchsafed  to  us  ?  That  isn't  exactly  as  it  should 
be,'  I  thought " 

"  Why  do  you  say  that,  my  Lady  ?  Why  not 
rather  be  silent  with  such  doubts  ?  Unbelievers 
who  put  no  faith  in  heaven  should  not  make 
proselytes.  I  much  less  blame — on  the  contrary, 
I  rather  praise — the  efforts  of  those  convert-makers 
who  have  a  splendid  heaven,  and  who,  so  far 
from  wishing  to  keep  it  to  themselves,  invite 
their  fellow-mortals  to  share  it  with  them,  and 
who  never  rest  till  their  invitations  are  accepted." 

"  I  have  always  wondered.  Doctor,  that  so 
many  rich  people  of  that  sort,  such  as  presidents, 
vice-presidents,  or  secretaries  of  societies  for 
converting  unbelievers,  take  such  pains  to  make, 
for  instance,  some  rusty  old  Jew-beggar  fit  for 
heaven,  and  to  secure  his  future  society  there, 
without  ever  so  much  as  dreaming  of  letting 
him  take  part  in  the  things  which  they  enjoy 
here  on  earth,  such  as  inviting  him  during 
summer  to  their  country-seats,  where  there  are, 
beyond  question,  dainties  which  would  taste  as 
good  to  the  poor  rogue  as  though  he  were  in 
heaven  itself." 


288  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

"  That  is  intelligible  enough,  my  Lady ;  the 
heavenly  delights  cost  nothing,  and  it  is  often  a 
double  pleasure  when  we  can  make  our  fellow- 
beings  happy  at  so  slight  an  expense.  But  to 
what  pleasures  can  the  unbeliever  invite  any 
•one?"  I 

"  To  nothing.  Doctor,  but  to  a  long  peaceful 
sleep,  which  may,  however,  be  very  desirable  to 
a  suffering  mortal,  especially  if  he  has  been 
previously  tormented  with  importunate  invita- 
tions to  heaven." 

The  beautiful  woman  spoke  these  words  with 
bitter  accents  which  went  to  the  heart,  and  it 
was  not  without  some  earnestness  that  I  replied : 
"  Dear  Matilda,  in  all  that  I  have  seen  and  done 
in  this  world  I  have  not  once  troubled  myself 
as  to  whether  there  were  a  heaven  or  a  helL  I 
am  too  great  and  too  proud  to  be  tempted 
by  heavenly  rewards  or  alarmed  by  the  punish- 
ments of  helL  I  strive  for  the  good  because  it 
is  beautiful  and  irresistibly  attracts  me,  and  I 
hate  the  bad  because  it  is  ugly  and  repulsive. 
Even  as  a  boy  when  I  read  Plutarch — and  I 
still  read  him  every  night  in  bed,  and  often  feel 
as  if  I  would  fain  jump  up  and  take  extra-post 
and  become  a  great  man  —  even  then  I  was 
pleased  with  the  story  of  the  woman  who  went 
through  the  streets  of  Alexandria,  bearing  in  one 
hand  a  burning  torch,  and  in  the  other  a  leathern 


THE  CITY  OF  LUCCA.  289 

bottle  of  water,  crying  to  the  multitude  that 
with  the  water  she  would  quench  the  fire  of  hell, 
and  with  the  torch  would  set  fire  to  heaven,  so 
that  people  should  not  cease  to  do  evil  merely 
f romfear  of  punishment  and  do  good  for  the  sake 
of  reward.  All  our  deeds  should  spring  from 
the  source  of  an  unselfish  love,  whether  there  is 
to  be  a  continuance  after  death  or  not" 

"  Then  you  do  not  believe  in  immortality  ? " 

"  Oh,  you  are  shrewd,  my  Lady !  /  doubt  it? 
/,  whose  heart  ever  strikes  deeper  and  d^per 
root  into  the  most  distant  millenniums  of 
the  past  and  of  the  future.  I,  who  am  my- 
self one  of  the  most  immortal  of  men,  whose 
every  breath  is  an  eternal  life,  whose  every 
thought  is  an  undying  star — I  disbelieve  in 
immortality!" 

"  I  think,  Doctor,  that  it  must  require  an 
inordinate  share  of  vanity  and  presumption,  too, 
after  enjoying  so  much  that  is  good  and  beautiful 
on  earth,  to  ask  immortality  of  the  Lord  in 
addition  to  it  all.  Man,  the  aristocrat  among 
animals,  who  thinks  himself  better  than  his 
fellow-creatures,  would  like  also  to  work  out  for 
himself  this  privilege  of  endless  life  by  court- 
like hymns  of  adoration  and  praise  and  kneeling- 
prayer.  Oh,  I  know  what  that  twitching  of  the 
lips  means,  my  immortal  gentleman  ! " 

VOL.  IL  ^      « 


990  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


CHAPTER  X. 

The  Signora  begged  us  to  accompany  her  to  a 
convent  where  a  miraculous  cross,  the  most 
remarkable  in  all  Tuscany,  was  preserved.  And 
it  was  well  that  we  left  the  Cathedral,  for  my 
Lady's  eccentricities  would  have  soon  got  us 
into  a  scrape.  She  foamed  over  with  brilliant 
caprices,  pretty  and  pleasant  foolish  fancies, 
which  leaped  about  self-willed  and  wild  as 
kittens  jumping  about  in  spring  sunlight.  On 
leaving  the  Cathedral  she  dipped  her  forefinger 
three  times  in  the  holy  water,  and  sprinkled 
herself  with  it  each  time,  murmuring,  "  Dem 
zefardeyim  kinnim,"  which  is,  according  to  her 
assertion,  the  Arabic  formula  used  by  sorceresses 
to  transform  a  human  being  to  an  ass. 

On  the  Piazza,  or  open  place  before  the 
Cathedral,  a  body  of  troops,  nearly  all  clad  in 
Austrian  uniform,  were  exercising,  the  word  of 
command  being  given  in  German.  At  least  I 
heard  the  German  words,  "  Prcesentirts  Gewehr  / 
Fuss  Gewehr  !  Schvlters  Gewehr  !  Rechts  um  I 
Halt!"^     I  believe  that  in  all  the  Italian  as 


^  "  Present  arms  !     Ground  arms  1     Shoulder  arms  !    Right- 
about face  \    Halt  I " 


THE  CITY  OF  LUCCA.  agft 

well  as  in  several  other  European  states  they 
command  in  German.  Ought  we  Germans  to 
plume  ourselves  on  it  ?  Have  we  so  many 
orders  to  give  in  this  world  that  German  has 
even  become  the  language  of  command  ?  Or 
have  we  been  ordered  about  so  much  that  those 
who  are  obedient  and  subject  best  understand 
the  German  tongue? 

My  Lady  did  not  seem  to  be  a  friend  to 
parades  and  reviews.  "  I  do  not  like,"  said  she, 
"to  be  near  such  men  with  sabres  and  guns, 
particularly  when  they  march  along  in  great 
numbers,  and  in  regular  rows  in  great  reviews. 
What  if  some  one  among  these  thousands  of  men 
should  suddenly  go  mad,  and  stab  me  dead  on 
the  spot  with  the  weapon  which  he  holds  in  his 
hand  ?  Or  what  if  he  should  suddenly  become 
rational  and  think,  '  What  have  I  to  risk  or  lose, 
even  if  they  should  take  my  life  ?  Perhaps 
the  other  world  which  they  promise  us  isn't  so 
brilliant,  after  all,  as  they  say ;  and  if  it  be  ever 
so  bad,  they  certainly  cannot  give  me  less  than 
six  kreutzers  a  day.  Suppose,  then,  just  for  the 
joke  of  the  thing,  that  I  stab  that  little  English 
lady  with  the  impertinent  nose  ? '  Wouldn't  I 
be  in  the  greatest  danger  of  my  life  then  ?  If 
I  were  a  king  I  would  divide  my  soldiers  into 
two  classes,  and  one  of  them  should  believe  in 
immortality,   so  that   they  might  be   brave  in 


292 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


battle  and  not  fear  death,  and  I  would  only  use 
them  in  war.  But  the  others  should  be  employed 
in  parades  and  reviews ;  and  lest  it  should  come 
into  their  heads  that  they  have  nothing  to  lose, 
and  so  kill  somebody  for  the  sake  of  a  joke,  I 
would  forbid  them  on  pain  of  death  to  believe  in 
immortality — ^yes,  I  would  even  give  them  some 
butter  on  their  ammunition-bread,  so  that  they 
might  have  a  real  fancy  to  live.  But  the  first, 
those  immortal  heroes,  should  have  a  right  hard 
life  of  it,  so  that  they  might  despise  mortality 
and  regard  the  roar  of  the  cannon  as  the  intro- 
duction to  a  better  life." 

"  My  Lady,"  said  I,  "  you  would  be  but  an 
indifferent  ruler.  You  know  but  little  of 
government,  and  nothing  at  all  of  politics.  If 
you  had  read  the  Political  Annals "  ! 

"  I  understand  them,  perhaps,  even  better  than 
you,  my  dear  Doctor.  While  I  was  very  young 
I  tried  to  instruct  myself  in  them.  While  I  was 
still  young  in  Dublin " 

"  And  lay  on  your  back  in  the  grass,  reflecting 
or  not,  as  at  Ramsgate " 

A  glance  as  of  a  light  reproach  of  ingratitude 
shot  from  my  Lady's  eyes,  but  she  then  smiled 
again,  and  continued,  "  While  I  was  yet  young 
in  Dublin,  and  used  to  sit  on  a  corner  of  the 
cricket  where  mother's  feet  rested,  I  had  all  sorts 
of  questions  to  ask :  what  the  tailors,  the  shoe- 


THE  CITY  OF  LUCCA.     '  293 

makers,  the  bakers — in  short,  what  all  sorts  of 
people  had  to  do  in  the  world.  And  mother 
explained  that  the  tailors  made  clothes,  the 
shoemakers  made  shoes,  the  bakers  baked  bread. 
And  when  I  asked  what  the  kings  did,  mother 
told  me  that  they  governed.  '  Dear  mother,'  I 
replied,  *  do  you  know  that  if  I  were  a  king  I'd 
go  one  whole  day  without  reigning,  just  to  see 
how  it  looked  in  the  world.'  *  Dear  child,'  said 
mother,  '  many  a  king  does  that,  and  yet  the 
world  looks  just  the  same  as  ever.' " 

"  Yes,  my  Lady,  your  mother  was  really  in 
the  right.  Particularly  here  in  Italy  are  there 
such  kings,  as  we  see,  for  instance,  in  Piedmont 
and  Naples " 

•'  Well,  Doctor,  we  shouldn't  blame  an  Italian 
king  for  not  reigning  on  some  days  when  it  is 
so  terribly  warm.  The  only  danger  is  that  the 
Carbonari  may  turn  such  a  day  to  account,  for 
I  have  remarked  that  now-a-days  revolutions 
always  break  out  on  those  days  when  no  reign- 
ing is  going  on.  If  the  Carbonari  made  a 
mistake  and  believed  that  it  was  a  day  without 
reigning,  when,  contrary  to  all  expectation,  the 
king  did  reign,  they  all  lost  their  heads.  There- 
fore the  Carbonari  can  never  be  careful  enough, 
and  must  be  particular  in  choosing  their  tim& 
So  that  the  most  delicate  and  difficult  duty  of 
the  king  is  to  keep  secret  those  days  when  there 


BP'^^^ESiaB  il^y^^f^ ' 


294 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


is  no  reigning ;  and  then  they  should  at  least  sit 
down  three  or  four  times  on  the  throne,  and 
perhaps  mend  a  pen,  or  seal  up  envelopes,  or  rule 
white  paper — all  for  show,  of  course — so  that 
the  people  outside  who  peep  into  the  palace 
windows  may  believe  in  all  sincerity  that  the 
reigning  is  still  going  on."  I 

While  such  remarks  came  from  my  Lady's 
delicate  little  mouth  there  swam  a  smile  of  tran- 
quil happiness  around  the  full,  rosy  lips  of  Fran- 
cesca.  She  scarcely  spoke,  but  her  gait  was  no 
longer  inspired  with  the  sighing  rapture  of  self- 
denial  so  manifest  on  the  previous  evening.  She 
now  walked  triumphantly  along,  every  step  the 
sound  of  a  trumpet ;  and  yet  it  seemed  to  be 
rather  a  spiritual  victory  than  one  of  this  world 
which  inspired  her  movements.  She  was  almost 
the  ideal  image  of  a  Church  triumphant,  and 
around  her  head  swept  an  invisible  glory.  But 
the  eyes,  as  if  smiling  through  tears,  were  again 
those  of  a  child  of  this  world ;  and  in  the  varied 
stream  of  humanity  which  swept  past  us,  no 
single  article  of  clothing  had  escaped  her  search- 
ing glance. 

"  JScco ! "  was  her  exclamation,  "  what  a 
shawl !  —  the  Marquis  shall  buy  me  such  a 
cashmere  for  my  turban  when  I  dance  Koxe- 
lana.  Ah  1  and  he  has  promised  me  a  diamond 
cross  too ! "  I 


THE  CITY  OF  LUCCA,    v     '  295 

Poor  Gumpelino !  you  will  agree  to  the  shawl 
without  much  demurring;  the  cross,  however, 
will  cost  you  many  a  bitter  hour.  But  Signora 
will  torture  you  so  long  and  keep  you  so  long 
on  the  rack  that  you  must  at  last  give  in  to  her 
wishes  1 


CHAPTER  XL 

The  church  in  which  the  miraculous  crucifix 
of  Lucca  is  to  be  seen  belongs  to  a  monas- 
tery the  name  of  which  at  this  instant  has 
escaped  me. 

As  we  entered  the  church  there  lay  on  their 
knees  before  the  high  altar  a  dozen  monks  in 
silent  prayer.  Only  now  and  then  they  spoke, 
as  if  in  chorus,  a  few  broken  words,  which  echoed, 
as  it  were,  awfully  through  the  solitary  columned 
aisles.  The  church  was  dark,  except  that  through 
small  painted  windows  fell  a  many-coloured  light 
on  bald  heads  and  brown  cowls.  Unpolished 
lamps  of  copper  dimly  illuminated  the  blackened 
frescoes  and  altar-pieces,  while  from  the  wall 
projected  carved  wooden  heads  of  saints,  coarsely 
coloured,  and  which,  in  the  dubious  flickering 
light,  seemed  grinning  at  us  in  grim  lifa  Sud- 
denly my  Lady  screamed  aloud  and  pointed  to  a 


»v  ■.♦„.,■  {.,.:' 


296 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


tombstone  beneath  our  feet,  on  which,  in  relief, 
was  the  stiff  image  of  a  bishop  with  mitre 
and  crosier,  folded  hands  and  trodden-away 
nose.  "  Ah  ! "  she  whispered,  "  I  just  then  trod 
rudely  on  his  stone  nose,  and  now  he  will 
appear  to  me  in  dreams ;  and  tJien  his  nose — 

who  knows " 

The  sacristan,  a  pale  young  monk,  showed  us 
the  miraculous  cross,  and  narrated  the  miracle 
which  it  had  effected.  Whimsical  as  I  am,  I 
probably  did  not  appear  incredulous  on  this 
occasion.  I  have  now  and  then  my  attacks  of 
belief  in  marvels,  especially  when,  as  in  this 
instance,  the  place  and  the  hour  are  favourable 
to  them,  and  I  then  believe  that  everything  in 
the  world  is  a  miracle  and  all  history  a  legend. 
Was  I  inspired  with  the  faith  in  marvels  of 
Francesca,  who  kissed  the  cross  with  the  wildest 
enthusiasm  ?  I  was  vexed  and  annoyed  with 
the  wild  mockery  of  the  witty  English  lady — 
perhaps  I  was  the  more  irritated  by  it  since  I 
felt  that  I  was  not  myself  entirely  free  from  the 
contagion,  yet  still  regarded  it  as  by  no  means 
praiseworthy.  It  cannot  be  denied  that  the 
passion  for  ridicule  and  mockery,  the  delight  in 
the  incongruity  of  things,  has  something  evil  in 
it,  while  seriousness  is  more  allied  with  the 
better  feelings — virtue,  the  sense  of  liberty,  and 
love  itself  are   very  serious.     Meanwhile  there 


THE  CITY  OF  LUCCA.  '::)■■  90- 

are  hearts  in  which  jest  and  earnest,  the  bad  and 
the  holy,  heat  and  cold,  mingle  so  strangely  that 
it  would  be  diflBcult  to  pass  a  separate  judgment 
on  either.  Such  a  heart  swam  in  the  bosom  of 
Matilda ;  often  it  was  a  freezing  island  of  ice  on 
whose  polished  mirror-like  ground  there  bloomed 
forth  deeply  longing,  glowing  forests  of  palms; 
as  often  an  enthusiastic  blazing  volcano,  which 
was  suddenly  overwhelmed  by  a  laughing  ava- 
lanche of  snow.  She  was  by  no  means  evilly  in- 
clined, with  all  her  abandon — not  even  sensuous  ; 
nay,  I  believe  that  she  had  only  caught  the 
humorous  side  of  sensuality,  and  delighted  her- 
self with  it  as  with  a  merry,  ridiculous  puppet- 
show.  It  was  a  humorous  longing,  a  sweet 
curiosity  to  know  how  this  or  that  queer  char- 
acter would  behave  when  in  love.  How  entirely 
dififerent  was  Francesca !  There  was  a  catholic 
unity  in  all  her  thoughts  and  feelings.  By  day 
she  was  a  pale  yearning  moon,  by  night  a  glow- 
ing sun.  Moon  of  my  days  !  sun  of  my  nights ! 
I  shall  never  see  thee  again! 

"  You  are  right,"  said  my  Lady;  "  I  also  believe 
in  the  wonder-working  powers  of  a  cross.  I  am 
convinced  that  if  the  Marquis  does  not  higgle 
and  hesitate  too  long  over  the  diamond  cross  it 
will  certainly  work  a  brilliant  miracle  on  the 
Signora,  and  she  will  be  at  last  so  dazzled  by  its 
brilliancy  as  even  to  be  enamoured  of  his  nose. 


*i 


"      -'  —  #        m    -'-     r—  '"    *-.      *-*-.-•',»   v*^«    *■••'•-  V»»-«^.  •J<*'..,f^*--ir*-,  ..«!^-,--».  ,-♦  *,-■   '..«,.  -**»,»  t     ,    *  -    A  *•      ,  »*-i-<*:*» 


298 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


And  I  have  often  heard  of  the  miraculous  powers 
of  crosses  of  nobilitj  which  have  the  power  of 
changing  an  honest  man  into  a  rascal" 

And  so  the  beautiful  lady  ridiculed  everything. 
She  flirted  with  the  poor  sacristan,  made  the 
drollest  excuses  to  the  bishop  with  the  worn-out 
nose,  declining  in  the  politest  manner  any  return 
of  her  call,  and  as  we  came  to  the  holy-water 
font  she  again  attempted  to  turn  me  into  an  ass. 

Whether  it  was  a  sincere  mood  inspired  by 
the  place,  or  whether  it  was  that  I  felt  inclined 
to  rebuff  as  sharply  as  possible  this  jest,  which 
really  vexed  me,  I  know  not,  but  I  assumed  the 
appropriate  pathos,  and  spoke — 

"  My  Lady,  I  have  no  liking  for  those  of  your 
sex  who  despise  religion.  Beautiful  women  with- 
out religion  are  like  flowers  without  perfume, 
resembling  those  cold,  sober  tulips  which  look 
upon  us  from  their  porcelain  vases,  as  though 
they  themselves  were  of  porcelain,  and  which,  if 
they  could  speak,  would  without  doubt  explain 
to  us  how  very  naturally  they  grow  from  a  bulb, 
how  all-sufficient  it  is  for  any  one  here  below 
not  to  smell  badly,  and  how,  so  far  as  perfume 
is  concerned,  a  rational  flower  has  no  need  of  it 
whatever."  t 

Even  at  the  very  mention  of  a  tulip  my  Lady 
was  in  a  state  of  the  most  passionate  excitement, 
and  as   I    spoke    her    idiosyncrasy   against  the 


'■>•■         »   .   .M 


•»« 


THE  CITY  OF  LUCCA.  299 

flower  acted  so  powerfully  that  she  held  her 
ears  as  if  desperate.  It  was  half  of  it  acted, 
but  half  w£is  piqued  earnestness  as  she  cast  at 
me  a  bitter  glance,  and  asked  from  her  very 
heart,  and  with  all  the  sharpness  of  irony — 

•'  And  you,  dear  flower,  which  of  the  current 
religions  do  you  profess  ? " 

"  I,  my  Lady,  have  them  all;  the  perfume  of 
my  soul  rises  to  heaven  and  overcomes  even  the 
immortal  gods  themselves." 


CHAPTER  XII. 

As  Signora  could  not  understand  our  conversa- 
tion, which  was  carried  on  principally  in  English, 
she  conceived  the  idea — Lord  knows  how ! — 
that  we  were  quarrelling  about  the  pre-eminence 
of  our  respective  nations.  She  therefore  began 
to  praise  the  English  and  the  Germans  also, 
although  at  heart  she  regarded  the  former  as 
wanting  sense  and  the  latter  as  stupid.  And 
she  had  a  peculiarly  bad  opinion  of  the  Prussians, 
whose  country,  according  to  her  geography,  lay 
far  beyond  England  and  Germany;  while  her 
worst  ill-will  was  reserved  for  the  King  of 
Prussia,  the  great  Federigo,  before  whom  her 
enemy,  Signora  Seraphina,  had  danced  the  pre- 


■'*Vk'. !*■*■■  •^.  .»••-'  •-"■-  *  K'*^-:r\i-^-^."%  *  t.,/  ■,»%>-*'"•'■*'*.■    .  "..1 


JOO  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

vious  year  in  a  ballet  at  her  benefit ;  for,  singular 
enough,  this  King,  that  is  to  say,  Frederick  the 
Great,  still  lives  on  the  Italian  stage  and  in  the 
memory  of  the  Italian  people.  | 

"No,"  said  my  Lady,  without  paying  the 
slightest  attention  to  Signora's  sweet  caresses 
and  blandishments — ^"no,  it  is  not  necessary  to 
change  this  man  into  an  ass.  Why,  he  not  only 
changes  his  opinions  every  ten  steps  and  con- 
tinually contradicts  himself,  but  now  he  even 
turns  missionary,  and,  upon  my  word,  I  believe 
he  is  a  Jesuit  in  disguise.  I  must  make  up 
devout  faces  myself  to  be  safe,  or  else  he'll  give 
me  over  to  his  fellow-hypocrites  in  Christ,  to 
the  dilettanti  of  the  Holy  Inquisition,  who  will 
burn  me  in  efl&gy,  since  the  police  do  not  as  yet 
permit  them  to  throw  people  in  person  into  the 
fire.  Oh !  honourable  gentleman,  dear  sir,  don't 
believe  that  I  am  as  intelligent  as  I  seem  to  be ; 
indeed,  I  am  not  wanting  in  religion,  I  am  not  a 
tulip ;  on  my  honour,  no  tulip ! — for  heaven's 
sake,  no  tulip — I  had  rather  believe  anything  1  I 
believe  now  in  the  principal  things  in  the  Bible. 
I  believe  that  Abraham  begat  Isaac,  that  Isaac 
begat  Jacob,  and  that  Jacob  begat  Judah,  and 
that  Judah  in  turn  '  knew '  his  daughter-in-law 
Tamar  on  the  highway.  I  believe,  too,  that  Lot 
drank  too  much  with  his  daughters.  I  believe 
that  Potiphar's  wife  kept  in  her  hands  the  robes 


,  K,'  i. ■*•  *  •  •■  •  •  -*  ■■-■'■•■HI* »rt fc.,'Av**;':»  r  *■*  •  "• '  ■'"  '•-.'■■4f' s?; 


THE  CITY  OF  LUCCA.       ^  JM 

of  Joseph.  I  believe  that  both  the  elders  who 
surprised  Susanna  in  her  bath  were  very  old. 
Moreover,  I  believe  that  the  patriarch  Jacob 
cheated  first  his  brother  and  then  his  father-in- 
law,  that  King  David  gave  Uriah  a  good  appoint- 
ment in  the  army,  that  Solomon  got  himself  a 
thousand  wives  and  then  complained  that  all 
was  vanity !  I  believe  in  the  Ten  Command- 
ments, too ;  and  even  keep  most  of  them.  I  do 
not  covet  my  neighbour's  ox,  nor  his  maid-servant, 
nor  his  cow,  nor  his  ass.  I  do  not  work  on  the 
Sabbath,  the  seventh  day  on  which  the  Lord 
rested ;  yet,  to  be  on  the  safe  side,  since  we 
don't  know  exactly  which  was  the  seventh  day 
of  rest,  I  often  do  nothing  through  the  whole 
week.  But,  as  for  the  commandments  of  Christ, 
I  always  obeyed  the  one  which  is  most  important 
— that  we  should  love  our  enemies — for,  ah !  those 
persons  whom  I  have  best  loved  were  always, 
without  my  knowing  it,  my.  worst  enemies." 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  Matilda,  do  not  weep  ! "  I 
cried,  as  there  once  more  darted  forth  a  tone  of 
the  acutest  anguish  from  the  most  genial  mockery, 
like  a  serpent  from  a  bed  of  flowers.  I  well 
knew  that  tone  which  often  thrilled  the  wild  and 
witty  crystal  heart  of  the  strange  and  lovely 
woman — powerfully,  it  was  true,  but  never  for  a 
long  time ;  and  I  well  knew  that  it  would  vanish 
as  readily  as  it  had  risen  before  the  first  jest 


302  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

which  one  would  utter  to  her  or  which  would 
flit  through  her  own  soul.  While  she  stood 
leaning  against  the  monastery  gate,  pressing  her 
burning  cheeks  against  the  cold  stone  and  wiping 
the  tears  from  her  eyes  with  her  long  hair,  I 
tried  to  revive  her  merry  mood  by  mystifying 
poor  Francesca,  giving  the  latter  the  most  im- 
portant particulars  of  the  Seven  Years'  War, 
which  appeared  to  be  to  her  a  matter  of  especial 
interest,  and  which  she  believed  to  be  still  going 
on.  I  told  her  many  interesting  things  of  the 
great  Federigo,  the  witty  gaiter-god  of  Sans 
Souci  who  invented  the  Prussian  monarchy,  and 
when  young  played  right  well  on  the  flute  and 
made  French  verses.  Francesca  asked  me  if  the 
Prussians  or  the  Germans  would  conquer;  for,  as 
I  have  already  intimated,  she  supposed  the  former 
to  be  an  entirely  different  race,  and  it  is  indeed 
common  enough  in  Italy  to  imply  by  the  name 
Germans  only  the  natives  of  Austria.  Signora 
was  not  a  little  astonished  when  I  told  her  that 
I  myself  had  lived  for  a  long  time  in  the  GapUale 
delta  Prussia,  that  is  to  say,  in  Berelino,  a  city 
which  lies  very  far  up  on  the  map,  not  far  from  the 
North  Pole.  She  shuddered  as  I  depicted  to  her 
the  dangers  to  which  one  is  there  exposed  from 
the  Polar  bears  which  stray  about  the  streets. 
"  For,  dear  Francesca,"  I  explained  to  her,  "  in 
Spitzbergen  there  are  by  far  too  many  bears, 


THE  CITY  OF  LUCCA.         ^  303 

which  lie  there  in  garrison,  and  they  sometimes 
visit  Berlin,  either  inspired  by  desire  to  see  the 
'bear'^  and  the  Bassa,  or  else  to  eat  a  good 
dinner  at  Beyermann's  in  the  Caf^  Royal,  an 
indulgence  which  sometimes  costs  more  money 
than  they  have  with  them,  in  which  case  one  of 
the  bears  is  bound  down  there  until  his  com- 
panions return  and  pay  for  him,  whence  the 
expression  'to  bind  a  bear'  originated.  Many 
bears  live  in  the  city  itself;  yes,  some  people 
even  assert  that  Berlin  owes  its  origin  to  the 
bears  and  ought  really  to  be  called  Bearlin. 
The  town  bears  are,  however,  very  tame,  and 
some  of  them  are  so  highly  educated  that  they 
write  the  most  beautiful  tragedies  and  compose 
the  finest  music.  Wolves  are  also  very  common 
there,  but  as  they  generally  go  clad  in  sheep's 
clothing  on  account  of  the  cold,  they  are  difficult 
to  recognise.  *  Snow-geese '  *  flutter  about  there 
and  sing  bravura  airs,  while  reindeer,^  who  are 
dear  enough  to  their  tenants,  reign  with  undis- 


^  It  may  be  remarked  that  a  "  bear "  not  only  signifies  a 
debt,  but  is  also  used  by  students  as  an  abusive  epithet.  It 
is  in  this  latter  sense  as  well  as  the  former  that  Heine  here 
uses  it. 

'  Sehneegaense,  from  Schneegam,  Latin,  Avmt  hyperborcgut, 
toft  white  pretty  misses  of  the  kind  which  reminded  Thackeray 
of  rabbits. 

*  RennthierCt  a  reindeer.    Jtentirer,  one  who  lives  on  his  rents. 


304  PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 

puted  sway  as  connoisseurs  in  art.  On  the 
whole  the  Berliners  live  very  temperately  and 
industriously,  and  most  of  them  sit  buried  up  to 
their  navels  in  snow,  writing  works  of  positive 
religion,  devotional  books,  religious  tales  for 
daughters  of  the  higher  classes,  catechisms, 
sermons  for  every  day  in  the  year,  Eloha  poems, 
and  are  meanwhile  very  moral,  for  they  sit  up 
to  the  navel  in  snow." 

"  Are  the  Berliners,  then.  Christians  ?  "  cried 
Signora,  in  amazement. 

"Their  Christianity  is  of  a  peculiar  species. 
This  religion  is  at  bottom  utterly  and  entirely 
wanting  in  them,  and  they  are  also  much  too 
reasonable  to  seriously  practise  it.  But  as  they 
know  that  Christianity  is  necessary  in  a  State,  so 
that  the  subjects  may  be  nicely  obedient,  and  so 
that  people  may  not  steal  and  murder  too  much, 
they  endeavour  with  great  eloquence  to  at  least 
convert  their  fellow-beings  to  Christianity,  seek- 
ing, as  it  were,  '  substitutes '  in  a  religion  whose 
maintenance  is  desirable  to  them,  and  whose 
strict  practice  as  well  as  profession  would  give 
them  too  much  trouble.  In  this  dilemma  they 
enjoy  the  zealous  service  of  poor  Jews,  who  are 
obliged  to  become  Christians  for  them ;  and  as 
this  race  will  do  anything  for  gold  and  for  good 
words,  they  have  at  length  exercised  themselves 
completely  into  the  very  depths  of  Christianity. 


THE  CITY  OF  LUCCA.  J"! 

Tes,  80  deeply  that  they  cry  out  as  well  as  the 
best  against  unbelief,  fight  as  for  life  and  death 
for  the  Trinity,  believe  in  it  even  in  the  dog-days, 
rage  against  the  naturalists,  slip  secretly  around 
in  many  lands  as  missionaries  and  spies  of  the 
faith,  circulate  edifying  tracts,  roll  up  their  eyes 
better  than  any  one  in  the  churches,  make  the 
most  hypocritical  faces,  and  act  piety  with  such 
success  that  the  old  '  two  of  a  trade '  envy  is 
beginning  already  to  show  itself,  and  the  ancient 
masters  of  the  business  secretly  bewail  that 
Christianity  is  at  present  entirely  in  the  hands 
of  the  Jews." 


CHAPTER  Xm. 

Though  Signora  did  not  understand  me,  you  at 
least,  dear  reader,  will  have  no  difficulty  in  doing 
so.  My  Lady  also  understood  me,  and  the  effect 
thereof  was  to  revive  her  good-humour.  But  as 
I- — (I  do  not  really  know  if  it  was  done  with  a 
serious  expression) — undertook  to  assert  that  the 
multitude  needed  a  settled  religion,  she  could  not 
refrain  from  again  attacking  me  in  her  peculiar 
manner. 

"People  must  have  a  religion!"  she  cried. 
''Always  must  I  hear  that  text  preached  by  a 

VOL.  n.  O 


306 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


thousand  stupid  and    by   endless   thousands  of 
hypocritical  lips "  ' 

"  And  yet,  my  Lady,  it  is  true.  As  the  ■ 
mother  cannot  answer  every  question  to  the 
child  with  truth  because  its  power  of  comprehen- 
sion is  not  sufficient,  so,  in  like  manner,  there 
must  be  a  positive  religion,  a  Church  which  can 
answer  for  the  people  according  to  their  compre- 
hension and  reduce  to  the  test  of  the  senses  aU 
such  questions  as  transcend  sensation." 

"  Oh,  misery.  Doctor !  your  very  comparison 
puts  me  in  mind  of  a  story,  which,  in  its  appli- 
cation, is  not  very  favourable  to  your  theory. 
While  I  was  yet  young  in  Dublin " 

"  And  lay  on  your  back "  j 

"  Pshaw !  Doctor,  there's  no  speaking  a  reason- 
able word  with  you — stop  laughing  at  me,  I  say, 
in  that  indecent  way  and  listen.  While  I  was 
still  young  in  Dublin  and  sat  at  my  mother's  feet, 
I  once  asked  what  people  did  with  the  old  full- 
moons.  '  My  dear  child,'  said  mother,  *  the  Lord 
breaks  the  old  moons  to  pieces  with  the  sugar- 
hammer  and  makes  little  stars  of  them.'  One 
shouldn't  blame  my  mother  for  telling  such  a 
story,  for  with  the  very  best  astronomical  know- 
ledge she  could  never  have  explained  to  me  the 
whole  system  of  the  sun,  moon,  and  stars,  and 
she  accordingly  answered  the  supernatural  ques- 
tion in  a  natural  way.     But  it  would  have  been 


._L^ 


THE  CITY  OF  LUCCA.  V    307 

better  had  she  put  off  the  question  until  I  was 
older,  or  at  least  told  me  the  plain  truth ;  for 
when  I  afterwards  was  looking  with  little  Lucy 
at  the  full-moon,  and  explained  to  her  how  stars 
were  to  be  made  from  it,  she  laughed  at  me,  and 
said  that  her  grandmother,  old  Mrs.  O'Meara,  had 
told  her  that  the  full-moons  were  eaten  in  hell 
for  fire-melons,  and  because  there  was  no  sugar 
there  they  sprinkled  them  with  pepper  and  salt. 
As  Lucy  had  at  first  laughed  at  my  naive 
evangelic  opinion,  so  I  now  laughed  at  her 
gloomy  Catholic  idea.  From  laughing  we  got  to 
fighting;  we  banged  and  we  spit  at  each  other 

,.  in  the  real  polemic  style,  until  little  O'Donnel 
came  out  of  school  and  separated  us.  This 
boy  had  been  better  instructed  than  we  in  the 
heavenly  science ;  he  understood  mathematics, 
and  calmly  explained  to  us  our  mutual  errors 
and  the  folly  of  our  quarrel  And  what  was  the 
result  ?  Why,  we  two  girls  at  once  stopped  our 
quarrel  and  united  our  forces  to  give  the  quiet 
little  mathematician  a  good  beating." 

"  My  Lady,  I  am  troubled,  grieved  at  what  you 

'  say,  for  you  are  in  the  right.  But  matters  can't 
be  changed.  People  will  always  go  on  fighting 
as  to  the  pre-eminence  of  the  conceptions  of 
religion  which  were  first  instilled  into  their 
minds,  and  the  reasonable  men  among  them  will 
thereby  be  doomed  to  double  suffering.     Once, 


•r' 


30»  PICTURES  OF  THAVBL. 

of  course,  things  were  different,  when  it  never 
occurred  to  any  one  to  particularly  extol  the 
doctrines  or  solemnity  of  his  religion  or  to  press 
it  on  any  one.  Religion  was  a  dear  and  beau- 
tiful tradition ;  holy  narratives,  commemorative 
festivals  and  mysteries  were  handed  down  from 
ancestors  as  the  sacred  family  rites  of  the  people, 
and  it  would  have  been  a  harsh  and  cruel  thing 
for  a  Greek  if  a  foreigner,  not  of  his  race,  had 
demanded  fellowship  in  the  same  religion  with 
him ;  and  it  would  have  seemed  to  him  a  still 
more  inhuman  thing  to  induce  any  one  by  com- 
pulsion or  cunning  to  give  up  the  religion  to 
which  he  was  bom  and  to  substitute  for  it  a 
strange  one.  But  there  came  a  race  from  Egypt, 
from  the  fatherland  of  the  crocodile  and  of 
priesthood,  and  in  addition  to  cutaneous  diseases 
and  the  stolen  vessels  of  gold  and  silver,  this 
race  brought  with  it  a  so-called  positive  religion, 
a  so-called  Church,  a  structure  of  dogmas,  in 
which  men  must  believe,  and  holy  ceremonies 
which  men  must  celebrate,  the  first  type  of  later 
religions  of  State.  Then  arose  the  endless  finding 
of  faults  in  human  nature,  the  making  of  prose- 
lytes,  the  compulsion  of  faith,  and  all  that  holy 
torture  which  has  cost  the  human  race  so  much 
blood  and  so  many  tears."  [ 

'*  God  damn  this  prim«nZ  race ! " ' 

^  Ooddamm  .  diese$  UntebdvoU.  I 


THB  CITY  OF  LUCCA.  309 

"  0  Matilda !  it  has  long  been  damned,  and 
has  dragged  the  agonies  of  its  damnation  with  it 
for  thousands  of  years.  O  this  Egypt!  her 
works  defy  time,  her  pyramids  still  stand  un- 
shattered  as  of  old,  her  mummies  are  as  imper- 
ishable as  ever;  and  not  less  imperishable  is 
that  mummy  of  a  race  which  wanders  over  the 
world  wrapped  in  most  ancient  swathing-bands 
of  letters,  a  petrified  fragment  of  the  History  of 
the  World,  a  spectre  which  gets  its  living  by 
trading  in  bills  of  exchange  and  old  pantaloons. 
My  Lady,  do  you  see  yonder  that  old  man  with 
a  white  beard,  the  point  of  which  seems  to  be 
growing  black  again,  a  man  with  ghost-like  eyes  ?" 

"  Are  not  the  ruins  of  the  old  Bomau  graves 
there?"  .•'-■■ 

"  Yes.  And  there  he  sits  offering  his  prayer,  a 
fearful  prayer,  in  which  he  bewails  his  sufferings 
and  accuses  races  which  have  long  since  vanished 
from  the  earth  and  now  live  only  in  nursery 
legends,  while  he,  in  his  pain,  scarce  marks  that 
he  sits  on  the  graves  of  those  very  enemies  for 
whose  destruction  he  prays  to  Heaven."  ^ 


^  The  reference  here  appears  to  be  to  the  Hebrew  prayer- 
poem,  "  A  kid,  a  kid,"  given  in  full  in  the  Rabbi  of  Bacharach. 
The  old  man  with  the  black-and-white  beard  indicates  the 
Wandering  Jew. — Note  by  Trcmdator. 


910 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


I  SPOKE  in  the  previous  chapter  of  positive 
religions  only  so  far  as  as  they  are  especially 
privileged  by  the  State  as  Churches,  under  the 
name  of  State  religions.  But  there  is  a  pious 
dialectic,  dear  reader,  which  will  prove  to  you  in 
the  most  convincing  manner  that  the  opponent 
of  the  ecclesiastical  system  of  such  a  religion  of 
State  is  also  an  enemy  of  religion  and  of  the 
State,  an  enemy  of  God  and  of  the  King,  or,  as 
the  common  formula  reads,  an  enemy  of  the 
throne  and  of  the  altar.  But  /  tell  you  that  it 
is  a  lie ;  I  honour  the  real  holiness  of  every 
religion,  and  conform  myself  to  the  interests  of 
the  State.  And  if  I  do  not  render  homage 
and  devote  myself  to  Anthropomorphism,  I  still 
believe  in  the  power  and  glory  of  God ;  ^  and  even 
though  kings  are  so  insane  as  to  resist  the  spirit 
of  the  people,  or  even  so  ignoble  as  to  oppress 
their  organs  by  neglect  and  persecution,  I  still 
remain,  in  accordance  with  my  deepest  convic- 
tion, an  adherent  to  the  kingdom  and  to  the 
monarchical  principle.  I  do  not  hate  the  throne, 
but  I  do  those  windy  nothings  of  aristocratic 
vermin  which  have  nestled  in  the  crannies   of 


1  This  recalls  Madame  de  Stael,  who  did    not  believe  in 
ghosts,  but  was  very  mach  afraid  of  them. — Note  by  TrantLator. 


THE  CITY  OF  LUCCA.  Jtl 

the  old  throne,  and  whose  character  Montesquieu 
has  described  so  accurately  with  the  words, 
"Ambition  hand-in-hand  with  Indolence,  Vul- 
garity allied  to  Pride,  the  longing  to  become  rich 
without  labour,  the  dislike  of  truth ;  flattery, 
treachery,  faithlessness,  and  the  breaking  of 
words,  the  contempt  of  the  duties  of  the  citizen, 
the  fear  of  princely  virtue,  and  an  interest  in 
princely  vice  ! "  I  do  not  hate  the  altar,  but  I 
hate  the  serpents  which  lurk  amid  the  loose 
stones  of  the  old  altar;  those  malignantly  cun- 
ning snakes  which  can  smile  innocently  as 
flowers,  while  they  secretly  spirt  their  poison 
into  the  cup  of  life,  and  hiss  slander  into  the 
ear  of  the  pious  one  praying ;  those  glossy 
gliding  worms  with  soft,  sweet  words — 

**  Mel  in  ore,  verba  lactis, 
Fel  in  corde,  fraus  in  factis."  * 

'  It  were  a  pity  to  spare  the  lover  of  Latin  rhymes  a  line  of 
this  fine  old  proverb,  which  crackles  like  a  fire  of  twigs  in  so 
many  eccentric  collections  of  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth 

centuries : — 

"  Moltis  annis  jam  peractis  v 
Nolla  fides  est  in  pactis,       / 
Mel  in  ore,  verba  lactis, 
Fel  in  corde,  fraus  in  factis ;  **  \--. 

and  which  is  translated  as  follows  in  my  work,  "  The  Sketch* 
Book  of  Meister  Earl :  "— 

"  For  many  years,  my  friend,  the  fact  it 
That  honesty  is  oat  of  practice 


3«a 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL, 


And  just  because  I  am  a  friend  of  the  State 
and  of  religion  do  I  hate  that  abortion  termed 
the  religion  of  State,  that  mockery  of  a  creation, 
which  was  born  of  the  lewd  love  of  the  worldly 
and  the  spiritual  powers,  that  mule  which  the 
white  stallion  of  Anti-Christ  begot  upon  the  she- 
ass  of  Christ  If  there  were  no  such  religion  of 
State,  no  privilege  of  dogma  and  of  a  religion, 
Germany  would  be  united  and  strong,  and  her 
sons  lordly  and  free.  But  as  it  is,  our  poor 
Fatherland  is  torn  by  divisions  of  creeds ;  the 
people  are  separated  into  warring  parties  in  re- 
ligion ;  Protestant  subjects  quarrel  with  Catholic 
princes,  or  vice  versd;  everywhere  there  is  mistrust, 
or  crypto -Catholicism  or  crypto- Protestantism, 
accusations  of  heresy,  espionage  of  views  and 
opinions,  pietism,  mysticism,  smelling  of  rats  by 
Church  journals,  sectarian  hatred  and  zeal  for 
conversion ;  so  that  while  we  fight  for  heaven 
above,  we  are  all  going  to  the  devil  here  on 
earth  below.  An  indififerentism  in  religion  would 
be,  perhaps,  the  only  thing  which  could  save  us. 


And  honied  words  and  fawning  smile 
Are  ever  mixed  with  fraud  and  guile." 

I  have  lomewhere  met  with  another  version  of  these  rhymes, 
in  which  the  first  line  was  given  thus  : —  , 

'<  Omnibus  rebus  jam  peractis. " 

— Noteg  bjf  Trandator. 


THS  CITY  OF  LUCCA.  313 

and  by  becoming  weak  in  faith  Germanj  might 
grow  politically  strong. 

But  it  is  as  ruinous  for  religion  itself,  and 
for  her  holy  existence,  when  she  is  clad  with 
privileges,  and  when  her  servants  are  especially 
endowed  by  the  State  with  power  to  represent  it, 
so  that  one  hand,  as  it  were,  washes  the  other,  the 
religious  the  worldly,  and  vice  versd,  from  which 
a  wish-wash  results  which  is  to  the  blessed  Lord 
a  folly  and  to  man  a  torture.  If  the  State  has 
opponents,  they  will  become  foes  to  the  religion 
which  confers  privileges  on  the  State,  and  con- 
sequently renders  them  allies;  and  even  the 
innocent  believer  will  become  mistrustful  when 
he  detects  political  objects  in  religion.  But  the 
most  repulsive  of  all  is  the  pride  of  the  priests 
when  they,  for  the  service  which  they  think 
they  have  done  the  State,  presume  to  count  upon 
the  support  of  the  latter,  and  when  they,  in 
return  for  the  spiritual  fetters  which  they  have 
lent  the  State  to  bind  the  people,  betake  them- 
selves to  the  protection  of  the  State's  bayonets. 
Beligion  can  never  sink  so  low  as  when  she  is  in 
such  a  manner  raised  to  a  religion  of  State ;  her 
last  claim  to  innocence  is  then  vitiated,  and  she 
becomes  as  brazenly  proud  as  a  declared  con- 
cubine. Of  course,  more  homage  and  assurances 
of  reverence  are  then  made  her ;  she  every  day 
celebrates  new  conquests  in  gleaming  processions, 


314  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

where  even  generals  who  once  served  under 
Buonaparte  bear  torches;  the  proudest  spirits 
swear  fidelity  to  her  banner,  day  by  day  unbelievers 
are  converted  and  baptized ;  but  all  this  pouring 
on  of  water  butters  no  parsnips,  and  the  new 
recruits  of  the  religion  of  State  are  like  those  of 
Falstafif — they  fill  the  churchyard.  As  for  self- 
sacrifice,  no  one  even  speaks  of  such  a  thing ;  the 
missionaries  with  their  tracts  and  books  travel 
about  like  commercial  agents  with  their  samples 
— there  is  no  longer  any  danger  in  the  business, 
and  all  goes  on  in  a  regular  mercantile  economi- 
cal form. 

Only  so  long  as  religions  are  rivals,  and  more 
persecuted  than  persecutors,  are  they  noble  and 
worthy  of  honour,  and  only  then  do  we  find 
inspiration,  sacrifice,  martyrs,  and  palms.  How 
beautiful,  how  holy  and  lovely,  how  strangely 
Bweet  was  the  Christianity  of  the  early  ages 
while  it  as  yet  resembled  its  Divine  Founder  in 
the  heroism  of  suffering !  Then  there  was  still 
the  legend  of  a  God,  all  their  own,  who,  in  the 
form  of  a  gentle  youth,  wandered  under  the  palms 
of  Palestine  and  preached  human  love,  and  set 
forth  those  doctrines  of  freedom  and  of  equality 
which  at  a  later  day  were  recognised  as  true  by 
the  reason  of  the  greatest  thinkers,  and  which  as 
a  French  gospel  inspired  our  aga  But  let  any 
one  compare  that  religion  of  Christ    with  the 


THE  CITY  OF  LUCCA.  ^15 

different  Christianities  which  have  been  formed 
in  different  countries  as  religions  of  State  j  for 
instance,  the  Roman  Apostolic  Catholic  Church, 
or  even  that  Catholicism  without  poetry  ^  which 
we  see  ruling  as  "  High  Church  of  England ; "  that 
dismal,  crumbling  skeleton  of  faith  from  which 
all  fresh  life  has  departed !  The  monopoly  of 
system  is  as  injurious  to  religions  as  to  trades ; 
they  are  only  strong  and  energetic  by  free  com- 
petition, and  they  will  again  bloom  up  in  their 
primitive  purity  and  beauty  so  soon  as  the 
political  equality  of  the  Lord's  service,  or,  so  to 
speak,  so  soon  as  the  trades-freedom  of  the 
divinities,  is  introduced. 

The  noblest-minded  men  in  Europe  have  long 
since  asserted  that  this  is  the  only  means  to 
preserve  religion  from  an  utter  overthrow;  but 
its  present  servants  would  sooner  sacrifice  the 
altar  itself  than  the  least  thing  which  is  sacrificed 
on  it ;  just  as  the  nobility  would  sooner  give  up 
to  utter  destruction  the  throne  and  the  illustrious 
Highness  seated  thereon  than  that  he  should 
seriously  give  up  the  most  improper  of  his  proper 
privileges.  But  is  the  affected  interest  for  throne 
and  altar  only  a  mocking  show  played  off  before 
the  people  ?  He  who  has  been  behind  the  scenes 
and  peeped   into  the  mysteries  of  the  business 

*  This  sentence  sets  forth  perfectly  Heine's  extreme  igrnoruioe 
of  the  inner  life  of  England. — NcU  by  Tramlator. 


3i6  PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 

knows  that  the  priests  do  uot  so  much  as  the 
laity  respect  that  God  whom  they,  for  their  own 
profit  and  at  will,  knead  from  bread  and  words, 
and  that  the  nobility  respect  the  king  much  less 
than  a  serf  would  have  them  do,  and  that  they 
in  their  hearts  scorn  and  despise  even  that  royalty 
for  which  they  in  public  manifest  so  much  honour 
and  seek  to  awaken  respect  in  others ;  in  fact, 
they  resemble  those  people  who  exhibit  for  money 
to  the  gaping  public  in  booths  on  the  market- 
place a  Hercules,  or  a  giant,  or  a  dwarf,  or  a 
savage,  or  a  fire-eater,  or  some  other  remarkable 
man  of  whom  they  praise  the  strength,  size, 
bravery,  and  invulnerability ;  or  if  he  is  a  dwarf, 
his  wisdom.  All  this  they  do  with  the  most 
incredible  readiness  of  speech,  blowing  at  times 
their  trumpet,  and  wearing  a  gaily-coloured 
jacket,  while  in  their  hearts  they  laugh  at  the 
ready  faith  of  the  staring  people,  and  mock  the 
poor  bepraised  subject,  who  by  dint  of  daily  inter- 
course has  become  very  uninteresting  to  them, 
and  whose  weaknesses  and  whose  arts,  acquired  by 
training,  they  understand  only  too  accurately. 

Whether  the  blessed  Lord  will  long  suffer  the 
priests  to  pass  off  a  bugbear  for  him  and  make 
money  by  the  show  is  more  than  I  know ; — at 
least  it  would  cause  me  no  suprise  if  I  should  some 
day  read  in  the  Harriburg  Impartial  CorrespondeTii 
that  the  old  Jehovah  warns  every  one  against 


THE  CITY  OP  LUCCA.  317 

giving  credit  in  his  name  to  any  one,  no  matter 
who  he  be,  or  even  to  his  own  son.  But  I  am 
convinced — and  time  will  show  it — that  there 
will  come  a  day  when  kings  will  no  longer  sub- 
mit to  be  the  show-puppets  of  their  hi^h-bom 
despisers,  when  they  will  burst  loose  from 
etiquette  and  break  down  the  marble  booths 
in  which  they  are  shown.  Then  they  will  dis- 
dainfully cast  aside  the  shining  frippery^  in- 
tended to  impose  upon  the  people,  the  red 
mantle  which  terrified,  in  such  a  headsman-like 
manner,  the  diamond  tiara  which  was  pulled  over 
their  ears  that  they  might  not  hear  the  voices  of 
the  people,  the  golden  rod  given  as  a  sham  sign 
of  supremacy  into  their  hands;  and  the  kings 
set  free  will  become  free  as  other  men,  and  walk 
freely  among  them,  and  feel  free,  and  marry  free, 
and  express  their  opinions  freely,  and  that  will 
be  the  emancipation  of  monarchs. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

But  what  are  the  aristocrats  to  do  when  they  shall 
have  been  robbed  of  their  crowned  means  of  sub- 

^  Plxmder  in  the  original  meaning  frippery,  property,  trash, 
ba^age,  and  also  plunder.  The  same  word  is  used  in  the  same 
tenses  in  the  Western  United  States.  "  So  Tom  got  Judy  and 
all  her  plunder  "  {Croekett't  AUnatiae).  In  America  this  was  de. 
rived  from  the  Canadian  or  French  butin. — Note  by  Trandator. 


3i8  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

sistenoe,  when  kings  are  a  special  property  of 
the  people,  maintaining  an  honourable  and  stable 
government  according  to  the  will  of  the  people 
— the  only  source  of  all  power  ?  What  will  the 
priests  do  when  kings  perceive  that  a  little  con- 
secrated oil  cannot  make  any  human  head  guil- 
lotine-proof, just  as  the  people  on  their  part  learn 
from  day  to  day  that  no  one  can  grow  fat  on 
sacramental  wafers  ?  Well,  of  course  nothing 
will  then  remain  for  the  aristocracy  and  clergy 
save  to  join  hands  and  cabal  and  intrigue  against 
the  new  order  of  things  in  this  world. 

Vain  eflTorts !  The  age  like  a  fiery  giantess 
tranquilly  advances,  giving  no  heed  to  the  chatter 
of  the  snappish  priestlings  and  lordlings  down 
below.  How  they  howl  whenever  one  of  them 
has  burnt  his  snout  on  the  foot  of  the  giantess,  or 
when  she  has  trodden  unwittingly  upon  a  head  or 
two,  so  that  the  dark  reactionary  poison  spirts 
forth!  Then  their  vindictiveness  turns  all  the 
more  bitterly  against  single  children  of  the  age, 
and,  powerless  against  the  mass,  they  seek  to  as- 
suage their  cowardly  spark  of  spirit  on  individuals. 

Ah  !  we  must  confess  that  many  a  poor  child 
of  the  age  feels  none  the  less  the  stabs  which  he 
receives  in  the  dark  from  lurking  lords  and  priests; 
and  oh  1  though  a  glory  gathers  aronnd  the  wounds 
of  the  conqueror,  yet  they  still  bleed  and  smart ! 
It  is  a  strange  martyrdom  that  which  such  con- 


THE  CITY  OF  LUCCA.  '  319 

querors  endure  in  our  days,  and  one  which  cannot 
be  done  away  with  by  bold  confession,  as  in  those 
early  ages  when  the  martyrs  found  a  speedy 
scaffold,  or  the  burning  pile  with  its  wild  hurrahs ! 
The  spirit  of  martyrdom  to  sacrifice  all  earthly 
things  for  a  heavenly  jest  is  still  the  same  as 
ever;  but  it  has  lost  much  of  its  deepest  cheer- 
fulness of  faith ;  it  has  become  rather  a  resigned 
endurance,  a  firm  holding  out,  a  life-long  dying ; 
and  it  even  happens  that  in  cold  grey  hours  even 
the  holiest  martyrs  are  assailed  by  doubts.  There 
is  nothing  so  terrible  as  hours  like  those  wherein 
Marcus  Brutus  began  to  doubt  the  reality  of  that 
virtue  for  which  he  had  suffered  all  things.  And, 
ah!  he  was  a  Eoman  who  lived  in  the  palmy 
days  of  the  Stoa;  but  we  are  of  modem  softer 
stuff,  and  withal  we  witness  the  successful  course 
of  a  philosophy  which  grants  to  any  inspiration 
whatever  only  a  relative  significance,  and  thus  in 
itself  annihilates  it,  or  at  any  rate  neutralises  it 
into  a  self-conscious  Don  Quixotery. 

The  cool,  calm,  cunning  philosophers!  How 
compassionately  they  smile  on  the  self-torture 
and  mad  freaks  of  a  poor  Don  Qaixote,  yet  with 
all  their  school-wisdom  do  not  perceive  that  that 
Don  Quixotery  is  the  most  laudable  thing  in  life — 
yes,  life  itself — and  that  it  inspires  to  bolder  effort 
the  whole  world,  and  all  in  it  which  philosophises, 
plays,  plants,  and  gapes !    For  the  great  mass  of 


3K) 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


the  people  with  the  philosophers  is,  without  know- 
ing it,  nothing  bat  a  colossal  Sancho  Panza  who, 
despite  all  his  sober  dread  of  whippings  and 
homely  wisdom,  still  follows  the  knight  in  all  his 
dangerous  adventnres,  lured  by  the  promised  re- 
ward in  which  he  believes  because  he  longs  for 
it,  but  still  more  attracted  by  the  mystic  power 
which  enthusiasm  always  exerts  on  the  masses — 
as  we  see  in  all  political  and  religious  revolutions, 
and  it  may  be,  also,  daily  in  the  smallest  events. 

Thus,  for  example,  you,  dear  reader,  are  in 
spite  of  yourself  the  Sancho  Panza  of  the  insane 
poet  whom  you  follow  through  the  erratic  mazes 
of  this  book — it  may  be  while  shaking  your  head 
misgivingly,  but  whom  you  still  follow. 


CHAPTER  XVL 

Strange  !  "  The  Life  and  Deeds  of  the  Sagacious 
Knight,  Don  Quixote  de  la  Mancha,"  written  by 
Don  Miguel  de  Cervantes  Saavedra,  was  the  first 
book  which  I  read  after  I  had  attained  a  tolerably 
boy-age  of  discretion  and  had  become  to  a  cer- 
tain degi'ee  familiar  with  the  nature  of  letters.  I 
can  well  remember  the  bit  of  leisure  time  when 
I  early  one  morning  stole  away  from  home  and 
hastened  to  the  Court  Garden,  that  I  might  read 


THE  CITY  OF  LVCCA.  321 

"  Don  Quisote  "  without  being  disturbed.  It  was  a 
beautiful  May-day ;  the  blooming  spring  lay  lurk- 
ing in  the  silent  morning  light,  listening  to  the 
sweet  praises  of  her  flatterer  the  nightingale ;  and 
the  bird  sang  so  softly  and  caressingly,  with  such 
melting  enthusiasm,  that  the  most  shame-faced 
buds  sprang  into  life,  and  the  love-longing  grass 
and  the  sun-rays  quivering  in  perfume  kissed 
more  hurriedly,  and  trees  and  flowers  trembled 
for  sheer  rapture.  But  I  sat  myself  down  on  an 
old  mossy  stone-bench  in  the  so-called  "  Walk  of 
Sighs,"  near  the  waterfall,  and  solaced  my  little 
heart  with  the  great  adventures  of  the  daring 
knight.  In  my  childish  uprightness  of  heart,  I 
took  it  all  in  sober  earnest,  and  ridiculously  as 
the  poor  hero  was  treated  by  luck,  I  still  thought 
that  it  was  a  matter  of  course,  and  must  be  so, 
the  being  laughed  at  as  well  as  being  wounded, 
and  that  troubled  me  sadly  as  I  sympathised  with 
it  all  in  my  soul.  I  was  a  child,  and  knew  nothing 
of  the  irony  which  God  had  twined  into  his  world 
as  he  created  it,  and  I  could  have  found  it  in  my 
heart  to  weep  the  bitterest  tears  when  the  noble 
knight,  for  all  his  heroic  courage,  received  only 
ingratitude  and  blows;  and  as  I,  who  was  as  yet 
unpractised  in  reading,  pronounced  every  word 
aloud,  it  was  possible  for  birds  and  trees,  brook 
and  flowers,  to  hear  everything  with  me,  and  as 
such  innocent  beings  of  nature  knew  as  little  as 
VOL.  IL  X 


322 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


children  of  the  irony  of  the  great  world,  they  took 
it  all  for  sober  earnest,  and  wept  with  me  over  the 
sorrows  of  the  poor  knight ;  even  a  worn-out  old 
oak  sighed  deeply,  and  the  waterfall  shook  more 
rapidly  his  white  beard  and  seemed  to  scold  at 
the  wickedness  of  the  world.  We  felt  that  the 
heroic  will  of  the  knight  was  not  the  less  worthy 
of  admiration  when  the  lion  turned  tail  on  him 
without  wishing  to  fight,  and  that  his  deeds  were 
the  more  praiseworthy  in  proportion  to  the  weak- 
ness and  meagreness  of  his  frame,  the  brittleness 
of  his  armour,  and  the  worthlessness  of  his  palfrey. 
We  despised  the  base  mob  who  treated  him  with 
such  thrashing  rudeness,  and  still  more  that  mob 
of  a  higher  rank,  which,  ornamented  with  gay  silk 
attire,  aristocratic  phrase,  and  ducal  titles,  scorned 
a  man  who  was  in  strength  of  soul  so  immeasur- 
ably their  superior.  Dulcinea's  knight  rose  higher 
in  my  estimation,  and  gained  more  and  more  in 
my  love,  the  more  I  read  in  that  wondrous  book — 
and  that  I  did  every  day  in  the  same  garden,  so 
that  by  the  autumn  I  had  concluded  the  story — 
and  never,  in  all  my  life,  shall  I  forget  the  day  on 
which  I  read  of  the  sorrowful  combat  wherein  the 
knight  was  so  shamefully  subdued ! 

It  was  a  gloomy  day ;  hideous  clouds  swept 
along  the  grey  heaven ;  the  yellow  leaves  fell  pain- 
fully from  the  trees ;  heavy  tears  hung  on  the  last 
flowers,  which,  fading  in  sorrow,  sunk  their  dying 


THE  CITY  OF  LUCCA.  323 

heads ;  the  nightingales  had  long  been  silent ;  the 
image  of  all  things  passing  away  stared  at  me 
still  and  death-like  on  every  side, — and  my  heart 
was  all  but  broken  as  I  read  how  the  noble  knight 
lay  bewildered  and  crushed  on  the  ground,  and 
without  removing  his  vizor,  spoke  with  weak  and 
sickly  voice  to  the  victor  as  though  from  the 
grave :  "  Dulcinea  is  the  fairest  woman  in  the 
world,  and  I  am  the  most  unfortunate  knight  on 
earth ;  but  it  is  not  fit  that  my  weakness  should 
give  the  lie  to  this  truth — so  on  with  thy  lance, 
knighti!" 

Ah !  this  gleaming  knight  of  the  silver  moon, 
who  conquered  the  bravest  and  noblest  man  in 
the  world,  was  a  disguised  barber! 


CHAPTEE  XVIL 

That  was  all  long,  long  ago.  Many  fresh  springs 
have  bloomed  since  then,  but  they  were  all  want- 
ing in  their  greatest  charm  ;  for,  alas  !  I  no  longer 
believe  in  the  sweet  falsehoods  of  the  nightingale, 
the  flatterer  of  spring,  I  know  how  quickly  the 
bloom  passes  away ;  and  when  I  see  the  latest 
rosebuds,  I  see  them  blooming  forth  glowing  with 
pain,  growing  pale  and  scattering  in  the  wind. 
On  every  hand  I  perceive  a  winter  in  disguisa 


324  PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 

But  in  my  breast  that  flaming  love  still  blooms, 
which  rises  full  of  longing  over  the  whole  earth 
and  sweeps  dreamily  and  then  wildly  through  the 
yawning  realms  of  heaven,  is  struck  back  by  the 
cold  stars,  sinking  again  to  this  little  ball  of 
earth,  and  which,  with  sighs  and  shouts  of  exulta> 
tion,  must  confess  that  in  all  creation  there  is 
nothing  more  beautiful  or  better  than  the  heart  of 
man.  This  love  is  Inspiration,  ever  of  a  divine 
nature,  whether  her  deeds  be  of  folly  or  of  wis- 
dom. And  so  it  happened  that  the  little  boy  by 
no  means  lavished  those  tears  in  vain  which  he 
shed  over  the  sorrows  of  the  mad  knight,  any 
more,  indeed,  than  the  youth  did  in  later  years, 
when  he  many  a  night  in  his  narrow  study  wept 
over  the  death  of  the  holiest  heroes  of  liberty — 
over  King  Agis  of  Sparta,  over  Caius  and  Tibe- 
rius Gracchus  of  Eome,  over  Jesus  of  Jerusalem, 
and  over  Eobespierre  and  Saint  Just  of  Paris. 
Now  that  I  have  donned  the  toga  virilis,  and 
must  myself  be  a  man,  there  is  an  end  to  weeping, 
and  the  business  in  hand  is  to  act  like  a  man, 
after  the  manner  of  great  predecessors,  and,  if 
God  so  wills,  to  be  wept  in  turn  in  future  years 
by  boys  and  youths.  Yes,  these  are  the  ones  on 
whom  we  may  count  in  this  cold  age;  for  they 
will  be  inspired  by  the  gloomy  breath  which  is 
wafted  to  them  from  ancient  lore,  and  it  is  thus 
that  they  appreciate  the  hearts  of  flame  of  the 


THE  CITY  OF  LUCCA.  325 

present  age.  Tonth  is  nnselfish  in  thonght  and 
in  feeling,  and  therefore  thinks  and  feels  the 
truth  most  deeply,  and  is  not  backward  when  a 
bold  participation  in  faith  or  deed  is  called  for. 
Older  people  are  selfish  and  small-souled ;  they 
think  more  of  the  interest  of  their  money  than  of 
the  interest  of  mankind ;  they  let  their  little  boat 
swim  calmly  along  in  the  ditch  of  life,  troubling 
themselves  but  little  as  to  the  sailor  who  on  the 
high  seas  fights  the  billows ;  or  they  creep  with 
sticky  obstinacy  to  the  summit  of  a  mayoralty, 
or  to  the  presidency  of  a  club,  and  shrug  their 
shoulders  at  the  images  of  heroes  which  the  storm 
cast  down  from  the  pillars  of  renown  ;  telling,  per- 
haps, meanwhile,  how  they  too,  when  young,  also 
ran  their  heads  against  the  wall,  but  that  they 
afterwards  made  friends  with  the  wall,  because 
the  wall  was  the  Absolute,  that  which  was  ap- 
pointed so  to  be,  the  existing  in  and  for  itself, 
that  which  because  it  is,  is  also  reasonable,  and 
that  therefore  he  is  unreasonable  who  will  not 
endure  a  sublimely  reasonable,  undeniably  exist- 
ing, firmly  grounded  Absolutism.  Alas!  these 
rejecters  and  challengers,  who  philosophise  us 
into  a  mild  servitude,  are  always  more  worthy  of 
regard  than  the  rejected ;  who,  in  the  defence  of 
despotism,  never  take  stand  on  the  reasonable 
ground  of  reason,  but,  strong  in  their  familiarity 
with  history,  defend  it  as  a  right  of  prescription 


S*«-«ir-f »>  ... _    _ 


326  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL: 

and  cnstom  with  which  men  have  gradually  grown 
familiar  in  the  course  of  time,  and  which  is  now 
legally  and  equitably  impregnable. 

Ah !  I  will  not,  like  Ham,  lift  the  cloth  from 
the  shame  of  the  Fatherland,  but  it  is  terrible 
how  it  has  been  agreed  on  among  us  to  make 
slavery  a  matter  of  gossip,  and  how  German  philo- 
sophers and  historians  who  torment  their  brains 
about  every  despotism,  however  stupid  or  crazy 
it  may  be,  defend  it  as  reasonable  or  just 
"  Silence  is  the  honour  of  slaves,"  says  Tacitus ; 
those  philosophers  and  historians  assert  the  con- 
trary, and  point  to  the  ribbons  of  honour  in  their 
button-holes. 

Perhaps  you  are  in  the  right,  and  I  am  only  a 
Don  Quixote ;  and  the  reading  of  all  manner  of 
strange  books  has  turned  my  head,  as  the  knight 
of  La  Mancha's  was  turned ;  and  Jean  Jacques 
Rousseau  was  my  Amadis  de  Gaul,  Mirabeau  was 
my  Roldan  or  Agramanto,  and  I  have  studied  too 
deeply  in  the  heroic  deeds  of  the  French  Paladins, 
and  of  the  Round  Table  of  the  National  Conven--^ 
tion.  It  is  true  that  my  madness  and  the  iixed 
ideas  which  I  have  gathered  from  those  books  are 
of  a  diametrically  diflferent  description  from  the 
monomania  and  madness  of  the  Manchan.  He 
was  desirous  of  restoring  decaying  chivalry  to  its 
pristine  splendour,  while  I,  on  the  contrary,  would 
utterly  destroy  all  that  there  is  as  yet  remaining 


THE  CITY  OF  LUCCA.  327 

from  those  days  ;  and  we,  consequently,  work  with 
views  at  ntter  variance.  My  colleague  regarded 
windmills  as  giants ;  I,  however,  in  the  braggart 
giants  of  the  day  see  only  noisy  windmills.  He 
thought  that  leathern  wine-sacks  were  mighty 
magicians,  while  I  in  our  cotemporary  enchanters 
see  nothing  but  leather-headed  wine-sacks.  He 
took  beggarly  pothouses  for  castles,  ass-drivers  for 
cavaliers,  low  prostitutes  for  court-ladies ;  while  I 
take  our  castles  for  mere  inns  for  blackguards, 
our  knights  for  ass-drivers,  our  court-ladies  for 
common  whores ;  and,  as  he  mistook  a  puppet- 
show  for  the  deeds  of  a  State,  so  do  I  regard  our 
State  deeds  as  mere  puppet-comedies ;  yet  just 
as  bravely  as  the  bold  knight  of  La  Mancha  do 
I  let  drive  into  the  wooden  trash.  Ah !  such  a 
heroic  deed  often  costs  me  as  much  as  it  did  him, 
and  I  must,  like  him,  often  suffer  much  for  the 
honour  of  my  lady.  If  I  would  only  be  false  to  her 
from  fear  or  base  avarice,  I  might  live  comfortably 
in  this  absolute  existing  reasonable  world,  and  I 
could  lead  some  lovely  Maritomes  to  the  altar, 
and  be  blessed  by  sleek  magicians  and  banquet 
with  noble  ass-drivers,  and  beget  harmless  novels 
and  the  like  base  little  slaves !  Instead  of  that, 
adorned  with  the  three  colours  of  my  lady,  I  must 
constantly  be  taking  my  place  on  the  combating- 
ground,  and  dash  onward  through  fearful  toil  and 
tumult ;  and  I  fight  my  way  through  no  victory 


,«*At-TP»^»  j-^   ..-t    '.-    .     ..     ».      J     ,.    .     r.-:  ,  ^ ■„-    .       .,■-,.-  ^      kv_-   . 


3«8 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


which  does  not  also  cost  me  some  heart's  blood. 
By  day  and  night  I  am  in  extremity,  for  those 
enemies  are  so  treacherous  that  many  whom  I 
long  ago  struck  down  to  death  still  give  them- 
selves the  guise  of  living  forms,  and,  changing 
into  every  shape,  weary  and  disgust  me  by  day 
and  by  night.  How  many  sufferings  have  I  en- 
dured through  these  wretched  ghosts !  Where 
love  bloomed  for  me  they  stole  in,  the  false 
stealthy  spectres,  and  broke  even  the  most  inno- 
cent buds.  Everywhere,  and  most  unexpectedly, 
I  found  on  the  ground  their  silvery  trace  of  slime, 
and,  unless  I  beware,  I  may  slip  on  it  to  my  de- 
struction in  the  house  of  the  nearest  and  dearest 
love.  You  may  laugh,  and  regard  such  anxious 
feeling  as  to  idle  phantoms  as  the  delusions  of  a 
Don  Quixote.  But  imagined  woes  pain  none  the 
less ;  and  if  one  believes  that  he  has  drunk  hem- 
lock he  may  waste  away,  and,  at  least,  certainly 
will  not  fatten  on  the  thought.  And  it  is  a  slander 
to  say  that  I  have  grown  fat  on  it ;  at  least  I  have 
as  yet  gained  no  fat  sinecure,  though  I  have  the 
talent  which  would  qualify  me  for  one.  As  for 
fat,  my  fatality  drives  every  trace  of  it  from  me> 
J  fancy  that  every  means  has  been  taken  to  keep  me 
lean ;  when  I  hungered  they  fed  me  with  snakes ; 


^  Auch  is  von  dem  Fett  der  Vetterschaft  nicbts  an  mir  z^ 
varapuren.  > 


>^  ( -r.. '.  • 


THE  CITY  OF  LUCCA.  329 

when  I  thirsted  they  gave  me  wormwood  to  drink, 
and  they  poured  hell  into  my  heart  till  I  wept 
poison  and  sighed  fire.  Yes ;  they  stole  by  night 
into  my  very  dreams,  and  there  I  see  horrible 
spectres,  the  noble  lackey  faces  with  gnashing 
teeth,  the  threatening  banker  noses,  the  deadly 
eyes  glaring  from  cowls,  the  white  ruffled  hands 
with  gleaming  knives. 

Even  the  old  lady  who  lives  next  to  me,  my 
neighbour  through  the  wall,  thinks  that  I  am  in- 
sane, and  declares  that  I  talk  the  maddest  stuff  in 
my  sleep,  and  that  last  night  she  distinctly  heard 
me  call  out  that  "  Dulcinea  is  the  fairest  woman 
in  the  world,  and  I  am  the  most  unfortunate 
knight  on  earth ;  but  it  is  not  fit  that  my  weak- 
ness should  give  the  lie  to  this  truth — so  on  with 
thy  lance,  knight ! " 


-4.:^':^^  . 


POSTSCRIPT. 

November  183a 

i 
I  DO  not  know  what  the  peculiar  feeling  of  rever- 
ence was  which  impelled  me  to  modify  even  the 
most  trivial  of  several  expressions  in  the  foregoing 
pages,  and  which,  on  a  subsequent  reading,  ap- 
peared to  be  rather  too  harsh.  The  manuscript 
had  already  become  as  yellow  as  a  corpse,  and  I 
could  not  persuade  myself  to  mutilate  it.  Every- 
thing which  has  been  written  for  years  seems  to 
have  an  inherent  right  to  remain  uninjured ;  even 
these  pages,  which  to  a  certain  degree  belong  to  a 
dark  past  For  they  were  written  nearly  a  year 
before  the  third  Hegira  of  the  Bourbons,  at  a  time 
which  was  harsher  than  the  harshest  phrase ;  a 
time  when  it  seemed  as  if  the  battle  for  liberty 
might  yet  be  delayed  for  a  century.  It  was,  to 
say  the  least,  a  matter  for  critical  and  nice  reflec- 
tion, when  we  saw  our  knightly  nobility  looking 
so  confident ;  how  they  had  their  faded  coats-of- 
arms  freshly  painted;  how  they  tourneyed  with 
shield  and  spear  at  Munich  and  Potsdam;  and 

how  they  sat  so  proudly  on  their  high  steeds,  as 

330 


_  :  .'i\V-  -"SS 


POSTSCRIPT.  331 

thongh  they  would  ride  to  Quedlinburg  to  have 
themselves  retonched  by  Gottfried  Bassa 

Still  more  insufferable  were  the  triumphant  and 
treacherous  eyes  of  our  priests,  who  hid  their  long 
ears  so  slily  under  their  cowls  that  we  continually 
anticipated  the  most  deadly  wiles.  No  one  could 
know  beforehand  that  the  noble  knights  would 
shoot  so  wretchedly  wide  of  the  mark,  and  gene- 
rally from  an  ambuscade,  or  at  least  in  galloping 
away  with  averted  heads,  like  flying  Bashkirs. 
Just  as  little  could  one  know  beforehand  that  the 
serpent-like  sagacity  of  our  priests  could  be  so 
brought  to  shame.  Ah !  it  is  enough  to  awaken 
one's  pity  to  see  how  stupidly  they  use  their  best 
poison,  and  how,  in  their  rage,  they  throw  the 
arsenic  in  great  lumps  at  our  heads,  instead  of 
sprinkling  it  by  the  ounce  and  amiably  in  our 
soup;  how  they  rummage  among  the  long-for- 
gotten children's  clothes  of  their  enemies  to  dis- 
cover some  obsolete  baby  wrappings  from  which 
to  nose  out  trouble;  how  they  even  rake  the 
fathers  of  their  enemies  out  of  their  graves  to  see 
if  they  perhaps  were  circumcised.  Oh,  the  fools ! 
who  imagine  that  they  have  discovered  that  the 
lion  belongs  to  the  feline  race;  and  with  this 
natural  historical  discovery  go  hissing  about  so 
long,  that  finally  the  great  cat  exemplifies  the  ex 
ungue  leonem  on  their  own  flesh.  Oh,  the  obscure 
wights!   upon  whom  no  light  shines  until  they 


Sti? ■■''"»- ^ i *-^* > ■* -  •  '■  *■     •■#»*  -,L»  V  -t --•»•  *^ »-**"*,-t.-»i«_  **  'S*-^._  ,w 


332  PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 

hang  in  person  on  the  lamp-post !  With  the 
entrails  of  an  ass  would  I  string  my  lyre  that  I 
might  worthily  sing  them — the  shorn  blockheads ! 

A  mighty  joy  seizes  on  me !  While  I  sit  and 
write,  music  sounds  under  my  window;  and  in 
the  elegiac  grimness  of  the  long-drawn-out  melody 
T  recognise  that  Marseilles  hymn  with  which  the 
beautiful  Barbarous  and  his  companions  greeted 
the  city  of  Paris ;  that  runs  des  vaehes  of  liberty, 
whose  tones  gave  the  Swiss  in  the  Tuileries  the 
home-sickness,  that  triumphant  death-song  of  the 
Gironde — the  old  sweet  cradle-song.  j 

What  a  song!  It  shudders  through  me  with 
fire  and  joy,  and  lights  up  in  me  the  glowing 
stars  of  inspiration  and  the  rockets  of  scorn  and 
mockery.  Yes,  they  shall  not  be  wanting  in  the 
great  fireworks  of  the  age.  Ringing  fire-streams 
of  song  shall  pour  forth  in  bold  cascades  from  the 
summit  of  Freedom's  revels,  as  the  Ganges  leaps 
from  Himalaya  !  And  thou,  dear  Satyra,  daughter 
of  the  just  Themis  and  of  goat-footed  Pan,  lend 
me  thine  aid,  for  thou  art,  by  the  mother's  side,  of 
Titanic  blood,  and  hatest  like  me  the  enemies  of 
thy  kin,  the  weak  usurpers  of  Olympus.  Lend 
me  the  sword  of  thy  mother  that  I  may  exe- 
cute the  hated  brood,  and  give  me  the  pipes 
of  thy  father  that  I  therewith  may  pipe  them 
to  death.  I 

Already  they  hear  the  deathly  piping  and  panic 


POSTSCRIPT.  333 

fears  seize  them,  and  they  again  take  to  flight  in 
bestial  forms  as  of  old,  when  we  piled  Pelion  upon 

Ossa: — 

"  Aux  armes,  citoyens  ! " 

They  did  great  injustice  to  us  poor  Titans 
when  they  blamed  the  dark  ferocity  with  which 
we  raged  upward  in  that  storming  of  heaven. 
Ah !  down  there  in  Tartarus  it  was  terrible  and 
dark ;  we  heard  there  only  the  howls  of  Cerberus 
and  the  rattling  of  chains ;  and  it  is  pardonable  if 
we  appear  somewhat  savage  in  comparison  with 
those  divinities,  comme  il  faut,  who,  so  refined 
and  elegant  in  manners,  enjoyed  in  the  cheerful 
saloons  of  Olympus  so  much  exquisite  nectar,  and 
so  many  sweet  concerts  given  by  the  Muses. 

I  can  write  no  more,  for  the  music  under  my 
window  intoxicates  my  head,  and  still  more  forcibly 
am  I  moved  by  the  refrain — 

"  Aux  armes,  citoyeaa  1 " 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS. 
(1828.) 

**  Happy  Albion  !  merry  old  England !  why  did  I  leave  thee  f 
— to  fly  from  the  society  of  gentlemen,  and  to  be  among  a  pack 
of  blackguards,  the  only  one  who  lives  and  acts  with  conscious- 
ness!"— W.  Alexis' Honourable  People.  | 

The  "English  Fragments"  were  partly  written 
two  years  ago  for  the  "  Universal  Political  Annals," 
which  I  at  that  time  published  with  Lindner,  to 
supply  a  want  of  the  time,  and  believing  them  to 
be  appropriate,  I  have  added  them  as  a  completion 
of  the  "  Pictures  of  Travel." 

I  trust  that  the  amiable  reader  will  not  mis- 
apprehend my  object  in  giving  these  "English 
Fragments."  Perhaps  I  may,  at  a  proper  time, 
supply  further  contributions  of  the  same  nature. 
Our  literature  is  by  no  means  too  richly  provided 
with  them.  Though  England  has  been  frequently 
described  by  our  novelists,  Willibald  Alexis  is 
the  only  one  who  has  set  forth  her  local  peculi- 
arities and  customs  with  true  outline  and  colour. 
I  believe  that  he  was  never  in  the  country,  and 
knows  its  physiognomy  only  by  that  strange  in- 

334 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS.  335 

tuition  whicH  renders  a  personal  examination  of 
the  reality  needless  to  a  poet.  In  like  manner, 
I  myself  wrote,  eleven  years  ago,  "  William  Rat- 
cliffe,"  to  which  I  here  the  more  emphatically 
refer,  since  it  not  only  contains  an  accurate  pic- 
ture of  England,  but  also  the  germ  of  my  later 
observations  of  the  country,  which  I  had  not 
then  seen.  The  piece  may  be  found  in  the 
"  Tragedies,  with  a  Lyrical  Intermezzo,  by  Henry 
Heine.    Berlin,  1823,  published  by  F.  Duemmler." 

As  for  books  of  travel  in  England,  I  am  con- 
fident that,  with  the  exception  of  those  of  Archen- 
holtz  and  Goede,  there  are  none  which  set  forth 
matters  as  they  really  are  there,  which  can  be 
compared  to  a  work  published  this  year  by  Frankh, 
in  Munich.  I  refer  to  "  Letters  of  a  Dead  Man. 
A  Fragmentary  Diary  kept  in  England,  Wales, 
Ireland,  and  France  in  the  Years  1 828  and  1 829." 

It  is,  moreover,  in  many  other  respects  an  ad- 
mirable book,  and  fully  deserves  the  praise  which 
Goethe  and  Vamhagen  Von  Ense  have  lavished  on 
it  in  the  "  Berlin  Annals  of  Scientific  Criticism." 

Henky  Heine. 

Hamburg, 
Nov.  15, 183a 


vfi 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


DIALOGUE  ON  THE  THAMES. 

....  The  sallow  man  stood  near  me  on  the 
deck,  as  I  gazed  on  the  green  shores  of  the 
Thames,  while  in  every  comer  of  my  soul  the 
nightingales  awoke  to  life.  "  Land  of  Freedom  ! " 
I  cried,  "  I  greet  thee !  Hail  to  thee,  Freedom, 
young  sun  of  the  renewed  world !  Those  older 
suns.  Love  and  Faith,  are  withered  and  cold,  and 
can  no  longer  light  nor  warm  us.  The  ancient 
myrtle  woods,  which  were  once  all  too  full,  are  now 
deserted,  and  only  timid  turtle-doves  nestle  amid 
the  soft  thickets.  The  old  cathedrals,  once  piled 
in  towering  height  by  an  arrogantly  pious  race, 
which  fain  would  force  its  faith  into  heaven,  are 
brittle,  and  their  gods  have  ceased  to  believe  in 
themselves.  Those  divinities  are  worn  out,  and 
our  age  lacks  the  imagination  to  shape  new. 
Every  power  of  the  human  breast  now  tends  to 
a  love  of  Liberty,  and  Liberty  is,  perhaps,  the 
religion  of  the  modern  age.  And  it  is  a  religion 
not  preached  to  the  rich,  but  to  the  poor,  and  it 
has  in  like  manner  its  evangelists,  its  martyrs, 
and  its  Iscariots ! " 

"  Young  enthusiast,"  said  the  sallow  man,  "  you 
will  not  find  what  you  seek.  You  may  be  in  the 
right  in  believing  that  Liberty  is  a  new  religion 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS.  337 

which  will  spread  itself  over  all  the  world.  But  as 
every  race  of  old,  when  it  received  Christianity,  did 
so  according  to  its  requirements  and  its  peculiar 
character,  so,  at  present,  every  country  adopts 
from  the  new  religion  of  liberty  only  that  which 
is  in  accordance  with  its  local  needs  and  national 
character. 

"The  English  are  a  domestic  race,  living  a 
limited,  peaceable  family  life,  and  the  English- 
man seeks  in  the  circle  of  those  connected  with 
and  pertaining  to  him  that  easy  state  of  mind 
which  is  denied  to  him  through  his  innate  social 
incapacity.  The  Englishman  is,  therefore,  con- 
tented with  that  liberty  which  secures  his 
most  personal  rights  and  guards  his  body,  his 
property,  and  his  conjugal  relations,  his  religion, 
and  even  his  whims,  in  the  most  uncorditional 
manner.  No  one  is  freer  in  his  home  than  an 
Englishman,  and,  to  use  a  celebrated  expression, 
he  is  king  and  bishop  between  his  four  stakes; 
and  there  is  much  truth  in  the  common  saying, 
'  My  house  is  my  castle.' 

"  If  the  Englishman  has  the  greatest  need  of 
personal  freedom,  the  Frenchman,  in  case  of  need, 
can  dispense  with  it,  if  we  only  grant  him  that 
portion  of  universal  liberty  known  as  equality. 
The  French  are  not  a  domestic  but  a  social  race ; 
they  are  no  friends  to  a  silent  tSie-d-tSte,  which 
they  call  une  conversation  Anglaise;   they  run 

VOL.  IL  y 


33* 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


gossiping  about  from  the  cafS  to  the  casino,  and 
from  the  casino  to  the  salons ;  their  light  cham- 
pagne-blood and  inborn  talent  for  company  drives 
them  to  social  life,  whose  first  and  last  principle,  yes, 
whose  very  soul  is  equality.  The  development  of 
the  social  principle  in  France  necessarily  involved 
that  of  equality,  and  if  the  ground  of  the  Revolu- 
tion should  be  sought  in  the  Budget,  it  is  none 
the  less  true  that  its  language  and  tone  were 
drawn  from  those  wits  of  low  degree  who  lived 
in  the  salons  of  Paris,  apparently  on  a  footing 
of  equality  with  the  high  noblesse,  and  who  were 
now  and  then  reminded,  it  may  have  been  by 
a  hardly  perceptible,  yet  not  on  that  account  less 
aggravating,  feudal  smile,  of  the  great  and  ig- 
nominious inequality  which  lay  between  them. 
And  when  the  canaille  rotwrUre  took  the  liberty 
of  beheading  that  high  noblesse,  it  was  done  less 
to  inherit  their  property  than  their  ancestry,  and 
to  introduce  a  noble  equality  in  place  of  a  vulgar 
inequality.  And  we  are  the  better  authorised 
to  believe  that  this  striving  for  equality  was  the 
main  principle  of  the  Revolution,  since  the  French 
speedily  found  themselves  so  happy  and  contented 
under  the  dominion  of  their  great  Emperor,  who, 
fully  appreciating  that  they  were  not  yet  of  age, 
kept  all  their  freedom  within  the  limits  of  his 
powerful  guardianship,  permitting  them  only  the 
pleasure  of  a  perfect  and  admirable  equality. 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS.  339 

"Far  more  patient  than  the  Frenchman,  the 
Englishman  easily  bears  the  glances  of  a  privi- 
leged aristocracy,  consoling  himself  with  the 
reflection  that  he  has  a  right  by  which  it  is 
rendered  impossible  to  the  others  to  disturb  his 
personal  comfort  or  his  daily  requirements.  Nor 
does  the  aristocracy  here  make  a  show  of  its 
privileges  as  on  the  Continent.  In  the  streets 
and  in  places  of  public  resort  in  London,  coloured 
ribbons  are  only  seen  on  women's  bonnets,  and 
gold  and  silver  signs  of  distinction  on  the  dresses 
of  lackeys.  Even  that  beautiful  coloured  livery 
which  indicates  with  us  military  rank  is  in  Eng- 
land anything  but  a  sign  of  honour,  and  as  an 
actor  after  a  play  hastens  to  wash  off  the  rouge, 
so  an  English  officer  hastens,  when  the  hours  of 
active  duty  are  over,  to  strip  off  his  red  coat 
and  again  appear  like  a  gentleman,  in  the  plain 
"  garb  of  a  gentleman.  Only  at  the  theatre  of  St. 
James  are  those  decorations  and  costumes,  which 
were  raked  from  the  off-scourings  of  the  Middle 
Ages,  of  any  avail.  There  we  may  see  the  ribbons 
of  orders  of  nobility ;  there  the  stars  glitter,  silk 
knee-breeches  and  satin  trains  rustle,  golden 
spurs  and  old-fashioned  French  styles  of  expres- 
sion clatter ;  there  the  knight  struts  and  the  lady 
spreads  herself.  But  what  does  a  free  English- 
man care  for  the  Court  comedy  of  St.  James, 
80  long  as  it  does  not  trouble  him,  and  so  long 


340 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


as  no  one  interferes  when  he  plays  comedy  in 
like  manner  in  his  own  house,  making  his 
lackeys  kneel  before  him,  or  plays  with  the 
garter  of  a  pretty  cook-maid  ?  '  Honi  soit  qui  mai 
y  pense  ! ' 

"  As  for  the  Germans,  they  need  neither  freedom 
nor  equality.  They  are  a  speculative  race,  ideolo- 
gists, prophets,  and  after-thinkers,  dreamers  who 
only  live  in  the  past  and  in  the  future,  and  who 
have  no  present.  Englishmen  and  Frenchmen 
have  a  present;  with  them  every  day  has  its 
field  of  action,  its  opposing  element,  its  history. 
The  German  has  nothing  for  which  to  battle, 
and  when  he  began  to  realise  that  there  might 
be  things  worth  striving  for,  his  philosophising 
wiseacres  taught  him  to  doubt  the  existence  of 
such  thinga  It  cannot  be  denied  that  the 
Germans  love  liberty.  But  it  is  in  a  different 
manner  from  other  people.  The  Englishman 
loves  liberty  as  his  lawful  wife,  and  if  he  does 
not  treat  her  with  remarkable  tenderness,  he  is 
still  ready  in  case  of  need  to  defend  her  like  a 
man,  and  woe  to  the  red-coated  rascal  who  forces 
his  way  to  her  bedroom — let  him  do  so  as  a 
gallant  or  as  a  catchpoll.  The  Frenchman  loves 
liberty  as  his  bride.  He  burns  for  her ;  he  is  a 
flame ;  he  casts  himself  at  her  feet  with  the  most 
extravagant  protestations;  he  will  fight  for  her 
to  the  death ;  he  commits  for  her  sake  a  thousand 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS.  341 

follies.     The  German  loves  liberty  as  though  she 
were  his  old  grandmother." 

Men  are  strange  beings !  We  grumble  in  onr 
Fatherland ;  every  stapid  thing,  every  contrary 
trifle,  vexes  us  there ;  like  boys,  we  are  always 
longing  to  rush  forth  into  the  wide  world ;  and 
when  we  finally  find  ourselves  out  in  the  wide 
world,  we  find  it  a  world  too  wide^  and  often 
yearn  in  secret  for  the  narrow  stupidities  and 
contrarieties  of  home.  Yes,  we  would  fain  be 
again  in  the  old  chamber,  sitting  behind  the 
familiar  stove,  making  for  ourselves,  as  it  were, 
a  "  cubby-house "  near  it,  and  nestling  there, 
read  the  German  General  Advertiser.  So  it  was 
with  me  in  my  journey  to  England.  Scarcely 
had  I  lost  sight  of  the  German  shore  ere  there 
awoke  in  me  a  curious  after-love  for  the  German 
night-caps  and  forest-like  wigs  which  I  had  just 
left  in  discontent,  and  when  the  Fatherland  faded 
from  my  eyes  I  found  it  again  in  my  heart. 

And,  therefore,  it  may  be  that  my  voice  quivered 
in  a  somewhat  lower  key  as  I  replied  to  the  sal- 
low man — "  Dear  sir,  do  not  scold  the  Germans ! 
If  they  are  dreamers,  stUl  many  of  them  have 
dreamed  such  beautiful  dreams  that  I  would 
hardly  incline  to  change  them  for  the  waking 
realities  of  our  neighbours.  Since  we  all  sleep 
and  dream,  we  can  perhaps  dispense  with  freedom ; 
for  onr  tyrants  also  sleep,  and  only  dream  their 


M* 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


tyranny.  We  only  awoke  once— when  the  Catho- 
lic Romans  robbed  us  of  our  dream-freedom; 
then  we  acted  and  conquered,  and  laid  us  down 
again  and  dreamed.  O  sir!  do  not  mock  our 
dreamers,  for  now  and  then  they  speak,  like 
somnambulists,  wondrous  things  in  sleep,  and 
their  words  become  the  seeds  of  freedom.  No 
one  can  foresee  the  turn  which  things  may  take. 
The  splenetic  Briton,  weary  of  his  wife,  may  put 
a  halter  round  her  neck  and  sell  her  in  Smith- 
field.  The  flattering  Frenchman  may  perhaps 
be  untrue  to  his  beloved  bride  and  abandon  her, 
and,  singing,  dance  after  the  Court  dames  (cour- 
tisanes)  of  his  royal  palace  (palais  royal).  But 
the  German  will  never  turn  his  old  grandmother 
quite  out  of  doors;  he  will  always  find  a  place 
for  her  by  his  fireside,  where  she  can  tell  his 
listening  children  her  legends.  Should  Freedom 
ever — which  God  forbid — vanish  from  the  entire 
world,  a  German  dreamer  would  discover  her 
again  in  his  dreams." 

While  the  steamboat,  and  with  it  our  conversa- 
tion, swam  thus  along  the  stream,  the  sun  had 
set,  and  his  last  rays  lit  up  the  hospital  at  Green- 
wich, an  imposing  palace-like  building  which  in 
reality  consists  of  two  wings,  the  space  between 
which  is  empty,  and  a  green  hill  crowned  with  a 
pretty  little  tower,  from  which  one  can  behold 
those  passing  by.     On  the  water  the  throng  of 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS.  MJ 

vessels  became  denser  and  denser,  and  I  wondered 
at  the  adroitness  with  which  the  larger  avoided 
contact.  While  passing,  many  a  sober  and  friendly 
face  nodded  greetings — faces  whom  we  had  never 
seen  before,  and  were  never  to  see  again.  We 
sometimes  came  so  near  that  it  was  possible  to 
shake  hands  in  joint  welcome  and  adieu.  One's 
heart  swells  at  the  sight  of  so  many  swelling  sails, 
and  we  feel  strangely  moved  when  the  confused 
hum  and  far-off  dancing-music  and  the  deep 
voices  of  sailors  resound  from  the  shore.  But 
the  outlines  of  all  things  vanished  little  by  little 
behind  the  white  veil  of  the  evening  mist,  and 
there  only  remained  visible  a  forest  of  masts, 
rising  long  and  bare  above  it. 

The  sallow  man  still  stood  near  me  and  gazed 
reflectively  on  high,  as  though  he  sought  for  the 
pale  stars  in  the  cloudy  heaven.  And  still  gaz- 
ing on  high,  he  laid  his  hand  on  my  shoulder, 
and  said  in  a  tone  as  though  secret  thoughts 
involuntarily  became  words  — "  Freedom  and 
equality!  they  are  not  to  be  found  on  earth 
below  nor  in  heaven  above.  The  stars  on  high 
are  not  alike,  for  one  is  greater  and  brighter  than 
the  other ;  none  of  them  wander  free,  all  obey  a 
prescribed  and  iron-like  law — there  is  slavery  in 
heaven  as  on  earth ! " 

"There  is  the  Tower!"  suddenly  cried  one  of 
our  travelling  companions,  as  he  pointed  to  a 


344  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

high  building  which  rose  like  a  spectral,  gloomy 
dream  above  the  clond-covered  London. 


n. 

LONDON. 

I  HAVE  seen  the  greatest  wonder  which  the  world 
can  show  to  the  astonished  spirit ;  I  have  seen  it, 
and  am  still  astonished ;  and  still  there  remains 
fixed  in  my  memory  the  stone  forest  of  houses, 
and  amid  them  the  rushing  stream  of  faces  of 
living  men  with  all  their  motley  passions,  all  their 
terrible  impulses  of  love,  of  hunger,  and  of  hatred 
— T  mean  London. 

Send  a  philosopher  to  London,  but,  for  your  life, 
no  poet!  Send  a  philosopher  there,  and  stand 
him  at  a  comer  of  Cheapside,  where  he  will 
learn  more  than  from  all  the  books  of  the  last 
Leipzig  fair;  and  as  the  billows  of  human  life 
roar  around  him,  so  will  a  sea  of  new  thoughts 
rise  before  him,  and  the  Eternal  Spirit  which 
moves  upon  the  face  of  the  waters  will  breathe 
upon  him;  the  most  hidden  secrets  of  social  har- 
mony will  be  suddenly  revealed  to  him ;  he  will 
hear  the  pulse  of  the  world  beat  audibly,  and  see 
it  visibly ;  for  if  London  is  the  right  hand  of  the 


,..• 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS.  345 

world — its  active,  mighty  right  hand — then  we 
may  regard  that  route  which  leads  from  the 
Exchange  to  Downing  Street  as  the  world's 
pyloric  artery. 

But  never  send  a  poet  to  London !  This  down- 
right earnestness  of  all  things,  this  colossal  uni- 
formity, this  machine-like  movement,  this  troubled 
spirit  in  pleasure  itself,  this  exaggerated  London, 
smothers  the  imagination  and  rends  the  heart. 
And  should  you  ever  send  a  German  poet  thither 
— a  dreamer,  who  stares  at  everything,  even  a 
ragged  beggar-woman,  or  the  shining  wares  of  a 
goldsmith's  shop — why,  then,  at  least  he  will  find 
things  going  right  badly  with  him,  and  he  will 
be  hustled  about  on  every  side,  or  perhaps  be 
knocked  over  with  a  mild  ^' God  damn!"^  God 
damn  ! — damn  the  knocking  about  and  pushing ! 
I  see  at  a  glance  that  these  people  have  enough 
to  do.     They  live  on  a  grand  scale,  and  though 


^  The  English  or  American  reader  has  doubtless  heard  the 
expression,  "  God  damn  it  I "  and  also  "  Damnation  I  "  but  I 
am  not  aware  that  the  interjection  quoted  by  Heine  is  used 
in  our  language.  Popular  opinion  in  America  ascribes  it  ex- 
clusively to  Germans  who  have  but  a  limited  familiarity  with 
English.  Many  eminent  French  writers  also  seem  to  labour 
under  an  erroneous  impression  that  a  mysterious  expletive 
written  by  them,  "  Goddem  ! "  or  "  Godam  I "  is  used  in 
English.  The  foreign  conception  of  the  word  ia  amusingly  set 
forth  by  Monier  in  "  Haji  Baba  in  England." — Note  by  Traiu 
lator. 


A-. 


346  PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 

food  and  clothes  are  dearer  with  them  than  with 
ns,  they  must  still  be  better  fed  and  clothed  than 
we  are — as  gentility  requires.  Moreover,  they 
have  enormous  debts,  yet  occasionally,  in  a  vain- 
glorious mood,  they  make  ducks  and  drakes  of 
their  guineas,  pay  other  nations  to  box  about  for 
their  pleasure,  give  their  kings  a  handsome  douceur 
into  the  bargain ;  and,  therefore,  John  Bull  must 
work  to  get  the  money  for  such  expenditure.  By 
day  and  by  night  he  must  tax  his  brain  to  dis- 
cover new  machines,  and  he  sits  and  reckons  in 
the  sweat  of  his  brow,  and  runs  and  rushes,  with- 
out much  looking  around,  from  the  Docks  to  the 
Exchange,  and  from  the  Exchange  to  the  Strand ; 
and  therefore  it  is  quite  pardonable  if  he,  when 
a  poor  German  poet,  gazing  into  a  print-shop 
window,  stands  bolt  in  his  way  on  the  comer  of 
Cheapside,  should  knock  the  latter  sideways  with 
a  rather  rough  "  God  damn ! " 

But  the  picture  at  which  I  was  gazing  as  I 
stood  at  Cheapside  corner  was  that  of  the  French 
crossing  the  Beresina. 

And  when  I,  jolted  out  of  my  gazing,  looked 
again  on  the  raging  street,  where  a  parti-coloured 
coil  of  men,  women,  and  children,  horses,  stage- 
coaches, and  with  them  a  funeral,  whirled  groaning 
and  creaking  along,  it  seemed  to  me  as  though  all 
London  were  such  a  Beresina  Bridge,  where  every 
one  presses  on  in  mad  haste  to  save  his  scrap  of 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS.  3i7 

life ;  where  the  daring  rider  stamps  down  the  poor 
pedestrian ;  where  every  one  who  falls  is  lost  for 
ever ;  where  the  best  friends  msh,  without  feeling, 
over  each  other's  corpses;  and  where  thousands 
in  the  weakness  of  death,  and  bleeding,  grasp  in 
vain  at  the  planks  of  the  bridge,  and  are  shot 
down  into  the  icy  grave  of  death. 

How  much  more  pleasant  and  home-like  it  is  in 
our  dear  Germany !  With  what  dreaming  comfort, 
in  what  Sabbath-like  repose,  all  glides  along  here ! 
Calmly  the  sentinels  are  changed,  uniforms  and 
houses  shine  in  the  quiet  sunshine,  swallows 
flit  over  the  flag-stones,  fat  Court-councilloresses 
smile  from  the  windows,  while  along  the  echoing 
streets  there  is  room  enough  for  the  dogs  to  sniff 
at  each  other,  and  for  men  to  stand  at  ease  and 
chat  about  the  theatre,  and  bow  deeply — oh,  how 
deeply ! — when  some  small  aristocratic  scamp  or 
vice-scamp,  with  coloured  ribbons  on  his  shabby 
coat,  or  some  Court-marshal-low-brain  ^  struts 
along  as  if  in  judgment,  graciously  returning 
salutations: 

I  had  made  up  my  mind  in  advance  not  to  be 
astonished  at  that  immensity  of  London  of  which 
I  had  heard  so  much.  But  I  had  as  little  success 
as  the  poor  schoolboy  who  determined  beforehand 
not  to  feel  the  whipping  which  he  was  to  receive. 

'  HofmarschalkcbeiL 


348  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL, 

The  facts  of  the  case  were,  that  he  expected  to  get 
the  usual  blows  with  the  usual  stick  in  the  usual 
way  on  the  back,  whereas  he  received  a  most  un- 
usually severe  licking  on  an  unusual  place  with 
a  cutting  switch.  I  anticipated  great  palaces,  and 
saw  nothing  but  mere  small  houses.  But  their 
very  uniformity  and  their  limitless  extent  impress 
the  soul  wonderfully. 

These  houses  of  brick,  owing  to  the  damp 
atmosphere  and  coal  smoke,  are  all  of  an  unifonn 
colour,  that  is  to  say,  of  a  brown  olive-green,  and 
are  all  of  the  same  style  of  building,  generally  two 
or  three  windows  wide,  three  storeys  high,  and 
finished  above  with  small  red  tiles,  which  remind 
one  of  newly  extracted  bleeding  teeth  ;  while  the 
broad  and  accurately  squared  streets  which  these 
houses  form  seem  to  be  bordered  by  endlessly  long 
barracks.  This  has  its  reason  in  the  fact  that 
every  English  family,  though  it  consist  of  only 
two  persons,  must  still  have  a  house  to  itself  for 
its  own  castle,  and  rich  speculators,  to  meet  the 
demand,  build  wholesale  entire  streets  of  these 
dwellings,  which  they  retail  singly.  In  the 
principal  streets  of  the  city  where  the  business 
of  London  is  most  at  home,  where  old-fashioned 
buildings  are  mingled  with  the  new,  and  where 
the  fronts  of  the  houses  are  covered  with  signs, 
yards  in  length,  generally  gilt,  and  in  relief,  this 
characteristic  uniformity  is  less  striking — the  less 


>-•    -^  .---v--fc«  i*--*'^  ■ 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS.  349 

80,  indeed,  because  the  eye  of  the  stranger  is  in- 
cessantly caught  by  the  new  and  brilliant  wares 
exposed  for  sale  in  the  windows.  And  these 
articles  do  not  merely  produce  an  effect,  because 
the  Englishman  completes  so  perfectly  everything 
which  he  manufactures,  and  because  every  article 
of  luxury,  every  astral  lamp  and  every  boot,  every 
tea-kettle  and  every  woman's  dress,  shines  out 
BO  invitingly  and  so  finished.  There  is  also 
a  peculiar  charm  in  the  art  of  arrangement,  in 
the  contrast  of  colours,  and  in  the  variety  of 
the  English  shops;  even  the  most  commonplace 
necessaries  of  life  appear  in  a  startling  magic 
light  through  this  artistic  power  of  setting  forth 
everything  to  advantage.  Ordinary  articles  of 
food  attract  us  by  the  new  light  in  which  they 
are  placed ;  even  uncooked  fish  lie  so  delightfully 
dressed  that  the  rainbow  gleam  of  their  scales 
attracts  us ;  raw  meat  lies,  as  if  painted,  on  neat 
and  many-coloured  porcelain  plates,  garlanded 
about  with  parsley — yes,  everything  seems  painted, 
reminding  us  of  the  highly  polished  yet  modest 
pictures  of  Franz  Mieris.  But  the  human  beings 
whom  we  see  are  not  so  cheerful  as  in  the  Dutch 
paintings,  for  they  sell  the  joUiest  wares  with  the 
most  serious  faces,  and  the  cut  and  colour  of  their 
clothes  is  as  uniform  as  that  of  their  houses. 

On  the  opposite  side  of  the  town,  which  they 
call  the  West  End — "  the  west  end  of  the  toum  " — 


350  PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 

and  where  the  more  aristocratic  and  less  occupied 
world  lives,  the  uniformity  spoken  of  is  still  more 
dominant ;  yet  here  there  are  very  long  and  very 
broad  streets,  where  all  the  houses  are  large  as 
palaces,  though  anything  but  remarkable  as  re- 
gards their  exterior,  unless  we  except  the  fact 
that  in  these,  as  in  all  the  better  class  of 
houses  in  London,  the  windows  of  the  first  ^tage 
(or  second  storey)  are  adorned  with  iron-barred 
balconies,  and  also  on  the  rez  de  chauss6e  there 
is  a  black  railing  protecting  the  entrance  to  cer- 
tain subterranean  apartments.  In  this  part  ot 
the  city  there  are  also  great  "  squares,"  where 
rows  of  houses  like  those  already  described  form 
a  quadrangle,  in  whose  centre  there  is  a  garden, 
enclosed  by  an  iron  railing  and  containing  some 
statue  or  other.  In  all  of  these  places  and  streets 
the  eye  is  never  shocked  by  the  dilapidated  huts 
of  misery.  Everywhere  we  are  stared  down  on  by 
wealth  and  respectability,  while  crammed  away  in 
retired  lanes  and  dark,  damp  alleys  Poverty  dwells 
with  her  rags  and  her  tears. 

The  stranger  who  wanders  through  the  great 
streets  of  London,  and  does  not  chance  right  into 
the  regular  quarters  of  the  multitude,  sees  little 
or  nothing  of  the  fearful  misery  existing  there. 
Only  here  and  there  at  the  mouth  of  some  dark 
alley  stands  a  ragged  woman  with  a  suckling 
babe  at  her  weak  breast,  and  begs  with  her  eyes. 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS.  351 

Perhaps,  if  those  eyes  are  still  beautiful,  we  glance 
into  them,  and  are  shocked  at  the  world  of  wretched- 
ness visible  within.  The  common  beggars  are  old 
people,  generally  blacks,  who  stand  at  the  comers 
of  the  streets  cleaning  pathways — a  very  necessary 
thing  in  muddy  London — and  ask  for  "  coppers  " 
in  reward.  It  is  in  the  dusky  twilight  that 
Poverty  with  her  mates  Vice  and  Crime  glide 
forth  from  their  lairs.  They  shun  daylight  the 
more  anxiously  since  their  wretchedness  there 
contrasts  more  cruelly  with  the  pride  of  wealth 
which  glitters  everywhere ;  only  Hunger  some- 
times drives  them  at  noonday  from  their  dens? 
and  then  they  stand  with  silent,  speaking  eyes, 
staring  beseechingly  at  the  rich  merchant  who 
hurries  along,  busy  and  jingling  gold,  or  at  the 
lazy  lord  who,  like  a  surfeited  god,  rides  by  on 
his  high  horse,  casting  now  and  then  an  aristo- 
cratically indiflferent  glance  at  the  mob  below, 
as  though  they  were  swarming  ants,  or  rather  a 
mass  of  baser  beings,  whose  joys  and  sorrows 
have  nothing  in  common  with  his  feelings.  Yes 
— for  over  the  vulgar  multitude  which  sticks  fast 
to  the  soil  soar,  Kke  beings  of  a  higher  nature, 
England's  nobility,  to  whom  their  little  island 
is  only  a  temporary  resting-place,  Italy  their 
summer  garden,  Paris  their  social  saloon,  and 
the  whole  world  their  inheritance.  They  sweep 
along,  knowing  nothing  of  sorrow  or  suffering, 


35*  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

and  their  gold  is  a  talisman  which  conjnres  into 
fulfilment  their  wildest  wish. 

Poor  Poverty  1  how  agonising  must  thy  hunger 
be,  where  others  swell  in  scomfnl  superfluity ! 
And  when  some  one  casts  with  indiflFerent  hand 
a  crust  into  thy  lap,  how  bitter  must  the  tears 
be  wherewith  thou  moistenest  it !  Thou  poisonest 
thyself  with  thine  own  tears.  Well  art  thou  in 
the  right  when  thou  alliest  thyself  to  Vice  and 
Crime.  Outlawed  criminals  often  bear  more 
humanity  in  their  hearts  than  those  cool,  re- 
proachless  town  burghers  of  virtue,  in  whose 
white  hearts  the  power  of  evil,  it  is  true,  is 
quenched — but  with  it,  too,  the  power  of  good. 
And  even  vice  is  not  always  vice.  I  have  seen 
women  on  whose  cheeks  red  vice  was  painted, 
and  in  whose  hearts  dwelt  heavenly  purity.  I 
have  seen  women — I  would  that  I  saw  them 
again ! 


ni. 

THE  ENGLISH. 

Under  the  archways  of  the  London  Exchange 
every  nation  has  its  allotted  place,  and  on  high 
tablets  we  read  the  names  of  Russians,  Spaniards, 
Swedes,    Germans,    Maltese,    Jews,    Hanseatics, 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS.  353 

Turks,  &c.  Now,  however,  you  would  seek  them 
there  in  vain,  for  the  men  have  been  jostled  away ; 
where  Spaniards  once  stood  Dutchmen  now  stand, 
the  citizens  of  Hanse  Towns  have  elbowed  out  the 
Jews,  Russians  are  now  where  Turks  once  were, 
Italians  are  on  the  ground  formerly  held  by  French- 
men ;  even  the  Germans  have  advanced  a  little. 

As  in  the  London  Exchange,  so  in  the  rest  of 
the  world  the  ancient  tablets  have  remained,  and 
men  have  been  moved  away  while  other  people 
appear  in  their  place,  whose  new  heads  agree 
very  indifferently  with  the  old  inscriptions.  The 
old  stereotyped  characteristics  of  races,  as  we  find 
them  in  learned  compendiums  and  ale-houses,  are 
no  longer  profitable,  and  can  only  lead  us  into 
dreary  errors.  As  we  during  the  last  ten  years 
have  observed  a  striking  change  in  the  character 
of  our  Western  neighbours,  just  so  has  there  been, 
since  the  continent  was  thrown  open,  a  corre- 
sponding metamorphosis  on  the  other  side  of  the 
canal.  Stifi',  taciturn  Englishmen  go  pilgrim- 
like in  hordes  to  France,  there  to  learn  to  speak 
and  move  their  limbs;  and  on  returning  we  ob- 
serve with  amazement  that  their  tongues  are 
loosened,  they  no  longer  have  two  left  hands, 
and  are  no  longer  contented  with  beef-steak  and 
plum-puddings.  I  myself  have  seen  such  an 
Englishman,  who  in  Tavistock  Tavern  asked  for 
some  sugar  with  his  cauliflowers — a  heresy  against 

VOL.  II.  Z 


354 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


the  stem  laws  of  the  English  cuisinej  which  nearly 
caused  the  waiter  to  fall  flat  on  his  back;  for, 
certainly,  since  the  days  of  the  Roman  invasion, 
cauliflower  was  never  cooked  otherwise  than  by 
simply  boiling  in  water,  nor  was  it  ever  eaten 
with  sweet  seasoning.  It  was  the  self-same 
Englishman  who,  although  I  had  never  seen 
him  before,  sat  down  opposite  to  me  and  began 
to  converse  so  genially  in  French  that  I  could  not 
for  my  life  help  telling  him  how  delighted  I  was 
to  meet,  for  once,  an  Englishman  who  was  not  re- 
served towards  strangers ;  whereupon  he,  without 
smiling,  quite  as  candidly  remarked  that  he  merely 
talked  with  me  for  the  sake  of  practice  in  French. 
It  is  amazing  how  the  French,  day  by  day, 
become  more  reflecting,  deeper,  and  more  serious, 
while  the  English,  on  the  other  hand,  strive  to 
assume  a  light,  superficial,  and  cheerful  manner, 
not  merely  in  life,  but  in  literature.  The  London 
presses  are  fully  busied  with  fashionable  works, 
with  romances  which  move  in  the  glittering 
sphere  of  "  high  life,"  or  mirror  it ;  as,  for  instance, 
"Almacks,"  or  "Vivian  Grey,"  "Tremaine,"  "The 
Guards,"  and  "Flirtation."  This  last  romance 
bears  a  name  which  would  be  most  appropriate 
for  the  whole  species,  since  it  indicates  that 
coquetry  with  foreign  airs  and  phrases,  that 
clumsy  refinement,  that  heavy  bumping  light- 
ness, that  sour  style  of  honeyed  compliment,  that 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS.  3SS 

ornamented  coarseness ;  in  a  word,  the  entire  life- 
less life  of  those  wooden  butterflies  who  flutter 
in  the  saloons  of  West  London. 

But,  on  the  contrary,  what  a  literature  is  at 
present  offered  us  by  the  French  press — ^that 
real  representative  of  French  spirit  and  volition ! 
When  their  great  Emperor  undertook,  in  the 
leisure  of  his  captivity,  to  dictate  his  life,  to 
reveal  the  most  secret  solutions  of  the  enigmas 
of  his  divine  soul,  and  to  change  the  rocks  of 
St.  Helena  to  a  chair  of  history,  from  whose 
height  his  cotemporaries  should  be  judged  and 
latest  posterity  be  taught,  then  the  French  them- 
selves began  to  employ  the  days  of  their  adver- 
sity and  the  period  of  their  political  inactivity 
as  profitably  as  possible.  They  also  are  now 
writing  the  history  of  their  deeds,  the  hands 
which  once  grasped  the  sword  are  again  becom- 
ing a  terror  to  their  enemies  by  wielding  the  pen, 
the  whole  nation  is  busied  in  publishing  its 
memoirs,  and  if  it  will  follow  my  advice  it  will 
prepare  a  particular  edition  ad  tisum  Delphini, 
with  nicely  coloured  engravings  of  the  taking  of 
the  Bastille  and  storming  of  the  Tuileries. 

If  I  have  above  remarked  that  the  English 
of  the  present  day  are  seeking  to  become  light 
and  frivolous,  and  endeavouring  to  creep  into 
the  monkey's  skin  which  the  French  are  gradu- 
ally stripping  off,  I  must  also  add  that  the  ten- 


356 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


dency  in  question  proceeds  rather  from  the 
nobility  and  gentry,  or  aristocratic  world,  than 
from  the  citizens.  On  the  contrary,  the  trading 
and  working  portion  of  the  people,  especially  the 
merchants  in  the  manufacturing  towns,  and  nearly 
all  the  Scotch,  bear  the  external  marks  of  pietism 
— ^yes,  I  might  almost  say  of  Puritanism,  so  that 
this  blessed  portion  of  the  people  contrast  with 
the  worldly-minded  aristocrats,  like  the  cavaliers 
and  Roundheads  so  truthfully  set  forth  by  Scott 
in  his  novels.  1 

Those  readers  honour  the  Scottish  bard  too 
highly  who  believe  that  his  genius  imitated  and 
penetrated  the  outer  form  and  inner  manner  of 
feeling  of  those  two  historical  parties,  and  that  it 
is  an  indication  of  his  poetic  greatness  that  he, 
free  from  prejudice  as  a  god  in  his  judgment,  does 
justice  to  both  and  treats  them  with  equal  love. 
Let  any  one  cast  a  glance  into  the  prayer-meetings 
of  Liverpool  and  Manchester,  and  then  into  the 
fashionable  saloons  of  the  West  End,  and  he  will 
plainly  see  that  Walter  Scott  has  simply  de- 
scribed his  own  times,  and  clothed  forms  which 
are  altogether  modem  in  dresses  of  the  olden 
time.  And  if  we  remember  that  he  himself  from 
one  side,  as  a  Scotchman,  sucked  in  by  education 
and  national  influence  a  Puritan  spirit,  while  on 
the  other  side,  as  a  Tory  who  even  regarded  him- 
self as  a  scion  of  the  Stuarts,  he  must  have  been 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS.  357 

right  royally  and  aristocratically  inclined,  and 
that  therefore  his  feelings  and  thoughts  most 
have  embraced  either  tendency  with  equal  love, 
and  must  also  have  been  neutralised  by  their 
opposition,  we  can  very  readily  understand  his 
impartiality  in  describing  the  democrats  and 
aristocrats  of  Cromwell's  time,  an  impartiality 
which  might  well  lead  us  into  error  if  we  hoped 
to  find  in  his  "  History  of  Napoleon  "  an  equally 
"  fair-play  "  description  of  the  heroes  of  the  French 
Revolution.^  ^    : 

He  who  regards  England  attentively  may  now 
find  daily  opportunities  of  observing  those  two 
tendencies,  the  frivolous  and  the  Puritanic,  in 
their  most  repulsive  vigour,  and  with  them,  of 
course,  their  mutual  contest.  Such  an  oppor- 
tunity was  recently  manifested  in  the  famous 
suit  at  law  of  Mr.  Wakefield,  a  gay  cavalier, 
who,  in  an  ofi'-hand  manner  eloped  with  the 
daughter  of  the  rich  Mr.  Turner,  a  Liverpool 
merchant,  and  married  her  at  Gretna  Green, 
where  a  blacksmith  lives  who  forges  the  strongest 
sort  of  fetters.  The  entire  head-hanging  com- 
munity, the  whole  race  of  the  elect  of  the  Lord, 
screamed  murder  at  such  horrible  conduct ;  in  the 
conventicles  of  Liverpool  the  vengeance  of  Heaven 

^  With  change  of  name  and  circumstance  one  might  accept 
this  as  an  accurate  description  of  Heine  himself. — Note  bjf 
Trandator. 


358 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


was  evoked  on  Wakefield  and  his  brother  who 
assisted;  they  prayed  that  the  earth's  abyss 
might  swallow  them  as  it  once  swallowed  the 
host  of  Korah,  Dathan,  and  Abiram ;  while,  to 
make  celestial  anger  more  certain,  they  brought 
the  thunders  of  the  King's  Bench,  of  the  Lord 
Chancellor,  and  even  of  the  Upper  House  to  bear 
on  this  profaner  of  the  holy  sacrament ;  while 
in  the  fashionable  saloons  people  merely  laughed 
merrily  and  jested  in  the  most  liberal  manner 
at  the  bold  damsel-stealer.  But  the  contrast  of 
the  two  states  of  thought  or  feeling  was  recently 
shown  me  in  the  most  delightful  manner  as  I 
sat  in  the  Grand  Opera  near  two  fat  Manchester 
ladies  who  visited  this  rendezvotcs  of  the  aristo- 
cratic world  for  the  first  time  in  their  lives,  and 
who  could  not  find  words  strong  enough  to  ex- 
press the  utter  detestation  and  abhorrence  which 
filled  their  hearts  as  the  ballet  began,  and  the 
short-skirted  beautiful  dancing-girls  exhibited 
their  lasciviously  graceful  movements,  and  fell 
passionately,  like  burning  Bacchantes,  into  the 
arms  of  the  male  dancers  who  leaped  towards 
them.  The  inspiring  music,  the  primitive  cloth- 
ing of  flesh-coloured  stockinet,  the  bounds  so  like 
the  exuberance  of  nature,  all  united  to  force 
the  sweat  of  agony  from  the  poor  ladies;  their 
bosoms  flushed  with  repugnance ;  they  continually 
heaved  out  in  chorus,  ^^ Slwcking !    For  shame! 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS.  jfj 

for  shame  /  "  and  were  so  benumbed  with  horror 
that  they  could  not  for  an  instant  take  their 
opera-glasses  from  their  eyes,  and  consequently 
remained  in  that  situation  to  the  last  instant 
when  the  curtain  fell. 

Despite  these  diametrically  opposed  tendencies 
of  mind  and  of  life,  we  still  find  in  the  English 
people  an  unity  in  their  way  of  thinking,  which 
comes  from  the  very  fact  that  they  are  always 
realising  that  they  are  a  people  by  themselves; 
the  modem  cavaliers  and  Eoundheads  may  hate 
and  despise  one  another  mutually  and  as  much  as 
they  please ;  they  do  not,  for  all  that,  cease  to  be 
English ;  as  such  they  are  at  union  and  together, 
like  plants  which  have  grown  out  of  the  same  soil 
and  are  strangely  interwoven  with  it.  Hence 
the  secret  unity  of  the  entire  life  and  activity 
and  intercourse  of  England,  which  at  the  first 
glance  seems  to  us  but  a  theatre  of  confusion  and 
of  contradiction.  Excessive  wealth  and  misery, 
orthodoxy  and  infidelity,  freedom  and  serfdom, 
cruelty  and  mildness,  honour  and  deceit — all  of 
these  incongruities  in  their  maddest  extremes; 
over  all  a  grey  misty  heaven,  on  every  side  buzzing 
machines,  reckoning,  gas-lights,  chimneys,  pots  of 
porter,  closed  mouths — all  this  hangs  together  in 
such-wise  that  we  can  hardly  think  of  the  one 
without  the  other ;  and  that  which  singly,  really 
ought  to   excite  our    astonishment  or  laughter 


,.:.  li^  _:.,  ^   , ..:^. 


36o 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


appears  to  be,  when  taken  as  a  part  of  the  whole, 
quite  commonplace  and  serious.  I 

But  I  imagine  that  such  would  be  the  case 
everywhere,  even  in  countries  of  which  we  have 
much  more  eccentric  conceptions,  and  where  we 
anticipate  a  much  richer  booty  of  merriment  or 
amazement.  Our  earnest  longing  to  travel,  our 
desire  to  see  foreign  lands,  particularly  as  we 
feel  it  in  early  youth,  generally  results  from  an 
erroneous  anticipation  of  extraordinary  contrasts, 
and  from  that  spiritual  pleasure  in  masquerades 
which  makes  us  involuntarily  expect  to  find  the 
men  and  manner  of  thought  of  our  own  home, 
and  to  a  certain  degree  our  nearest  friends  and 
acquaintances,  disguised  in  foreign  dress  and 
manners.  If  we  think,  for  example,  of  the  Hot- 
tentots, at  once  the  ladies  of  our  native  town 
dance  around  in  our  imaginations,  but  painted 
black  and  endowed  with  the  proper  a  posteriori 
developments,  while  our  heavx  esprits  climb  the 
palm-trees  as  bnsh-beaters ;  and  if  we  think  of 
the  North  Polanders,  we  see  there  also  the  well- 
known  faces ;  our  aunt  glides  in  her  dog-sleigh 
over  the  ice  road ;  the  dry  Herr  Conrector  lies 
lazily  on  the  bearskin  and  calmly  sips  his  morning 
train-oil ;  Madame  the  inspector's  wife,  Madame 
the  tax-gatherer's  lady,  and  Madame  the  wife  of 
the  Councillor  of  Infibulation  gossip  together  and 
munch  candlea     But  when  we  are  really  in  those 


'«.•*-#*  ..^«-.*,i 


■-■k'^.-  ,.«;-—.  - 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS. 


36i 


countries,  we  at  once  observe  that  mankind  has 
there  grown  up  from  infancy  with  its  manners 
and  modes;  that  people's  faces  harmonise  with 
their  thoughts  and  clothes  to  their  needs — ^yes, 
that  plants,  animals,  human  beings,  and  the  land 
itself  form  a  harmonious  whole. 


rv. 

JOHN  BULL. 


TRANSLATED   FROM   AN   ENGLISH   DESCRIPTION   OF  LONDON. 

It  would  seem  to  be  an  immutable  law  of  the 
nature  of  the  Irish  that  they  regard  idleness  as 
the  characteristic  of  a  gentleman,  and  as  all  of  this 
race  cannot  cover  their  genteel  backs,  yet  are  all 
the  same  aristocrats,  it  comes  to  pass  that  com- 
paratively few  of  the  sprouts  of  Green  Erin  flourish 
among  the  merchants  of  the  City.  Those  Irish- 
men who  have  had  little  or  no  education — and 
these  are  in  the  majority — are  gentlemen  day- 
labourers,  and  the  rest  gentlemen  for  and  by  them- 
selves. If  they  could,  by  a  bold  stroke — coup  de 
main — attain  the  enjoyment  of  mercantile  wealth, 
they  would  gladly  go  into  business;  bat  they  can- 


-*    -  ^-*., 


36a 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


not  sit  on  the  three-legged  stools  of  a  counting- 
honse  or  bend  over  desks  and  account-books  so 
as  to  win  treasure  by  long  hard  work.  ; 

On  the  other  hand,  this  is  just  what  suits  a 
Scotchman.  His  desire  to  climb  to  the  top  of  the 
tree  is  also  pretty  keen,  but  his  hopes  are  not  so 
sanguine  as  they  are  determined,  and  unwearied 
application  with  him  takes  the  place  of  momen- 
tary fiery  enthusiasm.  The  Irishman  springs  and 
jumps  like  a  squirrel ;  and  when  he,  as  often 
happens,  does  not  keep  firm  hold  of  the  twig  or 
bough,  down  he  goes  into  the  mud,  and  finds 
himself  defiled  if  not  damaged.  These  numerous 
jumps  and  springs  are  the  preparations  for  a  fresh 
eflfortj  which  probably  results  in  the  same  manner. 
The  cautious  Scotchman,  on  the  contrary,  chooses 
his  tree  with  the  greatest  care ;  examines  if  it 
be  well  grown,  well  rooted,  and  strong  enough  to 
bear  him,  so  that  it  cannot  be  blown  down  by  the 
storms  of  fortune  or  accident.  And  he  takes  good 
care  that  the  lowest  twigs  are  within  his  reach, 
and  that  there  is  a  convenient  series  of  knots  or 
ridges  in  the  bark  to  aid  his  climbing.  He  begins 
from  the  bottom,  looks  carefully  at  every  twig 
before  he  trusts  to  it,  and  never  advances  one 
foot  till  he  is  sure  that  the  other  is  firmly  planted. 
Other  people,  more  enthusiastic  and  less  careful, 
climb  over  him,  and  ridicule  the  anxious  slowness 
of  his  pace ;  but  he,  patient  and  persevering,  cares 


^w  »  #  \t  f*a  •«p  ■%••.  L  '  m.*.'^- 


•  -  •^  '<*''V:3ft; 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS.  363 

little  for  that ;  and  when  they  tumble  and  he  is  on 
the  top,  it  is  his  turn  to  laugh,  and  he  does  so  with 
all  his  heart. 

This  admirable  ability  of  the  Scotchman  to  make 
his  way  in  business,  his  extraordinary  docility 
and  obedience  to  superiors,  the  invariable  prompt- 
ness with  which  he  trims  his  sails  to  the  winds, 
has  had  the  result  that  we  find  in  London  firms 
not  only  an  incredible  number  of  Scottish  clerks, 
but  also  Scottish  partners.  And  yet,  notwith- 
standing their  number  and  their  influence,  the 
Scotch  have  not  succeeded  in  impressing  their 
national  character  on  this  sphere  of  London  society. 
For  the  very  gifts  which  enable  them  to  become 
first  the  best  of  employes,  and  then  the  best  of 
associates,  cause  them  to  adopt  the  manners  and 
style  or  tastes  of  those  around  them. 

Fox  they  soon  find  that  those  things  to  which 
they  attached  the  utmost  importance  in  their 
native  land  are  of  no  account  whatever  in  their 
new  home.  Their  small  feudal  ties,  their  boasted 
relationship  to  some  unshorn  proprietor  of  two 
or  three  barren  mountains,  their  legends  of  two 
or  three  wonderful  men  whose  names  were  never 
heard  of  out  of  Scotland,  the  Puritanical  temper- 
ance in  which  they  were  brought  up,  and  the 
frugality  which  they  have  made  their  own — all 
is  far  from  agreeing  with  the  positive  and  lavish 
habits  of  John  Boll. 


'""i^*;-.*. 


364 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


The  stamp  of  John  Bull  is  as  deeply  impressed 
and  as  sharp  as  that  on  a  Greek  medal;  and 
wherever  we  find  him,  be  it  in  London  or  in 
Calcutta,  as  master  or  man,  he  is  alway  per- 
fectly recognisable.  He  is  everywhere  a  plump 
fact,  very  honourable,  but  cold  and  absolutely 
repelling.  He  has  all  the  solidity  of  a  material 
substance,  and  one  cannot  fail  to  remark  that, 
wherever  or  with  whom  he  may  be,  John  Bull 
regards  himself  always  as  the  chief  person  pre- 
sent ;  also  that  he  will  accept  no  counsel  or  advice 
from  any  one,  though  he  may  have  intimated 
that  he  required  it.  And  be  he  where  he  may,  we 
remark  that  his  own  comfort — comfort  personal 
and  peculiar — is  the  great  subject  of  all  his  efforts 
and  desires.  \ 

Should  John  Bull  think  there  is  an  opening 
or  opportunity  to  profit,  he  will  fraternise  with 
any  one  at  the  first  interview.  But  to  make  an 
intimate  friend  of  him  he  must  be  courted  like 
a  girl,  and  when  his  friendship  is  won  it  is  gene- 
rally found  that  it  was  not  worth  the  trouble  it 
cost.  What  he  gave  before  he  was  sought  was 
cold,  correct  politeness,  and  aU  that  he  gave 
afterwards  was  little  more.  We  find  in  him  a 
mechanical  formality  and  an  open  avowal  of  that 
selfishness  or  egoism  which  other  people  perhaps 
possess  just  as  much  as  he  does,  but  which  they 
conceal  so  carefully  that  the  costliest  banquet  of 


■.,    ^-i-.j-^-. 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS.  365 

an  Englishman  does  not  taste  so  pleasantly  as  a 
handful  of  dates  from  a  Bedouin  in  the  desert.* 

But  while  John  Bull  is  the  coldest  friend,  he 
is  the  surest  of  neighbours  and  the  most  straight- 
forward and  generous  enemy.  While  he  guards 
his  own  castle  like  a  Pacha,  he  never  seeks  to 
penetrate  into  another's.  Comfort  and  independ- 
ence are  the  essentials  with  him ;  by  the  one 
he  understands  the  right  to  buy  whatever  can 
contribute  to  his  most  convenient  comfort,  by 
the  other  to  do  whatever  he  pleases  and  say 
whatever  he  chooses  —  and  this  allowed,  he 
troubles  himself  little  with  the  chance  and  per- 
haps chimerical  distinctions  which  cause  so  much 
plague  and  pain  in  the  rest  of  the  world.  His 
pride — and  he  has  it  in  full  measure — is  not  that 
of  Haman.  Little  would  it  trouble  him  that 
Mordecai  the  Jew  sat  full-spread  before  the  door 
of  his  house ;  all  that  he  would  guard  against 
would  be  to  keep  Mordecai  from  entering  without 
his  special  permission,  which  he  would  assuredly 
only  grant  under  the  condition  that   it   should 


'  To  an  impartial  foreign  observer  who  really  knows  the 
English  to  their  hearts,  these  remarks  of  Heine  on  them  are 
the  most  amusing  in  his  works.  And  yet  they  are  strangely 
mingled  here  and  there  with  searching  truths.  It  is  as  if  some 
Malay  of  genius,  who  bad  only  heard  of  Russians  from  Chinese, 
had  written  on  the  inner  nature  of  the  Muscovite. — Note  by 
Translator. 


366  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL, 

perfectly  accord  with  his  special  comfort  and  be 
to  his  advantage. 

His  pride  is  an  English  growth,  and  though  he 
boasts  somewhat,  his  boasting  is  not  that  of  other 
people.  No  one  ever  sees  him  take  on  airs 
becanse  of  his  ancestors;  if  John  Bull  has  his 
pockets  full  of  guineas,  and  has  become  one  who 
is  "warm,"  he  cares  not  a  mushroom  whether 
his  grandfather  was  a  duke  or  a  hand-carter. 
"Every  man  is  himself,  and  not  his  father,"  is 
John's  theory,  and  according  to  this  he  regulates 
his  acts.  He  only  boasts  that  "  he  is  an  English- 
man ; "  that  he  first  saw  the  light  of  day  some- 
where between  Lowestoft  and  Saint  David's, 
between  Penzance  and  Berwick,  and  he  is  more 
rejoiced  at  this  than  if  he  had  been  born  on  any 
other  spot  in  this  planet.  For  Old  England  be- 
longs to  him,  and  he  belongs  to  Old  England; 
there  is  nothing  like  it  in  aU  the  world,  for  it 
can  support  and  teach  all  the  world,  and,  if  it 
should  come  to  that,  conquer  it. 

But  this  is  only  so  generally  speaking.  For 
if  we  go  to  details  and  examine  John  closely, 
we  find  that,  after  all,  in  this  so  greatly  praised 
England  there  is  nothing  with  which  he  is  really 
contented  except  himself.  1 

Say  anything  to  him,  for  example,  about  the 
king — the  same  king  whose  throne  he  bears  with 
such  pride  on  his  shoulders — and  lo!  at  onca 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS.  367 

he  wails  or  rails  at  extravagance  in  the  royal 
expenditure,  venality  and  royal  favouritism,  the 
growing,  threatening  influence  of  the  Crown,  and 
declares  that  if  serious  and  speedy  action  and 
restraint  are  not  resorted  to,  England  will  soon 
be  England  no  more.  Mention  Parliament,  and  he 
begins  to  grumble,  and  damns  both  Houses — ^the 
Upper  because  it  is  inspired  with  Court-patronage, 
and  the  Lower  by  faction  and  favour ;  nay,  he  may 
declare,  over  and  above  all,  that  England  would 
be  better  off  if  it  had  no  Parliament  at  all.  Say 
aynthing  to  him  about  the  Church — he  breaks 
out  into  a  death-shriek  at  tithes  and  fattened 
parsons  who  have  turned  the  Word  of  God  into 
priestly  property  and  devour  at  their  leisure  the 
hard-earned  fruits  of  the  labour  of  others.  Speak 
of  Public  Opinion,  and  the  great  advantage  of 
the  rapid  dissemination  of  information — he  regrets 
that  Error  travels  as  quickly  on  these  improved 
roads  as  Truth,  and  that  the  people  abandon  old 
follies  only  to  embrace  new.  In  short,  there  is  not 
in  all  England  an  institution  with  which  John  is 
perfectly  contented.  Even  the  elements  incur 
his  blame,  and  he  grumbles  from  the  beginning 
of  the  year  to  the  end  at  the  climate,  as  much  as 
at  things  which  are  of  human  cause. 

He  is  discontented  even  with  the  property 
which  he  has  acquired,  as  you  will  find  on  close 
examination.     Though   he    may   have    amassed 


368  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

great  riches,  it  is  his  endless  refrain  that  he  is 
going  to  the  dogs ;  and  is  poor  as  a  beggar,  while 
he  sits  between  piles  of  gold  in  a  palace ;  and  is 
dying  of  hunger,  while  he  is  fed  so  fat  that  he  can 
hardly  waddle  from  one  end  of  the  room  to  the 
other.  One  thing  only  does  he  praise  with  all  his 
heart — even  if  you  mention  it — and  that  is  the 
fleet,  the  ships  of  war,  the  wooden  walls  of  Old 
England — and  these  he  praises  because  perhaps 
he  never  sees  them.  i 

Yet  we  will  not  blame  this  passion  for  blaming 
almost  everything,  for  it  has  contributed  to  make 
and  keep  England  what  it  is.  This  instinct  for 
grumbling  of  the  rough  and  stiff-necked  but  hon- 
ourable John  Bull  is  perhaps  the  bulwark  of  Bri- 
tish greatness  abroad  and  of  British  freedom  at 
home ;  and  though  many  of  the  British  provinces 
do  not  properly  esteem  it,  still  the  real  prosperity 
which  they  enjoy  is  due  far  more  to  John  Bull's 
endless  grumbling  than  it  ever  could  be  to  the 
docile,  pliant  philosophy  of  the  Scotchman  or  the 
stormy  fire  of  the  Irishman.  These  two  races  in 
the  present  crisis  do  not  seem  to  have  the  strength 
or  endurance  requisite  to  maintain  their  rights  and 
achieve  their  own  prosperity,  and  whenever  there 
is  to  be  resistance  to  attacks  on  popular  liberty  or 
a  measure  to  be  advanced  for  the  common  weal, 
then  the  records  of  Parliament,  and  petitions  which 
are  brought  there,  show  that  in  most  cases,  be  they 


'  .* 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS.  369 

of  defence  or  reform,  no  other  comes  forward  than 
John  Bull — the  grumbling,  selfish,  and  growling, 
yet  bold,  manly,  independent,  unyielding,  on  and 
through-pushing  John  BulL^ 


THE  LIFE  OP  NAPOLEON  BUONAPARTE. 

BY  WAI/TKR  SCOTT. 

Poor  Walter  Scott !  Hadst  thou  been  rich  thou 
wouldst  not  have  written  that  book,  and  so  hadst 
not  become  a  poor  Walter  Scott !  But  the  trustees 
of  the  Constable  estate  met  together,  and  reckoned 
up  and  ciphered,  and  after  much  subtraction  and 
division,  shook  their  heads,  and  there  remained 
for  poor  Walter  Scott  nothing  but  laurels  and 
debts.     Then  the  most  extraordinary  of  all  came 

^  If  this  chapter  was  not  suggested  by  the  John  Bull  of 
Washington  Irring's  "Sketch  Book,"  all  that  can  be  said  is,  that 
we  have  here  one  of  the  most  marvellous  coincidences  in  litera- 
ture. It  is  probably,  or  certainly,  to  this  that  our  author  refers 
when  he  says  that  it  is  translated  from  an  English  description 
of  London.  It  is  curious  and  pleasing  to  observe  that,  while  the 
genial  "  Geoffrey  Crayon "  says  the  same  things,  he  does  it  in 
such  a  kindly,  merry  vein  that  no  Englishman,  in  all  probability, 
ever  took  exception  to  them.— Note  by  Trandator. 

VOL.  XL  2  A   ^ 


370 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


to  pass,  the  singer  of  great  deeds  wished  for  once 
to  try  his  hand  at  heroism,  he  made  up  his  mind 
to  a  cfssio  honorum^  the  laurels  of  the  great  un- 
known were  taxed  to  cover  great  and  well-known 
debts ;  and  so  there  came  to  life  in  hungry  haste, 
in  bankrupt  inspiration,  the  "  Life  of  Napoleon," 
a  book  to  be  roundly  paid  for  by  the  wants  of 
the  English  people  in  general,  and  of  the  English 
Ministry  in  particular.  | 

Praise  him,  the  brave  citizen!  praise  him,  ye 
united  Philistines  of  all  the  earth !  praise  him, 
thou  beautiful  shopkeeper's  virtue,  which  sacri- 
ficest  everything  to  meet  a  note  on  the  day  when  it 
is  due !  only  do  not  ask  of  me  that  I  praise  him  too. 

Strange !  the  dead  Emperor  is,  even  in  his  grave, 
the  bane  of  the  Britons,  and  through  him  Britan- 
nia's greatest  poet  has  lost  his  laurels !  I 

He  VX18  Britannia's  greatest  poet,  let  people  say 
and  imagine  what  they  wilL  It  is  true  that  the 
critics  of  his  romances  carped  and  cavilled  at  his 
greatness,  and  reproached  him  that  he  assumed 
too  much  breadth  in  execution,  that  he  went  too 
much  into  details,  that  his  great  characters  were 
only  formed  by  the  combination  of  a  mass  of 
minor  traits,  that  he  required  an  endless  array  of 
accessories  to  bring  out  his  bold  effects ;  but,  to 
tell  the  truth,  he  resembled  in  all  this  a  millionaire, 
who  keeps  his  whole  property  in  the  form  of  small 
specie,  and  who  must  drive  up  three  or  four  wag- 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS.  371 

gons  full  of  sacks  of  pence  and  farthings  when  he 
has  a  large  sum  to  pay.  Should  any  one  complain 
of  the  ill-manners  of  such  a  style  of  liquidation, 
with  its  attendant  troubles  of  heavy  lifting  and 
hauling  and  endless  counting,  he  can  reply  with 
perfect  truth  that,  no  matter  h/nu  he  gives  the 
money,  he  still  gives  it,  and  that  he  is  in  reality 
just  as  well  able  to  pay  and  quite  as  rich  as 
another  who  owns  nothing  but  bullion  in  bars; 
yes,  that  he  even  has  £in  advantage  greater  than 
that  of  mere  facility  of  transport,  since  in  the 
vegetable  market  gold  bars  are  useless,  while 
every  huckster  woman  will  grab  with  both  hands 
at  pence  and  farthings  when  they  are  offered  her. 
Now  all  this  popular  wealth  of  the  British  poet 
is  at  an  end,  and  he,  whose  change  was  so  current 
that  the  duchess  and  the  cobbler's  wife  received  it 
with  the  same  interest,  has  at  last  become  a  poor 
Walter  Scott !  His  destiny  recalls  the  legend  of 
the  moimtain  elves,  who,  mockingly  benevolent, 
gave  money  to  poor  people,  which  was  bright  and 
profitable  so  long  as  they  spent  it  wisely,  but 
which  turned  to  mere  dust  when  applied  to  un- 
worthy purposes.  Sack  by  sack  we  opened  Walter 
Scott's  new  load,  and  lo !  instead  of  gleaming 
smiling  pence,  there  was  nothing  but  idle  dust, 
and  dust  again!  He  was  justly  punished  by 
those  mountain  elves  of  Parnsissus,  the  Muses, 
who,  like  all  noble-minded  women,  are  enthu- 


372 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


siastic  Napoleonists,  and  who  were  consequently 
doubly  enraged  at  the  misuse  of  the  spirit-treasure 
which  had  been  loaned. 

The  value  and  tendency  of  this  work  of  Scott's 
have  been  shown  up  in  the  journals  of  all  Europe. 
Not  only  the  embittered  French,  but  also  the 
astonished  fellow-countrymen  of  the  author  have 
uttered  sentence  of  condemnation  against  it.  In 
such  a  world-wide  discontent  the  Germans  must 
also  have  their  share,  and  therefore  the  Stuttgart 
Literary  Journal^  spoke  out  with  a  fiery  zeal 
difficult  to  restrain  within  due  limit,  while  the 
Berlin  Annals  of  Scientific  Criticism^  expressed 
itself  in  tones  of  cold  tranquillity ;  and  the  critic, 
who  was  the  more  readily  swayed  by  that  tran- 
quillity the  less  he  admired  the  hero  of  the  book, 
characterises  it  with  these  admirably  appropriate 
words : — 

"  In  this  narration  we  find  neither  substance 
nor  colour,  harmony  nor  life.  The  mighty  sub- 
ject drags  heavily  along,  entangled  in  superficial, 
not  in  profound  perplexities,  uncertain  and  change- 
able, without  any  manifestation  of  the  character- 
istic ;  no  leading  principle  strikes  us  in  its  affected 
singularity,  its  violent  points  are  nowhere  visible, 
its  connection    is  merely  external,   its   subject- 


'  StuttgarUr  LUeraiurUatt. 

^  Berliner  Jahrbiieher  fiir  wittentehaftlieke  Critik. 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS.  m 

matter  and  significance  are  hardly  appreciable. 
In  such  a  manner  of  portrayal  all  the  light  of 
history  must  be  quenched,  and  itself  be  reduced 
to,  not  wonderfijl,  but  commonplace  stories.  The 
unnecessary  remarks  and  reflections  which  often 
intrude  themselves  on  the  subject  under  consi- 
deration are  of  a  corresponding  description.  Such 
a  watery,  transparent  preparation  has  long  been 
out  of  date  in  our  reading  world.  The  scanty 
pattern  of  a  moral,  applicable  only  to  certain 
particulars,  is  unsatisfactory."  .  ,  . 

I  would  willingly  pardon  poor  Scott  for  such, 
and  even  woi.ie,  things,  to  which  the  sharp-witted 
Berlin  reviewer,  Vamhagen  von  Ense,  gives  utter- 
ance. We  are  all  mortal,  and  the  best  of  us  may 
once  in  a  while  write  a  bad  book.  People  then 
say  that  the  thing  is  below  criticism,  and  that 
ends  the  matter.  But  it  is  really  extraordinary 
that  in  this  new  work  we  do  not  find  a  trace  of 
Scott's  beautiful  style.  The  colourless  common- 
place strain  is  sprinkled  in  vain  with  sundry 
red,  green,  and  blue  words ;  in  vain  do  glittering 
patches  from  the  poets  cover  the  prosaic  naked- 
ness ;  in  vain  does  the  author  rob  all  Noah's  ark 
to  find  bestial  comparisons;  and  in  vain  is  the 
Word  of  God  itself  cited  to  heighten  the  colour 
of  stupid  thoughts.  Stranger  still  is  it  that  Walter 
Scott  has  not  here  succeeded  in  a  single  effort  to 
bring  into  play  his  inborn  talent  of  sketching 


374  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

characters,  and  of  catching  the  traits  of  the  outer 
Napoleon.  Walter  Scott  learned  nothing  from 
those  beautiful  pictures  which  represent  Napoleon 
surrounded  by  his  generals  and  statesmen,  though 
every  one  who  regards  them  without  prejudice 
must  be  deeply  moved  by  the  tragic  tranquillity 
and  antique  severity  of  those  features,  which  con- 
trast in  such  fearful  sublimity  with  the  modem, 
excitable,  picturesque  faces  of  the  day,  and  which 
seem  to  announce  something  of  the  incarnate  God. 
But  if  the  Scottish  poet  could  not  comprehend  the 
form,  how  much  less  capable  must  he  have  been 
of  grasping  the  character  of  the  Emperor !  And  I 
therefore  willingly  pardon  his  blasphemy  of  a 
divinity  whom  he  never  knew.  And  I  must  also 
forgive  him  that  he  regards  his  Wellington  as  a 
god,  and  in  deifying  him,  falls  into  such  exces- 
sive manifestations  of  piety,  that,  rich  as  he  is 
in  figures  of  beasts,  he  knows  not  wherewith  to 
compare  him.  Everywhere  on  earth  as  men  are 
so  are  their  gods.  Stupid  black  savages  adore 
poisonous  snakes;  cross-eyed  Baschkirs  pray  to 
ugly  logs ;  idiotic  Laplanders  reverence  seals.  Sir 
Walter  Scott,  in  nothing  behind  them,  worships 
his  Wellington. 

But  if  I  am  tolerant  towards  Walter  Scott,  And 
forgive  him  the  emptiness,  errors,  slanders,  and 
stupid  things  in  his  book — nay,  if  I  even  pardon 
him  the  weariness  and  ennui  which  its  reading 


.-^.  __.*-r^ 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS.  375 

caused  me,  I  cannot,  for  all  that,  forgive  him  its 
tendency.  This  is  nothing  less  than  the  exculpa- 
tion of  the  English  Ministry  as  regards  the  crime 
of  St.  Helena.  "  In  this  case  of  equity  between 
the  English  Ministry  and  public  opinion,"  as  the 
Berlin  reviewer  expresses  it,  "  Walter  Scott  makes 
himself  judge  of  its  merits;"  he  couples  legal 
quibblings  with  his  poetic  talent,  in  order  to  dis- 
tort both  facts  and  history,  and  his  clients,  who 
are  at  the  same  time  his  patrons,  may  well  afford, 
beside  the  regular  fees,  to  privately  press  an  extra 
doiLceur  into  his  hand. 

The  English  have  merely  murdered  the  Emperor 
— but  Walter  Scott  sold  him.  It  was  a  real 
Scotch  trick,  a  regular  specimen  of  Scottish  na- 
tional manners,  and  we  see  that  Scotch  avarice  is 
still  the  same  old  dirty  spirit  as  ever,  and  has 
not  changed  much  since  the  days  of  Naseby,  when 
the  Scotch  sold  their  own  king,  who  had  confided 
himself  to  their  protection,  for  the  sum  of  four 
hundred  thousand  pounds  sterling.  That  king 
was  the  same  Charles  Stuart  whom  the  bards  of 
Caledonia  now  sing  so  gloriously — ^the  English- 
man murders,  but  the  Scotchman  sells  and  sings.* 

The  English  Ministry,  to  aid  in  the  work,  threw 

^  Charles  L  was  sold,  certainly ;  but  Heine  errs  in  stating 
that  the  Scotch  sing  of  him  gloriously.  The  Charles  Stuart  of 
whom  so  many  Jacobite  lyrics  were  written  was  bis  great-grand- 
son, "  Bonnie  Prince  Charlie,  the  Young  Chevalier." — Trans- 
lator. 


376 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


open  the  archives  of  the  Foreign  Ofl&ce  to  their 
advocate,  and  he  has,  in  the  ninth  volume  of  his 
work,  scrapulously  availed  himself  of  every  ofl&cial 
document  which  could  throw  an  advantageous 
light  upon  his  own  side,  and  a  corresponding 
darkness  upon  that  of  his  enemies.  On  this 
account  the  ninth  volume  in  question  still  pos- 
sesses a  peculiar  interest,  despite  all  its  aesthetic 
worthlessness,  in  which  it  is  in  no  respect  behind 
its  predecessors.  We  expect  in  it  important  pub- 
lic papers,  and  since  we  find  none,  it  is  a  proof 
that  there  were  none  in  existence  which  spoke  in 
favour  of  the  English  Ministers, — and  this  nega- 
tive content  of  the  book  is  an  important  result. 

All  the  booty  thus  obtained  from  the  English 
archives  was  limited  to  a  few  credible  documents 
from  the  noble  Sir  Hudson  Lowe  and  his  myr- 
midons, and  a  few  verbal  expressions  of  General 
Gourgaud,  who,  if  he  really  uttered  them,  deserves 
to  be  regarded  as  a  shameless  traitor  to  his  im- 
perial master  and  benefactor.  I  will  not  inquire 
into  the  authenticity  of  these  expressions;  it 
even  seems  to  be  true  that  Baron  Turner,  one 
of  the  three  mute  supernumeraries  of  the  great 
tragedy,  has  borne  witness  to  them ;  but  I  do  not 
see  to  what  favourable  result  they  lead,  save  that 
Sir  Hudson  Lowe  was  not  the  only  blackguard 
in  St.  Helena.  With  such  assistance,  and  with 
pitiable  suggestions  of  his  own,  Walter   Scott 


.r. . 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS.  377 

treats  the  history  of  the  imprisonment  of  Na- 
poleon, and  labours  to  convince  us  that  the  ex- 
Emperor — so  the  ex-poet  terms  him— <30uld  not 
have  acted  more  wisely  thsui  to  yield  himself  to 
the  English,  although  he  must  have  foreseen  his 
banishment  to  St.  Helena,  and  that  he  was  there 
treated  in  the  most  charming  manner,  since  he 
had  plenty  to  eat  and  to  drink ;  and  that  he, 
finally,  fresh  and  sound,  and  as  a  good  Christian, 
died  of  a  cancer  in  his  stomach. 

Walter  Scott,  by  thus  admitting,  to  a  certain 
degree,  that  the  Emperor  foresaw  how  far  the 
generosity  of  the  English  would  extend,  viz.,  to 
St  Helena,  frees  him  at  least  from  the  common 
reproach :  the  tragic  sublimity  of  his  ill  fortune 
so  greatly  inspired  him  that  he  regarded  civilised 
Englishmen  as  Parisian  barbarians,  and  looked 
upon  the  beef-steak  kitchen  of  St.  James  as  the 
fireside  of  a  great  monarch — and  so  committed  a 
heroic  blunder.  Sir  "Walter  Scott  also  makes  of 
the  Emperor  the  greatest  poet  who  ever  lived, 
since  he  very  seriously  insinuates  that  all  the 
memorable  writings  which  set  forth  his  sufferings 
in  St.  Helena  were  collectively  dictated  by  himself. 

I  cannot  here  refrain  from  the  remark  that  this 
part  of  Walter  Scott's  book,  with  the  writings 
themselves  of  which  he  speaks,  especially  the 
memoirs  of  O'Meara  and  the  narrative  of  Captain 
Maitland,  remind  me  sometimes  so  pointedly  of 


I  ^M%4     ^        A.»i.   lA.-^.       •L«M».«r    .  fri.^   ^    .»»,»-^*.«,     .^-—     *-«.,•-«-.    '"    —  --V-L.     -   .  . .-k-  ..    '-    ■»— -     •^•-<i*l 


378  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

the  drollest  story  in  the  world,  that  the  bitterest 
vexation  of  my  soul  suddenly  bursts  out  in  merry 
laughter.  And  the  story  of  which  I  speak  is  none 
other  than  the  "  History  of  Lemuel  Gulliver,"  a 
book  over  which  I,  as  a  boy,  once  had  rare  times, 
and  in  which  much  that  is  exquisitely  delightful 
may  be  read — how  the  little  Liliputians  could  not 
conceive  what  was  to  be  done  with  their  great 
prisoner ;  how  they  climbed  upon  him  by  thou- 
sands, and  bound  him  down  with  innumerable 
fine  htiirs;  how  they,  with  preparations  on  a 
grand  scale,  built  for  him  a  great  house,  all  to 
himself ;  how  they  bewailed  the  vast  amount  of 
victuals  with  which  they  must  daily  provide  him ; 
how  they  continually  blackened  his  character  in 
the  State  Council,  always  grieving  that  he  was 
too  great  a  cost  to  the  country ;  how  they  would 
gladly  have  destroyed  him,  but  feared  lest  in 
death  his  corpse  might  bring  forth  a  pestilence ; 
how  they  finally  made  up  their  minds  to  be  most 
gloriously  magnanimous  and  leave  him  his  titles, 
only  putting  out  his  eyes,  &c.  Truly,  liliput  is 
everywhere  where  a  great  man  is  subjected  to 
little  ones,  who  torment  him  incessantly  in  the 
most  pitifully  petty  manner,  and  who  in  turn 
endure  from  him  great  suffering  and  dire  extre- 
mity; but  had  Dean  Swift  written  his  book  in 
our  day,  the  world  would  have  seen,  in  his  bril- 
liantly polished  mirror,  only  the  history  of  the  im- 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS.  379 

prisonment  of  the  Emperor,  and  have  recognised 
even  in  the  very  colour  of  the  coats  and  counte- 
nances those  dwarfs  who  tormented  him. 

Only,  the  conclusion  of  the  story  of  St.  Helena 
is  somewhat  diflferent,  for  in  it  the  Emperor  dies 
of  a  cancer  in  the  stomach,  and  Walter  Scott 
assures  us  that  it  was  the  sole  cause  of  his  death. 
In  this  I  will  not  contradict  him.  The  thing  is 
not  impossible.  It  is  possible  that  a  man  who 
lies  stretched  on  the  rack  may  suddenly,  and  very 
naturally,  die  of  an  apoplexy.  But  the  wicked 
world  will  say  that  the  tormentor  was  the  cause 
of  his  death.  And  the  wicked  world  has  taken  it 
into  its  head  to  regard  the  affair  in  question  in  a 
very  different  light  from  our  good  Walter  Scott 
If  this  good  man,  who  is  in  other  respects  so  firm 
in  his  Bible,  and  who  so  readily  quotes  the  Gospel, 
sees  in  that  uproar  of  elements,  and  in  that  hurri- 
cane which  burst  forth  at  the  death  of  Napoleon, 
nothing  but  an  event  which  also  took  place  at  the 
death  of  Cromwell,  the  world  will  still  have  its 
own  peculiar  thoughts  regarding  it.  It  regards 
the  death  of  Napoleon  as  a  most  terrible,  tre- 
mendous, and  revolting  crime,  and  its  wild  burst 
of  agonised  feeling  becomes  adoration.  In  vain 
does  Walter  Scott  play  the  advocatus  diaboli — 
the  canonisation  of  the  dead  Emperor  flows  from 
every  noble  heart ;  every  noble  heart  of  the  great 
European  fatherland  despises  his  petty  execu- 


38o 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL, 


tioners,  and  with  them  the  great  bard  who  has 
sung  himself  into  being  their  accomplice.  The 
Muses  will  yet  inspire  better  singers  in  honour  of 
their  favourite;  and  should  men  be  dumb,  then 
the  stones  will  speak,  and  the  martyr-cliffs  of  St. 
Helena  will  rise  fearfully  from  the  waves  of  the 
sea,  and  tell  to  thousands  of  years  their  terrible 
story. 


VI 


OLD  BAILEY.  \ 

1 

The  very  name  of  "  Old  Bailey  "  sends  a  shudder 
through  the  soul.  We  at  once  think  of  a  great, 
black,  repulsive  building — the  palace  of  misery 
and  of  crime.  The  left  wing,  which  forms  the 
real  Newgate,  serves  as  a  prison  for  criminals. 
In  it  we  see  nothing  but  a  high  wall  of  square, 
weather-blackened  stones,  in  which  are  two  niches 
with  equally  black,  allegorical  figures,  one  of 
which,  unless  I  err,  represents  Justice,  whose 
right  hand,  with  the  scales,  is,  as  usual,  broken 
off,  so  that  nothing  remains  but  a  blind  female 
figure  with  a  sword.  Not  far  ofif,  and  about  the 
centre  of  the  building,  is  the  altar  of  this  goddess, 
tiiat  is  to  say,  the  window  by  which  the  gallows 


<  -  •.  * 


.t^jfj^  >ah4ik*WMftJI^' 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS.  381 

is  erected ;  and,  finally,  to  the  right  is  the  Criminal 
Court,  where  the  quarter-sessions  are  held.  Here 
is  a  gate  which,  like  that  of  Dante's  "  Hell,"  should 
bear  the  inscription : — 

"  Per  me  si  va  ne  la  citta  dolente, 
Per  me  si  va  ne  I'etemo  dolore, 
Per  me  si  va  tra  la  perduta  gente." 

Through  this  gate  we  come  to  a  small  court,  where 
the  scum  of  the  people  assemble  to  see  criminals 
pass,  and  here  their  friends  and  enemies  also  as- 
semble— relations,  beggar-children,  weak-minded 
people,  and  especially  old  women,  who  discuss  the 
criminal  cases  of  the  day,  perhaps  with  more  in- 
sight into  their  merits  than  judge  and  jury  possess, 
despite  the  time  so  pleasantly  passed  in  ceremonies 
or  so  drearily  lost  in  law.  Why,  I  have  seen,  out- 
side the  court  door,  an  old  woman  who,  amid  her 
gossips,  defended  poor  Black  William  better  than 
his  very  learned  counsel  did  within ;  and  as  she 
wiped  away  her  last  tear  with  a  ragged  apron,  it 
seemed  to  me  that  with  it  vanished  the  last  trace 
of  William's  guilt 

In  the  court-room  itself,  which  is  not  very 
large,  there  is  below — beyond  the  so-called  "  bar  " 
— little  room  for  the  public;  but  in  the  upper 
portion  there  are,  on  both  sides,  very  spacious 
galleries,  with  raised  benches,  where  the  specta- 


382 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


tors  stand,  their  heads  appearing  as  if  piled  in 
rows,  step  above  step. 

When  I  visited  Old  Bailey  I  obtained  a  place 
in  one  of  these  galleries,  for  which  I  gave  the 
old  portress  a  shilling.  I  arrived  just  at  the 
instant  in  which  the  jury  were  about  to  deter- 
mine whether  Black  William  was  guilty  or  not 
guilty  of  the  accusation. 

Here,  as  in  other  courts  of  justice  in  London, 
the  judges  sit  in  blue-black  togas,  which  are 
trimmed  with  light-blue  violet,  and  wear  white 
powdered  wigs,  with  which  black  eyes  and 
whiskers  frequently  contrast  in  the  drollest 
manner.  They  sit  around  a  long  green  table  on 
high  chairs  at  the  upper  end  of  the  hall,  just 
where  a  Scripture  text,  warning  against  unjust 
judgments,  is  placed  before  their  eyes.  On  either 
side  are  benches  for  the  jurymen,  and  places 
where  the  prosecutors  and  witnesses  stand. 
Directly  opposite  the  judges  is  the  place  for  the 
accused,  which  latter  do  not  sit  on  "  the  poor 
sinners*  bench,"  as  in  the  criminal  courts  of 
France  and  Ehenish  Germany,  but  must  stand 
upright  behind  a  singular  plank,  which  is  carved 
above  like  a  narrow  arched  gate.  In  this  an 
optic  mirror  is  placed,  by  means  of  which  the 
judge  is  enabled  to  accurately  observe  the  counte- 
nance of  the  accused.  Before  the  latter  certain 
green  leaves  or  herbs  are  placed  to  strengthen 


^aima^K 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS.  383 

their  nerves  ^ — and  it  may  be  that  this  is  some- 
times necessary,  when  a  man  is  in  danger  of  losing 
his  life.  On  the  judges'  table  I  saw  similar  green 
leaves,  and  even  a  rose.  I  know  not  why  it  was, 
but  the  sight  of  that  rose  aflPected  me  strangely. 
A  red  blooming  rose,  the  flower  of  love  and  of 
spring,  upon  the  terrible  judges'  table  of  the  Old 
Bailey !  It  was  olose,  gloomy,  and  sultry  in  the 
halL  Everything  seemed  so  fearfully  vexatious, 
so  insanely  serious !  The  people  present  looked 
as  though  spiders  were  creeping  over  their  shy 
and  fearful  faces.  The  iron  scales  rattled  audibly 
over  the  head  of  poor  Black  William. 

A  jury  had  also  formed  itself  in  the  gallery. 
A  fat  woman,  above  whose  red,  bloated  cheeks 
two  little  eyes  glittered  like  glowworms,  made 
the  remark  that  Black  William  was  a  very  good- 
looking  fellow.  But  her  neighbour,  a  delicate, 
piping  soul  in  a  body  of  bad  post-paper,  declared 
that  he  wore  his  black  hair  too  long  and  matted, 
and  that  his  eyes  gleamed  like  those  of  Kean  in 
Othello ;  "  while,  on  the  other  hand,"  she  con- 
tinued, "  Thompson  is  a  very  different  sort  of  a 
person,  mem,  I  assure  you,  with  light  hair ;  and  a 
very  well-educated  person,  too,  mem — for  he  plays 


^  Rosemary,  anciently  a  auppoaed  preventive  of  the  plagae, 
gaol-fever,  8lc  There  are  terrible  tales  of  the  judge  and  jury 
dying  of  disease  communicated  by  oriminals. — Trandator. 


384  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL, 

the  flute  a  little,  and  paints  a  little,  and  speaks 
French  a  little." 

"  And  steals  a  little,  too,  hey  ?  "  added  the  fat 
woman. 

"  Fiddlesticks  on  stealing ! "  replied  the  lean 
body ;  **  that  isn't  half  so  bad,  mem,  as  forgery, 
you  know ;  for  a  thief,  if  he's  stolen  nothing  but 
a  sheep,  gets  Botany  Bay  for  it,  but  if  a  man 
counterfeits  somebody's  hand,  why,  he  hangs  for 
it,  mem,  as  sure  as  fate,  without  pity  or  mercy." 

"  Without  pity  or  mercy ! "  sighed  a  half-starved 
man  in  a  widower-looking  black  coat  "  Hang  ! 
why — why,  no  man  has  a  right  to  put  another  to 
death,  and  Christians  ought  to  be  the  last  to  think 
of  it ;  for  they  ought  to  remember  that  Christ,  our 
Lord  and  Saviour,  who  gave  us  our  religion,  was 
innocent  when  he  was  tried  and  executed  ! " 

"Pshaw!"  cried  the  lean  woman,  and  smiled 
with  her  thin  lips ;  "  if  they  didn't  hang  such  a 
forger,  no  rich  man  would  ever  be  sure  of  his 
money;  for  instance,  the  fat  Jew  in  Lombard 
Street,  Saint  Swithin's  Lane,  or  our  friend  Mr. 
Scott,  whose  writing  was  imitated  so  well  And 
then  Mr.  Scott  has  worked  so  hard  to  get  his  money 
— trouble  enough,  mem,  I  assure  you — and  folks 
do  say  that  he  got  rich  by  taking  other  people's 
diseases  on  himselt  Yes,  mem,  they  say  the  very 
children  run  after  him  in  the  street  and  cry, '  I'll 
give  ye  sixpence  if  you'll  take  my  toothache ! '  or 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS.  385 

*  We'll  give  ye  a  shilling  if  you'll  take  Jimmy's 
hump-back !  * " 

"  Well,  that's  odd  1 "  interrupted  the  fat  woman. 
"And  it's  odd,  too,  that  Black  William  and 
Thompson  used  to  be  such  cronies  together,  and 
lived  and  ate  and  drank  together,  and  now  James 
Thompson  accuses  his  old  friend  of  forgery  1  But 
why  isn't  Thompson's  sister  here  ?  Why,  she 
used  to  be  a-running  everywhere  after  her  sweet 
William!" 

A  pretty  girl,  on  whose  lovely  face  lay  a  deep 
expression  of  grief,  like  a  dark  veil  over  a  rose- 
bouquet,  here  whispered  with  tears  a  long,  sad 
story,  of  which  I  could  only  understand  that  her 
friend,  the  pretty  Mary,  had  been  cruelly  beaten 
by  her  brother,  and  lay  sick  to  death  in  her  bed. 

"  Pshaw !  don't  call  her  pretty  Mary !"  grumbled 
the  fat  woman  discontentedly ;  "  she's  too  slim,  too 
much  like  a  stick,  to  be  called  pretty  ;  and  if  her 
William  is  hung " 

Just  at  this  instant  the  jury  appeared,  and  de- 
clared that  the  accused  was  guilty  of  forgery.  As 
Black  William  was  led  from  the  hall  he  cast  a 
long,  long  glance  upon  Edward  Thompson. 

There  is  an  Eastern  legend  that  Satan  was  once 
an  angel,  and  lived  in  heaven  with  other  angels, 
until  he  sought  to  seduce  them  from  their  alle- 
giance, and  therefore  he  was  thrust  down  by 
Divinity  into  the  endless  night  of  hell.     But  as 

VOL.  n.  2  B 


06  PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 

he  Bank  from  heaven  he  looked  ever  on  high, 
ever  at  the  angel  who  accused  him ;  the  deeper 
he  sank,  more  terrible  and  yet  more  terrible  be- 
came his  gaze.  And  it  must  have  been  a  fearful 
glance,  for  the  angel  whom  it  met  became  pale — 
red  was  never  again  seen  in  his  cheeks,  and  since 
that  time  he  has  been  called  the  Angel  of  Death. 
Pale  as  that  Angel  of  Death  grew  Edward 
Thompson. 


VII. 


CORPORAL  PUNISHMENT  IN  ENGLAND. 

I  CANNOT  declare  decidedly  enough  how  much 
opposed  I  am  to  whipping  in  general,  and  how 
indignant  I  am  whenever  I  see  my  fellow- 
creatures  beaten.  The  proud  lord  of  the  earth, 
the  lofty  spirit  who  rules  the  sea  and  investigates 
the  laws  of  the  stars,  is  degraded  by  nothing  so 
much  as  by  corporal  punishment.  The  gods,  to 
quench  the  flaring  pride  of  men,  invented  the 
lash.  Then  men,  whose  spirit  of  invention  was 
sharpened  by  a  brooding  spirit  of  resistance,  in- 
vented against  it  the  point  d^honneur.  French- 
men, Japanese,  Indian  Brahmins,  have  best 
developed  this  invention ;  they  have  reduced 
the  vengeance  to  blood  to  formal  paragraphs,  and 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS.  387 

duelling,  though  discouraged  by  religion,  law,  and 
even  reason,  is  still  a  blossom  of  fair  humanity. 

But  among  the  English,  who  have  refined  every 
other  invention  to  highest  perfection,  the  poiTU 
cPhonneur  has  not  received  its  ultimate  polish. 
The  Briton  by  no  means  regards  a  beating  as  an 
evil  bad  as  death,  and  while  I  was  in  England  I 
was  present  at  many  a  scene  which  suggested  the 
reflection  that  blows  in  free  England  have  by  no 
means  such  evil  effects  on  personal  honour  as  in 
Germany.  I  have  seen  lords  thrashed,  and  they 
seemed  to  suffer  only  from  the  bodily  pain  of  the 
insult.  In  the  races  at  Epsom  and  Brighton  I 
saw  jockeys  who,  to  make  room  for  the  horses 
running,  ran  right  and  left  with  horse-whips, 
which  they  laid  on  liberally  to  the  lords  and 
gentlemen  who  were  in  the  way.  And  what  did 
the  same  so-disturbed  gentlemen  ?  They  laughed 
sourly. 

Though  bodily  punishment  in  England  is  not 
80  dishonourable  as  with  us,  still  the  reproach  of 
its  cruelty  is  not  by  any  means  the  milder  for 
that.  But  this  does  not  concern  the  English 
people,  but  the  aristocracy,  who  by  the  welfare 
of  England  only  understand  the  safety  of  their 
own  ruling  position.  Free  men  with  an  inde- 
pendent sense  of  honour  would  not  trust  this, 
despotic  gang ;  it  requires  the  blind  obedience  of 
whipped  slaves.    The  English  soldier  mu^  be 


388 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


a  mere  machine,  a  complete  automaton  which 
marches  and  fires  by  word  of  command.  There- 
fore he  requires  no  commander  of  imposing  indi- 
vidual character.  Free  Frenchmen  need,  however, 
one  who  inspires  enthusiasm,  and  it  was  under 
such  a  great  leader  they,  as  if  drunken  from  his 
fiery  soul,  conquered  the  world.  English  soldiers 
need  no  marshal,  not  even  a  general,  but  only  a 
corporal's  stick,  which  carries  out  calmly  and 
accurately  the  assigned  Ministerial  instructions, 
as  a  stick  of  wood  is  expected  to  do.  And — ah 
mel — since  I  must  praise  him  for  once,  a  most 
admirable  stick  of  this  kind  is — Wellington, 
this  cowed  puppet  who  moves  entirely  by  the 
string  by  which  the  aristocracy  pull  him — this 
wooden  vampire  of  the  people,  with  a  wooden 
loop,  as  Byron  says,  and  I  would  add,  with 
wooden  heart.  Verily  old  England  may  add  him 
to  the  wooden  walls  of  protection  of  which  she 
for  ever  prates. 

General  Foy  has,  in  his  "  History  of  the  War  in 
the  Pyrenean  Peninsula,"  admirably  sketched  the 
contrast  between  the  French  and  English  soldiery 
and  their  discipline,  and  this  description  shows 
us  what  a  feeling  of  honour  and  what  whipping 
make  of  soldiers.^ 

>  Heino  here  makes  out  a  case  against  himself.  The  German 
army  is  more  harshly  disciplined  than  the  English,  and  both 
English  and  Germans  have  defeated  the  I'rench. 


I 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS.  Jlj 

It  is  to  be  hoped  that  the  cruel  system  followed 
by  the  British  aristocracy  will  not  long  endure, 
and  that  John  Bull  will  break  in  twain  his  ruling 
corporal's  cane.  For  John  is  a  good  Christian; 
he  is  mild,  and  wishes  well;  he  sighs  over  the 
severity  of  his  country's  laws,  and  in  his  heart 
dwells  Humanity.  I  could  tell  a  pleasing  tale  of 
that — another  time! 


vin. 

THE  NEW  MINISTRY. 

Last  summer  I  made  in  Bedlam  the  acquaintance 
of  a  philosopher,  who,  with  mysterious  looks  and 
whispers,  communicated  to  me  many  weighty 
conclusions  as  to  the  origin  of  evil.  Like  many 
of  his  colleagues,  he  held  the  opinion  that  it  in- 
volved a  history.  So  far  as  I  was  concerned,  I 
also  assented  to  what  he  assumed  and  declared, 
that  the  fundamental  evil  of  the  world  arose  from 
the  fact  that  the  blessed  Lord  had  not  created 
money  enough. 

"You're  right,"  replied  the  philosopher;  "the 
blessed  Lord  was  uncommonly  short  of  funds 
when  he  created  the  world.  He  had  to  borrow 
money  of  the  Devil,  and  mortgage  the  world  to 
him  as  a  pledge.     But  as  the  Lord,  according  to 


_    -.i^   -:/■•».-■  »..iL_-    i.>-^  ,  •  .,   »%.    „, 


10 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


every  law  of  God  and  of  justice,  is  still  in  debt 
to  him  for  the  world,  common  politeness  of  course 
hindered  him  from  preventing  his  creditor  going 
about  in  the  property  and  making  all  sorts  of 
trouble  and  mischief.  But  the  Devil,  for  his  part, 
is  deeply  interested  in  the  preservation  of  the 
world,  lest  he  lose  his  pledge,  so  that  he  takes 
good  care  that  things  do  not  go  altogether  to  the 
devil,  and  the  blessed  Lord,  who  is  not  stupid  by 
any  means,  and  who  knows  very  well  that  he  has 
his  secret  guarantee  in  the  Devil's  selfishness, 
often  goes  so  far  as  to  give  over  the  whole  govern- 
ment of  the  world  to  Old  Nick — that  is  to  say, 
tells  him  to  form  a  Ministry.  Then,  as  a  matter 
of  course,  Samiel  takes  command  of  the  armies  of 
hell,  Beelzebub  becomes  Chancellor,  Vitzliputzli 
is  Secretary  of  State,  the  old  grandmother  gets  the 
Colonies,  and  so  forth.  These  allies  then  carry  on 
business  according  to  their  own  evil  will ;  but  as 
their  own  interests  compel  them  to  take  good 
care  of  the  world,  they  make  up  for  this  necessity 
by  always  employing  the  vilest  means  to  bring 
about  their  good  aims.  Lately,  they  carried  this 
to  such  an  extent  that  God  in  heaven  could  no 
longer  endure  their  rascality,  and  commissioned 
an  angel  to  form  a  new  Ministry.  He  of  course 
gathered  about  him  all  the  good  spirits.  A  plea- 
sant, joyful  heat  again  ran  through  the  world,  there 
was  light,  and  the  evil  spirits  vanished.     But  they 


t^itAfSt 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS.  391 

did  not  quietly  fold  their  claws  and  kick  their 
hoofs  in  idleness — no,  they  went  to  work  in  secret 
against  all  that  was  good,  they  poisoned  the  new 
springs  of  health,  they  spitefully  snapped  every 
rosebud  of  the  fresh  spring,  they  disturbed  the 
tree  of  life  with  their  amendments,  a  chaotic  de- 
struction threatened  everything,  and  the  blessed 
Lord  will  have,  after  all,  to  hand  things  over  to  the 
Devil,  so  that  he,  even  by  employing  bad  means, 
may  at  least  keep  things  together.  Just  see,  all 
that  is  the  evil  result  of  a  debt" 

This  theory  of  my  Bedlamite  friend  possibly 
explains  the  present  change  in  the  English 
Ministry.  The  friends  of  Canning  are  now 
subdued — those  friends,  whom  I  call  the  good 
spirits  of  England,  because  their  opponents  are 
devils,  and,  with  the  dumb  devil,  Wellington,  at 
their  head,  now  raise  their  cry  of  victory.  Let 
no  one  scold  poor  George — he  has  been  compelled 
to  yield  to  circumstances.  No  one  can  deny  that 
after  Canning's  death  the  Whigs  were  no  longer 
in  condition  to  maintain  peace  in  England,  since 
the  measures  which  they  were  in  consequence 
obliged  to  adopt  were  constantly  nullified  by  the 
Tories.  The  King,  to  whom  the  maintenance  of 
public  tranquillity — i.e.,  the  security  of  his  crown 
— seemed  the  principal  thing,  was  therefore  obliged 
to  transfer  the  government  to  the  Tories.  And 
oh !  they  will  now  again,  as  of  old,  govern  all  the 


^    >     •,     <•-■   ♦..   .■   T.» 


999  PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL.  ' 

fruits  of  the  people's  industry  into  their  own 
pockets;  like  reigning  corn-market  Jews,  they 
will  be  bulls  themselves,  and  raise  the  price  of 
bread-stuffs,  while  poor  John  Bull  becomes  lean 
with  hunger,  and  finally  must  sell  himself  with 
body-service  to  the  high  gentlemen.  And  then 
they  will  yoke  him  to  the  plough,  and  lash  him, 
and  he  will  not  so  much  as  dare  to  low,  for  on 
one  side  the  Duke  of  Wellington  will  threaten 
with  the  sword,  and  on  the  other  the  Arch- 
bishop of  Canterbury  will  bang  him  on  the  head 
with  the  Bible — and  there  will  be  peace  in  the 
land. 

The  source  of  all  the  evil  is  the  debt,  the 
"  national  debt,"  or,  as  Cobbett  says,  "  the  King's 
debt."  Cobbett  remarks  on  this,  and  justly,  that 
while  the  name  of  the  King  is  prefixed  to  all 
institutions — as,  for  instance,  the  "  King's  army," 
"the  King's  navy,"  "the  King's  courts,"  "the 
King's  prisons,"  &c. — the  debt,  which  really 
sprang  from  these  institutions,  is  never  called 
the  King's  debt,  and  that  it  is  the  only  case  in 
which  the  nation  has  been  so  much  honoured 
as  to  have  anything  called  after  it.  I 

The  greatest  evil  is  the  debt.  It  cannot  be 
denied  that  it  upholds  the  English  State,  and  that 
80  firmly  that  the  worst  of  devils  cannot  break  it 
down ;  but  it  has  also  resulted  in  making  of  all 
England  one  vast  tread-mill,  where  the  people 


■>tMd 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS.  393 

mnst  work  day  and  night  to  fatten  their  creditors. 
It  has  made  England  old  and  grey  with  the  cares 
of  payment,  and  banished  from  her  every  cheerful 
and  youthful  feeling ;  and,  finally — as  is  the  case 
with  all  deeply  indebted  men — has  bowed  the 
country  down  into  the  most  abject  resignation 
— though  nine  hundred  thousand  muskets,  and  as 
many  sabres  and  bayonets,  lie  in  the  Tower  of 
London,  while  those  who  guard  them,  the  fat,  red- 
coated  beef-eaters,  might  be  easily  subdued.^ 


IX. 

THE  DEBT. 

When  I  was  a  boy  there  were  three  things 
which  especially  interested  me  in  the  newspapers. 
I  first  of  all  was  accustomed  to  seek,  under  the 
head  "Great  Britain,"  whether  Eichard  Martin 
had  not  presented  a  fresh  petition  to  Parliament 
for  the  more  humane  treatment  of  poor  horses, 
dogs,  and  asses.  Then,  under  "  Frankfort,"  I 
looked  to  see  whether  Dr.  Schrieber  had  ad- 
dressed the  Diet  on  the  subject  of  the  Grand- 
Ducal  purchasers  of  Hessian  domains.     Then  I 

^  Heine,  who  bad  no  inkling  of  Political  Economy,  never 
seems  to  have  understood  that  a  national  debt  may,  by  stima- 
lating  industry,  be  a  national  blessing. 


li^'^.'?'- !'.'*».•»  tf  ,     ''^ 


394 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


N 


at  once  attacked  "  Turkey,"  and  read  through  the 
long  Constantinople,  merely  to  find  if  a  Grand 
Vizier  had  not  been  honoured  with  the  silken 
noose. 

This  last  subject  always  supplied  me  with  the 
most  copious  food  for  reflection.  That  a  despot 
should  strangle  his  servants  without  ceremony 
seemed  to  me  to  be  natural  enough;  for  I  had 
once  seen,  in  a  menagerie,  how  the  king  of  beasts 
fell  into  such  a  majestic  rage  that  he  would, 
beyond  question,  have  torn  to  pieces  many  an 
innocent  spectator,  had  he  not  been  caged  in 
a  secure  constitution  of  iron  bars.  But  what 
really  astonished  me  was,  that  after  the  strangu- 
lation of  the  old  Mr.  Grand  Vizier,  there  was 
always  a  new  one  willing  to  become  Grand  Vizier 
in  turn.  , 

Now  that  I  am  older  grown,  and  busy  myself 
more  with  the  English  than  with  their  friends, 
the  Turks,  a  like  amazement  seizes  me  when  I 
see  how,  after  the  resignation  of  a  Prime  Minister, 
another  at  once  forces  himself  into  his  place 
although  the  new  one  is  always  a  man  who  has 
wherewithal  to  live,  and  who  (with  the  excep- 
tion of  Wellington)  is  anything  but  a  blockhead. 
This  has  been  especially  the  case  since  the  French 
Revolution ;  care  and  trouble  have  multiplied 
themselves  in  Downing  Street,  and  the  burden  of 
business  is  well-nigh  unbearable. 


■A- ;. 


'--*'■*'''•/ ^\,..» »' 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS. 

Affairs  of  State,  and  their  manifold  relations, 
were  much  simpler  in  the  olden  time,  when  re- 
flecting poets  compared  the  Government  to  a  ship 
and  the  Minister  to  a  steersman.  Now,  however, 
all  is  more  complicated  and  entangled ;  the  com- 
mon ship  of  State  has  become  a  steamboat,  and 
the  Minister  no  longer  has  a  mere  helm  to  control, 
but  must,  as  responsible  engineer,  take  his  place 
below,  amid  the  immense  machinery,  and  anxiously 
examine  every  little  iron  rivet,  every  wheel  which 
could  cause  a  stoppage — must  look  by  day  and  by 
night  into  the  blazing  fire,  and  sweat  with  heat 
and  vexation,  since,  through  the  slightest  careless- 
ness on  his  part,  the  boiler  might  burst  and  vessel 
and  passengers  be  lost.  Meanwhile  the  captain 
and  passengers  walk  calmly  on  the  deck — as 
calmly  flutters  the  flag  from  its  staff;  and  he  who 
sees  the  boat  gliding  so  pleasantly  along  never 
thinks  of  the  terrible  machinery,  or  of  the  care 
and  trouble  hidden  in  its  bowels. 

They  sink  down  to  early  graves,  those  poor,  re- 
sponsible engineers  of  the  English  ship  of  State ! 
The  early  death  of  the  great  Pitt  is  touching ;  still 
more  so  that  of  the  yet  greater  Fox.  Percival 
would  have  died  of  the  usual  ministerial  malady, 
had  he  not  been  more  promptly  made  away  with 
by  a  stab  from  a  dirk.  It  was  the  ministerial 
malady,  too,  which  brought  Castlereagh  to  such  a 
state   of   desperation   that  he  cut  his   throat  at 


'^«ti 


y.,y 


396 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


North  Cray,  in  the  county  of  Kent.  Lord  Liver- 
pool in  like  manner  sank  into  the  death  of  mad- 
ness. We  saw  the  god-like  Canning  poisoned  by 
High-Tory  slanders,  and  fall  like  a  sick  Atlas 
under  his  world-burden.  One  after  the  other 
they  are  interred  in  "Westminster,  those  poor 
Ministers,  who  must  think  day  and  night  for 
England's  kings ;  while  the  latter,  thoughtless  and 
in  good  condition,  have  lived  along  to  the  greatest 
age  of  man. 

But  what  is  the  name  of  the  great  care  which 
preys  by  night  and  by  day  on  the  brains  of  the 
English  Ministers,  and  kills  them?  It  is — the 
debt,  the  debt ! 

Debts,  like  patriotism,  religion,  honour,  &c., 
belong,  it  is  true,  to  the  special  distinctions  of  the 
humanity — for  animals  do  not  contract  debts — 
but  they  are  also  a  special  torment  to  mankind, 
and  as  they  ruin  individuals,  so  do  they  also  bring 
entire  races  to  destruction,  and  appear  to  replace 
the  old  destinv,  in  the  national  tragedies  of  our 
day.  And  England  cannot  escape  this  destiny; 
her  Ministers  see  the  dire  catastrophe  approach, 
and  die  in  the  swoon  of  despair. 

Were  I  the  royal  Prussian  head  calculator,  or  a 
member  of  the  corps  of  geniuses,  then  would  I 
reckon  in  the  usual  manner  the  entire  sum  of  the 
English  debt  in  silver  groschen,  and  tell  you  pre- 
cisely how  many  times  we  could  cover  with  them 


'V  ..»>>  F' 


'  i.'. -  ^A"'^";    .:j."f*-'H-"™J,'>» ■ 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS.  397 

the  great  Frederick  Street  or  the  entire  earth. 
But  figures  were  never  my  forte,  and  I  had  rather 
leave  to  an  Englishman  the  desperate  business  of 
counting  his  debts,  and  of  calculating  from  them 
the  resulting  ministerial  crisis.  For  this  business 
no  one  is  better  than  old  Cobbett,  and  I  accord- 
ingly communicate  the  following  conclusions  from 
the  last  number  of  his  Register. 

The  condition  of  things  is  as  follows  ^ : — 

1.  "  This  Government,  or  rather  this  aristoc- 
racy and  Church ;  but  if  you  will  have  it  so,  this 
Government,  borrowed  a  large  sum  of  money,  for 
which  it  has  purchased  many  victories  both  by 
land  and  sea — a  mass  of  victories  of  every  sort 
and  size. 

2.  "  I  must,  however,  remark  by  the  way,  on 
what  occasions  and  for  what  purposes  these  vic- 
tories were  bought.  The  occasion  was  that  of  the 
French  Eevolution,  which  destroyed  all  aristo- 
cratic privileges  and  clerical  tithes;   while  the 

'  I  have  preferred,  for  reasons  which  will  be  intelligible  to 
those  who  are  desirous  of  closely  following  Heine's  conceptions, 
to  give  an  accurate  version  of  his  translation,  rather  than  the 
original.  The  point  in  question  is  not  Cobbett,  but  Cobbett  as 
Heine  understood  him.  To  use  Cobbett's  own  words  in  refer- 
ence to  one  of  his  own  versions  as  given  in  the  very  Register 
referred  to,  I  can  say  with  truth  that,  "  as  to  the  translation,  it 
was  originally  done  at  Philadelphia,"  though  I  trust  it  will  not 
be  found,  as  Cobbett  admits  of  himself,  that  "  the  translator  has 
made  some  addition  to  the  authorities  referred  to." — Note  bp 
Tnmdator. 


398 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


object  was  the  prevention  of  a  preliminary  reform 
in  England,  which  would  probably  have  had,  as 
its  consequence,  a  similar  destruction  of  all  aristo- 
cratic privileges  and  clerical  tithes.  I 

3.  "  To  prevent  the  example  set  by  the  French 
from  being  followed  by  the  English,  it  was  neces- 
sary to  attack  the  French,  to  impede  their  pro- 
gress, to  render  dangerous  their  newly  obtained 
freedom,  to  drive  them  to  desperate  acts,  and 
finally,  to  make  such  a  scarecrow  and  bugbear  of 
the  Revolution  to  the  people  that  the  very  name 
of  liberty  should  suggest  nothing  but  an  aggre- 
gate of  wickedness,  cruelty,  and  blood  ;  while  the 
English  people,  in  the  excitement  of  their  terror, 
should  go  so  far  as  to  fairly  fall  in  love  with  the 
same  despotic  Government  which  once  flourished 
in  France,  and  which  every  Englishman  has  ab- 
horred from  the  days  of  Alfred  the  Great  down 
to  those  of  George  the  Third. 

4.  "  To  execute  these  intentions  the  aid  of  divers 
foreign  nations  was  needed,  and  these  nations  were 
consequently  subsidised  with  English  gold.  French 
emigrants  were  sustained  with  English  money ;  in 
short,  a  war  of  twenty-two  years  was  carried  on, 
to  subdue  that  people  which  had  risen  up  against 
aristocratic  privileges  and  clerical  tithes. 

5.  "  Our  Government,  therefore,  gained  *  num- 
berless victories '  over  the  French,  who,  as  it  seems, 
were  always  conquered ;  but  these,  our  number- 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS.  ||t 

less  victories,  were  bought — ^that  is  to  say,  they 
were  fought  by  mercenaries,  whom  we  hired  for 
this  purpose,  and  we  had  in  our  pay  at  one  and 
the  same  time  whole  swarms  of  Frenchmen, 
Dutchmen,  Swiss,  Italians,  Eussians,  Austrians, 
Bavarians,  Hessians,  Hanoverians,  Prussians, 
Spaniards,  Portuguese,  Neapolitans,  Maltese,  and 
God  knows  how  many  nations  besides. 

6.  "  By  thus  seeking  foreign  service,  and  by 
using  our  own  fleet  and  armies,  we  bought  so  many 
victories  over  the  French  (the  poor  devils  being 
without  money  to  do  business  in  like  manner)  that 
we  finally  subdued  their  Revolution  and  restored 
their  aristocracy  to  a  certain  degree,  although  all 
ihat  could  be  done  was  of  no  avail  to  restore  the 
clerical  tithes. 

7.  "After  we  had  successfuUy  finished  tMs 
great  task,  and  had  also  by  means  of  it  put 
down  every  Parliamentary  reform  in  England, 
our  Government  raised  a  roar  of  victory  which 
strained  their  lungs  not  a  little,  and  which  was 
sustained  as  loudly  as  possible  by  every  cres^- 
ture  in  this  country  who,  in  one  way  or  another, 
lived  by  public  taxes. 

8.  "This  excessive  intoxication  of  delight 
lasted  nearly  two  years  in  this  once  so  happy 
nation;  to  celebrate  our  victories,  they  heaped 
together  public  feasts,  theatrical  shows,  arches  of 
triumph,  mock  battles,  and    similar  pleasures. 


400  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

which  cost  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  million 
pounds  sterling,  and  the  House  of  Commons 
unanimously  voted  a  vast  sum  (I  believe  three 
million  pounds  sterling)  to  erect  triumphal  arches 
and  other  monuments  to  commemorate  the  glorious 
events  of  the  war.  1 

9.  "  Since  the  time  of  which  I  speak  we  have 
constantly  had  the  fortune  to  live  under  the 
Government  of  the  same  persons  who  conducted 
our  affairs  during  the  aforesaid  glorious  war. 

10.  "  Since  that  time  we  have  been  at  profound 
peace  with  all  the  world ;  we  may  indeed  assume 
that  such  is  still  the  case,  despite  our  little  diffi- 
culty with  the  Turks;  and  therefore  one  might 
suppose  that  there  is  no  reason  in  the  world  why 
we  should  not  now  be  happy.  "We  are  at  peace ; 
our  soil  brings  forth  its  fruits  abundantly;  and, 
as  the  philosophers  and  lawgivers  of  our  time 
declare,  we  are  the  most  enlightened  nation  on 
the  face  of  the  earth.  We  really  have  schools 
everywhere,  to  instruct  the  rising  generation ;  we 
have  not  merely  a  rector,  or  vicar,  or  curate  in 
every  diocese  in  the  kingdom,  but  we  also  have  in 
each  of  these  dioceses  perhaps  six  more  teachers 
of  religion,  of  which  each  is  of  a  different  kind 
from  his  four  colleagues,  so  that  our  country  is 
abundantly  supplied  with  instruction  of  every 
kind,  in  order  that  no  human  being  of  all  this 
happy  land  shall  live  in  ignorance — and  conse- 


ENOLISH  FRAGMENTS.  4K 

quently  our  astonishment  must  be  all  the  greater 
that  any  one  who  will  become  Prime  Minister  of 
this  happy  land  should  regard  the  office  as  such  a 
heavy  and  painful  burden. 

11.  "Alas!  we  have  one  misfortune,  and  it  is 
a  real  misfortune,  viz.,  we  have  bought  several 
victories ;  they  were  splendid,  and  we  got  them 
at  a  bargain ;  they  were  worth  three  or  four  times 
as  much  as  we  gave  for  them,  as  Lady  Teazle 
says  to  her  husband  when  she  comes  home  from 
buying ;  there  was  much  inquiry  and  a  great 
demand  for  victories;  in  short,  we  could  have 
done  nothing  more  reasonable  than  to  supply 
ourselves  at  such  cheap  rates  with  so  great  a 
quantity  of  reputation. 

12.  "But — I  confess  it  with  a  heavy  heart — 
we  have,  like  many  other  people,  horrowed  the 
money  with  which  we  bought  these  victories  as 
we  wanted  them,  and  now  we  can  no  more  get  rid 
of  the  debt  than  a  man  can  of  his  wife,  when  he 
has  once  had  the  good  luck  to  load  himself  with 
the  lovely  gift. 

13.  "Hence  it  comes  that  every  Minister  who 
undertakes  our  affairs  must  also  undertake  the 
payment  of  our  victories,  not  a  farthing  of  which 
has  as  yet  been  counted  offi 

14.  "It  is  true  that  he  is  not  obliged  to  see 
that  the  whole  sum  which  we  borrowed  to  pay  for 
our  victories  is  paid  down  in  the  lump,  capital 

VOL.  n.  2  0 


402 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


and  interest;  but  he  must  see — more's  the  pity! 
— to  the  regular  payment  of  the  interest;  and 
this  interest,  reckoned  up  with  the  pay  of  the 
army,  and  other  expenses  coming  from  our 
victories,  is  so  significant  that  a  man  must  have 
pretty  strong  nerves  if  he  will  undertake  the 
business  of  paying  them.  .    i 

15.  "At  an  earlier  date,  before  we  took  to 
buying  victories  and  supplying  ourselves  too 
freely  with  glory,  we  already  had  a  debt  of 
rather  more  than  two  hundred  millions,  while  all 
the  poor-rates  in  England  and  Wales  together  did 
not  annually  amount  to  more  than  two  millions, 
which  was  before  we  had  any  of  that  burden 
which,  under  the  name  of  dead-weight,  is  now 
piled  upon  us,  and  which  is  entirely  the  result  of 
our  thirst  for  glory. 

16.  "In  addition  to  this  money  which  was 
borrowed  from  creditors  who  cheerfully  lent  it, 
our  Government,  in  its  thirst  for  victories,  also 
indirectly  raised  a  great  loan  from  the  poor ;  that 
is  to  say,  they  raised  the  usual  taxes  to  such  a 
height  that  the  poor  were  far  more  oppressed 
than  ever,  and  so  that  the  amount  of  poor  and 
of  poor-rates  increased  incredibly.  j 

17.  "The  poor  taxes  annually  increase  from 
two  to  eight  millions ;  the  poor  have  therefore, 
as  it  were,  a  mortgage  or  hypotheca  on  the  land, 
and   this   causes,  again,  a  debt  of   six   millions, 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS.  ^ 

which  must  be  added  to  those  other  debts  caused 
by  our  passion  for  glory  and  by  the  purchase  of 
our  victories. 

1 8.  "The  dead- weight  consists  of  annuities, 
which  we  pay,  under  the  name  of  pensions,  to  a 
multitude  of  men,  women,  and  children,  as  a  reward 
for  the  services  which  those  men  have  rendered, 
or  should  have  rendered,  in  gaining  our  victories. 

19.  "  The  capital  of  the  debt  which  this  Govern- 
ment has  contracted  in  getting  its  victories  con- 
sists of  about  the  following  sums : — 

Sums  added  to  the  National  Debt,   ;£8oo,ooo,ooo    , 
Sums  added  to  the  actual  debt  for 

Poor-rates,         ....       i50,<X)o,ooo 
Dead -weight,  reckoned  as  capital 

of  a  debt, 175,000,000 


;^  1, 1 25, 000,000 


That  is  to  say,  eleven  hundred  and  twenty-five 
millions,  at  five  per  cent.,  is  the  sum-total  of  those 
annual  fifty-six  millions;  yes,  this  is  about  the 
present  total,  only  that  the  Poor-rates  Debt  is  not 
included  in  the  accounts  which  were  laid  before 
Parliament,  since  the  country  pays  them  at  once 
into  the  different  parishes.  If  any  one,  therefore, 
will  subtract  that  six  millions  from  the  forty-six 
millions,  it  follows  that  the  creditors  holding  the 
State  Debt,  and  the  dead-weight  people,  really 
swallow  up  all  the  rest. 


404  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

20.  "  The  poor-rates  are,  however,  just  as  much 
a  deU  as  the  debt  held  by  the  State's  creditors, 
and  apparently  sprang  from  the  same  source. 
The  poor  are  crushed  to  the  earth  by  the  terrible 
load  of  taxes;  every  other  person  has  borne,  of 
course,  some  of  the  burden,  but  all,  except  the 
poor,  contrived  to  shift  it  more  or  less  from  their 
shoulders,  until  it  finally  fell  with  a  fearful  weight 
entirely  on  the  latter,^  and  they  lost  their  beer- 
barrels,  their  copper  kettles,  their  pewter  plates, 
their  clocks,  their  beds,  and  even  the  tools  of  their 
trades ;  they  lost  their  clothes,  and  were  obliged 
to  dress  in  rags — yes,  they  lost  the  very  flesh 
from  their  bones.  It  was  impossible  to  go  fur- 
ther; and  of  that  which  had  been  taken  from 
them,  something  was  restored  under  the  name  of 
increased  Poor-rates.  These  are,  in  consequence, 
a  reed  debt — a  real  mortgage  on  the  land.  The 
interest  of  this  debt  may,  it  is  true,  be  withheld ; 
but  were  this  done,  the  people,  who  have  a  right 
to  require  it,  would  rise  in  a  body  and  demand,  no 

^  This  simile  forcibly  recalls  a  common  newspaper  paragraph 
to  the  following  e£Fect : — "  The  Revenue  is  the  great  subject 
which  interests  England,  and  especially  when  associated  with 
the  present  National  Debt.  Not  long  ago  an  Englishman 
observed  a  stone  roll  down  a  staircase.  It  bumped  on  every 
stair  till  it  came  to  the  bottom ;  there,  of  course,  it  rested. 
"That  stone,'  said  he,  'resembles  the  National  Debt  of  my 
coui^try  ;  it  has  bumped  on  every  grade  of  the  community,  but 
its  weight  is  on  the  lowest.' " — Note  by  Translator.  i 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS.  \        405 

matter  how,  payment  of  the  whole  amount.  This 
is  consequently  a  real  debt,  and  a  debt  which  must 
be  paid  to  the  uttermost  farthing ;  and,  as  I  dis- 
tinctly declare,  preference  will  be  demanded  for  it 
before  all  other  debts. 

21.  "It  is  therefore  unnecessary  to  wonder  at 
the  hard  case  of  those  who  undertake  such  duties. 
It  would  be  rather  a  matter  of  astonishment  if 
any  one  would  attempt  such  a  task,  were  it  not 
left  to  his  free  will  to  also  undertake  as  he  pleased 
a  radical  change  in  the  whole  system. 

22.  "  To  this  add :  The  two  first-mentioned  debts, 
namely,  the  State  debt  and  the  dead- weight  debts, 
were  previously  paid,  or,  to  speak  more  correctly, 
the  interest  on  them  was  paid  in  depreciated 
paper  money,  of  which  currency  fifteen  shillings 
were  hardly  worth  a  Winchester  bushel  of  wheat. 
This  was  the  manner  in  which  those  creditors 
were  paid  for  many  years;  but  in  the  year  18 19 
a  shrewd  Minister,  Peel,  made  the  discovery  that 
it  would  be  better  for  the  nation  should  their 
debts  be  paid  in  actual  money  (at  par),  of  which 
five  shillings  instead  of  fifteen  in  paper  money 
were  worth  a  Winchester  bushel  of  wheat. 

23.  "  The  nominal  sum  was  not  to  be  changed. 
This  all  remained  the  same;  nothing  was  done 
save  that  Mr.  Peel  and  his  Parliament  changed  the 
value  of  the  sum,  and  required  that  the  debt  should 
be  paid  in  a  kind  of  money  of  which  five  shillings 


• — *- 


4o6 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


should  be  of  such  value  that  they  realise  so  much 
work  or  so  much  property  as  fifteen  shillings  of 
that  currency  in  which  the  debts  were  contracted, 
and  in  which  the  interests  of  those  debts  were  paid 
during  many  years. 

24.  "  From  1 8 19  till  to-day  the  nation  lived  in  a 
most  distressing  condition,  devoured  by  creditors, 
who  are  generally  Jews,  or,  to  speak  more  cor- 
rectly, Christians  who  act  like  Jews,  and  who 
were  not  to  be  brought  so  easily  to  attack  less 
eagerly  their  prey.  j 

25.  "  Many  attempts  were  made  to  moderate  to 
a  certain  degree  the  change  which  was  made  in 
1 8 19  in  the  currency,  but  these  efforts  failed,  and 
once  came  near  exploding  the  whole  system. 

26.  "  Here  there  is  no  possibility  of  relief  should 
one  undertake  to  lower  the  annual  expenditure  of 
the  State  creditors'  debt,  and  of  the  dead-weight 
debt,  and  to  expect  such  a  diminution  of  the  debt, 
or  such  a  reduction  from  the  country,  or  to  hinder 
its  causing  great  commotion,  or  to  prevent  half-a- 
million  human  beings,  in  or  about  London,  from 
perishing  of  hunger,  it  is  necessary  that  far  more 
appropriate  and  proportional  reductions  be  made 
in  other  directions  before  the  reduction  of  those 
two  debts  or  their  interest  be  attempted. 

27.  "  As  we  have  already  seen,  these  victories 
were  purchased  with  the  view  of  preventing  a 
reform  of  Parliament  in  England,  and  to  maintain 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS.  407 

aristocratic  privileges  and  clerical  tithes;  and  it 
would  be,  in  consequence,  a  deed  of  cruelty  which 
would  cry  aloud  to  Heaven  should  we  take  their 
lawful  dues  from  those  persons  who  lent  us  the 
money,  or  if  we  withdrew  payment  from  the  people 
who  hired  us  the  hands  with  which  we  won  the 
victories.  It  would  be  a  deed  of  cruelty  which 
would  bring  down  the  vengeance  of  God  on  us 
should  we  commit  such  things,  while  the  profit- 
able posts  of  honour  of  the  aristocracy,  their  pen- 
sions, sinecures,  royal  gifts,  military  rewards,  and, 
finally,  the  tithes  of  the  clergy  remained  un- 
touched. 

28.  "  Here,  here,  therefore,  lies  the  difficulty ; 
he  who  becomes  Minister  must  be  Minister  of  a 
country  which  has  a  great  passion  for  victories, 
which  is  sufficiently  supplied  with  them,  and  has 
obtained  incomparable  military  glory ;  but  which, 
more's  the  pity,  has  not  yet  paid  for  these  splendid 
things,  and  which  now  leaves  it  to  the  Minister 
to  settle  the  bill,  without  his  knowing  where  he 
is  to  get  the  money." 

These  be  things  which  bear  down  a  Minister  to 
his  grave,  or  at  least  make  of  him  a  madman. 
England  owes  more  than  she  can  pay.  Let  no 
one  boast  that  she  possesses  India  and  rich  colo- 
nies. As  it  appears  from  the  last  parliamentary 
debates,  England  does  not  draw  a  single  farthing 
of  income  from  her  vast,  immeasurable  India ;  nay, 


m^^%,.^ 


•    ■      ■     *-  ■ 


4o8 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


she  must  pay  thither  several  millions  from  her 
own  resources.  This  country  only  benefits  Eng- 
land by  the  fact  that  certain  Britons,  who  there 
grow  rich,  aid  the  industry  and  the  circulation  of 
money  at  home  by  their  wealth,  while  a  thousand 
others  gain  their  bread  from  the  East  India  Com- 
pany. The  Colonies,  therefore,  yield  no  income 
to  the  State,  require  supplies,  and  are  of  service 
simply  to  commerce,^  and  to  enrich  an  aristocracy, 
whose  younger  sons  and  nephews  are  sent  thither 
as  governors  and  subordinate  officials.  The  pay- 
ment of  the  National  Debt  falls,  consequently,  alto- 
gether upon  Great  Britain  and  Ireland.  But  here 
too  the  resources  are  not  so  great  as  the  debt 
itself.  Let  us  hear  what  Cobbett  says  of  this : — 
"  There  are  people  who,  to  suggest  some  sort 
of  relief,  speak  of  the  resources  of  the  country. 
These  are  the  scholars  of  the  late  Colquhoun,  a 
thief-catcher,  who  wrote  a  great  book  to  prove 
that  our  debt  need  not  trouble  us  in  the  least, 
since  it  is  so  small  in  proportion  to  the  resources 
of  the  nation ;  and  in  order  that  his  shrewd  reader 
may  get  an  accurate  idea  of  the  vastness  of  these 
resources,  he  makes  an  estimate  of  all  that  the 
land  contains,  down  to  the  very  rabbits,  and  really 
seems  to  regret  that  he  could  not,  in  addition  to 
them,  reckon  up  the  rats  and  mice.     He  makes 

1  Simply  to  oommerce  ! — Note  by  Trandator. 


^    -  A     t    •»«  » ^ 


•  •*•••  •<-  M»< 


ENGLISH  FRAQMENTS.  409 

his  estimate  of  the  value  of  the  horses,  cows,  sheep, 
sucking-pigs,  poultry,  game,  rabbits,  fish,  the  value 
of  household  stuff,  clothes,  fuel,  sugar,  groceries ; 
in  short,  of  everything  in  the  country ;  and  after 
he  has  assumed  the  whole,  and  added  to  them  the 
value  of  the  farms,  trees,  houses,  mines,  the  yield 
of  the  grass,  com,  turnips,  and  flax,  and  brought 
out  of  it  a  sum  of  God  knows  how  many  thousand 
millions,  he  struts  and  sneers  in  his  sly,  bragging, 
Scotch  fashion,  something  like  a  turkey-cock,  and 
laughing  with  scorn,  asks  people  like  me,  *  How, 
with  resources  like  these,  can  you  fear  a  national 
bankruptcy  ? ' 

"  The  man  never  reflects  that  all  the  houses  are 
wanted  to  live  in,  the  farms  to  yield  fodder,  the 
clothes  to  cover  our  nakedness,  the  cows  to  give 
milk  to  quench  thirst,  the  horned  cattle,  sheep, 
swine,  poultry,  and  rabbits  to  eat ;  yes — the  devil 
take  the  contrary,  obstinate  Scotchman ! — ^these 
things  are  not  where  they  are  to  be  sold  so  that 
people  can  pay  the  National  Debt  with  the  pro- 
ceeds. In  fact,  he  has  actually  reckoned  up  the 
daily  wages  of  the  working-men  among  the  re- 
sources of  the  nation !  This  stupid  devil  of  a 
thief-catcher,  whose  brethren  in  Scotland  made  a 
doctor  of  him  because  he  wrote  such  an  excel- 
lent book,  seems  to  have  altogether  forgotten  that 
labourers  want  their  daily  hire  themselves  to  buy 
with  it  something  to  eat  and  drink.    He  might  as 


-•**v»i 


4IO 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


well  have  set  a  value  upon  the  blood  in  our  veins 
as  if  it  were  stuff  to  make  blood-puddings  of  ! " 

So  far  Cobbett.  While  I  translate  his  words 
into  German,  he  bursts  forth,  as  if  in  person,  in 
my  memory  as  he  appeared  during  last  year  at 
the  noisy  dinner  in  the  Crown  and  Anchor  tavern. 
I  see  him  again  with  his  scolding  red  face  and 
his  Eadical  laugh,  in  which  the  most  venomous, 
deathly  hatred  combined  terribly  with  the  scorn- 
ful joy  which  sees  beforehand  in  all  certainty  the 
downfall  of  his  enemies. 

Let  no  one  blame  me  for  quoting  Cobbett! 
Accuse  him  as  much  as  you  please  of  unfairness, 
of  a  passion  for  reviling,  and  of  an  altogether  too 
vulgar  personality ;  but  no  one  can  deny  that  he 
possesses  much  eloquence  of  spirit,  and  that  he 
very  often,  as  in  the  above  assertions,  is  in  the 
right.  He  is  a  chained  dog,^  who  attacks  at  once 
in  a  rage  every  one  whom  he  does  not  know,  who 
often  bites  the  best  friends  of  the  family  in  the 
legs,  who  always  barks,  and  who  on  that  account 


^  This  oomparison  of  Cobbett  to  a  bull-dog,  "  the  dog  of  Eng- 
land," must  strike  the  reader  as  particularly  felicitous.  Cobbett, 
indeed,  appears  to  have  entertained  a  remarkable  affection  for 
the  animal  in  question.  In  speaking  of  abolishing  the  baiting 
of  bulls  with  dogs,  he  bursts  forth  against  the  abolition  of  "  that 
ancient,  hardy,  and  anti-Puritanical  sport,  and  of  extirpating  a 
race  of  animals  which  are  peculiar  to  this  island,  peculiarly 
characteristic  of  its  people."  Vide  Cobbett's  Regitter,  May  22  to 
May  29,  1802. — Note  by  Translaior. 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS.'  4** 

is  not  minded  even  when  he  barks  at  a  real  thief. 
Therefore  the  aristocratic  thieves  who  plunder 
England  do  not  regard  it  as  necessary  to  cast  the 
snarling  Cobbett  a  crust,  and  so  stop  his  mouth. 
This  aggravates  him  most  bitterly,  and  he  shows 
his  hungry  teeth. 

Old  Cobbett!  dog  of  England!  I  do  not  love 
you,  for  every  vulgar  nature  is  hateful  to  me,* 
but  I  pity  you  from  my  deepest  soul,  when  I  see 
that  you  cannot  break  loose  from  your  chain,  nor 
reach  those  thieves  who,  laughing,  slip  away  their 
plunder  before  your  eyes,  and  mock  your  fruit- 
less leaps  and  unavailing  howls. 


THE  OPPOSITION  PAETY. 

A  FRIEND  of  mine  has  very  aptly  compared  the 
Opposition  in  Parliament  to  an  opposition  coach. 
Every  one  knows  that  this  is  a  public  stage-coach 
which  some  speculating  company  start  at  their 
own  expense,  and  run  at  such  low  rates  that  the 
travellers  give  it  the  preference  over  the  already 

^  Cobbett  was  plain  and  rough,  bat  not  vulgar.  There  waa 
nothing  of  the  snob  in  his  nature,  nor  did  be  afiect  or  parade 
familiarity  with  aristocracy. — Tromdator.     y 


■*-,. 


412 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


established  line.  The  latter  must  also  put  down 
their  prices  to  keep  passengers,  but  are  soon  out- 
bid, or  rather  underbid,  by  the  new  opposition 
coach,  ruin  themselves  by  the  competition,  and 
are  obliged  eventually  to  give  up  the  business. 
If  the  opposition  coach  has  at  last  and  after  this 
fashion  gained  the  day,  and  finds  itself  the  only 
one  on  a  certain  route,  it  at  once  puts  up  the 
prices,  often  higher  than  those  of  the  old  coach, 
and  the  poor  passengers,  far  from  gaining,  often 
lose  by  the  change,  and  must  curse  and  pay  until 
a  new  opposition  coach  renews  the  old  game,  and 
then  new  hopes  and  new  deceptions  follow  in  turn. 

How  full  of  blood  and  pride  were  the  Whigs 
when  the  Stuart  party  were  defeated  and  the 
Protestant  dynasty  ascended  the  English  throne  ! 
The  Tories  then  formed  the  Opposition,  and  John 
Bull,  the  poor  State  passenger,  had  good  cause  to 
roar  with  joy  when  they  got  the  upper  hand. 
But  his  joy  was  of  short  duration.  He  was  annu- 
ally obliged  to  pay  a  higher  and  still  higher  fare ; 
there  was  dear  paying  and  bad  riding ;  more  than 
that,  the  coachmen  were  very  rude,  there  was 
nothing  but  jolting  and  bumping,  every  comer- 
stone  threatened  an  upset,  and  poor  John  Bull 
thanked  the  Lord,  his  Maker,  when  at  last  the 
reins  of  the  State-coach  were  held  by  other  and 
better  hands. 

Unfortunately  the  joy  did  not  last  long  this 


■  '''^k  ■''T^'^'^^^fl 


ENGLISH  FRAOMENTS.  413 

time  either;  the  new  Opposition  coachman  fell 
dead  from  the  coach-box,  others  got  off  cautiously 
when  the  horses  became  restive,  and  the  old 
drivers,  the  old  courtly  riders  with  golden  spurs, 
again  took  their  old  places,  and  cracked  away 
with  the  old  whips. 

I  will  not  run  this  figure  of  speech  to  the 
ground,  and  I  therefore  turn  again  to  the  words 
"Whigs"  and  "Tories,"  which  I  have  already 
used  to  indicate  the  two  opposition  parties,  and  a 
discussion  of  the  names  will  be  all  the  better, 
since  they  have  for  a  long  time  been  a  source  of 
confusion  of  ideas. 

As  the  names  of  Ghibellines  and  Guelfs  ac- 
quired by  mutations  and  new  events,  during  the 
Middle  Ages,  the  vaguest  and  most  opposite  signi- 
fications, so  also  at  a  later  date  in  England  did 
those  of  Whigs  and  Tories,  the  origin  of  which 
is  at  present  scarcely  known.  Some  assert  that 
they  were  formerly  abusive  terms  which  eventually 
became  honest  party  names,  which  often  happens ; 
as,  for  instance,  when  a  party  in  Holland  baptized 
themselves  "beggars"  from  les  gueux,  as  at  a 
later  date  the  Jacobins  often  called  themselves 
saris  ciUottes,  and  as  perhaps  the  serviles  and  dark- 
lantern  folks  of  our  own  time  will  perhaps,  at 
same  future  day,  bear  these  names  as  glorious 
epithets  of  honour — a  thing  which,  it  must  be 
admitted,  they  cannot  now  do.    The  word  Whig 


414  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

is  said  to  have  signified  in  Ireland  something  dis- 
agreeably sour,^  and  was  there  used  to  ridicule 
the  Presbyterians  or  new  sects  in  general.  The 
word  Tory,  which  was  used  about  the  same 
time  as  a  party  name,  signified  in  Ireland  a 
sort  of  scabby  thieves.  Both  nicknames  became 
general  in  the  time  of  the  Stuarts,  and  during 
the  disputes  between  the  sects  and  the  dominant 
Church. 

The  general  view  is,  that  the  Tories  incline 
altogether  to  the  side  of  the  throne,  and  fight  for 
the  crown's  privileges ;  while,  on  the  other  hand, 
the  Whigs  lean  towards  the  people,  and  protect 
their  rights.  These  explanations  are,  however, 
vague,  and  are  rather  bookish  than  practical. 
The  terms  may  be  regarded  rather  as  coterie 
names.  They  indicate  men  who  cling  together 
on  certain  opposing  questions,  whose  predecessors 
and  friends  held  together  on  the  same  grounds, 
and  who,  through  political  storms,  bore  in  common 
their  joys,  sorrows,  and  the  enmity  of  the  opposite 
party.  Principles  never  enter  into  consideration; 
they  do  not  unite  on  certain  ideas,  but  on  certain 
rules  of  State  government — on  the  abolition  or 
maintenance  of  certain  abuses — on  certain  bills, 

^  Sauertopfisck.  This  word  as  used  by  Heine  signifies  sonr 
or  crabbed,  but  its  component  parts  of  tauer  or  soar,  and  Topf, 
a  pot  or  pipldn,  seem  to  refer  with  peculiar  aptness  to  the  culi- 
nary meaning  of  "Whig" — *.«.,  a  sort  of  sour  whey. 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS.  415 

certain  hereditary  questions,  —  no  matter  from 
what  point  of  view,  generally  from  mere  custom. 
The  English  do  not,  however,  let  themselves  be 
led  astray  by  these  party  names.  When  they 
speak  of  Whigs,  they  do  not  form  in  so  doing  a 
definite  idea,  as  we  do  in  speaking  of  Liberals, 
when  we  at  once  bring  before  us  men  who  are, 
from  their  very  souls,  sincere  as  to  certain  privi- 
leges of  freedom ;  but  they  think  of  an  external 
union  of  people,  of  whom  each  one,  judged  by  his 
private  manner  of  thought,  would  form  a  party 
by  himself,  and  who,  as  I  have  abeady  said,  fight 
against  the  Tories  through  the  impulse  of  extra- 
neous causes,  accidental  interests,  and  the  asso- 
ciations of  enmity  or  friendship.  In  such  a  State 
as  this  we  cannot  imagine  a  strife  against  aris- 
tocracy in  our  sense  of  the  term,  since  the  Tories 
are  really  not  more  aristocratic  than  the  Whigs, 
and  often  even  not  more  so  than  the  bourgeoisie, 
or  middle  class,  themselves,  who  regard  the  aris- 
tocracy as  something  unchangeable  as  the  sun, 
moon,  and  stars ;  who  see  in  the  privileges  of  the 
nobility  and  clergy  that  which  is  not  merely  pro- 
fitable to  the  State,  but  is  actually  a  necessity  of 
nature,  and  who  would  perhaps  fight  for  these 
privileges  with  far  more  zeal  than  the  aristocrats 
themselves,  since  they  believe  more  implicitly  in 
them,  while  the  latter  have  very  generally  lost 
their  faith.     In  this  point  of  view,  we  must  admit 


4i6 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


that  the  spirit  of  the  English  is  still  overclouded 
by  the  night  of  the  Middle  Ages — the  holy  idea 
of  a  citizen-like  equality  has  not,  as  yet,  en- 
lightened them;  and  many  a  citizen-statesman 
in  England  who  has  Tory  tendencies  ought  not, 
by  any  means,  to  be  regarded  as  servile,  or  be 
counted  among  those  servile  hounds  who  coiUd  be 
free,  and  still  creep  back  into  their  old  kennel 
and  bay  the  sun  of  freedom. 

The  names  of  Whig  and  Tory  are  consequently 
utterly  useless,  so  far  as  comprehending  the 
British  Opposition  is  concerned,  and  Francis  Bur- 
dett,  at  the  beginning  of  the  session  of  last  year, 
very  correctly  declared  that  these  names  have 
now  lost  all  their  significance.  On  this  remark 
Thomas  Lethbridge,  a  man  whom  the  Lord  has 
not  endowed  with  too  much  wit,  made  a  very 
good  joke — ^perhaps  the  only  one  of  his  life — 
which  was  as  follows: — "He  has  un-toried  the 
Tories  and  un-wigged  the  Whigs." 

Far  more  significant  are  the  names,  "Refor- 
mers," or  Eadical  Reformers,  or,  in  short,  "  Radi- 
cals." They  are  generally  regarded  as  one  and  the 
same,  and  they  aim  at  the  same  defects  in  the  State 
and  suggest  the  same  remedies,  differing  only  in  the 
moderation  or  intensity  of  their  views.  The  defect 
alluded  to  is  the  weU-known  evil  manner  of  popu- 
lar representation,  by  which  the  so-called  rotten- 
boroughs —  obsolete,   uninhabited   places — or,  to 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS.    V     ,      ^^ 

speak  more  correctly,  the  oligarchs  to  whom  they 
belong,  have  the  right  to  send  representatives  for 
the  people  to  Parliament,  while  great  and  popu- 
lous cities,  among  them  many  manufacturing 
towns,  have  not  a  single  representative.  The 
wholesome  cure  of  this  defect  is  naturally  in  the 
so-called  Parliamentary  Reform  This,  of  course, 
is  not  regarded  as  an  ultimate  aim,  but  as  a 
means.  It  is  hoped  that  by  it  the  people  will 
attain  a  better  representation  of  its  interests,  and 
the  abolition  of  aristocratic  abuses,  and  help  in 
their  affliction.  As  may  be  supposed,  the  Eeform 
— ^this  just  and  moderate  demand — has  its  cham- 
pions among  moderate  men,  who  are  anything 
but  Jacobins ;  and  when  they  are  called  Beformers, 
it  has  a  meaning  differing,  as  widely  as  earth 
from  heaven,  from  that  of  Radicals,  which  is  pro- 
nounced in  an  altogether  different  tone — as,  for 
instance,  when  Hunt  or  Cobbett  is  mentioned,  or 
any  of  the  impulsive,  raging,  revolutionary  men, 
who  cry  for  Parliamentary  reform  that  they  may 
bring  about  the  overthrow  of  all  forms,  the  victory 
of  avarice,  and  complete  mob-rule.  The  shades  in 
the  coryphaei  of  these  parties  are  consequently 
innumerable.  But,  as  before  said,  the  English 
know  their  men  very  well ;  names  do  not  deceive 
the  public,  and  the  latter  decides,  with  great 
accuracy,  where  the  battle  is  in  earnest  and 
where  it  is  mere  show.    Often,  for  years  together, 

VOL.  n.  2D 


4i8 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


the  strife  in  Parliament  is  little  more  than  an  idle 
game,  a  tournament,  where  the  champions  con- 
tend for  a  colour  chosen  for  a  freak ;  but  when 
there  is  a  real  strife  we  see  them  all  hasten,  each 
man  to  the  flag  of  his  natural  party.  This  we  saw 
in  the  days  of  Canning.  The  most  passionate 
opponents  united  when  it  came  to  a  war  of 
positive  interests — Tories,  Whigs,  and  Kadicals 
formed  a  phalanx  around  the  bold  citizen-Minister 
who  sought  to  diminish  the  pride  of  the  oligarchy. 
But  I  still  believe  that  many  a  high-born  Whig 
who  sat  proudly  behind  Canning  would  have 
wheeled  right-about-face  to  the  old  fox-hunting 
order  had  the  question  of  abolishing  all  the 
privileges  of  the  nobility  been  suddenly  agitated. 
I  believe  (God  forgive  me  the  sin !)  that  Francis 
Burdett  himself,  who  during  his  youth  was  one 
of  the  hottest  Radicals,  and  is  not  as  yet  classed 
among  the  moderate  reformers,  would,  in  such  a 
case,  have  very  quickly  have  seated  himself  by 
Sir  Thomas  Lethbridge.  The  plebeian  Radicals 
are  perfectly  aware  of  this,  and  they  hate,  there- 
fore, the  so-called  Whigs  who  advocate  Parlia- 
mentary reform — yes,  almost  more  than  the  utterly 
hostile  high  Tories. 

At  present  the  English  Opposition  consists  more 
of  actual  reformers  than  of  Whigs.  The  leader  of 
the  Opposition  in  the  Lower  House  belongs  un- 
questionably to  the  latter.    I  allude  to  Brougham. 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS.    ;     v  4«9 

,  We  daily  read  in  the  papers  the  reports  of  the 
speeches  of  this  bold  hero  of  Parliament.  The 
personal  peculiarities  which  are  manifested  in  the 
delivery  of  these  speeches  are  not  so  well  known, 
and  yet  we  must  know  them  to  duly  appreciate 
the  latter.  The  sketch  which  an  intelligent 
Englishman  has  made  of  Brougham's  appearance 
in  Parliament  may  be  appropriately  given  here: — 
"On  the  first  bench,  at  the  left  side  of  the 
Speaker,  sits  a  figure,  which  appears  to  have 
cowered  so  long  by  the  study-lamp,  that  not  only 
the  bloom  of  life,  but  even  life's  strength,  seem  to 
have  begun  to  exhaust  themselves ;  and  yet  it  is 
this  apparently  helpless  form  which  attracts  every 
eye  in  the  House,  and  which,  as  it  rises  in  a 
mechanical,  automatic  manner,  excites  all  the 
reporters  behind  us  into  rapid  movement,  while 
every  corner  of  the  gallery  is  filled  as  though  it 
were  a  massy  stone  vault,  and  the  mob  of  men 
without  presses  in  through  both  the  side-doors. 
In  the  House  below,  an  equal  interest  seems  to 
manifest  itself;  for,  as  that  form  slowly  unfolds 
itself  in  a  vertical  curve,  or  rather  into  a  vertical 
zig-zag  of  stiff  lines  joined  together,  the  two 
zealots  on  either  side,  who  just  before  sought  in 
crying  out  to  check  each  other,  have  suddenly 
sunk  back  into  their  places,  as  though  they  had 
espied  an  air-gun  hidden  under  the  Speakei^s 
robe. 


420 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


"After  this  bustle  of  preparation,  and  during 
the  breathless  stillness  which  follows,  Heniy 
Brougham  has  slowly  and  with  thoughtful  step 
approached  the  table,  and  there  stands  bent 
together — his  shoulders  elevated,  his  head  in- 
clined forward,  his  upper  lip  and  nostrils  quiver- 
ing, as  though  he  feared  to  utter  a  word.  His 
external  appearance,  his  manner,  almost  resembles 
that  of  one  of  those  preachers  who  hold  forth  in 
the  open  air — not  a  modem  man  of  the  kind  who 
attracts  the  indolent  crowd  on  Sunday — ^but  one 
of  those  preachers  of  the  olden  time  who  sought 
to  uphold  purity  of  faith,  and  to  spread  it  forth  in 
the  wilderness,  when  it  was  banished  from  the 
city  and  even  from  the  church.  The  tones  of  his 
voice  are  full  and  melodious,  but  they  rise  slowly, 
thoughtfully,  and,  as  we  are  tempted  to  believe, 
even  with  difficulty,  so  that  we  know  not  whether 
the  intellectual  strength  of  the  man  is  incapable 
of  mastering  the  subject,  or  whether  his  physical 
strength  is  inadequate  to  express  it  His  first 
sentence,  or  rather  the  first  members  of  his 
sentence — for  we  soon  find  that  with  him  every 
sentence  goes  further  than  the  entire  speeches  of 
many  other  people — come  forth  very  coldly  and 
without  confidence,  and  are  especially  so  far  from 
the  real  question  under  discussion  that  no  one 
can  comprehend  how  he  will  bring  them  to  bear 
upon  it.     It  is  true   that  every  one  of  these 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS.  421 

(Bentences  is  deep,  clear,  and  satisfactory  in  itself, 
evidently  drawn  with  artistic  selection  from  the 
most  chosen  materials;  and  let  them  come  from 
what  department  of  science  they  may,  they  stiU 
contain  its  purest  essence.  We  feel  that  they 
will  all  be  bent  in  a  determined  direction,  and 
that,  too,  with  wondrous  force ;  but  the  force  is 
as  yet  invisible  as  the  wind,  and,  like  it,  we  know 
not  whence  it  cometh  or  whither  it  goeth. 

"  But  when  a  sufficient  number  of  these  begin- 
ning sentences  have  gone  forth  in  advance ;  when 
every  lemma  which  human  knowledge  can  supply 
to  confirm  a  conclusion  has  been  rendered  ser- 
viceable ;  when  every  exception  has,  by  a  single 
impulse,  been  successfully  thrust  forward;  and 
when  the  whole  army  of  political  and  moral  truth 
stands  in  battle-array,  then  it  moves  forwards  to 
a  determination,  firmly  closed  as  a  Macedonian 
phalanx,  and  irresistible  as  Highlanders  when  they 
charge  with  fixed  bayonets. 

"  When  a  leading  point  has  been  won  with  this 
apparent  weakness  and  uncertainty,  behind  which, 
however,  a  real  strength  and  firmness  lies  con- 
cealed, then  the  orator  rises  both  physically  and 
mentally,  and  with  a  bolder  and  shorter  attack  he 
conquers  a  second  position.  After  the  second  he 
conquers  a  third,  after  the  third  a  fourth,  and  so 
on  until  all  the  principles  and  the  entire  philo- 
sophy of  the  question  in  dispute  are,  as  it  were, 


422 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


conquered,  and  until  every  one  in  the  House  who 
has  ears  to  hear  and  a  heart  to  feel  is  as  irre- 
sistibly convinced  of  the  truths  which  he  has  just 
heard  as  of  his  own  existence ;  so  that  Brougham, 
if  he  would  pause  here,  could  pass  unconditionally 
for  the  greatest  logician  of  St.  Stephen's  Chapel. 
The  intellectual  resources  of  the  man  are  really 
marvellous,  and  he  almost  recalls  the  old  Northern 
legend  of  one  who  always  slew  the  first  masters 
of  every  branch  of  learning,  and  thereby  became 
sole  heir  to  all  their  united  spiritual  abilities. 
Let  the  subject  be  as  it  may,  sublime  or  common- 
place, abstruse  or  practical,  Henry  Brougham  still 
understands  it,  and  understands  it  fundamentally. 
Others  may  rival  him — yes,  one  or  the  other  may 
even  surpass  him  in  the  knowledge  of  the  external 
beauties  of  ancient  literature,  but  no  one  is  more 
deeply  penetrated  than  he  by  the  spirit  of  the 
glorious  and  glowing  philosophy  which  gleams 
like  a  precious  gem  from  the  caskets  left  us  by 
antiquity.  Brougham  does  not  use  the  clear, 
faultless,  and  at  the  same  time  somewhat  courtly 
language  of  Cicero,  and  his  speeches  are  as  little 
in  the  form  of  those  of  Demosthenes,  though  they 
have  something  of  their  colour;  but  he  is  not 
wanting  either  in  the  strongly  logical  conclusions 
of  the  Eoman  orator  nor  the  terrible  words  of 
scorn  of  the  Greek.  Add  to  this  that  no  one 
understands  better  than  he  how  to  use  the  know- 


SNOLISH  FRAGMENTS.  423 

ledge  of  the  day  in  his  parliamentary  speeches,  so 
that  they  sometimes,  apart  from  their  political 
tendency  and  signification,  merit  our  admiration 
merely  as  lectures  on  philosophy,  literature,  and 
art. 

"  It  is,  however,  altogether  impossible  to  analyse 
the  character  of  the  man  while  hearing  him  speak. 
When  he,  as  already  described,  has  laid  the  foun- 
dation of  his  speech  on  a  good  philosophical  ground 
and  in  the  depths  of  reason;  when  he,  again  returned 
to  the  work,  applies  to  it  plummet  and  measure 
to  see  if  all  is  in  order,  and  seems  to  try  with  a 
giant's  hand  if  aU  holds  together  securely ;  when 
he  has  firmly  bound  together  the  thoughts  of  all 
hearers  with  arguments  as  with  ropes  which  no 
one  can  rend  asunder,  then  he  springs  in  power 
on  the  edifice  which  he  has  built,  he  raises  his 
form  and  his  voice,  he  conjures  the  passions  from 
their  most  secret  hiding-place,  and  subdues  and 
overwhelms  his  gaping  parliamentary  cotempo- 
raries  and  the  whole  murmuring  House.  That 
voice,  which  was  at  first  so  slow  and  unassuming, 
is  now  like  the  deafening  roar  and  the  endless 
billows  of  the  sea ;  that  form,  which  before  seemed 
sinking  under  its  own  weight,  now  looks  as  though 
it  had  nerves  of  steel  and  sinews  of  copper — ^yes, 
as  though  it  were  immortal  and  unchangeable  as 
the  truths  which  it  has  just  spoken;  that  face, 
which  before  was  pale  and  cold  as  a  stone,  is  now 


434 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVBL, 


animated  and  gleaming,  as  though  its  inner  spirit 
were  still  mightier  than  the  words  spoken;  and 
from  those  eyes,  which  at  first  looked  so  humbly 
at  us,  with  their  blue  and  tranquil  rings,  as  though 
they  would  beg  our  forbearance  and  forgiveness, 
there  now  shoots  forth  a  meteoric  fire  which  lights 
up  every  heart  with  admiration.  In  this  manner 
he  concludes  the  second,  the  passionate  or  declama- 
tory part  of  his  oration.  1 

"  When  he  has  attained  what  might  be  regarded 
as  the  summit  of  eloquence,  when  he  looks  around 
as  if  to  behold  with  a  scornful  laugh  the  admira- 
tion which  he  has  excited,  then  his  form  again 
shrinks  together  and  his  voice  sinks  to  the  most 
singular  whisper  which  ever  came  from  human 
breast.  This  strange  lowering,  or  rather  letting 
fall,  of  expression,  gesture,  and  voice,  which 
Brougham  possesses  to  a  perfection  such  as  was 
never  found  in  any  other  orator,  produces  a  won- 
derful effect,  and  those  deep,  solemn,  almost  mur- 
mured-out  words,  which  are,  however,  fully  audible, 
even  to  the  breathing  of  every  single  syllable, 
bear  with  them  a  magic  power  which  no  one  can 
resist,  even  when  he  hears  them  for  the  first  time, 
and  has  not  learned  their  real  significance  and 
effect.  But  let  no  one  believe  that  the  orator  or 
the  oration  is  exhausted.  These  subdued  glances, 
these  softened  tones,  signify  nothing  less  than  the 
beginning  of  a  peroration,  wherewith  the  orator, 


ENGLISH  F/ii4GifBiVrS.  >  4li 

as  though  he  feels  that  he  has  gone  too  far,  will 
again  soothe  his  opponent  On  the  contrary,  this 
contraction  of  the  body  is  no  sign  of  weakness, 
and  this  lowering  of  the  voice  is  no  prelude  to 
fear  and  exhaustion;  it  is  the  loose, hanging  inclina- 
tion of  the  body  in  a  wrestler  who  looks  for  an 
opportunity  by  which  he  can  grasp  his  adversary 
the  more  powerfully ;  it  is  the  recoil  of  the  tiger, 
who,  an  instant  after,  leaps  with  more  certain 
claws  upon  his  prey;  it  is  the  indication  that 
Henry  Brougham  puts  on  all  his  armour  and 
grasps  his  mightiest  weapons.  He  was  clear  and 
convincing  in  his  arguments ;  in  conjuring  up  the 
passions  he  was,  it  is  true,  somewhat  supercilious, 
yet  powerful  and  triumphant;  now,  however,  he 
puts  the  last  and  longest  arrow  to  his  bow — ^he 
will  be  terrible  in  his  invectives.  Woe  to  the 
man  on  whom  that  eye,  which  was  once  so  calm 
and  blue,  now  flashes  from  the  mysterious  dark- 
ness of  its  contracted  brows !  Woe  to  the  wight 
to  whom  these  half- whispered  words  are  a  portent 
of  the  terrible  fate  which  hangs  over  him ! 

"He  who  as  a  stranger  visits  to-day,  perhaps 
for  the  first  time,  the  Gallery  of  Parliament  does 
not  know  what  is  coming.  He  merely  sees  a 
man  who  convinces  him  with  his  arguments,  who 
has  warmed  him  with  his  passion,  and  who  now 
appears  to  arrive,  with  that  strange  whispering, 
at  a  weak  and  impotent  conclusion.    O  stranger  I 


4«6 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


wert  thou  acquainted  with  the  phenomena  of  this 
House,  and  on  a  seat  whence  thou  couldst  see  all 
the  Members  of  Parliament,  thou  wouldst  soon 
mark  that  they  are  by  no  means  of  thy  opinion 
so  far  as  concerns  a  lame  and  impotent  conclu- 
sion. Thou  wouldst  see  many  a  man  whom 
party  feeling  or  presumption  has  driven,  with- 
out proper  ballast  or  needful  helm,  into  this 
stormy  sea,  and  who  now  glances  around  as 
fearfully  and  anxiously  as  a  sailor  on  the  China 
Seas  when  he  on  one  side  of  the  horizon  discovers 
the  dark  calm,  which  is  a  sure  presage  that  on 
the  other,  ere  a  minute  has  passed  away,  the 
typhoon  will  blow  with  its  destructive  breath — 
thou  wouldst  perceive  some  shrewd  man  well- 
nigh  groaning,  and  who  trembles  in  body  and 
soul  like  a  small  bird,  which,  yielding  to  the 
fascination  of  a  rattlesnake,  feels  with  terror  its 
danger,  yet  cannot  help  itself,  and  which  yields 
in  a  miserably  foolish  manner  to  destruction ;  or 
thou  wouldst  observe  some  tall  antagonist  who 
clings  with  shaking  legs  to  the  benches,  lest  the 
approaching  storm  should  drive  him  away ;  or 
thou  wouldst  perhaps  even  see  a  stately,  pursy 
representative  of  some  fat  county,  who  digs  both 
fists  into  the  cushions  of  his  bench,  fully  deter- 
mined, in  case  a  man  of  his  weight  should  be  cast 
from  the  House,  still  to  keep  his  seat  and  to  bear 
it  thence,  beneath  him.    And  now  it  comes — the 


,  / 


BNOLISH  FRAGMENTS.  4*7 

words,  wWcli  were  so  deeply  wiispered  and  mnp- 
mured,  swell  out  so  loudly  that  they  outsound 
even  the  rejoicing  cry  of  his  own  party ;  and  after 
some  unlucky  opponent  has  been  flayed  to  the 
bones,  and  his  mutilated  limbs  have  been  stamped 
on  through  every  figure  of  speech,  then  the  body 
of  the  orator  is  as  if  broken  down  and  shattered 
by  the  power  of  his  own  soul,  he  sinks  back 
on  his  seat,  and  the  assenting  applause  of  the 
assembly  bursts  forth  without  restraint/' 

T  was  never  so  fortunate  as  to  be  able  to  see 
Brougham  at  my  leisure  during  the  delivery  of 
such  a  speech  in  Parliament.  I  only  heard  him 
speak  in  fragments,  or  on  unimportant  subjects, 
and  I  seldom  saw  his  face  while  so  doing.  But 
always,  as  I  soon  observed,  whenever  he  began 
to  speak  an  almost  painful  silence  at  once  fol- 
lowed. The  sketch  of  him  given  above  is  most 
certainly  not  exaggerated.  His  figure,  of  ordinary 
stature,  is  very  meagre  and  in  perfect  keeping 
with  his  head,  which  is  thinly  covered  with  short 
black  hair  which  lies  smooth  towards  the  temples. 
This  causes  the  pale,  long  face  to  look  even  thinner ; 
its  muscles  are  ever  in  strange,  nervous  move- 
ment, and  he  who  observes  them  sees  the  orator's 
thoughts  before  they  are  spoken.  This  spoils  his 
witty  outbursts ;  since  jests,  like  borrowers,  should, 
to  succeed,  surprise  us  unawares.  Though  his 
black  dress  is  altogether  gentlemanly,  even  to  the 


428  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL, 

very  cat  of  the  coat,  it  still  gives  him  a  certain 
clerical  appearanca  Perhaps  this  is  owing  more 
to  his  frequent  bending  of  the  back,  and  the  lark- 
ing, ironic  suppleness  of  his  whole  body.  One 
of  my  friends  first  called  my  attention  to  this 
"clerical"  appearance  in  Brougham's  manner, 
and  the  above  sketch  fully  confirms  the  acurate- 
ness  of  the  remark.  The  "lawyer-like"  in  his 
general  appearance  was  first  suggested  to  me  by 
the  manner  in  which  he  continually  demonstrates 
with  his  pointing  finger,  while  he  nods  assent- 
ingly  with  his  head. 

The  restless  activity  of  the  man  is  his  most 
wonderful  feature.  These  speeches  in  Parliament 
are  delivered  after  he  has  been  eight  hours  at  his 
daily  tasks,  that  is  to  say,  practising  law  in  the 
courts,  and  when  he  perhaps  has  sat  up  half 
the  night  writing  an  article  for  the  Ediriburgh 
Review,  or  labouring  on  his  improvements  of 
Popular  Education  and  Criminal  Law.  The  last- 
mentioned  work,  that  on  Criminal  Legislation, 
with  which  Brougham  and  Peel  are  now  princi- 
pally busied,  is  perhaps  the  most  useful,  certainly 
the  most  necessary ;  for  England's  laws  are  even 
more  cruel  than  her  oligarchs.  Brougham's  cele- 
brity was  first  founded  by  the  suit  against  the 
Queen.  He  fought  like  a  knight  for  this  high 
dame,  and,  as  any  one  might  suppose,  George  IV. 
will  never  forget  the  service  rendered  to  his  wife. 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS.  ;       429 

Therefore,  when  in  April  last  the  Opposition  con- 
quered, Brougham  did  not  enter  the  Ministry; 
idthough,  according  to  old  custom,  such  an  entry 
was  due  to  him,  as  leader  of  the  Opposition. 


-     XL        -'--'^  -^  ^  -. 

THE  EMANCIPATIOK 

Tale  politics  with  the  stupidest  Englishman,  and 
he  will  he  sure  to  say  something  sensible ;  but  so 
soon  as  the  conversation  turns  on  religion,  the 
most  intelligent  Englishman  utters  nothing  but 
silly  speeches.^  Hence  arises  all  that  confusion 
of  ideas,  that  mixture  of  wisdom  and  nonsense, 
whenever  Catholic  Emancipation  is  discussed  in 
Parliament,  a  question  in  which  politics  and  re- 
ligion come  into  collision.  It  is  seldom  possible 
for  the  English,  in  their  parliamentary  discus- 
sions, to  give  utterance  to  a  principle ;  they  dis- 
cuss only  the  profit  or  loss  of  things,  and  bring 
forth  facts,  jpro  or  con.  r^  v  ■ ;       ■:  ;:  , ,.;  - 

With  mere  facts  there  can,  indeed,  be  much 


1  An  amusing  opinion  from  a  writer  who  has  himself  uttered 
more  inconsistent,  and  often  more  flippant  and  even  nonsensical, 
remarks  on  religion  than  any  cotemporary  or  predeoeaaor. — 
Trantlator. 


430 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


fighting,  but  no  victory ;  they  induce  nothing  but 
blows  on  one  or  the  other  side ;  and  the  spectacle 
of  such  a  strife  reminds  us  of  the  well-known  pro 
patria  conflicts  of  German  students,  the  results  of 
which  are  that  so  and  so  many  lunges  are  ex- 
changed, and  so  and  so  many  carte  and  tierce 
thrusts  made,  and  nothing  gained  with  it  alL      i 

In  the  year  1827,  as  a  matter  of  course,  the 
Emancipationists  again  fought  the  Orangemen  in 
Westminster,  and,  as  another  matter  of  course, 
nothing  came  of  it  The  best  "hitters"  of  the 
Emancipation  party  were  Burdett,  Plunkett, 
Brougham,  and  Canning.  Their  opponents,  with 
the  exception  of  Peel,  were  the  well-known,  or, 
more  correctly  speaking,  the  not-at-all-known, 
fox-hunting  squirearchy.  i 

At  all  times  the  most  intelligent  and  gifted 
statesmen  of  England  have  fought  for  the  civil 
liberty  of  the  Catholics,  and  this  they  did  in- 
spired as  much  by  the  deepest  sense  of  right  as 
by  political  shrewdness.  Pitt  himself,  the  dis- 
coverer of  the  firm  system,  held  to  the  Catholic 
party.  In  like  manner,  Burke,  the  great  renegade 
of  freedom,  could  not  so  far  suppress  the  voice  of 
his  heart  as  to  act  against  Ireland.  Even  Canning, 
while  yet  a  slave  to  Toryism,  could  not  behold, 
without  emotion,  the  misery  of  Ireland ;  and  at  a 
time  when  he  was  accused  of  luke-warmness,  he 
showed,  in  a  n^avely  touching  manner,  how  dear 


BNOLISH  FRAOMBNTS.  ^ 

its  cause  was  to  him.  In  fact,  a  great  man  can, 
to  attain  great  aims,  often  act  contrary  to  lus  con- 
victions, and  go  ambiguously  from  one  party  to 
another;  and,  in  such  cases,  we  must  be  com- 
placent enough  to  admit  that  he  who  will  esta- 
blish himself  on  a  certain  height  must  yield 
accordingly  to  circumstances,  like  the  weather- 
cock on  a  church-spire,  which,  though  it  be  made 
of  iron,  would  soon  be  broken  and  cast  down  by 
the  storm-wind  if  it  remained  obstinately  im- 
movable, and  did  not  understand  the  noble  art 
of  turning  to  every  wind.  But  a  great  man  will 
never  so  far  contradict  his  own  feelings  as  to  see, 
or,  it  may  be,  increase,  with  cold-blooded  indiffer- 
ence, the  misfortunes  of  his  fellow-countrymen. 
As  we  love  our  mother,  so  do  we  love  the  soil  on 
which  we  were  born ;  and  even  so  do  we  love  the 
flowers,  the  perfume,  the  language,  and  the  men 
peculiar  to  that  soil.  No  religion  is  so  bad,  and 
no  politics  so  good,  that  they  can  extinguish  such 
a  love  in  the  bosoms  of  its  devotees ;  and  Burke 
and  Canning,  though  Protestants  and  Tories,  could 
not,  for  all  that,  take  part  against  poor,  green  Erin. 
Those  Irishmen  who  spread  terrible  misery  and 
unutterable  wretchedness  over  their  fatherland 
are  men — like  the  late  Castlereagh. 

It  is  a  regular  matter  of  course  that  the  great 
mass  of  the  English  people  should  be  opposed  to 
the  Catholics,  and  daily  besiege  Parliament  for 


432 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL, 


the  purpose  of  withholding  privileges  from  the 
latter.  There  is  a  love  of  oppression  in  human 
nature,  and  when  even  we,  as  is  constantly  done, 
complain  of  civil  inequality,  our  eyes  are  always 
directed  upwards — we  see  only  those  who  stand 
over  us,  and  whose  privileges  abuse  us.  But  we 
never  look  downwards  when  complaining  thus — 
the  idea  never  comes  into  our  heads  to  raise  to 
our  level  those  who  are  placed  by  unjust  custom 
below  us;  yes,  we  are  soundly  vexed  when  they 
seek  to  ascend,  and  we  rap  them  on  the  head. 
The  Creole  demands  equality  with  the  European, 
but  oppresses  the  Mulatto,  and  flares  up  in  a  rage 
when  the  latter  puts  himself  on  an  equality  with 
him.^  Just  so  does  the  Mulatto  treat  the  Mestizo, 
and  he  in  turn  the  Negro.  The  small  citizen  of 
Frankfort  worries  himself  over  the  privileges  of 
the  nobility,  but  he  worries  himself  much  more 
when  any  one  suggests  to  him  the  emancipation  of 
his  Jews.  I  have  a  friend  in  Poland  who  is  wild 
for  freedom  and  equality,  but  who,  to  this  hour, 
has  never  freed  his  peasants  from  their  serfdom. 

No  explanation  is  requisite  to  show  why  the 
Catholics  are  persecuted,  so  far  as  the  English 
clergy  is  concerned.     Persecution  of  those  who 


^  Heine  appears  to  have  laboured  nnder  the  common,  bnt 
erroneons,  Enropesui  idea  that  a  Creole  is  one  of  mixed  blood 
or  of  inferior  raoe  and  social  position. — Note  by  Trandator. 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS,  :     433 

think  differently  is  everywhere  a  clerical  mono- 
poly, and  the  Anglican  Church  strongly  asserts  her 
rights.  Of  course,  tithes  are  the  main  thing  with 
her;  by  emancipating  the  Catholics  she  would 
lose  a  great  part  of  her  income,  and  the  sacrifice 
of  self-interest  is  a  talent  manifested  as  little  by 
the  priests  of  love  as  by  sinful  laymen.  Hence 
it  happened  that  that  glorious  revolution  to  which 
England  owes  most  of  her  present  liberty  sprang 
from  religious  Protestant  zeal;  a  circumstance 
which  imposes  special  duties  of  gratitude  towards 
the  dominant  Church,  and  causes  her  to  regard 
the  latter  as  the  main  bulwark  of  her  freedom. 
Many  a  fearful  soul  may  at  present  really  dread 
Catholicism  and  its  restoration,  and  think  of  the 
flaming  pUes  of  Smithfield — and  a  burnt  child 
dreads  the  fire !  There  are  also  timid  Members 
of  Parliament  who  dread  a  new  Gunpowder  Plot 
— those  fear  powder  most  who  have  not  discovered 
it — and  so  they  often  feel  as  if  the  green  benches 
on  which  they  sit  in  St  Stephen's  Chapel  became, 
little  by  little,  warmer ;  and  when  an  orator,  as 
very  often  happens,  mentions  the  name  of  Guy 
Fawkes,  they  cry  out  "  Hear,  hear !"  as  if  in  terror. 
As  for  the  Kector  of  Gottingen,  who  has  an  ap- 
pointment in  London  as  King  of  England,  he  is 
fuUy  familiar  with  his  policy  of  moderation  and 
forbearance;  he  declares  himself  in  favour  of 
neither  party;  he  sees  both  mutually  weaken 
VOL.  n.  2  E 


434 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


themselves  by  combat;  he  smiles  in  his  heredi- 
tary maimer  when  they  peaceably  court  him ;  he 
knows  everything,  does  nothing,  and  in  cases  of 
difficulty  leaves  everything  to  his  head  catch-poll, 
Wellington. 

I  trust  that  I  may  be  pardoned  for  treating 
in  a  flippant  tone  a  question  on  whose  solution 
depends  the  happiness  of  England,  and  with  it, 
perhaps  directly,  that  of  all  the  world.  But  just 
the  weightier  the  subject,  so  much  the  more 
merrily  must  we  manage  it ;  the  bloody  butchery 
of  battles,  the  fearful  whetting  of  the  sickle  of 
death,  would  be  beyond  all  bearing  did  there  not 
ring  out  with  it,  and  through  it,  deafening  military 
music,  with  joy-inspiring  drums  and  trumpets. 
This  the  English  know  right  well,  and  therefore 
their  Parliament  displays  a  cheerful  comedy  of 
the  most  unrestrained  wit,  and  of  the  wittiest  un- 
restraint. In  the  most  serious  debates,  where  the 
lives  of  thousands  and  the  welfare  of  whole  coun- 
tries is  at  stake,  it  never  occurs  to  any  one  to 
make  a  stiff  German  district-representative  face,^ 
or  to  declaim  French  pathetically,  and  their  minds, 
like  their  bodies,  act  freely  and  without  restraint. 
Jest,  self-quizzing,  sarcasms,  natural  disposition 
and  wisdom,  malice  and  good-nature,  logic  and 
verse,  spray  forth  in  the  freshest  variations  of 


^  Landitcendegeticht — in  Americau  a  face  for  Bunkum. 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS. :.:       435 

colour,  80  that  the  annals  of  Parliament,  years 
after,  afford  us  a  most  glorious  entertainment. 
How  strongly  do  these  debates  contrast  with  the 
empty,  bolstered-up,  blotting-paper  speeches  of 
our  South  German  Chambers,  whose  tiresomeness 
defies  the  patience  of  the  most  unwearied  news- 
paper reader;  yes,  whose  very  aroma  suffices  to 
scare  away  any  living  reader,  so  that  we  must  be- 
lieve that  the  tiresomeness  in  question  is  a  secret 
and  deliberate  intention  to  frighten  the  public 
from  reading  their  acts,  and  thereby  to  keep  them 
secret,  despite  their  publicity  1 

If  the  manner  in  which  the  English  treat 
the  Catholic  question  in  Parliament  is  but  little 
adapted  to  produce  a  result,  it  is  not  the  less 
true  that  the  reading  of  these  debates  is  on  that 
account  all  the  more  interesting,  because  facts  are 
more  entertaining  than  abstractions,  and  they  are 
especially  amusing  when  a  contemporary  event 
is  ntirrated  in  a  story-telling  form,  which  handles 
it  with  witty  persiflage,  and  thereby  illustrates  it, 
it  may  be,  in  the  best  possible  manner.  In  the 
debate  on  the  Eoyal  Speech,  December  3,  1825, 
we  had  in  the  Upper  House  one  of  these  parallel 
histories  such  as  described,  and  which  I  here 
literally  translate  {vide  "Parliamentary  History 
and  Eeview  during  the  Session  of  1 825-1 826," 
page  31):— 

"  Lord  King  remarked  that  if  England  could  ba 


436 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL, 


called  flourishing  and  happy,  there  were,  notwith- 
standing, six  millions  of  Catholics  in  an  altogether 
different  condition  on  the  other  side  of  the  Irish 
Channel,  and  that  the  bad  government  there  was 
a  shame  to  our  age  and  to  every  Briton.  The 
whole  world,  said  he,  is  now  too  reasonable  to 
excuse  Governments  which  oppress  their  subjects, 
or  rob  them  of  a  right,  on  account  of  differences 
in  religion.  Ireland  and  Turkey  could  be  re- 
garded as  the  only  countries  in  Europe  where 
whole  classes  of  men  were  oppressed  and  made 
to  suffer  on  account  of  their  creeds.  The  Grand 
Sultan  had  endeavoured  to  convert  the  Greeks  in 
the  same  manner  in  which  the  English  Govern- 
ment had  attempted  the  conversion  of  the  Catho- 
lics, but  without  result.  When  the  unfortunate 
Greeks  bewailed  their  sufferings,  and  begged  in 
the  humblest  manner  to  be  treated  a  little  better 
than  Mohammedan  dogs,  the  Sultan  summoned 
his  Grand  Vizier  to  give  counsel  This  Grand 
Vizier  had  been  formerly  a  friend,  and  more  re- 
cently an  enemy,  of  the  Sultana.  He  had  thereby 
suffered  considerably  in  the  favour  of  his  lord 
and  was  obliged  to  endure,  in  his  own  Divan, 
many  contradictions  from  his  own  officers  and 
servants.  (Laughter.)  He  was  an  enemy  of  the 
Greeks.  The  second  person  in  influence  in  the 
Divan  was  the  Reis  Effendi,  who  was  favourably 
inclined  to  the  just  demands  of  that  unlucky  race. 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS.  ^IT 

This  officer,  as  was  well  known,  was  Minister  of 
Foreign  Affairs,  and  his  policy  merited  and  re- 
ceived general  approbation.  He  manifested  in 
this  field  extraordinary  liberality  and  talent ;  he 
did  much  good,  and  would  have  effected  much 
more  had  he  not  been  impeded  in  all  his  measures 
by  his  less  enlightened  colleagues.  He  was,  in 
fact,  the  only  man  of  real  genius  in  the  whole 
Divan — (laughter) — and  he  was  esteemed  as  an 
ornament  to  the  statesmen  of  Turkey,  since  he 
was  also  endowed  with  poetic  talent.  The  Kiaya- 
Bey,  or  Minister  of  the  Interior,  and  the  Kapitan 
Pasha  were  also  opposed  to  the  Greeks ;  the  leader 
of  the  whole  opposition  to  the  demand  for  rights 
of  this  race  was  the  Grand  Mufti,  or  the  head  of 
the  Mohammedan  Faith.  (Laughter).  This  officer 
was  an  enemy  to  every  change.  He  had  regularly 
opposed  every  improvement  in  commerce,  every 
improvement  in  justice,  every  improvement  in 
foreign  policy.  (Laughter).  He  declared  and 
showed  himself  on  every  occasion  to  be  the  great 
champion  of  existing  abuses.  He  was  the  most 
finished  intriguer  in  the  whole  Divan.  (Laughter). 
At  an  earlier  time  he  had  declared  for  the  Sultana, 
but  he  had  turned  against  her  so  soon  as  he 
feared  that  he  thereby  might  lose  his  seat  in  the 
Divan,  and  had  even  gone  over  to  the  party  of 
her  enemies.  The  proposition  was  once  made  to 
enlist  some   Greeks  into   the  corps  of  regular 


438 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


troops  or  Janissaries,  but  the  Head-Mufti  raised 
against  this  such  a  terrible  hue-and-cry — some- 
thing like  our  No-Popery  cry — that  those  who 
adopted  the  measure  were  obliged  to  quit  the 
Divan.  He  gained  the  upper  hand,  and  so  soon 
as  this  was  done  he  declared  himself  in  favour  of 
the  very  cause  against  which  he  previously  dis- 
played all  his  zeal.  He  took  care  of  the  Sultan's 
conscience  and  of  his  own;  but  it  had  been  re- 
marked that  his  conscience  was  never  in  opposi- 
tion to  his  interests.  (Laughter).  Having  studied 
the  Turkish  Constitution  with  the  utmost  ac- 
curacy, he  had  found  in  it  that  it  was  substanti- 
ally Mohammedan — (laughter) — and  consequently 
must  be  inimical  to  all  the  rights  of  the  Greeks. 
He  had  therefore  determined  to  adhere  firmly  to 
the  cause  of  intolerance,  and  was  soon  surrounded 
by  MoUahs,  Imans,  and  Dervishes,  who  confirmed 
him  in  his  noble  determinations.  To  complete 
this  picture  of  a  perfect  division  in  the  Divan,  it 
should  also  be  mentioned  that  its  members  had 
agreed  to  unite  on  certain  questions,  and  to  oppose 
one  another  on  others,  without  breaking  up  their 
union.  After  the  evil  arising  from  such  a  Divan 
had  been  seen,  after  it  had  been  seen,  too,  how  the 
Mussulman  realm  had  been  torn,  and  that  by  their 
intolerance  to  the  Greeks  and  by  their  own  want 
of  harmony,  we  should  pray  Heaven  to  preserve 
the  fatherland  from  such  a  division  in  the  Cabinet." 


A  .A.        « ' 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS.  439 

It  requires  no  remarkable  acuteness  to  guess 
who  the  persons  are  here  disguised  in  Turkish 
names ;  still  less  is  it  necessary  to  set  forth  the 
moral  of  the  tale  in  dry  words.  The  cannon  of 
Navarino  have  spoken  it  out  loud  enough ;  and 
when  the  Sublime  Porte  shall  be  shattered — and 
shattered  it  will  be,  despite  Pera's  plenipoten- 
tiaried  lackeys,  who  oppose  the  ill-will  of  the 
people — ^then  John  Bull  may  call  to  mind  that, 
with  changed  names,  the  fable  applies  to  him. 
England  may  already  surmise  something  of  the 
kind,  since  its  best  journalists  have  declared 
against  the  war  of  intervention,  and  signified, 
nwvely  enough,  that  the  other  nations  of  Europe 
might,  with  equal  right,  take  up  the  part  of 
Catholic  Ireland,  and  compel  the  British  Govern- 
ment to  a  better  treatment  of  it.  They  think 
that  they  have  thereby  fully  refuted  the  right  of 
intervention,  whereas  they  have  simply  illustrated 
it  more  perfectly  and  intelligibly.  Of  course,  the 
nations  of  Europe  would  have  the  most  sacred 
right  to  remedy,  by  force  of  arms,  the  sufferings 
of  Ireland ;  and  this  right  would  soon  be  realised 
were  not  injustice  the  stronger.  It  is  no  longer 
crowned  heads,  but  the  people  themselves,  who 
are  the  heroes  of  modern  times,  and  these  heroes 
have  also  formed  their  holy  alliance.  They  hoid 
together  wherever  there  is  a  question  of  the  com- 
mon weal,  or  the  popular  rights  of  political  and 


\^fM"1^-.4m' iijt  ..J^   '«ft^.  «    ,    ^^".'    0..''fh^     '  A^^      *«^  .^w  _^...«Mw.  .  __.  «.  « ^  .:*   ...^  '  ^..^ '. 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

religious  liberty ;  they  are  connected  by  the  Idea  ; 
they  have  sworn  themselves  to  it,  and  bleed  for 
it — ^yes,  they  themselves  have  become  an  idea— 
and  therefore  it  runs  like  a  sharp  pain  through 
the  hearts  of  all  the  people  when  the  Idea  is 
made  to  suffer,  though  it  be  in  the  uttermost 
comer  of  the  earth. 

But  I  wander  from  my  topic.  I  meant  to  re- 
peat old  parliamentary  jokes,  and  see  !  the  spirit 
of  the  time  turns  my  jest  to  earnest  But  now 
I  will  give  something  merrier ;  that  is  to  say,  an 
address  which  Spring  Rice,  on  the  26th  of  May  of 
the  same  year,  delivered  in  the  Lower  House,  and 
in  which  he  jested  most  admirably  at  the  Pro- 
testant terror  at  the  possible  supremacy  of  the 
Catholics.^ 

"In  the  year  1753,"  he  said,  "there  was 
brought  before  Parliament  a  Bill  for  the  nationali- 
sation of  Jews — a  measure  against  which,  to-day, 
in  all  this  land,  not  so  much  as  an  old  woman 
would  have  a  word  to  say,  but  which  in  its  time 
provoked  the  most  violent  opposition,  resulting  in 
a  mass  of  petitions  from  London  and  other  places, 
much  like  those  which  we  now  see  presented 
against  the  Catholic  Bill.  In  the  one  from  the 
citizens  of  London  it  was  declared  that,  should 


^  Vide  "  ParliMuentaiy   History  aod    Beview,"    &&,   pags 
252. 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS. 


fche  Bill  for  the  Jews  receive  legal  sanction,  it 
would  terribly  endanger  the  Christian  religion 
and  undermine  the  State  and  our  holy  Church. 
(Laughter.)  Especially  would  it  injure  the  in- 
terests of  trade,  and  to  an  extraordinary  degree 
those  of  the  city  of  London.     (Laughter.) 

"However,  notwithstanding  this  powerful  de- 
nunciation, the  next  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer 
found  that  the  dire  results  threatened  had  not 
taken  place  when  the  Jews  were  admitted  to 
citizenship  in  London,  and  even  to  Downing 
Street.  (Laughter.)  At  that  time  a  newspaper 
called  The  Artisan^  in  denouncing  the  countless 
disasters  to  which  such  a  measure  would  lead, 
expressed  itself  as  follows : — *  I  must  beg  leave  to 
set  forth  separately  the  consequences  of  this  BilL 
There  is  grace  and  mercy  in  God,  but  none  in  the 
Jews,  and  they  have  seventeen  hundred  years  of 
oppression  to  revenge  on  us.  Should  this  Bill 
pass  we  shall  all  become  slaves  of  the  Jews,  and 
without  hope  of  rescue,  save  by  the  goodness  of 
Grod.  The  King  will  be  subjected  to  Jews,  and 
no  longer  look  to  the  interests  of  the  free  landed 
proprietors.  He  will  do  away  with  our  British 
soldiers,  and  establish  a  great  army  entirely  of 
Jews,  who  will  force  us  to  renounce  our  Royal 
Family  and  be  naturalised  under  a  Jewish 
monarch.  Therefore  awake,  my  Christian  and 
Protestant  brothers!     It  is   not   Hannibal  but 


1  Tf»  V  --    •"■     ■-    » 


442 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


the  Jews  who  are  before  your  gates,  and  they 
demand  the  keys  of  your  church-doors.*  (Long- 
continued  laughter.) 

"  In  the  debates  on  this  Bill  in  the  House,  a 
baron  from  the  West — (laughter) — declared  that 
if  naturalisation  should  be  granted  to  the  Jews 
we  should  be  in  danger  of  soon  seeing  them  in 
Parliament.  *They  will,'  he  said,  'divide  our 
counties  among  their  race,  and  sell  our  landed 
properties  to  the  highest  bidder.'  (Laughter.) 
Another  Member  of  Parliament  was  of  the 
opinion  that  'if  the  Bill  should  pass,  the  Jews 
will  increase  so  rapidly  that  they  will  spread  over 
the  greatest  part  of  England,  and  deprive  the 
people  of  their  land  and  of  their  power.'  The 
Member  for  London,  Sir  John  Bernard,  regarded 
the  matter  from  a  deeper  theological  point  of 
view,  one  which  is  repeated  exactly  in  the  late 
petition  from  Leicester,  whose  signers  reproach 
the  Catholics  as  being  descendants  of  those  who 
burned  their  ancestors.  '  And,  in  like  manner,'  he 
cried,  *  the  Jews  are  the  descendants  of  those  who 
crucified  the  Saviour,  and  for  that  are  cursed  by 
God  unto  their  latest  descendants.'  He  (Spring 
Eice)  cited  these  instances  to  show  that  the  old 
alarm-cry  was  as  much  founded  in  reason  as  the 
new  outcry  against  the  Catholics.  (Hear,  hear !) 
In  the  time  of  the  Jewish  Bill  there  was  published 
a  jesting  mock  Jewish  journal,  in  which  the  follow- 


f,    »-  ■-  r-    ♦  •■•< 


•  a    Sk* '..'iK*  il«>j 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS.  443 

ing  notice  appeared : — '  Since  our  last  number  the 
post-coach  from  Jerusalem  has  arrived.  The  last 
week  in  the  lying-in  hospital,  Brownlow  Street, 
twenty-five  boys  were  publicly  circumcised.  Yes- 
terday evening  the  Bill  for  naturalising  Christians 
was  unanimously  rejected  in  the  Sanhedrim.  The 
report  of  a  rising  of  the  Christians  in  North  Wales 
is  without  foundation.  Last  Friday  the  annual 
celebration  of  the  Crucifixion  was  celebrated  with 
great  gaiety  throughout  the  kingdom.' 

"In  this  manner,  and  at  all  times,  both  as 
regards  the  Jewish  and  the  Catholic  Bills,  the 
most  laughable  opposition  was  provoked  by  the 
most  absurd  means ;  and  if  we  seek  for  the  causes 
of  such  alarms,  we  find  that  they  were  quite  alike. 
If  we  investigate  the  causes  of  the  opposition  to 
the  Jewish  Bill  in  1753,  we  find  as  leading  autho- 
rity Lord  Chatham,  who  declared  in  Parliament 
that  *  he,  as  well  as  most  other  gentlemen,  was 
convinced  that  religion  itself  had  nothing  to  do 
with  this  question,  and  that  it  was  only  the  old 
High  Church's  persecuting  spirit  which  had  suc- 
ceeded in  persuading  the  people  to  the  contrary.' 
(Hear,  hear !)  So  it  is  in  this  case,  and  it  is  their 
love  of  exclusive  power  and  precedence  which 
now  impels  the  old  exalted  Church  to  stir  up  the 
people  against  the  Catholics ;  and  he  (Spring  Rice) 
was  convinced  that  many  who  use  such  arts  knew 
perfectly  well  how  little  religion  was  really  in- 


tuT^'*  '■  ■''    '  '»•::'*. :'/!j..  K>.»:J-'^'''"'^'-'f\-\:r'^'^:',»*'.''r:''i-^^^^ 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


volved  in  the  last  Catholic  Bill — just  as  little  as  in 
a  Bill  for  regulating  weights  and  measures,  or  for 
determining  the  length  of  a  pendulum  according 
to  the  number  of  its  swings.  There  had  just  then 
appeared  in  the  Hardwick  Jowmal^  in  reference 
to  the  Jewish  BiU,  a  letter  from  Dr.  Birch  to 
Mr.  Philip  York,  in  which  he  declared  that  all 
this  alarm  was  only  intended  to  influence  the 
next  elections.  (Hear!  and  laughter.)  It  had 
happened  then,  even  as  it  has  in  this  our  time, 
that  a  reasonable,  sensible  Bishop  of  Norwich  had 
come  forward  in  favour  of  the  Jewish  Bill  Dr.' 
Birch  relates  that  the  Bishop,  on  his  return  to  his 
church  district,  was  for  this  insulted.  'As  he 
went  to  Ipswich  to  confirm  certain  boys,  he  was 
mocked  by  the  way,  people  asking  him  to  circum- 
cise them,  and  it  was  also  announced  that  the 
Lord  Bishop  would  on  the  next  Sabbath  con- 
firm the  Jews,  and  the  next  day  circumcise  the 
Christians.'  (Laughter.)  In  like  manner  the  out- 
cry against  libersd  measures  in  all  ages  was  equally 
unreasonable  and  brutal  (Hear,  hear!)  Those 
fears  bs  regarded  the  Jews  could  be  compared 
with  the  alarm  which  had  been  excited  in  certain 
places  by  the  Bill  for  the  Catholics.  The  danger 
which  men  feared,  should  more  power  be  granted 
to  the  Catholics,  was  just  as  absurd — the  power 
to  work  mischief,  should  they  be  so  inclined, 
could  not  be  given  them  by  law  in  even  so  high 


H 


^f- 


-If.  »».->,•»-•.••  ij. 


From  the  Portrait  bv  Sir  Thomas  Laurence 


i 


i 


»>      «      !<.*< 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS. 


445 


a  degree  as  they  now  possessed  simply  by  their 
oppression.  For  it  is  by  this  oppression  that 
such  men  as  Mr.  O'Connell  and  Mr.  Shiel  have 
become  so  popular.  These  men  were  not  named 
to  make  them  suspicious  characters ;  on  the  con- 
trary, one  should  respect  them,  and  they  have 
deserved  well  of  their  country;  but  it  would  be 
better  if  power  were  in  the  laws  instead  of  in  the 
hands  of  individuals,  no  matter  how  deserving  of 
respect  they  may  be.  The  time  will  come  when 
the  resistance  of  Parliament  to  such  concessions 
of  justice  will  be  regarded,  not  merely  with  amaze- 
ment, but  contempt  The  religious  wisdom  of  an 
earlier  age  was  often  the  subject  of  contempt  to 
the  following  generation."     (Hear,  hear  1) 


■      xn     ■  -  ■ 

WELLINGTON: 

The  man  has  the  bad  fortune  to  meet  with 
good  fortune  everywhere,  and  wherever  the 
greatest  men  in  the  world  were  unfortunate; 
and  that  excites  us,  and  makes  him  hatefuL  We 
see  in  him  only  the  victory  of  stupidity  over 
genius — Arthur  Wellington  triumphant  where 
Napoleon   Bonaparte  is   overwhelmed!     Never 


■'■>. 


446 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


was  a  man  more  ironically  gifted  by  Fortune, 
and  it  seems  as  though  she  would  exhibit  his 
empty  littleness  by  raising  him  high  on  the 
shield  of  victory.  Fortune  is  a  woman,  and 
perhaps  in  womanly  wise  she  cherishes  a  secret 
grudge  against  the  man  who  overthrew  her  former 
darling,  though  the  very  overthrow  came  from  her 
own  wilL  Now  she  lets  him  conquer  again  on  the 
Catholic  Emancipation  question — yes,  in  the  very 
fight  in  which  George  Canning  was  destroyed.  It 
is  possible  that  he  might  have  been  loved  had  the 
wretched  Londonderry  been  his  predecessor  in  the 
Ministry ;  but  it  happens  that  he  is  the  successor 
of  the  noble  Canning — of  the  much-wept,  adored, 
great  Canning — and  he  conquers  where  Canning 
was  overwhelmed.  Without  such  an  adversity  of 
prosperity,  Wellington  would  perhaps  pass  for  a 
great  man ;  people  would  not  hate  him,  would  not 
measure  him  too  accurately,  at  least  not  with 
the  heroic  measure  with  which  a  Napoleon  and  a 
Canning  is  measured,  and  consequently  it  would 
never  have  been  discovered  how  small  he  is  as 
man.  '     '  \ 

He  is  a  small  man,  and  smaller  than  small  at 
that.  The  French  could  say  nothing  more  sar- 
castic of  Polignac  than  that  he  was  a  Wellington 
without  celebrity.  In  fact,  what  remains  when 
we  strip  from  a  Wellington  the  field-marshal's 
uniform  of  celebrity  ? 


'  ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS.       .  447 

I  have  here  given  the  best  apology  for  Lord 
Wellington — in  the  English  sense  of  the  word. 
My  readers  will  be  astonished  when  I  honourably 
confess  that  I  once  praised  this  hero^and  clapped 
on  all  sail  in  so  doing.  It  is  a  good  story,  and  I 
will  tell  it  here : —  '     y  -     .    ,; 

My  barber  in  London  was  a  Kadical,  named  Mr. 
White — a  poor  little  man  in  a  shabby  black  dress, 
worn  until  it  almost  shone  white  again ;  he  was 
so  lean  that  even  his  full  face  looked  like  a  pro- 
file, and  the  sighs  in  his  bosom  were  visible  ere 
they  rose.  These  sighs  were  caused  by  the  mis- 
fortunes of  Old  EnglEuid — by  the  impossibility  of 
paying  the  National  Debt.  .  • 

"  Ah ! "  I  generally  heard  him  sigh,  '*  why  need 
the  English  people  trouble  themselves  as  to  who 
reigns  in  France,  and  what  the  French  are  a-doing 
at  home?  But  the  high  nobility,  sir,  and  the 
High  Church  were  afraid  of  the  principles  of 
liberty  of  the  French  Eevolution;  and  to  keep 
down  these  principles  John  Bull  must  give  his 
gold  and  his  blood,  and  make  debts  into  the  bar- 
gain. We've  got  all  we  wanted  out  of  the  war — 
the  Eevolution  has  been  put  down,  the  French 
eagles  of  liberty  have  had  their  wings  cut,  and  the 
High  Church  may  be  cock-sure  that  none  of  them 
eagles  will  come  a-flying  over  the  Channel ;  and 
now  the  high  nobility  and  the  High  Church  be- 
tween 'em  ought  to  pay,  any  way,  for  the  debts 


448 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


which  were  made  for  their  own  good,  and  not 
for  any  good  of  the  poor  people.  Ah !  the  poor 
people ! " 

Whenever  Mr.  White  came  to  the  "  poor  people  " 
he  always  sighed  more  deeply  than  ever,  and  the 
refrain  then  was,  that  bread  and  porter  were  so 
dear  that  the  poor  people  must  starve  to  feed 
fat  lords,  stag-hounds,  and  priests,  and  that  there 
was  only  one  remedy.  At  these  words  he  was 
wont  to  whet  his  razor,  and  as  he  drew  it  mur- 
derously up  and  down  the  strop,  he  murmured 
grimly  to  himself,  "  Lords,  priests,  hounds ! " 

But  his  Eadical  rage  boiled  most  fiercely  against 
the  Duke  of  Wellington ;  he  spat  gall  and  poison 
whenever  he  alluded  to  him,  and  as  he  lathered 
me  he  himself  foamed  with  rage.  Once  I  was 
fairly  frightened  when  he,  while  barbering  away 
at  my  neck,  burst  out  in  wonted  wise  against 
Wellington,  murmuring  all  the  while,  "  If  I  only 
had  him  this  way  under  my  razor,  Td  save  him 
the  trouble  of  cutting  his  own  throat,  as  his 
brother  in  office  and  fellow-countryman,  London- 
derry, did,  who  killed  himself  that-a-way  at  North 
Cray  in  Kent — Grod  damn  him !"  -   I 

I  felt  that  the  man's  hand  trembled,  and  fearing 
lest  he  might  imagine,  in  his  excitement,  that  I 
really  was  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  I  endeavoured 
to  allay  his  violence,  and  in  an  underhand  manner, 
to  soothe  him,  I  called  up  his  national  pride,  I 


\.  -  ■ 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS.  4# 

represented  to  him  that  the  Duke  of  Wellington 
had  advanced  the  glory  of  the  English,  that  he 
had  always  been  an  innocent  tool  in  the  hands 
of  others,  that  he  was  fond  of  beefsteak,  and  that 
he  finally — but  the  Lord  only  knows  what  fine 
things  I  said  of  Wellington  as  I  felt  that  razor 
tickling  around  my  throat ! 

What  vexes  me  most  is  the  reflection  that  Wel- 
lington will  be  as  immortal  as  Napoleon  Bona- 
parte. It  is  true  that,  in  like  manner,  the  name 
of  Pontius  Pilate  will  be  as  little  likely  to  be 
forgotten  as  that  of  Christ.  Wellington  and  Napo- 
leon! It  is  a  wonderful  phenomenon  that  the 
human  mind  can  at  the  same  time  think  of  both 
these  names.  There  can  be  no  greater  contrast 
than  the  two,  even  in  their  external  appearance 
Wellington,  the  dumb  ghost,  with  an  ashy-grey 
soul  in  a  buckram  body,  a  wooden  smile  in  his 
freezing  face — and  by  the  side  of  that  think  of 
the  figure  of  Napoleon,  every  inch  a  god !  ^ 

That  figure  never  disappears  from  my  memory. 
I  still  see  him,  high  on  his  steed,  with  eternal 
eyes  in  his  marble-like,  imperial  face,  glancing 
calm  as  destiny  on  the  Guards  defiling  past — ^he 


^  This  remark,  in  such  a  train  of  argument,  suggests  the  fact 
that  Heine — not  unlike  Carlyle — was  chiefly  influenced  in  his- 
torical judgments  by  the  melo-dramatic  or  theatrical.  Like 
the  American  lady,  be  would  have  been  opposed  to  the  Re- 
publican  party  ' '  because  Abe  Lincoln  was  so  ugly." — Trandator. 
VOL.  n.  2  F 


4S» 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


was  then  sending  them  to  Eussia,  and  the  old 
Grenadiers  glanced  up  at  him,  so  terribly  devoted, 
so  ail-consciously  serious,  so  proud  in  death — 

"  Te,  Csesar,  morituri,  salutant  1 "  \ 


There  often  steals  over  me  a  secret  doubt 
whether  I  ever  really  saw  him,  if  we  were  ever 
contemporaries,  and  then  it  seems  to  me  as  if  his 
portrait,  torn  from  the  little  frame  of  the  present, 
vanished  away  more  proudly  and  imperiously  in 
the  twilight  of  the  past  His  name  even  now 
sounds  to  us  like  a  word  of  the  early  world,  and 
as  antique  and  as  heroic  as  those  of  Alexander 
and  Caesar.  It  has  already  become  a  rallying 
word  among  races,  and  when  the  East  and  the 
West  meet  they  fraternise  on  that  single  name. 

I  once  felt  in  the  deepest  manner  how  signifi- 
cantly and  magically  that  name  can  sound.  It 
was  in  the  harbour  of  London,  at  the  India 
Docks,  and  on  board  an  East  Indiaman  just  ar- 
rived from  Bengal.  It  was  a  giant-like  ship, 
fully  manned  with  Hindoos.  The  grotesque  forms 
and  groups,  the  singularly  variegated  dresses,  the 
enigmatical  expressions  of  countenance,  the  strange 
gestures,  the  wild  and  foreign  ring  of  their  lan- 
guage, their  shouts  of  joy  and  their  laughter, 
with  the  seriousness  ever  rising  and  falling  on 
certain  soft  yellow  faces,  their  eyes  like  black 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS.  451 

flowers  which  looked  at  me  as  with  wondrous  woe 
— all  of  this  awoke  in  me  a  feeling  like  that  of 
enchsmtment,  I  was  suddenly  as  if  transported 
into  Scherezade's  story,  and  I  thought  that  broad 
leaved-palms,  and  long-necked  camels,  and  gold- 
covered  elephants,  and  other  fabulous  trees  and 
animals  must  forthwith  appear.  The  supercargo 
who  was  on  the  vessel,  and  who  understood  as 
little  of  the  language  as  I  myself,  could  not,  in  his 
truly  English  narrow-mindedness,  narrate  to  me 
enough  of  what  a  ridiculous  race  they  were,  nearly 
all  pure  Mohammedans  collected  from  every  land 
of  Asia,  from  the  limits  of  China  to  the  Arabian 
Sea,  there  being  even  some  jet-black,  woolly- 
haired  Africans  among  them. 

To  one  whose  whole  soul  was  weary  of  the 
spiritless  West,  and  who  was  as  sick  of  Europe 
as  I  then  was,  this  fragment  of  the  East  which 
moved  cheerfully  and  changingly  before  my  eyes 
was  a  refreshing  solace ;  my  heart  enjoyed  at  least 
a  few  drops  of  that  draught  which  I  had  so  often 
tasted  in  gloomy  Hanoverian  or  Eoyal  Prussian 
winter  nights,  and  it  is  very  possible  that  the 
foreigners  saw  in  me  how  agreeable  the  sight  of 
them  was  to  me,  and  how  gladly  I  would  have 
spoken  a  kind  word  to  them.  It  was  also  plain 
from  the  very  depths  of  their  eyes  how  much  I 
pleased  them,  and  they  would  also  have  willingly 
said  something  pleasant  to  me,  and  it  was  a  vexa- 


452 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL, 


tion  that  neither  understood  the  other's  language. 
At  length  a  means  occurred  to  me  of  expressing 
to  them  with  a  single  word  my  friendly  feelings, 
and  stretching  forth  my  hands  reverentially  as  if 
in  loving  greeting,  I  cried  the  name,  "Mohammed!" 
Joy  suddenly  flashed  over  the  dark  faces  of  the 
foreigners,  and  folding  their  arms  as  reverentially 
in  turn,  as  a  cheerful  greeting  they  exclaimed, 
"Bonaparte!" 


xni. 


THE  LIBEKATION.  I 

1 
Should  the  time  for  leisurely  research  ever  return 
to  me,  I  will  prove,  in  the  most  tiresomely  funda- 
mental manner,  that  it  was  not  India  but  Egypt 
which  originated  that  system  of  castes  which  has 
for  two  thousand  years  disguised  itself  in  the 
garb  of  every  country,  and  has  deceived  every 
age  in  its  own  language ;  which  is  now  perhaps 
dead,  yet  which,  counterfeiting  the  appearance  of 
life,  wanders  about  among  us,  evil-eyed  and  mis- 
chief-making, poisoning  our  blooming  life  with 
its  corpse  vapour ;  yes,  which,  like  a  vampire  of 
the  Middle  Ages,  sucks  blood  from  the  nations 
and  light  from  their  hearts.  It  was  not  merely 
crocodiles,  who  knew  so  well  how  to  weep,  who 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS.  453 

sprang  from  the  mud  of  the  Nile,  but  also  priests  who 
understand  it  far  better,  and  that  privileged  heredi- 
tary race  of  warriors  who,  in  their  lust  of  murder 
and  ravenous  appetites,  far  surpass  any  crocodiles. 
Two  deeply-thinking  men  of  the  German  nation 
discovered  the  soundest  and  best  counter-charm 
to  the  worst  of  all  Egyptian  plagues,  and  by  the 
black  art — by  gunpowder  and  the  art  of  printing 
— ^they  broke  the  force  of  that  clerical  and  laical 
hierarchy  which  had  formed  itself  from  an  union 
of  the  priesthood  and  warrior  caste ;  that  is  to  say, 
from  the  so-called  Catholic  Church  and  from  the 
feudal  nobility,  and  which  enslaved  all  Europe 
both  in  body  and  in  the  spirit.  The  printing- 
press  burst  asunder  the  walls  of  the  building  of 
dogmas  in  which  the  high  priest  of  Eome  had 
imprisoned  souls,  and  Northern  Europe  again 
breathed  freely,  freed  from  the  nightmare  of  that 
clergy  which  had  indeed  abandoned  the  form  of 
Egyptian  inheritance  of  rank,  but  which  remained 
all  the  truer  to  the  Egyptian  priestly  spirit,  since 
it  presented  itself  with  greater  sternness  and 
asperity,  as  a  corporation  of  old  bachelors,  con- 
tinued not  by  natural  propagation,  but  by  a 
Mameluke  system  of  recruiting.  In  like  manner 
we  see  how  the  warlike  caste  has  lost  its  power 
since  the  old  routine  of  the  business  is  worth 
nothing  in  the  modern  methods  of  war.  For  the 
strongest  castles  are  now  thrown  down  by  the 


MMIMMAMi 


454 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


trumpet-tones  of  the  cannon,  as  the  walls  of 
Jericho  were  thrown  down  of  old ;  the  iron  har- 
ness of  the  night  is  no  better  protection  against  the 
leaden  rain  than  the  linen  blouse  of  the  peasant ; 
powder  makes  men  equal ;  a  citizen's  musket  fires 
as  well  as  a  nobleman's — the  people  rise. 


The  earlier  efforts  of  which  we  read  in  the  his- 
tory of  the  Lombard  and  Tuscan  Republics,  of  the 
Spanish  Communes,  and  of  the  free  cities  in  Ger- 
many and  other  countries  do  not  deserve  the 
honour  of  being  classed  as  a  movement  on  the 
part  of  the  people ;  they  were  not  efforts  to  attain 
liberty,  but  merely  liberties ;  not  battles  for  right, 
but  for  municipal  power ;  corporations  fought  for 
privileges,  and  all  remained  fixed  in  the  bonds  of 
guilds  and  trades-unions.  I 

Not  until  the  days  of  the  Reformation  did  the 
battle  assume  general  and  spiritual  proportions,  and 
then  liberty  was  demanded,  not  as  an  imported 
but  as  an  aboriginal,  not  as  an  inherited  but  as 
an  inborn,  right  Principles  were  brought  forward 
instead  of  old  parchments;  and  the  peasants  in 
Germany  and  the  Puritans  in  England  fell  back 
on  the  Gospel,  whose  texts  then  were  of  as  high 
authority  as  our  modem  reasoning.^     Yes,  and 

^  Which  does  not  prevent  Heine  from  elsewhere  reviling  the 
Paritans  as  if  they  were  the  worst  foes  of  humanity  and  truth. 
— Trandator.  t 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS.  ;J      ^,;     455 

even  higher,  since  they  were  regarded  as  the 
revealed  reason  of  God  himself.  There  it  stood 
legibly  written,  that  men  are  of  equal  birth,  that 
the  pride  which  exalts  itself  must  be  damned, 
that  wealth  is  a  sin,  and  that  the  poor  also  are 
Bummoned  to  enjoyment  in  the  beautiful  garden 
of  God,  the  common  Father  of  all. 

With  the  Bible  in  one  hand  and  with  the  sword 
in  the  other  the  peasants  swept  over  South  Ger- 
many, and  announced  to  the  proud  and  wealthy 
burgherhood  of  high-towered  Nuremberg  that  in 
future  no  house  should  be  left  standing  which 
seemed  other  than  a  peasant's  house.  So  truly 
and  so  deeply  had  they  comprehended  the  truth. 
Even  at  the  present  day  in  Franconia  and  in 
Suabia  we  see  traces  of  this  doctrine  of  equality, 
and  a  shuddering  reverence  of  the  Holy  Spirit 
creeps  over  the  wanderer  when  he  sees  in  the 
moonshine  the  dark  ruins  of  castles  from  the  time 
of  the  peasants'  war.  It  is  well  for  him  who  in 
sober,  waking  mood  sees  naught  besides;  but  if 
one  is  a  "  Sunday  child  " — and  every  one  familiar 
with  history  is  that — ^he  will  also  see  the  high 
hunt  in  which  the  German  nobility,  the  rudest 
and  sternest  in  the  world,  pursued  their  victims. 
He  will  see  how  unarmed  men  were  slaughtered 
by  thousands;  how  they  were  racked,  speared, 
and  martyred;  and  from  the  waving  corn-fields 
he  will  see  the  bloody  peasants'  heads  nodding 


"'.,Vii'>;j»*<fWiV»>tAl».«ei««    w««.    «,    «••■«.•■       maim      «- ^ 


456  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

mysteriously,  while  above  a  terrible  lark  is  heard 
whistling,  piping  revenge,  like  the  piper  of  Hel- 
fenstein.^ 

The  brothers  in  England  and  Scotland  were 
more  fortunate;  their  defeat  was  neither  so  dis- 
graceful nor  so  unproductive,  and  to  the  present 
day  we  see  there  the  results  of  their  rule.  But 
they  did  not  effect  a  firm  foundation  of  their 
principles ;  the  dainty  cavaliers  now  rule  again  as 
before,  and  amuse  themselves  with  merry  tales  of 
the  stiff  old  Eoundheads  which  a  friendly  bard 
has  written  so  prettily  to  entertain  their  leisure 
hours.  No  social  overthrow  took  place  in  Great 
Britain ;  the  framework  of  civil  and  political  in- 
stitutions remained  undisturbed,  the  tyranny  of 
castes  and  of  trade-guilds  has  remained  there  till 
the  present  day,  and  though  penetrated  by  the 
light  and  warmth  of  modern  civilisation,  England 
is  still  congealed  in  a  mediaeval  condition,  or 
rather  in  the  condition  of  a  fashionable  Middle 
Age.  The  concessions  which  have  there  been 
made  to  liberal  ideas  have  been  with  difficulty 
wrested  from  this  mediaeval  immovability,  and  all 
modern  improvements  have  there  proceeded,  not 
from  a  principle  but  from  actual  necessity,  and 
they  all  bear  the  curse  of  that  half-way  system 
which  inevitably  makes  new  exertion  and  new 

*  Or  the  piper  of  Hameliu,  so  quaintly  sung  by  Browning ! 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS,  -^ 

conflicts  to  the  death,  with  all  their  attendant 
dangers,  a  matter  of  necessity.  The  religious 
reformation  in  England  is  consequently  but  half 
perfected,  and  one  finds  himself  much  worse  off 
between  the  four  bare  prison- walls  of  the  Episcopal 
Anglican  Church  than  in  the  large,  beautifully 
painted  and  softly  cushioned  prison  for  the  soul 
of  Catholicism.  Nor  has  it  succeeded  much  better 
with  the  political  reformation ;  popular  represen- 
tation is  in  England  as  faulty  as  possible,  and  if 
ranks  are  no  longer  distinguished  by  their  coats, 
they  are  at  least  divided  by  different  courts  of 
justice,  patronage,  rights  of  Court  presentation, 
prerogatives,  customary  privileges,  and  similar 
fatalities;  and  if  the  rights  of  person  and  pro- 
perty of  the  people  depend  no  longer  upon  aristo- 
cratic caprice,  but  upon  laws,  still  these  laws  are 
nothing  but  another  sort  of  teeth  with  which  the 
aristocratic  brood  seizes  its  prey,  and  another  sort 
of  daggers  wherewith  it  treacherously  murders  the 
people.  For  in  reality  no  tyrant  upon  the  Conti- 
nent squeezes,  by  his  own  arbitrary  will,  so  many 
taxes  out  of  his  subjects  as  the  English  people 
are  obliged  to  pay  by  law,^  and  no  tyrant  was  ever 
so  cruel  as  England's  criminal  law,  which  daily 


^  Heine  is  always  consistent  in  at  least  one  thing — in  his 
utter  ignorance  that  taxes  return  again  to  the  people  who  pay 
them . — Trandator. 


#-.,j.  *  \ 


458 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


commits  murder  for  the  amount  of  one  shilling, 
and  that  with  the  coldest  formality.  Although 
many  improvements  have  recently  been  made  in 
this  melancholy  state  of  affairs  in  England,  al- 
though limits  have  been  placed  to  temporal  and 
clerical  avarice,  and  though  the  great  falsehood 
of  a  popular  representation  is,  to  a  certain  degree, 
occasionally  modified  by  transferring  the  perverted 
electoral  voice  of  a  rotten  borough  to  a  great 
manufacturing  town,  and  although  the  harshest 
intolerance  is  here  and  there  softened  by  giving 
certain  rights  to  other  sects,  still  it  is  all  a  miser- 
able patching  up  which  cannot  last  long,  and  the 
stupidest  tailor  in  England  can  foresee  that,  sooner 
or  later,  the  old  garment  of  State  will  be  rent 
asunder  into  the  wretchedest  of  raga  | 

•  •  •  •  •  •  - 

"  No  man  putteth  a  piece  of  new  cloth  unto  an 
old  garment ;  for  that  which  is  put  in  to  fill  it  up 
taketh  from  the  garment,  and  the  rent  is  made 
worse.  Neither  do  men  put  new  wine  into  old 
bottles ;  else  the  bottles  break,  and  the  wine  run- 
neth out,  and  the  bottles  perish ;  but  they  put  new 
wine  into  new  bottles,  and  both  are  preserved." 

The  deepest  truth  blooms  only  from  the  deepest 
love,  and  hence  comes  the  harmony  of  the  views 
of  the  elder  Preacher  in  the  Mount,  who  spoke 
against  the  aristocracy  of  Jerusalem;  and  those 
later  preachers  of  the  mountain,  who  from  the 


•»■'•••.  >. 


■-'-  •'     r"  ■-  X. 


'•     '.-.*,,      ' 


»»"    T^ft*! 


ENGLISH  FRAOMBNTS.  4J| 

summit  of  the  Convention  in  Paris  preached  a 
tri-coloured  gospel,  according  to  which  not  merely 
the  form  of  the  State  but  all  social  life  should  be, 
not  patched,  but  formed  anew,  and  be  not  only 
newly  founded,  but  newly  born. 

I  speak  of  the  French  Eevolution,  that  epoch 
of  the  world  in  which  the  doctrines  of  freedom 
and  of  equality  rose  so  triumphantly  from  those 
universal  sources  of  knowledge  which  we  call 
reason,  and  which  must,  as  an  unceasing  revela- 
tion which  repeats  itself  in  every  human  head 
and  founds  a  distinct  branch  of  knowledge,  be  far 
preferable  to  that  transmitted  revelation  which 
makes  itself  known  only  in  a  few  of  the  elect,  and 
which  can  only  be  believed  in  by  the  multitude.  The 
privileged  aristocracy,  the  caste-system,  with  their 
peculiar  rights,  were  never  able  to  combat  this 
last-mentioned  sort  of  revelation  (which  is  itself 
of  an  aristocratic  nature)  so  safely  and  surely  as 
reason,  which  is  democratic  by  nature,  now  does. 
The  history  of  revolution  is  the  military  history 
of  this  strife,  in  which  we  have  all  taken  a  greater 
or  lesser  part;  it  is  the  fight  to  the  death  with 
Egyptianism. 

Though  the  swords  of  the  enemies  grow  duller 
day  by  day,  and  though  we  have  already  conquered 
the  best  positions,  still  we  cannot  raise  the  song 
of  victory  until  the  work  is  perfected.  We  can 
only  during  the  night,   between  battles,  when 


»,^i-,'*'''''\..  ..»V  •_»-■.-  .  .-rr    ■-  -  .  ■-      ..•-■i-**  ?".«:-•"*   ■'-'ir---->v^l__  , -^ 


46o 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


there  are  armistices,  go  forth  with  the  lantern 
on  the  field  of  death  to  bury  the  dead.  Little 
avails  the  short  burial-service !  Calumny,  the  vile 
insolent  spectre,  sits  upon  the  noblest  graves. 

Oh  that  the  battle  were  only  with  those  heredi- 
tary foes  of  truth  who  so  treacherously  poison  the 
good  name  of  their  enemies,  and  who  even  humi- 
liated that  first  Preacher  of  the  Mount,  the  purest 
hero  of  freedom ;  since,  when  they  could  no  longer 
deny  that  he  was  the  greatest  of  men,  they  made 
of  him  the  least  of  gods  1  He  who  fights  with 
priests  may  make  up  his  mind  to  have  his  poor 
good  name  torn  and  befouled  by  the  most  in- 
famous lies  and  the  most  cutting  slanders.  But 
as  these  flags  which  are  most  rent,  or  blackened 
by  powder-smoke  in  the  battle,  are  more  highly 
prized  than  the  whitest  and  soundest  recruiting 
banners,  and  as  they  are  at  last  laid  up  as  national 
relics  in  cathedrals,  so  at  some  future  day  the 
names  of  our  heroes,  the  more  they  are  torn  and 
blackened,  will  be  all  the  more  enthusiastically 
honoured  in  the  holy  Saint  Genevieve  Church  of 
Freedom.  I 

The  Kevolution  itself  has  been  slandered,  like 
its  heroes,  and  represented  as  a  terror  to  princes, 
and  as  a  popular  scarecrow  in  libels  of  every 
description.  All  of  the  so-called  "  horrors  of  the 
Revolution"  have  been  learned  by  heart  by 
children  in  the  schools,  and  at  one  time  nothing 


.  ff  •  —   .  -H  , 


,  —  ..  f. 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS.         .  461 

was  seen  in  the  public  fairs  but  harshly  coloured 
pictures  of  the  guillotine.     It  cannot  be  denied 
that    this    machine,    which    was    invented    by 
Monsieur   Guillotin,  a  French   physician  and  a 
great  world    orthopaedist,   and  with   which  the 
stupidest  heads   are   easily  separated  from  evil 
hearts,    this    most    excellent    and    wholesome 
machine   has   indeed   been   applied   rather  fre- 
quently, but  still  only  in  incurable  diseases;  in 
such  cases,  for  example,  as  treachery,  falsehood, 
and  weakness;  and  the  patients  were  not  for  a 
long  time  tortured,  racked,  and  broken  on  the 
wheel,  as  thousands  upon  thousands  of  vUains, 
citizens,  and  peasants  were  tortured  or  racked,  and 
broken  as  roturiersj  on  the  wheel,  in  the  good  old 
time.     It  is,  of  course,  terrible  that  the  French, 
with  this  machine,  once  even  amputated  the  head 
of  State,  and  no  one  knows  whether  they  ought 
to  be  accused,  on  that  account,  of  parricide  or  of 
suicide;   but,  on  more   moderate   and   thorough 
reflection,  we  find  that  Louis  of  France  was  less 
a  sacrifice  to  passion  than  to  circumstances,  and 
that  those  men  who  forced  the  people  on  to  such 
a  sacrifice,  and  who  have  themselves  in  every  age 
poured  forth  princely  blood  far  more  abundantly, 
should  not  appear  solely  as  accusers.     Only  two 
kings,  both  of  them  rather  kings  of  the  nobility 
than  of  the  people,  were  sacrificed  by  the  people, 
and  that  not  in  a  time  of  peace,  or  to  subserve 


462 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


petty  interests,  but  in  the  extremest  needs  of  war, 
when  they  saw  themselves  betrayed,  and  when 
they  least  spared  their  own  blood.  But  certainly 
more  than  a  thousand  princes  were  treacherously 
slain,  on  account  of  avarice  or  frivolous  interests, 
by  the  dagger,  by  the  sword,  and  by  the  poison  of 
nobility  and  priests.  It  really  seems  as  though 
these  castes  regarded  regicide  as  one  of  their 
privileges,  and  therefore  bewail  the  more  selfishly 
the  death  of  Louis  XVI.  and  of  Charles  L  Oh 
that  kings  at  last  would  perceive  that  they  could 
live  more  safely  as  kings  of  the  people,  and  pro- 
tected by  the  law,  than  under  the  guard  of  their 
noble  body-murderers ! 

•  •  *  •  ■  •  ~ 

But  not  only  have  the  heroes  of  our  Revolution 
and  the  Revolution  itself  been  slandered,  but  even 
our  entire  age  has  been  parodied  with  unheard-of 
wickedness,  and  if  one  hears  or  reads  our  vile 
traducers  and  scomers,  then  he  will  learn  that 
the  people  are  the  canaille — the  vile  mob — that 
liberty  is  license,^  and  with  heaven-bent  eyes 
and  pious  sighs  our  enemies  complain  and  bewail 
that  we  were  frivolous,  and  had,  alas !  no  religion. 
Hypocritical,  dissembling  souls,  who  creep  about 
bent  down  beneath  the  burden  of  their  secret 
vices,  dare  to  vilify  an  age  which  is,  perhaps. 


^  Dms  die  Freiheit  heisst  Frecheit. 


464 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 


these  pages — freedom  is  a  new  religion,  the  reK- 
gion  of  our  age.  If  Christ  be  no  longer  the  God 
of  this  religion,  he  is,  nevertheless,  one  of  its 
high  priests,  and  his  name  shines  consolingly 
into  the  hearts  of  the  younger  believers.  But  the 
French  are  the  chosen  race  of  the  new  religion ; 
the  first  gospels  and  dogmas  were  penned  in  their 
language.  Paris  is  the  New  Jerusalem,  and  the 
Ehine  is  the  Jordan  which  separates  the  land  of 
liberty  from  the  country  of  the  Fhilistines.    1 


CONCLUSION. 

WEirTEN   NOVEHBEB    29,   183O. 

It  was  in  depressed  times  in  Germany — times 
which  were  under  arrest — when  I  wrote  the 
second  volume  of  the  "Pictures  of  Travel,"  and 
had  it  printed  as  I  wrote.  But  before  it  appeared, 
something  relative  to  it  was  whispered  about ;  it 
was  said  that  my  book  would  encourage  and 
awaken  the  cowed-down  spirit  of  freedom,  and 
that  measures  were  being  taken  to  suppress  it. 
When  such  rumours  were  afloat  it  was  advisable 
to  bring  out  the  book  as  quickly  as  possible,  and 
to  drive  it  through  the  press.  As  it  was  neces- 
sary that  it  should  contain  a  certain  number  of 


ENGLISH  FRAGMENTS,         X         ^^ 

leaves,  to  escape  the  requisitions  of  the  eminently 
estimahle  censorship,  I  followed  the  example  of 
Benvenuto  Cellini,  who,  when  he,  in  founding 
his  "  Perseus,"  found  himself  short  of  bronze,  to 
supply  the  deficiency,  and  to  fill  up  the  mould, 
threw  into  the  melted  metal  all  the  tin  plates 
which  he  could  find.  It  was,  beyond  question, 
easy  enough  to  detect  the  difference  between  the 
tin — especially  the  tin  termination  of  the  book — 
and  the  better  bronze,^  but  any  one  who  under- 
stood the  business  would  not  betray  the  secrets  of 
the  workman. 

But  as  everything  in  this  world  is  liable  to 
turn  up  again,  so  it  came  to  pass  that,  in  this 
very  volume,  I  found  myself  again  in  the  same 
scrape,  and  I  have  been  obliged  to  again  throw 
some  tin  into  the  mould — let  me  hope  that  this 
renewed  melting  of  baser  metal  will  simply  be 
attributed  to  the  pressure  of  the  times. 

■'■  Ah !  the  whole  book  sprang  from  the  pressure 
of  the  times,  as  did  the  similar  tendency  of 
earlier  writings.  The  more  intimate  friends  of 
the  writer,  who  are  acquainted  with  his  private 
circumstances,  know  well  how  little  his  own 
vanity  forced  him  to  the  tribune,  and  how  great 
were  the  sacrifices  which  he  was  obliged  to  make 

^  Bronze  is  not  more  valuable  than  tin.  What  Heine  really 
bad  in  bis  mind  bere  was  the  Dusseldorf  statue,  which  was  eked 
out  with  silver. — Trandaior. 

VOL.  n.  2  G      , 


^66  PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL. 

for  eyeiy  independent  word  which  he  has  sp(^eii 
since  then,  and — if  God  will! — which  he  still 
means  to  speak.  Now-a-days  a  word  is  a  deed 
whose  consequences  cannot  be  measured,  and  no 
one  knows  whether  he  may  not  eventually  ap- 
pear as  blood-witness  for  every  word. 

For  years  I  have  waited  in  vain  for  the  words 
of  those  bold  orators  who  once  in  the  meetings 
of  the  German  Burschenschaft  ao  often  claimed 
a  hearing,  who  so  often  overwhelmed  me  with 
their  rhetorical  talent,  and  spoke  a  language 
spoken  so  oft  before;  they  were  then  so; forward 
in  noise — they  are  now  so  backward  in  silence.^ 
How  they  then  reviled  the  French  and  ithe 
Southern  .Babel,  and  the  un-German  frivolous 
betrayers  of  the  Fatherland  who  praised  French- 
dom.  That  pmise  verified  itself  in  the  great 
week!  ,,.  .s.:-:^-:::.  ,-'i ''.:^■■:<^■:^'■^'■ 

Ah,  the  great  week  of  JParis !  The  spirit  of 
freedom,  which  was  wafted  thence  over  Germany, 
upset,  of  course,  here  and  there,  some  night- 
lamps,  80  that. the  red  curtains  of  sundry  thrones 
took  fire,  and  golden  crowns  grew  hot  under 
blazing  night-caps;  but  .the  old  catch-polLs,  in 
whom  the  royal  police  trusted,  are  already  bang- 
ing out  the  rfire-buckets,  and  now  scent  around 
all  the  more  suspiciously  and  forge  all  the  more 

^  Bie  waren  sonst  bo  ▼orlaat,  und  sind,  jetet  ao  nachitill. 


o 


ENGLISH  FRAOMENTS.  V         <(|p 

firml;^  tfaeir'  secret  diains,  and  I  mark  well  that^ 
a  fan:  more  impenetiable  prison  vault  is  being- 
arched  over  the  German  people. 

Poor  imprisoned  people !  be  not  cast  down  in 
your  need.  Oh  that  I  could  speak  cartapultirr 
Oh  that  I  could  shoot  falaricas  from  mj  hesatl 

The  aristocratic  icy  coat  of  reserve  melts  from 
my  heart,  a  strange  sorrow  steals  over  me — ^is  it 
lov»,  and  naught  save  lov9  for  the  Grerman  race? 
Or  is  it  sickness  ? — my  soul  quivers  and  my 
eyes  bom,  and'  that  is  an  unfortunate  occurrence 
fo0  a  writer,  who  should  command  his-  material 
and  remain  nicely  objective,  as  the  schools  of  art 
requirei  and  as  Groethe  himself  did — ^he  grew  to- 
be  e^hty  years  old  in  so  doing,  and  a  minister, 
and  opulent,  at  that — poor  German  race !  that  is* 
thy  greatest  man ! 

I  still-  have  a  few  octavo  pages  to  fill,  and  will' 
du>  so  with  a  stoiy — it  has  been  floating  in  my 
head  since  yesterday — a  story  from  the  life  of 
Gkaoies  the  Fifth.^  But  it  is  now  a  long  time 
aince  I  heard  it,  and.  I  no  longer  remember  its 
detailsF  with  aecuraey.  Such  things  are  easily 
forgotten,  if  one  does  not  receive  a  regular 
salary  for  reading  them  every  half-year  from  bis 
leotuxe  bookft.  But  what  does  it  matter  if  the 
namea  of  places  and  historical  dates  are  fbr>- 

^  This  is  more  correctly  given  in  the  French  version  as  "  frum 
the  life  of  the  Emperor  Maximilian." — German  Editor, 


468 


PICTURES  OF  TRAVEL, 


gotten,  80  long  as  their  inner  significance  or 
their  moral  remains  in  a  man's  memory  ?  This 
it  is  which  really  stirs  in  my  soul  and  moum- 
fally  moves  me  even  to  tears.  I  fear  lest  sick- 
ness should  overpower  me. 

The  poor  Emperor  was  captive  to  his  enemies, 
and  lay  in  stern  imprisonment  I  believe  that 
it  was  in  Tyrol  There  he  sat  in  solitary  sor- 
row, abandoned  by  all  his  knights  and  courtiers, 
and  no  one  came  to  his  aid.  I  know  not  if  he 
already  had  in  those  days  that  pale  complexion, 
like  cheese,  with  which  Holbein  portrays  him. 
But  the  misanthropically  scornful  under-lip  pro- 
truded, beyond  question,  even  more  markedly 
then  than  in  his  pictures.  He  must  have  de- 
spised the  beings  who  fawned  and  wagged  around 
him  in  the  sunshine  of  prosperity,  and  who  left 
him  now  in  dark  and  bitter  need.  Suddenly 
the  prison  door  opened,  and  there  entered  a  man 
wrapped  in  a  cloak,  and  when  it  was  cast  aside 
the  Emperor  recognised  in  the  visitor  his  trusty 
Kunz  von  der  Eosen,  the  court-fooL  This  one 
brought  him  consolation  and  counsel — and  it 
was  the  court-fooL 

O  German  Fatherland  I  dear  German  race  1  I 
am  thy  Eunz  von  der  Rosen.  The  man  whose 
real  office  was  pastime,  and  who  only  made  thee 
merry  in  better  days,  forces  his  way  into  thy 
prison   in   time    of    need ;   here,    beneath   my 


ENGLISH  FRAOMBNTS,  :^^^^  ^  i^ 

mantle,  I  bring  thee  thj  strong  sceptre  and  the 
beautiful  crown;  dost  thou  not  remember  me, 
my  emperor?  If  I  cannot  free  thee,  I  will  at 
least  console  thee,  and  thou  shouldst  have  some 
one  by  thee  who  will  talk  with  thee  about  thy 
all  too  pressing  oppressions,  and  will  wake  up 
thy  courage,  and  who  loves  thee,  and  whose  best 
jokes  and  best  blood  are  ever  at  thy  service. 
For  thou,  my  people,  art  the  true  emperor,  the 
true  lord  of  the  land ;  thy  will  is  sovereign  and 
far  more  legitimate  than  that  purple  Td  est  notre 
plaidr,  who  grounds  his  claim  upon  a  divine 
right,  without  any  better  guarantee  than  the 
quackery  of  shaved  and  shorn  jugglers ;  thy  will, 
my  people,  is  the  only  righteous  source  of  all 
power.  Yea,  even  though  thou  liest  down  there 
is  fetters,  thine  own  good  right  must  prevail  at 
last,  the  day  of  freedom  draws  near,  a  new  time 
begins — my  emperor,  the  night  is  over,  and  the 
red  light  of  morning  gleams  without 

"Kunz  von  der  Eosen,  my  poor  fool,  thou 
errest.  Thou  hast  mistaken  the  shining  axe 
of  the  executioner  for  the  sun,  and  the  morning- 
red  is  nothing  but  blood." 

"No,  no,  my  emperor,  it  is  the  sun,  though 
it  rises  in  the  West — ^since  six  thousand  years,  we 
have  always  seen  it  rise  in  the  East — it  is  high 
time  that  it  for  once  made  a  change  in  its  course." 

"Kunz  von  der  Rosen,  my  fool,  thou  hast 


470 


PICTURES  OP  TRAVEL. 


lose  the  bells  from  thy  red  cap,  and  it  now  has 
Bach  a  strange  look,  that  red  cap ! "  | 

"Ah,  my  emperor,  in  your  distress  I  have 
shaken  my  head  in  such  mad  earnest  that  the 
fool's  bell  fell  from  my  cap ;  but  it  is  none  the 
worse  for  that!" 

"Suns  von  der  Eosen,  my  fool,  what  is  it 
breaking  and  cracking  without  tiiere  ? "  ' 

"  Hush — silence  !  it  is  the  saw  and  the  car- 
penter's" axe,  and  the  doors  of  your  prison  will 
soon  be  broken  in,  and  you  will  be  free,  my 
emperor ! "  I 

"  Am  I  thena  reaily  emperor  ?  Ah,  it  is  only 
the  fool  who  tells  me  so ! " 

"  Oh !  do  not  sigh  so,  my  dear,  dear  lord ;  it  is 
the-  ^r  of  the  dungeon  which  so  dispirits  you ; 
when  yon  shall  have  regained  your  power,  you 
will  once  more  feel  the  bold  imperial  blood  in 
your  v^n£^  and  you  will  be  proud  as  an  emperor, 
and  arrogant,  and  gracious,  and  unjust,  and  smil- 
ing', and  ungrateful,  as  princes  m«."  j 

"Eluna  von  der  Bosen,  my  fool,  when  I  am 
againi  froe  what  wilt  tdiou  be  doing?" 

"  I  will  sew  new  bells  on  my  cap." 

"  And  how  shall  I  reward  thy  fidelity  ? " 

"Ah!  dieac  master-^o  not  suffer  me  to  be 
pujt  to<  death  !■" 


Printed  by  Ballakttnk,  Hanson  &•  Co. 
Edinburgh  &'  London 


VOLUME 


'^'^'■ 


L  I  B  R.AR.Y 

OF  THE 

UNIVLRSITY 

or    ILLINOIS 


834H36 

LL53 

V.7 


THE  PROSE  AND  POETICAL  WORKS 

OF 

HEINRICH  HEINE 


Translated  tvith  Introductions  by 

CHARLES  GODFREY  LELAND 


IN  TWENTY  VOLUMES 


—  ^^       ^W^  ^W^  ^W^  ^W^  ^m^  ^W^   r^^\  ^W^  ^W^   ^B^  ^W^  ^B^  ^U^   ^B^   ^A^   ^w^  ^fl^  ^^B^   ^w^  ^W^  ^O^   ^w^        '^  ^ 

■^^1      dp     flb     ^b     ^P     ^P     ^P     ^b     ^p     ^P     ^b     ^P     ^p     ^p     ^b     SI     ^b     ^b     ^b     ^b     ^b     ^b     ^b      (J^\ 

HEINRICH    HEINE 


This  Edition  of  the  IVorkt  of  Heinricu  Heine  it  limited 
to  One  Thousand  numbered  and  registered  copies  for 
America, 


it 


''\ 


■  -s  or-, 

Th'u  is  Copy  No :1    *  « 


r. 


LOFIS   XVI 

f.OL'JS   truftt^  J'etttViUMtr 


ROIDEFRA 


i\a%      >4fW:  Y8P.K  ■■  CRO^CUP  «  STERi*N«  tOMRMlv 


■INTENTIONAL  SECOND  EXPOSURE 


£^.    kt    .'////••  .'.'///^<-  r.ifx. 


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,-^  Vrt      --v.--*- 


'^1.   -..-;v 


Printed  by 

Baixantynk,  Hamsom  6*  C». 

Edinburgh 


,\  f  ■- .  ^  -    *-  V 


?34  H^4 

LL  6' 3 
v.? 


TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE. 

The  Salon  of  Heine,  as  it  was  first  published, 
consisted  of  papers  on  the  annual  exhibitions  of 
pictures  held  in  Paris  during  several  years,  and 
a  portion  of  the  "Germany."  In  the  last  complete 
German  edition  of  his  works,  this  arrangement 
was  changed,  and  all  his  letters  on  art  and  music 
included  in  one  volume  entitled  Lutetia:  BerichU 
uber  Politik,  Kunst  und  Volksleben  (Reports  rela- 
tive to  Politics,  Art,  and  Popular  Life).  This 
I  have  translated,  restoring  the  title  Salon,  be- 
cause it  is  now  so  generally  known,  that  many 
might  suppose  that  the  series  was  imperfect 
unless  that  name  could  be  found  in  it  And 
as  the  whole  work  is,  though  very  discursive 
or  varied,  based  on  artistic,  literary,  or  aesthetic 
subjects,  it  will,  I  think,  be  generally  admitted 
that  the  ScUon  is  the  most  appropriate  title 
for  it.   ■ 


"Vp.4^  .!••'■•  r_-- 


ti  TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE. 

And  here  I  may  remark,  as  I  have  indeed  done 
in  a  previous  preface,  that  I  know  no  writer  whose 
works  are  to  be  judged  so  little  by  mere  title  or 
subject,  so  far  as  interest  or  merit  is  concerned,  as 
Heine's.  For  as  he  touched  nought  which  he  did 
Jiot  adorn  or  render  fascinating,  it  was  impossible 
for  him  to  write  on  anything  whatever  without 
displaying  the  same  extraordinary  esprit,  wit, 
erudition,  knowledge  of  men  and  life,  grotesque- 
ness,  pathos,  and  originality  which  are  to  be  found 
in  the  "Pictures  of  Travel,"  "Germany,"  the 
"  Florentine  Nights,"  or  "  Shakespeare's  Women 
and  Maidens."  Had  he  given  to  the  world 
papers  on  any  subjects  in  the  "  Cyclopaedia," 
chosen  at  random,  they  would  all  have  been 
equally  amusing,  edifying,  irritating,  charming, 
and  now  and  then  disgusting  to  those  who  cannot 
take  him  as  he  really  was.  A  few  writers  have 
possessed  his  merits,  and  many  his  faults,  but 
certainly  no  human  being  ever  combined  the 
whole  so  strangely,  and  yet  with  a  marvellous 
harmony,  which  becomes  more  evident  as  we  learn 
to  know  the  man. 

In  one  very  important  respect  the  ScUon  is 
by  far  the  ablest  of   Heine's  works.      If,  as  I 


■■-.('  .f«% 


TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE.    .        \     i* 

declared  in  the  preface  to  "Germany,"  he  sometimes 
manifested  in  it  an  inability  to  fiilly  grasp,  or 
fairly  treat,  or  clearly  set  forth,  the  vast  problems 
in  social  science,  literature,  and  especially  philo- 
sophy, which  he  so  daringly  discussed,  despite 
the  marvellous  sagacity  which  he  often  displayed, 
it  can  on  the  other  hand  be  claimed  that  in  the 
Salon  he  shows  himself  absolutely  a  master  in 
criticising  pictures,  music,  and  the  stage.  That 
is  to  say,  that,  in  keeping  with  his  whole  char- 
acter, he  is  often  weak  where  he  should  be  strong, 
and  admirably  or  perfectly  strong  where  weak- 
ness might  have  been  anticipated  or  pardonable. 
It  would  almost  seem  as  if,  as  has  been  said  of 
life,  that  the  only  thing  to  be  expected  in  him 
is  the  unexpected. 

In  the  Salon  of  183 1,  our  author  with  un- 
erring eye  detected,  and  with  marvellous  ability 
discussed  and  praised,  certain  pictures,  every  one 
of  which,  as  time  has  shown,  acquired  a  world- 
wide reputation.  He  carefully  avoided,  in  doing 
this,  all  technical  terms,  so  that  every  reader 
can  clearly  understand  him,  and  he  brings  the 
paintings  themselves  before  us  as  perfectly  as 
words  can  do.     This  is  characteristic  of  all  the 


.,:-  ■*.• 


TlH 


TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE. 


criticisms  in  the  book.  K  I  have  Bometimes 
ventured  in  my  notes  to  dissent  from  certain 
canons  which  he  has  advanced,  and  to  find  fault 
with  minor  details,  it  is  not  to  be  understood 
by  any  means  that  I  do  not  admire  his  work 
as  a  whole. 

The  secret  of  his  great  skill  as  an  art-critic 
may  be  found  in  this,  that  he  was  bom  and 
passed  his  youth  in  Diisseldorf  among  artists,  that 
he  was  taught  to  draw  by  the  great  Cornelius, 
and  to  think  on  art,  and  to  familiarise  himself 
with  its  history,  by  Professor  Priedrich  Thiersch. 
Having  been  myself  a  pupil  of  the  latter,  and 
written  oat  his  course  of  lectures,  I  feel  justified 
in  asserting  that  a  Heine  certainly  could  not 
have  done  the  same  without  acquiring  such  a 
fundamental  and  thorough  knowledge  of  art  in 
its  chief  branches  as  very  few  professional  critics 
have  enjoyed.  If  the  reader  will  simply  carefully 
peruse  the  jEstJietik  of  Thiersch,  and  reflect  on 
what  must  have  been  learned  if  the  pupil  resorted 
daily  to  the  great  galleries  of  Munich  to  verify 
its  lessons,  and  remember  that  with  this  a  great 
number  of  master-works  on  art  were  also  care- 
fully studied,  and  that  after  the  course  of  lectures 


•      r 


^k       —  p- 


,*»«^'. 


TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE.  it 

was  ended  all  the  great  galleries  in  Europe 
were  visited  with  Kugler's  KunstgeschiekU  under 
the  arm,  he  will  admit  that  oar  author  was  not 
without  qualification  to  discuss  pictures.  But 
Thiersch  was  a  great  general  scholar,  as  cele- 
brated for  Greek  learning  as  for  art,  and  above 
all  gifted  as  a  teacher.  Heine  speaks  gratefully 
of  him  in  the  HeisebUder,  and  his  works  indi- 
cate throughout  the  influence  of  the  master  who 
taught  with  immense  and  minute  knowledge  the 
development  and  systematic  correspondences  of 
all  the  arts  in  all  ages. 

He  who  has  received  a  true  coherent  education 
in  art  and  its  history,  when  young,  and  not  picked 
up  his  knowledge  here  and  there  loosely,  has  a  key 
to  archaeology,  history,  belles  lettres  and  all  that 
is  connected  with  them,  which  is,  I  may  say,  as 
yet  little  understood  out  of  Germany.  Heine 
had  enjoyed  such  a  training,  and  it  enabled  him 
in  after  years  to  enter  readily  into  numerous 
fields  of  culture  to  which  the  access  would  have 
otherwise  been  difficult.  He  evidently  had  an 
innate  love  for  and  intelligence  of  music,  due 
probably  to  hereditary  endowment;  for  it  is  cer- 
tain that,  with  the  exception  of  the  Gypsies  of 


X  TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE. 

Eastern  Europe,  no  race  in  the  world  is  so  musical 
as  the  Jews.  In  this  he  indeed  shows  himself, 
if  anything,  more  familiarly  and  easily  at  home 
than  in  discussing  the  "formative"  or  plastic 
arts ;  nor  do  I  believe  that  the  sense  or  sincerity 
of  his  remarks  on  the  subject  have  ever  been 
questioned.  As  regards  the  stage,  he  was  not 
only  himself  an  author  of  plays,  but  had  been  from 
youth  upwards  familiar  with  acting,  and  studied 
Dramaturgie  conscientiously,  as  his  works  indi- 
cate. 1 
I  can  hardly  rise  to  the  height  of  the  stupen- 
dous compliment  paid  by  Balzac  to  Heine  when  he 
declared  the  latter  to  be  the  best  representative 
of  German  literature  in  France  and  of  French 
literature  in  Germany,  and  which  I  believe  to  be 
chiefly  based  on  the  merit  of  the  Salon;  but  I 
believe  this  work  to  be,  as  a  whole,  the  one 
which,  of  its  kind,  combines  more  suggestive 
thought,  amusement,  and  information  than  any 
other  with  which  I  am  acquainted.  I  say 
"  amusing,"  and  so  it  would  be  were  it  for  one 
thing  alone,  which  is  that  the  author,  to  a  shrewd 
observer,  so  frequently  shows  himself  perfectly 
unconscious  of  having  said  a  good  or  wise  thing 


•.•<i">-i  L'^.^ 


TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE.  iji 

— as  is  proved  by  his  not  following  it  up — and 
anon  manifesting  pride  and  delight  at  having  hit 
upon  some  hardly  passable  bit  of  vulgar  rubbish, 
which  he  makes  the  most  of — reminding  one  of  the 
monkey  who  rescued  from  the  fire  many  objects, 
among  others  the  baby,  to  which,  however,  he 
attached  no  special  value.  Thus  he  was  certainly 
quite  unconscious  of  his  absolutely  marvellous 
ability  in  describing  a  person  or  a  picture  ;  eke  he 
would  have  given  us  more  such  masterpieces,  and 
developed  the  art  of  such  word-photography  to  a 
far  greater  degree;  while,  on  the  other  hand, 
his  pitiful  and  disagreeable  abuse  of  Baupach, 
Spontini,  and  other  small  people  not  worth  men- 
tioning, is  elaborated  with  a  care  and  interest 
which  is  as  melancholy  as  it  is  childish. 

I  trust  that  the  reader  will  be  tolerant  as  re- 
gards the  notes  which  I  have  appended.  As  I 
have  known  many  of  the  people,  lived  in  the 
scenes  described  at  the  time,  and  been  deeply 
interested  in  the  subjects  discussed,  I  have  ven- 
tured here  and  there  to  oflfer  my  own  opinions 
freely,  and  even  to  give  reminiscences  and  re- 
marks suggested  by  the  text,  in  a  manner  which 
some  severe  critics  may  possibly  regard  as  being 


xii  TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE. 

rather  too  gossipy,  if  not  in  bad  form.  Of  all 
such  I  can  only  beg  pardon,  and  plead  in  ezcuse 
the  exceedingly  kind  reception  which  was  gene- 
rally given  by  reviewers  to  the  notes  in  the  vol- 
umes which  have  alresidy  appeared.  j 

CHARLES  GODFREY  LELAND.' 


HOMBUBO-  LSS-BaINB, 

October  14,  1892. 


J:  CONTENTS 

-■;  VOLUME  SEVEN 

THE  SALON 

I:                                                                                                                  ■  '    ''              '         '      '  PAGE 

Thb  Exhibition  of  Pictures  of  183  i —    .        .        .  1 

Ary  Scheffkr 4 

:;•                Horace  Vernet 17 

Delacroix 24 

Decamps 32 

X^KSSORK    •••••••••  ^.^ 

SCHNETZ .  .45 

Leopold  Robert 48 

Delaroche 62 

The  Exhibition  of  Pictures  of  1833       •        •        •  95 

Thb  Exhibition  of  Pictures  of  1843       •       •       .118 

J,  THE  FRENCH  STAGE 

y  .  ■      - 

'i  .       Confidential  Letters   addressed   to  M.  August 

';■'  Lewald — 

I'                First  Letter 131 

Second  Letter 146 

Third  Letter 161 


CONTENTS. 


CONFIDENTIAI,     LetTBRS     ADDRESSED     TO    M.    AUGUST 
Lewald — continued. 


Fourth  Letter 
Fifth  Letter 
Sixth  Letter 


PAGE 

187 
198 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


Louis  XVI Frontispiece 

From  an  Engraving  by  Lbbeau. 

Delacroix To  face  page  24 

From  a  Painting  by  himself. 

I 
Victor  Hugo n       »    210 

From  a  Miniature,  1828-1830. 


THE   SALON. 

THE  EXHIBITION  OF  PICTURES  OF  183 1. 

f  '"■*■'     Whittbn  in  Septbmbkr  and  Octobeb  1831. 

The  Exhibition  (Salon)  is  at  length  closed,  its 
pictures  having  been  shown  since  the  beginning 
of  May.  They  were  generally  looked  at  with 
only  fleeting  glances,  for  people's  minds  were 
busy  with  other  things,  and  anxiously  occupied 
with  perplexing  politics.  As  for  me,  who  had  but 
recently  come  for  the  first  time  to  the  capital  of 
France,  and  who  was  bewildered  with  innumer- 
able new  impressions,  I  was  much  less  able  than 
others  to  wander  through  the  halls  of  the  Louvre 
in  a  befitting  tranquil  state  of  mind.  There 
they  stood,  close  one  by  the  other,  three  thou- 
sand beautiful  pictures,  the  poor  children  of  Art, 
to  whom  the  multitude  threw  only  the  alms  of 
an  indifferent  look.  How  they  begged  in  silent 
sorrow  for  a  little  bit  of  sympathy,  or  to  be  shel- 
tered in  some  tiny  corner  of  the  heart !  It  was 
all  in  vain,  for  all  hearts  were  full  of  families  of 

-  A- 


t  THE  SALON. 

their  own  feelings,  and  had  neither  board  nor 
lodging  to  bestow  on  such  strangers.  Aye,  there 
it  was ;  the  Exhibition  was  like  an  orphan  asylum 
— a  crowd  of  infants  gathered  here  and  there, 
left  to  themselves,  and  none  of  them  related  one 
to  the  other  in  any  way.  They  moved  our  souls, 
as  they  are  wont  to  be  moved  on  seeing  child- 
like helplessness  and  youthful  despair  (Zerris- 
senJieit),  I    " 

With  what  a  different  feeling  are  we  seized 
on  entering  a  gallery  of  those  Italian  paintings 
which  are  not  exposed  like  foundlings  to  the  cold 
world,  but  which,  on  the  contrary,  have  drawn 
their  nourishment  from  the  breast  of  one  great 
common  mother,  and  who,  like  members  of  one 
large  family,  live  together  in  peace  and  unity, 
speaking  the  same  language,  though  they  may 
not  utter  the  same  words ! 

The  Catholic  Church,  which  was  once  such  a 
mother  for  this  and  all  other  arts,  is  now  herself 
poor  and  helpless.  Every  painter  now  works 
according  to  his  own  taste  and  on  his  own  ac- 
count. The  caprices  of  the  day,  the  whims  of 
the  wealthy,  or  of  his  own  idle  heart,  suggest 
subjects ;  the  palette  offers  the  most  glowing 
colours,  and  the  canvas  is  patient  to  endure. 
Add  to  this,  that  now  a  badly  understood  Roman- 
ticism flourishes  among  French  painters,  and 
according  to  its  chief  rule,  every  artist  strives  to 


-.v& 


THE  SALON.  J 

ptdnt  as  differently  as  possible  from  all  others,  or, 
as  the  current  phrase  has  it,  to  develop  his  own 
individuality  (seine  Uigenthilmlichkeit  hervortreten 
zu  lassen).  What  pictures  are  thereby  full  oft 
produced  may  be  imagined  easily  enough. 

As  the  French  have  in  any  case  much  sound 
common-sense,  they  have  always  decided  accu- 
rately as  to  failures,  readily  recognised  what  was 
truly  characteristic  (Uigenthumliche),  and  easily 
fished  out  the  true  pearls  from  this  pictured  ocean 
of  many  colours.  The  artists  whose  works  were 
most  discussed  and  most  highly  praised  were  Ary 
Scheffer,  Horace  Vemet,  Delacroix,  Decamps, 
Lessore,  Schnetz,  Delaroche,  and  Robert.*  I  will 
therefore  limit  myself  to  repeating  public  opinion, 
which  differs  little  on  the  whole  from  mine,  and 
also  avoid  as  much  as  possible  criticism  of  tech- 
nical merits  or  defects.  It  would  be  of  little  use 
as  regards  pictures  which  will  not  remain  in 
public  galleries  exposed  to  general  view,  and  of 
still  less  advantage  to  the  German  reader,  who 
has  not  seen  them  at  all.  It  is  only  fleeting 
comments  ( Winke)  or  hints  as  to  the  subject  and 
significance  of  these  pictures  which  can  inte- 
rest the  latter ;  and,  as  a  conscientious  reporter 
(re/erant)  I  begin  with  the  works  of — 


^  The  preceding  sentence  is  omitted  in  the  French  version. 


THE  SALON. 


Art  Scheffsr. 


The  Fanst  and  Marguerite  of  this  painter 
attracted  the  most  attention  during  the  first 
month  of  the  Exhibition,  because  the  best  works 
of  Delaroche  and  Robert  were  not  shown  till 
later.  Moreover,  those  who  have  never  seen 
anything  by  Scheffer  will  be  at  once  struck  by 
his  manner,  which  expresses  itself  particularly 
in  expression  by  colour.  His  enemies  say  of 
him  that  he  paints  only  with  snufiE  and  soft 
soap  (grune  Seife).  I  will  not  say  how  far  they 
do  him  wrong.  His  brown  shadows  are  often 
much  affected,  and  fail  to  produce  the  chiaroscuro 
of  Rembrandt  which  the  artist  aimed  at.  His 
pictures  have  mostly  that  repulsive  (fcUale)  colour 
which  would  disgust  us,  if  we,  wearied  with  a 
night's  watching  and  in  an  ill-temper,  should 
see  our  faces  in  one  of  those  green  mirrors  such 
as  are  found  in  old  inns  where  the  diligence 
stops  of  a  morning.*      But,  when  we  look  long 


^  In  the  original  oar  author  says,  "  such  as  may  often  disgnst 
us  when,"  et  ccetera.  But  as  the  green  mirrors  alluded  to  were 
great  rarities  even  in  his  time,  the  suggestion  that  the  reader 
has  often  used  them  after  a  night's  watching  may  remind  those 
who  have  resid  my  Etrtuam  Roman  Remain*,  of  Peter  Pipemua, 
who,  after  relating  the  extraordinary  story  of  a  man  whoBe 
humpback  was  carried  away  by  the  fairies,  proceeds  to  assure 
ns  in  an  airy  manner  that  the  same  incident  bad  frequently 
occurred  in  bis  neighbourhood. — Trandator. 


THE  SALON.  "V  .;' :V  :.,/■  :..-^.-/,;V$ 

and  more  nearly  into  Scheffer's  pictures,  we  learn 
to  like  his  manner — on  se  rSconcilie  avec  ce 
/aire — we  find  that  his  treatment  of  the  whole 
is  very  poetic,  and  we  perceive  that  the  glow 
of  feeling  breaks  through  these  gloomy  colours, 
glittering  like  sun-rays  through  dark  clouds 
or  misty  vapour.  This  painting,  which  seems 
smeared  or  swept  ill-temperedly,  those  tired-to- 
death  (todmiiden)  colours,  with  uncanny  vague 
outlines,  have  actually  a  good  effect  in  the 
pictures  of  Faust  and  Marguerite.  Both  are 
three-quarter  pictures.^  Faust  is  seated  in  a 
red  mediaBval  settle  (SesseV)  by  a  table  covered 
with  parchment-bound  books,  on  which  rests  his 
arm,  which  supports  his  head.  The  right  arm, 
with  the  palm  of  the  hand  turned  outwards,  rests 
on  his  hip  akimbo.^  The  garment  is  soft-soap- 
greenly-blue.  The  face,  almost  in  profile,  is 
snuff-tawny-pale  {Fahl),  the  features  are  noble 
and  stem.  Despite  its  sickly  and  mistaken 
colour,  hollow  cheeks,  shrivelled  lips,  and  general 
desolation,  this  face  still  bears  traces  of  its  former 
beauty,  and  as  the  eyes  ray  out  a  gentle  melan- 
choly light,  we  are  reminded  of  a  beautiful  ruin 
lit  by  the  moon. 

Yes,  the  man  is  a  beautiful  human  min ;  in  the 


^  iTnM-fNIeie— kit-cat. 

'French  ▼•nion — *'  Toinbe  le  long  de  n  lunohe.* 


^■^M^Mfc    a    tmi^w^tm  Am^m^iII  m     I    I      ■  •* 


€  THE  SALON. 

folds  of  his  weather-worn  eyebrows  brood  myste- 
riously learned  owls,  and  behind  that  forehead 
evil  spirits  lark.  Then  at  midnight  there  are 
thrown  open  the  tombs  of  dead  desires,  pale 
shades  come  trooping  forth,  and  through  the 
empty  chambers  of  the  brain  glides,  but  as  with 
fettered  feet,  the  ghost  of  Margaret.  The  merit 
of  the  painter  is  great  in  this,  that  he  has  only 
painted  the  head  of  a  man,  and  that  the  mere 
sight  of  it  suggests  to  us  the  feelings  and 
thoughts  which  move  in  his  brain  and  heart. 
In  the  background,  almost  invisible  and  quite 
green — repulsively  green — appears  the  head  of 
Mephistopheles,  the  evil  spirit,  the  father  of  lies, 
the  god  of  soft  soap.* 

Margaret  is  a  side-piece  of  equal  value.  She  also 
sits  on  a./auteuU  of  faded  red.  Her  spinning-wheel, 
with  the  distaff  full  of  wool,  rests  by  her  untouched, 
and  she  holds  in  her  hand  an  open  prayer-book,  in 
which  she  does  not  read,  and  in  which  appears  a 
faded  many-coloured  picture  of  the  Virgin  Mary. 
Her  head  hangs  down  in  such  a  manner  that  the 
greater  portion  of  it,  which  is  almost  in  profile,  is 
strangely  shadowed.  It  seems  as  if  the  gloomy 
soul  of  Faust  threw  its  shadow  over  the  face  of 


'  It  may  be  as  well  to  note  here  that  "  soft  soap,"  as  a  slang 
■ynonym  for  flattery  and  cajolery,  has  a  depth  of  expressive- 
ness in  English  which  is  not  attached  to  grilne  Seife  in 
German.     French  version — "  Le  dieu  du  savon  vert." 


THE  SALON.  ;  f 

the  calm  girl.  The  two  pictures  hang  near  one 
another,  and  it  is  very  remarkable  that  all  the 
effect  of  light  falls  on  the  face  of  Faust ;  that  of 
Margaret,  on  the  contrary,  receives  much  less, 
while  the  outline  details  of  her  figure  are  much 
more  illuminated.  The  effect  thus  gained  by  the 
latter  picture  is  indescribably  enchanting.  Gret- 
<ihen's  bodice  is  a  soap-like  green,  a  little  black 
cap  scantily  covers  her  head,  and  her  smooth 
golden  hair  presses  forth  the  more  brilliantly. 
Her  face  is  a  noble  touching  oval,  and  the  fea- 
tures of  a  beauty  which  she  would  fain  hide 
from  modesty.  She  is,  with  her  dear  blue  eyes, 
modesty  herself.  A  tranquil  tear,  a  pearl  of 
silent  pain,  falls  adown  her  cheek.  We  see  in 
her  the  Margaret  of  Wolfgang  Goethe,  but  she 
has  read  all  of  Friedrich  Schiller,  and  she  is  far 
more  sentimental  than  naive,  and  is  much  more 
heavenly  ideal  than  gracefully  light.  Perhaps 
she  is  too  serious  and  true  to  be  graceful,  for 
grace  consists  in  movement.  With  this  she  has 
in  her  that  which  is  so  trustworthy,  so  solid,  so 
real,  like  a  louis-d'or  which  one  has  in  one's 
pocket.  In  one  word  she  is  a  young  German 
girl,  and  looking  deeply  into  the  melancholy 
violets  of  her  eyes,  one  thinks  of  Germany,  the 
perfumed  linden  (lime)  trees,  Holtz's  poems,  the 
stone  statue  of  Roland  before  the  Town  Council 
House,  the  old    conrector,  his   rosy   niece,  the 


wm 


THE  SALON. 


forester's  house  with  the  deer's  antlers,  bad 
tobacco  and  good  fellows,  grandmother's  church- 
yard stories,  faithful  night-watchmen,  friendship, 
first  love,  and  all  such  sweet  fads  and  fancies 
{Schnurrpfeifereien).  Really  Scheffer's  Margaret 
cannot  be  described.  She  has  more  feeling  than 
face.  She  is  a  painted  soul.  When  I  passed  by  her 
I  involuntarily  said  "  Liebes  Kind  I " — dear  child. 
We  find,  unfortunately,  Schefier's  style  in  all 
his  pictures,  and  though  it  may  be  appropriate 
to  his  Faust  and  Margaret,  it  utterly  displeases 
us  in  subjects  which  require  a  cheerful,  vigorous, 
clear,  and  well-coloured  treatment,  as,  for  instance, 
in  a  little  picture  representing  dancing  school- 
children. With  his  misty  sad  colour,  Schefifer 
has  given  us  a  troop  of  small  goblins.^  However 
remarkable  his  talent  for  portraits  may  be,  and 


^  Not  only  was  Scheffer  the  first  to  popularise  in  art  the  use, 
often  to  excess,  of  the  "  soft  soap  "  green  and  ashy-grey  which 
has  of  late  years  attained  its  culmination  in  decorative  art  in 
the  sage,  tea-green,  and  other  tints  which  specially  haunt  the  eyes 
during  nausea  marina  or  sea-sickness,  and  are  almost  peculiar 
to  death  and  decay,  but  he  also  invented  the  art  of  substituting 
other  colours  for  those  which  occur  in  Nature,  so  that  it  is  now 
not  unusual  to  see  landscapes  in  which  all  the  foliage  is  any- 
thing but  green,  the  trunks  anything  but  brown,  and  everything 
in  hues  which  are  sad,  strange,  and  ghastly.  This,  when  allied  to 
talent  or  genius  in  other  respects,  produces  effects  which  are 
certainly  original,  but  which  when  imitated  by  feeble  artisti 
are  simply  silly.  It  ia  not  ereiy  one  who  can  get  to  Oorinth. — 
Trandator.  t . 


THE  SALON.    ■  * 

how  mncli  his  originaKty  of  conception  deserves 
praise,  so  mnch  the  more  repulsive  in  this  respect 
is  his  colour.  And  yet  there  was  in  this  Exhibi- 
tion a  portrait  to  which  his  manner  was  perfectly 
adapted.  It  was  only  with  such  vague,  deceitful, 
deadly  faded  hues,  without  character,  that  the 
man  could  be  painted  whose  fame  consists  in 
this,  that  his  thoughts  can  never  be  read  in  his 
face,  or  rather  that  we  ever  read  in  it  their 
opposite.  I  mean  the  man  to  whom  we  might 
give  a  kick  behind  without  the  disappearance  in 
front  of  the  stereotyped  smile  from  his  counte- 
nance,^ I  mean  the  man  who  swore  fourteen  false 
oaths,  and  whose  talent  for  lying  was  employed 
to  their  advantage  by  all  Governments  in  France 
in  succession,  whenever  a  deadly  act  of  perfidy 
was  wanted,^  so  that  he  reminds  me  of  that 
Locusta,  the  old  compounder  of  poisons,  who 
lived  like  an  infamous  heirloom  in  the  house  of 
Augustus,  and  was  silently  and  safely  trans- 
mitted by,  and  served  one  emperor  after  another, 
and  one  against  the  other,  with  her  diplomatic 
draughts.'  When  I  stand  before  the  portrait  of 
the  evil  and  false  man,  whom  Scheffer  has  painted 
to  the  very  life,  even  depicting  with  hemlock- 


*  I.e.  Talleyrand.     Omitted  in  the  French  Tersion.  ,  : 

*  Omitted  in  the  French  version.  -  - 
'  Here  the  passage  ends  in  the  "  complete  French  version.' 


THE  SALON. 


poison  colonrs  the  fonrteen  false  oaths  in  his 
featores,  then  the  freezing  thought  runs  through 
me,  "  For  whom  will  he  brew  the  next  potion 
in  London  ?  " 

The  Henry  IV.  and  Louis  Philippe  I.,  two 
equestrian  pictures  of  life-size,  in  any  case  de- 
serve special  attention.  The  first,  le  rot  par 
droit  de  conquHe  et  par  droit  de  naissance,  lived 
before  my  time.  I  only  know  that  he  wore 
a  Henri-quatre  beard,  and  therefore  I  cannot 
testify  to  the  likenesa  The  other,  le  roi  des 
barricades,  le  roi  par  la  grdce  du  peuple  sov/veraine, 
is  my  contemporary,  and  I  can  judge  whether 
his  portrait  resembles  him  or  not.  I  saw  the 
latter  ere  I  had  the  pleasure  of  beholding  his 
Majesty  himself,  and  yet  I  recognised  him  at 
once.^  I  saw  him  perhaps  in  a  too  exalted 
condition  of  the  soul,  that  is,  on  the  first  cele- 
bration of  the  anniversary  of  the  Eevolution, 
when  he  rode  through  the  streets  of  Paris  in  the 
midst  of  the  rejoicing  National  Guard  and  the 
decorated  men  of  July,  who  all  roared  the  Mar- 
seillaise and  Farisienne  as  if  mad,  dancing  ever 
and  anon  Za  Carmagnole.     His  Majesty  the  Eang 


^  From  this  point  all  is  omitted  in  the  French  version  to  the 
words,  "otherwise  the  picture  is  fairly  successful."  This  is  as 
good  as  the  anecdote  of  the  gentleman  who,  having  casually  met 
her  Majesty  the  Queen,  assured  her  that  he  remembered  her 
face  perfectly,  but  could  not  recall  her  name. 


THE  SALON.  n 

Bat  high  on  horse,  half  like  a  compelled  triuntr 
phator,  half  like  a  volunteer  captive  who  is  adorn- 
ing a  triumphal  procession  ;  a  dethroned  emperor 
rode  symbolically  or  prophetically  at  his  side ;  his 
two  youthful  sons  also  rode  by  him  like  blooming 
hopes,  and  his  turgid  red  cheeks  glowed  out  from 
the  forest  darkness  of  his  great  whiskers,  and  his 
sweetly  greeting  eyes  glittered  with  joy  and  em- 
barrassment. In  Scheffer's  picture  he  looks  less 
gay  and  festive  {Kurzwdlig),  but  rather  almost 
grieving,  and  as  if  he  were  riding  over  the  Place 
de  Gr^ve,  where  his  father  was  executed,  and  his 
horse  seems  to  stumble.  I  believe  that  in  the 
portrait  the  head  is  not  so  much  run  up  into  a 
point  as  in  the  illustrious  original,  which  ever 
recalled  to  me  an  old  song : — 

"  Es  Bteht  eine  Tann'  im  tiefen  Thai, 
Ist  unten  breit  und  oben  schmaL" 

"  A  fir-tree  deep  in  the  vale  doth  grow,     , 
*Tis  broad  above  and  small  below." 

Otherwise  the  picture  is  fairly  successful,  and 
very  like,  but  I  did  not  detect  this  likeness  till 
I  had  myself  seen  the  King,  which  seems  to  me 
to  be  a  doubtful,  very  doubtful,  consideration  as 
regards  Scheffer's  merits  as  a  portrait  painter. 

Portrait  painters  are  divisible  into  two  classes. 
Some  have  the  marvellous  talent  of  exactly  per- 


1^ 


la  THE  SALON. 

ceiving  and  reprodudng  those  traits  which  may 
give  any  stranger  an  idea  of  the  face  represented, 
BO  that  he  at  once  grasps  the  character  of  the 
unknown  originals,  and  would  immediately  recog- 
nise the  latter  should  he  chance  to  meet  him. 
This  manner  or  merit  we  find  among  the  old 
masters,  especially  in  Holbein,  Titian,  and  Van- 
dyke; and  what  at  once  strikes  us  in  their  portraits 
is  the  directness  which  so  infallibly  guarantees 
them  resemblance  to  their  long-deceased  originals. 
"  One  would  swear  that  this  portrait  is  perfect," 
we  often  say  when  wandering  through  galleries.^ 


^  This  mysterious  and  very  Grerman  theory  of  the  "  indescrib- 
able" art,  which  creates  portraits  which  are  so  like  to  their 
originals  as  to  bear  full  proof  of  perfection  in  themselves,  is  very 
pretty  and  popular,  but  not  really  true.  There  are  very  great 
painters  and  distinguished  authors  into  whose  works  a  ray  of 
the  genial,  of  life-like  vivacity,  or  quaintness  never  penetrates, 
while  there  are  others,  especially  among  the  very  inferior 
draughtsmen  for  comic  papers,  who  introduce  even  into  very 
bad  portraits  or  pictures  such  vividness  that  we  conclude  at 
once  that  we  have  the  true  air  of  the  original,  when  the  expres- 
sion, it  may  be,  is  altogether  foreign.  Every  artist  of  genius 
— and  such  were  Holbein  and  Titian — by  dint  of  experience, 
succeeded  in  giving  a  very  perfect  and  natural  expression  of 
some  kind  to  every  portrait,  but  that  this  naturalness  or  ease 
as  set  forth  by  them  was  (aa  Heine  virtually  declares)  so 
predominantly  eharaeterittie  that  it  could  be  at  once  reo(^- 
nised  not  only  by  all  contemporaries,  but  all  mankind  down 
through  the  ages,  is  incredible.  To  illustrate  this  I  may 
mention  that  there  is  a  distinguished  photographer  who  has 
taken  me  at  least  twelve  times,  every  likeness  having  been  a 
caricature.     Id  twenty  sittiogs  to  different  photographers  in 


:.». 


X^^J>>.    1.   r   ' 


THE  SALON.         :  IJ 

Another  or  second  manner  of  painting  portraits 
prevails,  especially  among  the  English  and  French, 
who  aim  no  higher  than  at  the  ready  recognition 
of  some  one  whom  we  already  know,  and  only 
place  upon  the  canvas  those  traits  which  call 
back  into  our  memories  the  face  and  character  of 
the  well-known  original.  Such  artists  work  for 
the  memory  alone,  and  they  are  specially  dear  to 
well-bred  parents  and  tender  married  couples, 
who  show  us  their  family  pictures  after  dinner, 
and  can  never  sufficiently  assure  us  how  much 
the  portrait  resembled  dear  little  Johnny  before 
he  had  the  whooping-cough,  and  how  astonish- 
ingly like  the  original  is  the  portrait  of  **  my 
dear  husband  " — if  we  only  knew  him  ! — a  delight 
which  is  reserved  for  us  until  Mein  Herr  shall 
have  returned  from  the  Brunswick  fair. 


America,  every  effort  was  a  perfect  success.  The  reason  for  this 
was  that  the  former  "  artist "  is  never  at  an  end  of  telling  me  to 
"  sit  up  a  little  higher — turn  your  eyes  just  a  quarter  of  an  inch 
more  to  the  right — just  smile — a  little — a  little  less,  sir,  if  yon 
please — now  incline  your  arm  just  a  little  more  to  the  right — 
now  then — Now  i "  The  Americans  always  let  me  sit  as  I 
please,  without  a  fork  in  the  back  of  my  neck  to  recall  Roman 
slavery — all  at  ease — the  result  being  invariably  a  tuceets,  if  not 
a  great  picture.  Now  there  are  artists — not  all,  but  many — 
who  can  give  this  air  of  $an»  gine  and  characteristic  ease  even 
to  very  bad  pictures.  This  is  not  saying  at  all  that  the  great 
.  portrait  painters  did  not  catch  the  air  of  "  naturalness  in  repose," 
it  is  only  a  protest  against  the  mystical  and  marvellous  theory 
which  Heine,  who,  like  a  true  German,  could  never  get  enough 


14  THE  SALON. 

Schefier's  Leonore  is,  as  regards  colour,  far 
superior  to  hia  other  works.*  The  story  is 
transferred  to  the  time  of  the  Crusades,  by  which 
the  painter  gained  an  excuse  for  displaying 
brilliant  costumes,  and  a  more  romantic  colour. 
The  army-  returning  homeward  passes  by,  and 
poor  Leonore  does  not  find  in  it  her  beloved. 
There  prevails  in  all  this  picture  a  soft  melan- 
choly— nothing  forebodes  in  it  the  fearful  spectre 
of  the  coming  night.  And  therefore  I  believe 
that  because  the  painter  has  placed  the  scene  in 
the  pious  time  of  the  Crusades,  the  deserted 
Leonore  will  not  blaspheme  Deity,  nor  will  the 
dead  rider  carry  her  away.  The  Leonore  of  Biirger 
lived  in  an  age  of  Protestantism  and  of  critical 
examination,  and  her  lover  left  for  the  War  of 
Seven  Years  to  conquer  Silesia  for  the  good  of 
the  friend  of  Voltaire.  The  Leonore  of  Scheffer 
lived  in  a  Catholic  believing  age,  when  hundreds 
of  thousands,  inspired  by  religious  ideas,  sewed 
every  one  a  red  cross  on  his  coat,  and  wandered 


of  "  Toonders  oopon  roondors,"  naturally  advocated.  What  it 
all  amounts  to  is,  that  our  author  declares  that  the  knack,  chique, 
or  faculty  of  giving  expression  (which  is  really  very  frequent  in 
inferior  artists  who  never  rise),  is  the  one  characteristic  which 
distinguishes  the  true  and  great  artist  from  second-rate  pot- 
boilers, "  English  painters,"  and  the  like. — Trandator. 

^  French  version — "  La  L^nore  eat  un  moroean  fort  distinga^ 
aons  le  rapport  de  la  ooolear,  et  uontre  aveo  quelle  puissance 
d'attrait  et  d«  ohanne  Sobatfer  poovait  pandM  I'll  I0  ▼oolait.'' 


THE  SALON.  15 

as  pilgrini-warriors  to  the  Orient,  to  there  oon- 
qaer  a  grave. 

A  strange  time !  Bat  after  all,  are  not  we 
mortals  all  crusaders,  who,  with  all  our  wearisome 
combating,  at  last  win  for  ourselves  only  a  grave?* 

^  As  there  are  eagles  of  critidsm  who  catch  flies  by  gravely 
blaming  the  author  for  typographical  errors,  for  which  proof- 
readers may  perhaps  be  justly  accountable,  so  Heine  here 
blames  the  artist  for  an  anachronism  which  possibly  originated 
in  the  person  who  ordered  the  picture,  and  who  thought  to 
improve  on  the  poet's  conception.  Thus  I  have  seen  certain 
pictures  representing  the  slaying  of  the  Dragon  of  Wantley  by 
Moore  of  Moore  Hall,  in  which  the  conception  of  the  Percy 
Ballad  was  quite  ignored,  and  all  made  genteelly  romantic  and 
mediaeval,  doubtless  in  agreement  with  some  ancient  legend, 
but  not  in  accordance  with  the  song  which  is  generally  known. 
There  is,  in  fact,  a  very  ancient  mediaeval  popular  ballad  ia 
German  from  which  Bilrger  took  his  poem,  but  people  will 
persist  in  believing  that  Scheffer  should  have  followed  the 
latter.  There  is  something  in  all  this  "genteel  refining  "  and 
improving  which  suggests  a  statue  of  "  Lady  Grodiva  "  by  an 
American  female  artist,  in  which  the  subject  is  not  nude,  but 
entirely  draped.  On  inquiry,  I  was  told  that  it  represented 
Lady  Godiva  before  her  ride. — TrantlcUor. 

'  "Oh,  my  young  friend,  all  taps  is  wauities," and  ''all  is  gas 
and  gaiters  I "  This  finding  one's  way  out  of  a  mudhole  of  a 
sentence  by  a  sudden  flip-flap  of  a  high  moral  metaphor,  not 
peculiarly  appropriate,  but  sounding  grandly,  had  keenly  Im- 
pressed Dickens.  It  is  now  almost  peculiar  to  small  clergymen. 
The  blaspheming  blossom  in  the  next  sentence  is  a  beantifal 
oonoeption,  reminding  one  of  the  wild-flowers  which  the  farmer 
declared  "  were  a  cu8$  to  the  fleld." 

It  is  amusing  to  know  what  was  Heine's  own  honest  and 
original  opinion  of  this  medieval  re-cooking  of  Leonore,  and  it 
appeared  concisely  as  follows  in  the  original  letter : — 

"Scheffer's  Leonore,  who  misses  her  Wilhelm  aaong  the 


i6 


THB  SALON. 


I  read  these  thonghts  on  the  noble  conntenanoe 
of  the  knight  who  casts  from  his  high  horse  snch 
a  pitying  glance  cm  the  poor  Leonore,  who  lets 
her  head  fall  on  her  mother's  shoulder.  She  is 
a  mourning  flower — she  will  fade  but  not  blas- 
pheme. The  Scheffer  picture  is  a  beautiful 
musical  composition;  the  colours  resound  in  it 
as  gaily  sad  as  a  melancholy  song  of  spring. 

The  remaining  pictures  by  Scheffer  are  not 
worth  notice.  However,  they  attracted  much 
admiration,  while  many  better  pictures  by  less 
known  painters  passed  unheeded.  Of  so  much 
avail  is  the  name  of  a  master.  When  a  prince 
wears  a  Bohemian  glass  stone  on  the  finger,  it  is 
believed  to  be  a  diamond,  but  if  a  beggar  bore  a 
diamond  ring,  the  world  would  think  it  was  but 
worthless  glass.     This  reflection  leads  me  to 


Boldiera  of  the  passing  armj,  deserves  the  least  attention.  The 
legend  is  here  misplaced  into  the  time  of  the  Crusades,  and 
its  costume  does  not  correspond  to  the  character  of  the  inci- 
dent. This  picture  has,  however,  been  greatly  admired,  while 
others,"  &a 

But  as  Heine  found  that  the  world  worshipped  the  romantic, 
mediseval  fashionable  more  than  truth,  he  "went  back"  on 
himself  and  re-dressed  his  opinion  I  But  be  was  right  at  first. 
The  picture  au  fond,  as  regards  cone^tion,  it  trash. — Trans- 
lator. 


THE  SALON.  t? 


Horace  Vernet, 

who  has  not  himself  adorned  the  Exhibition 
with  altogether  genuine  gems.  The  most  re- 
markable of  his  exhibited  pictures  was  a  Judith 
about  to  slay  Holofernes.  She — a  blooming, 
slender  girl — has  just  risen  from  his  cx)uch.^  A 
violet  robe,  hastily  wound  about  her  hips,  de- 
scends to  her  feet ;  the  upper  portion  of  the  body 
is  covered  by  a  pale  yellow  under-garment  whose 
sleeve  falls  down  from  the  right  shoulder,  which 
she  tosses  again  up  with  the  left  hand  with  some- 
thing of  the  deliberate  preparation  of  a  butcher, 
and  yet  daintily  enchantingly  withal,  for  in  her 
right  she  holds  the  curved  sword  which  threatens 
the  sleeping  Holofernes.  There  she  stands,  a 
ravishing  creature,  who  has  just  stepped  over  the 
limit  of  virginity,  divinely  pure,  and  yet  stained ' 
before  the  world  like  a  profaned  sacramental  cup. 
Her  head  is  delightfully  attractive  and  sweet 
(anmuthig),  and  uncannily  lovely,  with  black 
locks  like  small  snakes,  which  do  not  flow  down- 
ward, but  rise  and  rear  their  heads,  giving  her  a 
terrible  grswe.  The  face  is  somewhat  shadowed, 
and  a  sweet  ferocity,  a  gloomy  happiness  (diistere 

^  French  version — "  Elle  vient  de  quitter  sa  couche  la  belle 
jeune  fiUe  k  la  taille  ^lanc^,  brillant  de  tout  i'^lat  de  aa 
beautd" 


i8 


THE  SALON. 


Holdsdigkeit),  and  sentiineiital  rage  ripple  through 
the  noble  traits  of  the  murderous  beauty,  i  There 
sparkle  specially  in  her  eyes  a  sweet  cruelty 
and  the  lustful  joy  of  vengeance ;  for  she  has 
her  own  abused  body  to  avenge  on  the  hideous 
heathen.^  He  is  not,  in  fact,  a  very  handsome 
man,  but  he  seems  to  be  at  bottom  hon  enfant 
— a  good  fellow.  He  is  sleeping  so  good-tem- 
peredly  in  the  after-happiness  which  followed 
his  blissful  rapture.  He  snores  perhaps,  or,  as 
Louise  says,  he  "  sleeps  out  loud ; "  his  lips 
twitch  as  if  he  were  still  kissing  and  he  lay 
in  the  lap  of  luxury,  or  rather  as  if  the  luxury 


'  Here  we  have  our  author  at  full  tide  of  "the  inefhble,  ex- 
quisite, and  untranslatable  graces  "  peculiar  to  his  style,  owing 
to  the  peculiarly  attractive  naughtiness  of  the  subject.  I  have 
heard  of  a  lady  who  always  made  it  a  point  at  her  dinners  of 
coupling  clever  and  stupid,  handsome  and  ugly  people — in  short, 
the  most  striking  opposites,  with  a  view  to  effetA.  As  an  experi- 
ment it  was  not  a  success.  In  like  manner,  Heine,  when  he  is 
endeavouring  to  write  aesthetically,  and  ideas  refuse  to  come, 
takes  refuge  in  the  cheap  trick  of  employing  glaring  contrasts — ai 
he  would  say,  colourS'^K)f  adjectives,  that  is,  of  coupling  unlike 
conceptions — the  dernier  rettort  of  "  smart "  writers,  who  would 
fain  be  original.  Of  this  special  flight  it  may  be  said  that  in 
it  the  author  manifests  a  red-hot  freezingness  which  indicates 
with  adamantine  softness  the  sable  blanchness  of  his  soul.— 
Trandator. 

^  "  Car  elle  a  aussi  son  injure  ii  elle,  la  profanation  de  son  bean 
corps. "  When  we  consider  that  the  whole  affair,  "  profanation  " 
and  all,  was  carefully  arranged  by  Judith  herself  beforehand, 
this  "injury"  reminds  us  of  what  is  called  in  French  une 
qiierdU  d'AlUmancL 


THE  SALON.  If 

still  lay  in  his ;  and  so,  drunk  with  rapture,  and 
certairJy  with  wine,  without  passing  through 
torment  or  illness,  Death  sends  him,  by  the  aid 
of  his  most  beautiful  angel,  into  the  white 
night  of  eternal  annihilation.  What  an  enviable 
end!  When  I  die,  ye  gods,  let  me  die  like 
Holofemes !  ^ 

Was  it  irony  in  Horace  Vernet  that  the  rising 
rays  of  the  sun  fall  on  the  man  about  to  die,  as 
if  transfiguring  or  glorifying  him  just  as  the 
lamp  goes  out ! 

There  is  another  work  by  the  same  artist 
which  commends  itself  less  by  intellectual  con- 
ception or  esprit  than  by  bold  drawing  and  colour. 
It  represents  the  present  Pope.  His  head  crowned 
with  a  triple  tiara  of  gold,  clad  in  a  gold-embroi- 
dered white  garment,  and  sitting  on  a  golden 
chair,  "  the  servant  of  the  servants  of  God  "  is 
being  carried  in  a  procession  round  the  Church 
of  St.  Peter.  The  Pope  himself,  though  ruddy  of 
countenance,  looks  feeble  and  almost  faded  in  the 
smoke  of  frankincense  and  the  white  feather-fans 
by  which  he  is  surrounded.  But  the  bearers  of 
the  Papal  chair  are  sturdy  men  of  strong  character, 
in  cttrmine  liveries,  with  black  hair  falling  over 
brown  faces.     Only  three   of  them   appear,  but 

^  The  long  yean  of  slow  pain  during  which  Heine  died,  as  it 
were,  piece  by  piece,  paralytic,  blind,  and  palsied,  seem  like  a 
terrible  sarcasm  on  this  mocking  prayer. — Trandator. 


so  THE  SALON. 

they  are  admirably  painted  ;  the  same  may  be 
said  of  the  Capuchins,  of  whom  only  the  heads, 
or  rather  the  backs  of  their  broadly  tonsured 
bowed  heads,  are  visible  in  the  foreground.  But 
the  vapoury  vanishing  insignificance  of  the  chief 
characters  and  the  marked  predominance  of  the 
accessory  figures  are  a  defect  in  this  picture. 
The  ease  with  which  the  latter  are  sketched, 
as  well  as  their  colour,  remind  me  of  Paul 
Veronese.  But  it  lacks  the  Venetian  magic, 
that  poesy  of  colour  which,  like  the  shimmer- 
ing light  of  the  Lagunes,  does  but  play  on  the 
surface,  and  yet  which  moves  the  soul  in  such 
a  marvellous  manner. 

As  regards  bold  delineation  and  vigorous 
colour,  a  third  picture  by  Horace  Vemet  has 
been  greatly  admired.  It  represents  the  arrest 
of  the  Princes  Cond^,  Conti,  and  Longueville. 
The  scene  is  the  staircase  of  the  Palais  Royal 
at  the  instant  when  the  men  arrested  descend, 
having  given  up  their  swords  by  the  order  of 
Anne  of  Austria.  By  this  series  of  descent 
the  artist  has  been  able  to  give  every  figure  in 
full  by  itself.  Cond^  is  the  first  on  the  lower 
stair ;  he  holds  his  moustache  as  if  in  deep  reflec- 
tion, and  I  know  what  he  is  thinking  about. 
An  officer  descending  from  the  highest  step 
carries  their  swords.  There  are  three  groups, 
very   naturally  placed  and  in  good  relation   to 


THE  SALON.  21 

one  another.  It  is  only  a  man  who  has  attained 
to  a  very  high  grade  in  art  who  has  such  ideas 
as  this  of  the  steps.-^ 

To  the  less-known  pictures  of  Horace  Vemet 
belongs  a  Camille  Desmoulins,  who  stands  on  a 
bench  in  the  garden  of  the  Palais  Royal  and 
addresses  the  people.  With  the  left  hand  he 
plucks  a  green  leaf  from  a  tree,  with  the  right 
he  holds  a  pistol.  Poor  Camille  !  thy  rage  was 
no  higher  than  that  bench,  and  there  thou  didst 
remain  and  look  about  thee.  "  Onward,  ever 
onward ! "  is,  however,  the  magic  word  which 
can  always  sustain  the  men  of  Revolution  ;  but 
should  they  once  pause  and  look  round,  then 
they  are  lost,  like  Eurydice  when  she,  following 
the  lyre-tones  of  her  husband,  looked  back  only 
once  into  the  horrors  of  the  world  below.^  Poor 
Camille !  poor  fellow  !  (Arme  Bursche).  Those 
were  the  jolliest  freshman  years  of  freedom  when 
thou  didst  jump  upon  the  bench  and  smash  the 
windows  of  despotism,  and  madest  street-lamp 
jokes.  The  jokes  became  dismal  in  after  days ; 
the  freshmen  {Fiichse)  of  the  Revolution  became 

^  From  this  passage  all  is  omitted,  with  the  exception  of  foor 
or  five  lines,  to  the  next  article  on  Delacroix,  from  the  (Ewrea 
CompiMes  de  Heinrieh  Heine. 

^  Wie  Eurydice,  alt  tie,  dem  Saitentpid  det  Gemahlt  folgend, 
nur  einmal  zurucktchaute  in  die  Greud  der  UrUerwelt.  According 
to  Lempri^re  and  Offenbach,  it  was  Orpheus  who  looked  back 
to  see  if  Eurydice  was  following,  and  so  lost  her. — Trandator. 


23 


THE  SALON. 


seniors  who  saw  sights  of  terror,^  and  thou  didst 
hear  awful  sounds  around  thee  and  behind ;  from 
the  realm  of  shadows  the  spectral  voices  of  the 
Gironde  did  call  thee,  and  thou  didst  look  about. 
This  picture  was  to  a  certain  degree  interest- 
ing as  regarded  the  costume  of  1789.  In  it  one 
could  still  see  the  powdered  wigs,  the  close  dress 
of  the  women,  which  puffed  out  over  the  hips  ;  the 
gaily  striped  swallow-tail  coats,  the  coachman- 
like overcoats  with  many  capes,  the  two  watch- 
chains  which  hung  parallel  on  either  side,*and  even 
those  Terroristic  waistcoats,  with  wide-spreading 
flaps,  which  have  again  become  the  fashion  among 
Republican  youth  in  Paris  as  gilets  d,  la  Robespierre. 
Robespierre  himself  may  be  seen  in  the  picture, 
remarkable  by  his  smug  toilette  and  spruce  air. 
In  fact,  his  external  appearance  was  always  as 
neat  and  bright  as  a  new  guillotine,  and  his 
heart   within   was  as    unselfish,   as    unassailable 


'  "Die  Filchse  der  Revolution  wurden  bemooste  Haupter, 
deneo  die  Haare  za  Berge  stiegen."  Long-haired  students  whose 
hair  stood  on  end  (for  fright).  A  worn-out  old  university  joke. 
There  is  in  it  here  an  allusion  to  La  Montagne. — Trandalor. 

2  All  of  these  fashions,  which  were  indeed  only  those  of  thirty 
years  before,  were  still  to  be  seen  to  a  certain  degree  in  old- 
fashioned  Philadelphia,  and  especially  in  the  country,  when  I 
was  a  boy,  I  having  been  bom  in  1824.  Very  stylish  men  wore 
two  watches,  because  very  few  "  tickers  "  went  well,  and  there- 
fore one  served  to  correct  the  other.  Top-boots,  powdered  hair 
and  qriruet,  steeple-crowned  hats,  and  coats  of  many  capes  could 
be  occasionally  seen  even  to  1840. 


THE  SALON.  23 

and  consistent  as  its  axe.  This  implacable 
severity  was  not,  however,  a  want  of  feeling,  but 
virtus  like  that  of  Junius  Brutus,  which  our 
heart  condemns  and  our  reason  admires  with 
terror.  Eobespierre  even  had  a  particular  liking 
for  Camille  Desmoulins,  whom  he  had  executed 
when  thiB  fanfaron  de  la  liberty  preached  untimely 
moderation  and  advocated  weaknesses  which 
were  dangerous  to  the  state.^  Perhaps  while 
the  blood  of  Camille  ran  on  the  Gr^ve,  the  tears 
of  Robespierre  flowed  in  a  solkary  chamber. 
This  is  not  a  mere  fancy.  A  friend  told  me  not 
long  ago  that  Bourdon  de  Loise  once  related  to 
him,  that  having  gone  one  day  into  the  study  of 


^  Robespierre  and  the  Terrorists  formed,  according  to  Heine, 
the  advanced  minds  of  the  Revolution ;  and  yet  they  were  in 
reality  the  reactionaries  who  retarded  the  Republic  in  France 
till  1871 ;  which  may  suggest  to  all  the  dynamiters,  mill-  and 
car-burners,  and  murderers  of  the  present  day,  that  in  the  end 
tbey  will  appear  simply  as  a  dead  weight  as  regards  adjusting 
the  relations  of  Labour  and  Capital.  Should  Labour  attain  ail 
its  rights,  it  will  not  be  by  the  aid  of  assassination,  destruction 
of  property,  or  any  other  crime.  This  is  a  point  on  which 
Heine  frequently  touches,  and  invariably  errs.  According  to 
him,  there  were  to  be  necessarily  fearful  cataclysms  of  society, 
endless  massacres,  much  singing  of  the  Marseillaise,  trumpeting 
and  above  all,  much  melodramatic  yelling  and  "action." 

When  Socialism  shall  be  honestly  guided  by  Philanthropy, 
it  will  advance  rapidly ;  but  at  present  its  chief  motive-power 
seems  to  be  envy,  with  a  far  greater  desire  to  bring  down  the 
lofty  than  to  exalt  the  lowly.  In  fact,  all  the  tendencies  of  all 
Socialistic  writers  are  to  very  much  degrade  man  below  hia 


24 


THE  SALON. 


the  Comity  du  Salut  Public,  he  found  Robespierre 
there  all  alone,  buried  in  thought,  sitting  over 
his  Acts  and  weeping  bitterly. 

I  pass  over  the  other  not  less  important  works 
of  Horace  Vemet,  the  versatile  artist  who  paints 
everything,  pictures  of  saints,  battles,  still-life, 
landscapes,  portraits,  all  rapidly,  as  it  were,  like 
pamphlets.     I  now  come  to 

Delacroix, 

who  has  contributed  a  picture  before  which  there 
was  always  a  crowd,  and  which  I  therefore  class 
among  those  which  attracted  the  most  attention. 
The  sacredness  of  the  subject  forbids  a  severe 
criticism  of  the  colouring,  with  which  fault  might 
otherwise  be  found.  But  despite  a  few  artistic 
defects,  there  prevails  in  the  picture  a  great 
thought,  which  strangely  attracts  us.  It  repre- 
sents a  group  of  the  people  during  the  Revolu- 
tion of  July,  from  the  centre  of  which — almost 


present  average  level  as  regards  art,  science,  and  culture.  Heine 
really  admired  useless,  or  worse  than  useless,  notorieties,  who 
made  a  show  in  history,  far  more  than  quiet  and  truly  great 
men.  Hence  his  exaggeration  of  the  greatness  of  the  men  of  the 
Revolution,  who  simply  mismanaged  everything,  so  that  France 
returned  to  military  and  regal  subjection,  while  England  and 
America,  after  their  great  storms,  progressed  in  freedom. — ■ 
2'randator. 


wmm 


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THE  SALON.  25 

like  an  allegorical  figure  —  there  rises  boldly 
(ragt)  a  young  woman  with  a  red  Phrygian  cap 
on  her  head,  a  gun  in  one  hand,  and  in  the 
other  a  tricolour  flag.  She  strides  over  corpses 
calling  men  to  fight — naked  to  the  hips,  a 
beautiful  impetuous  body,  the  face  a  bold  profile, 
an  air  of  insolent  suffering  (frecher  Schmerz) 
in  the  features — altogether  a  strange  blending 
of  Phryne,  poissarde}  and  goddess  of  liberty. 
It  is  not  distinctly  shown  that  the  artist  meant 
to  set  forth  the  latter ;  it  rather  represents  the 
savage  power  of  the  people  which  casts  off  an 
intolerable  burden.  I  must  admit  that  this  figure 
reminds  me  of  those  peripatetic  female  philoso- 
phers, those  quickly-running  couriers  of  love  or 
quickly-loving  ones,  who  swarm  of  evenings  on  the 
Boulevards.^  And  also  that  the  little  chimney- 
sweep Cupid,  who  stands  with  a  pistol  in  either 
hand  by  this  alley- Venus,  is  perhaps  soiled  by 
something  else  as  well  as  soot ;  that  the  can- 
didate for  the  Pantheon  who  lies  dead  on  the 
ground  was  perhaps  selling  contre-marques  yes- 


^  Poissarde,  a  fish-woman  ;  metaphorically,  any  very  insolent 
and  vulgar  woman  of  the  street  type. 

^  One  would  certainly  have  expected  that  on  this  sacred 
subject,  if  ever,  the  French  version  would  have  risen  to  the 
occasion.  It  modestly  confines  itself  to,  "Ces  devergond^ 
peripaticiennes  dont  les  essaims  couvrent  le  soir  les  boulevards. " 
"  Quickly-loafing,  quickly-loving  girls,"  would  be  considered  a 
good  translation  in  America. — Translator, 


26  THE  SALON. 

treen  at  the  door  of  a  theatre,  and  that  the  hero 
who  storms  onward  with  his  gun,  the  galleys 
in  his  features,  has  certainly  the  smell  of  the 
criminal  court  in  his  abominable  garments.  And 
there  we  have  it !  a  great  thought  has  ennobled 
and  sainted  these  poor  common  people,  this 
crapiUe,  and  again  awakened  the  slumbering  dig- 
nity in  their  souls. 

Holy  July  days  of  Paris !  ye  will  eternally 
testify  in  favour  of  the  original  dignity  of  man 
— a  dignity  which  ne'er  can  be  destroyed.  He 
who  beheld  you  grieves  no  more  o'er  ancient 
graves,  but,  full  of  joy,  believes  in  the  resurrection 
of  races.  Holy  days  of  July !  how  beautiftil  was 
the  sun  and  how  great  the  people  of  Paris! 
The  gods  in  heaven,  who  gazed  on  the  great 
battle,  shouted  for  joy;  gladly  would  they  have 
left  their  golden  chairs  and  gone  to  earth  to 
become    citizens    of    Paris. ^     But    envious    and 

^  This  may  recall  the  enthusiastic  assertion  in  an  old  English 
song,  that — 

"  Jove  and  Mars  and  Mercury,  descending  from  their  spheres, 
Might  join  with  admiration  the  British  grenadiers." 
The  Revolution  of  '48  was,  historically  or  otherwise,  fully 
equal  to  that  of  July  1 830,  and  we  who  fought  in  it  deemed 
we  had  done  a  good  three  days'  work,  and  perhaps  did  not  think 
small  beer  of  ourselves  ;  but  that  the  gods  would  have  liked  to 
change  places  with  us  did  not  really  occur  to  me  at  the  time. 
This  outburst  of  Heine's  reminds  me  of  the  American  who  was 
brought  to  trial  (as  we  indeed  might  have  been)  on  a  charge  of 
assault  and  battery.     But  the  counsel  for  the  defendant  made 


THE  SALON.  Tf 

peevish  as  they  are,  they  feared  lest  man  would 
bloom  too  far  and  too  gloriously  above  them ;  so 
they  sought,  by  their  ever-willing  priests,  "to 
blacken  the  brilliant  and  lay  the  lofty  in  the 
dust,"  and  so  organised  that  Claude- Potter  animal 
piece,  the  Belgian  rebellion.  Therefore  it  has  been 
provided  that  the  trees  of  liberty  do  not  grow 
quite  up  to  heaven.^ 

There  is  no  picture  in  the  Salon  in  which 
colour  is  so  sunk  in  as  in  the  July  Kevolution  of 
Delacroix.  But  just  this  absence  of  varnish  and 
sheen,  with  the  powder-smoke  and  dust  which 
covers  the  figures  as  with  a  grey  cobweb,  and 
the  sun-dried  hue  which  seems  to  be  thirsting 
for  a  drop  of  water,   all  gives  to  the  picture  a 


Qp  such  a  righteous  record  for  his  client,  showing  such  an  un- 
impeachable character,  et  cetera,  that  the  accused,  after  listen- 
ing for  a  time  in  utter  amazement,  at  length  burst  into  tears, 
exclaiming  that  he  did  not  know  before  what  a  noble  fellow  he 
was.  By  the  way,  I  learn  with  great  pleasure  from  Heine  that 
participation  in  one  of  these  revolutions  absolyes  a  man  from  all 
sins  committed  here  on  earth  below,  and  opens  for  him  to  a  cer- 
tainty the  gate  of  Paradise.  The  remainder  of  this  high-flown 
passage  is  omitted — rather  sensibly  too — from  the  French  ver- 
sion, which,  with  all  its  faults,  has  sundry  merits. — Trandaior. 
^  When  this  Belgian  rebellion  broke  out,  the  King  manifested 
the  greatest  interest  in  establishing  a  republic,  agreeing  cordially 
with  everybody,  and  only  insisting  on  one  condition,  viz. ,  that 
be  should  receive  the  first  nomination  as  candidate  for  Presi- 
dency. Monarchy  or  republic,  he  was  bound  to  be  the  first  man 
in  it. — Trcmdator, 


28 


THE  SALON. 


truth,  a  reality,  an  originality  in  which  we  find 
the  real  physiognomy  of  the  days  of  July.^ 

Among  the  spectators  were  many  who  had 
been  actors  or  lookers-on  in  the  Revolution,  and 
these  could  not  suflSciently  praise  the  picture. 
"Matin/"  exclaimed  a  grocer,  "these  gamins 
fought  like  giants."  A  young  lady  observed  that 
the  Polytechnic  scholar  was  wanting,  who  is  in- 
variably found  in  all  pictures  of  the  Revolution 
of  July,  of  which  there  were  more  than  forty 
exhibited.  An  Alsatian  corporal  said  in  German 
to  his  comrades,  "  Isn't  painting  now  a  great 
artificiality  ?  (Kunstlichkeit).  How  closely  every- 
thing is  imitated  !  How  naturally  that  dead  man 
lying  there  on  the  ground  is  painted ;  one  would 
swear  he  was  alive  "  (Man  sollte  drauf  schiwren  er 

"  Papa,"  asked  a  little  Carlist  girl,  '*  who  is 
the  dirty  woman  with  the  red  cap  ?  "  "  Well, 
truly,"  replied  the  noble  parent  with  a  sweetly 
subdued  smile,  "  I  do  not  find  her  so  ugly — she 
looks  like  the  most  beautiful  of  the  seven  deadly 
sins."  "  And  she  is  so  dirty !  "  observed  the 
little   one.      "  Well,   it   is    true,   my   dear,"    he 


^  The  rest  of  this  article,  to  the  word  "  Decamps,"  is  wanting 
in  the  French  version. 

^  The  beginning  of  this  episode  was  stmck  out  of  all  editions 
after  the  first,  till  it  was  restored  in  a  note  in  that  of  Hoffmann 
and  Campti,  1876. 


THE  SALON.  29 

answered,  "that  she  has  nothing  in  common 
with  the  purity  of  the  lilies.  She  is  the  goddess 
of  liberty."  "  But,  papa,  she  has  not  on  her  even 
a  chemise."  "  A  true  goddess  of  freedom,  my 
dear,  seldom  has  a  chemise,  and  is  therefore  very 
angry  at  all  people  who  wear  clean  linen." 

Saying  this,  he  drew  his  linen  sleeve-cuflfe  still 
farther  over  his  long  idle  hands,  and  said  to  his 
neighbour,  "Your  Eminency,  should  the  Re- 
publicans succeed  to-day  in  having  some  old 
woman  shot  by  the  National  Guard  at  the  Porte 
Saint-Denis,  then  they  would  bear  the  sacred 
corpse  round  the  Boulevards  ;  the  mob  would  go 
mad,  and  we  should  have  a  new  Eevolution." 

"  Tant  mieux ! "  murmured  his  Eminence,  a 
lean,  closely-buttoned  man,  who  was  evidently 
disguised  in  a  worldly  garb,  as  is  now  done  by 
all  priests  in  Paris  out  of  fear  of  public  revil- 
ing, or  perhaps  from  an  evil  conscience.  "  TarU 
mieux,  Marquis !  provided  that  there  only  be 
plenty  of  horrors,  so  that  the  measure  may  again 
be  filled  to  overflowing!  Then  the  Revolution 
will  devour  its  own  founders,  especially  those 
conceited  bankers,  who,  praise  the  Lord,  have 
ruined  themselves."  "  Yes,  your  Eminence,  they 
wished  to  ruin  us  d  tant  prix,  because  we  would 
not  receive  them  in  our  salons.  That  is  the 
secret  of  the  Revolution  of  July  ;  and  therefore 
money  was  distributed  in  the  suburbs,  and  work- 


30  THE  SALON. 

men  were  dismissed  from  factories,  and  tavern- 
keepers  were  paid  who  gave  away  wine  gratis  to 
the  mob,  and  who  put  gunpowder  into  it  to 
excite  them,^  et  du  reste,  c^tait  le  soleil. 

It  may  be  that  the  Marquis  was  right — it  was 
the  sun.  Sometimes  in  the  month  of  July  the 
sun  has  most  powerfully  inflamed  with  its  rays 
Parisian  hearts  when  freedom  was  threatened, 
and,  drunk  with  sunlight,  the  people  of  Paris 
rose  against  the  crumbling  bastiles  and  ordi- 
nances of  serfdom.  The  sun  and  the  city 
sympathise  wondrously,  and  love  one  another. 
Before  the  sun  of  the  evening  sinks  into  the 
sea,  her  last  fond  lingering  gaze  rests  with 
delight  on  Paris  as  the  bravest  of  all  towns,  and 
she  kisses  with  fleeting  rays  the  tricoloured  flag 
on  its  towers.  Barthelemy,  one  of  the  best  of 
French  poets,  has  wisely  proposed  to  celebrate 
the  festival  of  July  by  a  symbolic  wedding,  and 
as  the  Doge  of  Venice  annually  ascended  the 
golden  Bucentaur  to  ally  all-conquering  Venice 

^  A  widely-spread  error.  Gunpowder  in  wine  or  brandy 
may  sicken  men,  but  it  does  not  stimulate  them,  though  we  are 
assured  in  the  song  of  the  Constitution  and  Ouerriire  that — 

"  When  our  frigate  hove  in  view. 

Said  proud  Dacres  to  his  crew  : 
'  Now  clear  the  decks  for  action,  and  be  handy  oh  I 

To  the  weather-gage,  boys,  get  her  ! ' 
And  to  make  his  men  fight  better, 

Gave  them  to  drink  gunpowder  mixed  with  brandy  oh  ! ' 


THE  SALON.  31 

to  the  Adriatic  Sea,  so  shoulcl  Paris  every  year 
be  married  on  the  Place  de  la  Bastile  to  the 
sun,  to  the  great  flaming  lucky  star  of  her 
freedom.  Casimir  Perier  did  not  relish  this  pro- 
posal ;  he  feared  the  riotous  jollity  (Folterdbend) 
of  such  a  wedding  ;  he  dreaded  the  all  too  great 
heat  of  such  nuptials,  and  he  allowed  Paris  only 
a  morganatic  left-handed  marriage  with  the  sun. 
But  I  forget  that  I  am  only  the  reporter  of 
an  exhibition.  As  such,  I  must  now  mention  a 
painter  who,  while  attracting  general  attention, 
appealed  so  markedly  to  me,  that  his  pictures 
seemed  to  be  like  a  many-coloured  echo  of  the 
voice  of  my  own  heart,  or  far  more  as  if  the 
naturally-allied  tones  ^  of  colour  in  my  heart 
re-echoed  wondrous  strange. 


*  WaMverwandten,  electively  allied.  Goethe's  great  novel 
is  termed  Die  Wahlverwandtschaften,  or  "The  Elective  AfBni- 
tiet."  "  CJoloured  echoes"  and  "elective  voices  of  coloar  on 
the  heart "  seem  to  remind  us  nncomfortably  of  feverish  silly 
dreams,  in  which  a  cat  persists  in  being  a  Bible  in  which  we 
read  all  that  which  we  are  actually  doing,  yet  are  not  quite 
certain  from  time  to  time  that  a  chimney-sweep  MoUah  is  not 
singing  it  from  a  mosque-chimney.  But  this  delirious  con- 
fusion  of  ideas,  which  is  deeply  pitied  when  it  occurs  in  the 
human  brain  in  relation  to  other  subjects,  is,  as  I  have  effec- 
tively remarked,  cultivated  to  excess  in  art  by  the  testhetic 
imitators  of  Heine. — Trandator. 


THE  SALON. 


Decamps 


is  the  name  of  the  painter  who  so  enchanted  me.^ 
Unhappily,  I  have  not  been  able  to  see  one  of 
his  best  works,  the  Dog  Hospital  (VHdpital  des 
Chiens  CrcUeux).  It  had  been  taken  away  before 
I  visited  the  Exhibition.  Several  other  excellent 
works  by  him  escaped  me  because  I  could  not 
find  them  in  the  vast  number*  of  other  pictures 
before  they  were  taken  away. 

I  saw  at  once  that  Decamps  was  a  great 
painter  when  I  first  met  with  a  small  picture  by 
him,  the  colour  and  simplicity  of  which  vividly 
impressed  me.  It  only  represented  a  Turkish 
building,  high  and  white,  with  here  and  there 
small  windows,  out  of  which  peered  a  Turkish 
face,  while  below  was  a  silent  water  in  which 
the  chalk-like  walls,  with  their  rosy  shadows, 
mirrored  themselves  in  a   marvellous  calm.*     I 

^  German  version — "Decamps  heisst  der  Maler,  der  solchen 
Zauber  auf  mich  ausiibte."  French  version — "Decamps  est 
le  nom  do  peintre  qui  par  d'autres  moyens,  a  enchant^  les 
esprits." 

*  "  Aus  der  grossen  Menge,"  which  here  evidently  refers  to 
pictures.  In  the  French  version,  "parce  que  la  foule  m'a  em- 
pdch^  des  les  troover" — "because  the  crowd  (of  people)  pre- 
vented my  finding  them." 

'  Wunderbar  ruhig.  Here  the  simple  French  version  is  a 
little  more  complete  than  the  original,  for  it  has  une  tranquULiti 
endormie.  "Tranquillity  gone  to  sleep"  is  good,  and  truly 
suggestive  of  all  that  is  wunderbar  ruhig.  I 


THE  SALON.  33 

afterwards  learned  that  Decamps  had  been  in 
Turkey,  and  that  it  was  not  only  his  own  origi- 
nal colouring  which  had  so  much  impressed  me, 
but  also  the  truthfulness  with  which  the  accurate 
yet  modest  colouring  is  set  forth  in  his  pictures 
of  the  East.  This  is  strongly  marked  in  his 
"Turkish  Patrol,"  in  which  we  see  the  great 
Hadji-Bey,  head  of  the  police  at  Smyrna,  who  is 
going  the  rounds  surrounded  by  his  myrmidons. 
He  sits  like  a  swollen,  sponge-bellied  old  Turk, 
high  on  his  horse,  in  all  the  majesty  of  his  in- 
solence, with  an  arrogant,  stupid,  and  darkly 
gloomy  face,  which  is  overshadowed  or  shielded 
by  a  high  white  turban.  He  holds  in  his  hands 
the  sceptre  of  absolute  bastinadominion,  and  there 
run  by  and  before  him  on  foot  nine  faithful 
executors  of  his  will — quand  mime — no  matter 
what ;  fast-hurrying  creatures,  with  short,  lean 
legs,  and  almost  animal  faces,  cat-like,  goatish, 
ape-like — ^yes,  one  of  them  is  a  mosaic  of  dog's 
nose,  pig's  eyes,  ass's  ears,  calf's  smile,^  and  hare's 
fright.     They  carry  very  carelessly,  weapons — 

^  There  are  subdued  murmurs  of  double  meaning,  as  of  one 
suffering  with  suppressed  puns,  all  through  this  passage,  but  it 
only  breaks  out  very  perceptibly  in  the  "  calf's  smile,"  evidently 
the  rit  de  veau  joke  of  our  boyhood,  but  which  the  complete 
French  version  gives  with  despicable  timidity  as  rire  de  veau! 
A  translator  need  not  go  out  of  bis  way  into  high  grass  to  hunt 
for  puns,  but  when  they  encounter  him  on  the  high-road  of  the 
tez^  he  should  meet  them  like  a  man. — Tramlator. 


14  THE  SALON. 

pikes,  gnns,  with  the  butt-ends  uppermost,  as 
well  as  the  implements  of  justice,  a  long  spear 
for  impalement,  and  a  bundle  of  bamboo&  As 
the  houses  before  which  the  procession  passes  are 
whitewashed,  while  the  soil  is  yellowish  clay,  the 
whole  makes  an  impression  as  of  ombres  chinoises 
when  we  see  the  dark,  droll  figures  hurrying 
along  the  light  bright  back-  and  fore-ground.^  It 
is  clear  twilight,  and  the  grotesque  dark  forms 
and  the  lean  legs  of  men  and  horses  add  to  the 
oddly  (baroque)  magic  effect.  And  the  fellows 
run,  also,  with  such  droll  caprioles,^  such  unheard- 
of  leaps  ;  even  the  horse  throws  out  his  legs  with 
such  eccentric  rapidity,  that  it  seems  to  be  half- 
creeping  on  its  belly,  half-flying,  and  certain 
critics  here  have  very  much  abused  all  that,  as 
unnatural  and  caricatured. 

For  France  has  also  its  standing  and  never 
moving  army  of  art  critics,  who  carp  at  and  con- 
demn, according  to  old  conventional  rules,  every 


^  This  conclusion  I'g  omitted  in  the  French  version,  which  ia 
not  noted  by  the  German  editor. 

'  According  to  the  complete  French  version,  they  are  even 
throwing  somersaults — ce*  eoquins  se  cvUnUtentl  I  have  seen 
many  a  police  round  in  the  East,  "  but  never  aught  like  this." 
It  would  appear  as  if  the  artist  had  confused  the  performances 
of  the  clowns  or  licensed  jesters  at  marriage  and  circumcision 
processions  with  the  grand  police  patrul.  It  ia  not  to  be 
wondered  at  that  certain  critics  found  fault  with  this  as  "  anti- 
naturel  et  sentaut  la  caricature." — Trandator.  i  - 


THE  SALON.  $$ 

new  work,  its  subtle  and  refined  connoisseurs^ 
who  sniff  round  in  the  ateliers,  smiling  approba- 
tion when  any  one  tickles  their  hobby,^  and  these 
people  have  not  failed  to  pass  judgment  on  the 
picture  of  Decamps.  A  Mr.  Jal,  who  publishes 
a  pamphlet  on  every  Exhibition,  has,  by  way  of 
postscript  to  it,  attempted  to  injure  that  picture 
in  the  Figaro,  and  that  he  thinks  that  he  has 
neatly  ridiculed  the  friends  of  the  work  when  he, 
with  affected  modesty,  declares  that  he  is  "  a  man 
who  only  judges  according  to  reasonable  con- 
ceptions (Versiandesbegrifen),  and  that  his  poor 
reason  could  not  see  in  the  Decamps  picture  that 
great  masterpiece  which  is  beheld  by  those  trans- 
cendentalists  who  do  not  judge  by  intelligence  or 
common-sense  alone." 

The  poor,  wretched  rascal  (Schelm),  with  his 
miserable  intelligence  or  "understanding,"  he 
knows  not  how  accurately  he  condemns  himself. 
Poor  understanding  or  sense  (Verstand)  should 
never  have  the  first  word  when  works  of  art 
are  discussed,  any  more  than  it  was  called  to 
take  any  leading  part  in  their  creation.  The 
idea  of  a  work  of  art  is  bom  of  the  emotions  or 

*  I  think  this  was  possibly  meant  originally  for  feme  Ober- 
Jcenner,  though  the  German  text  gives  it  as  seine. 

'  "Wenn  man  ihre  Marotte  kitzelt."  Marotte  is  a  fool's 
banble  or  bobby,  and  it  is  not  quite  impossible  that  hobhy  is 
derived  from  it,  and  assumed  at  a  later  date  association  with 
the  hobby-horte. 


36 


THE  SALON. 


feeling  (Gemiith),  and  this  demands  of  free,  wild 
fancy  the  aid  of  realisation.^  Fancy  then  throws 
him  all  her  flowers — indeed,  almost  smothers  the 
idea,  and  would  more  probably  kill  it  than  give 
it  Life,  if  understanding  did  not  come  limp- 
ing up  to  put  aside  or  clip  away  the  superabun- 
dant blossoms.  Understanding  or  judgment  only 
keeps  order,  and  is,  so  to  speak,  the  police  in 
the  realm  of  art.  In  life  it  is  generally  a  cold 
calculator  who  adds  up  our  follies ;  unfortunately, 
it  is  often  only  the  bookkeeper  of  the  bankruptcy 
of  a  broken  heart.  i 

The  great  error  always  exists  in  or  consists  ot 


^  Phantcuie,  not  imagination,  as  the  French  version  g^ves 
it — which  is  properly  EivbUdungskraft,  or  the  voluntary  power 
of  imagining — but  the  wilder  creativeness  into  which  the  mind 
drifts  when  dreaming.  Thus,  in  English,  an  imaginative  work 
may  be  eminently  reasonable  and  common-sensible,  but  this 
could  hardly  be  the  case  were  it  farUattic.  Phantasie  is 
fancy  in  its  fullest  sense.  I  have  here  translated  Verstand, 
apparently  inaccurately,  as  "understanding,"  "judgment," 
"intelligence,"  or  "common-sense,"  because  our  author  uses  it 
in  the  same  irregular  manner.  Like  his  followers,  the  asthetet, 
Heine  professes  a  great  contempt  for  Verstand,  or  an  idea  or 
rational  motive  in  art,  in  which  he  is,  of  course,  contradictory 
to  himself,  as  in  all  ideas,  because  in  other  places  he  condemns 
works,  however  well  executed,  because  they  depart  from  it. 
The  great  error  of  the  whole  new  school  is,  that  art,  which  is 
infinite,  shall  only  be  guided  by  caprice,  which  finds  its  parallel 
in  the  idea  that  naturalism  only  means  filth.  There  may  be,  or 
is,  the  purest  and  noblest  ideal  art,  in  which  reason  prevails, 
and  there  may  be,  again,  great  art  seen  staring  mad. 


THE  SALON.  p 

this:  that  the  critic  asks,  "What  should  the 
artist  do  ?  "  (  Was  soil  der  Xi/nstler  T)  It  would 
be  much  more  correct  to  say,  "What  does  the 
artist  desire  ?  "  or  even,  "  What  must  the  artist 
execute  ?  "  The  question,  What  should  the  artist 
do  ?  originated  with  those  art  philosophers  who, 
without  any  poetry  of  their  own,  abstracted 
characteristics  from  different  works  of  art,  and 
from  what  existed  deduced  a  standard  or  rule 
(Norm)  for  all  future  art,  and  so  established 
species,  definitions,  and  rules.  They  did  not 
know  that  all  such  abstractions  can  only  be  of 
use  to  judge  of  imitations,  but  that  every  original 
artist,  and  even  every  new  genius  in  art,  should 
be  judged  according  to  his  own  law  of  art 
{Aestheiik),  which  he  brings  with  him.  Rules 
£tnd  all  such  antiquated  doctrines  are,  for  such 
souls,  much  less  applicable.  "  There  are  no  laws 
or  rules  of  fencing  for  young  giants,"  says 
Menzel,  because  they  break  through  every  parade. 
Every  genius  should  be  studied,  and  only  judged 
according  to  what  he  himself  wills  or  means 
(Was  er  selbst  wilV)}  Here  we  have  only  to 
answer  the  question,  "  Has  he  the  ability  to 
carry  out  his  idea  ?  "     "  Has  he  applied  the  right 


^  This  dogma,  that  there  is  no  law  or  limit  whatever  for 
genins,  which  forms  the  corner-stone  of  the  Heine  esthete 
school,  is  omitted  from  the  French  version. 


38 


THE  SALON, 


means  ?  "  Here  we  stand  on  firm  gronnd.^  We 
measure  or  decide  (modeln)  no  longer,  as  to 
the  work  submitted,  according  to  our  own  sub- 
jective wishes,  but  we  come  to  mutual  intelli- 
gence as  to  the  God-given  means  at  the  command 
of  the  artist  for  realising  his  idea.  In  the 
recitative  arts,  these  means  consist  of  intonation 
or  sound  and  words.  In  the  representative  arts, 
they  are  supplied  by  colour  and  form.  Sounds 
and  words,  colours  and  forms,  that  above  all 
which  appears  to  sense,^  are,  however,  only  symbols 
of  the  idea — symbols  which  rise  in  the  soul  of  the 
artist  when  it  is  moved  by  the  Holy  Ghost  of  the 
world;'  for  his  art- works  are  but  symbols,  by  which 
he  conveys  his  ideas  to  others.  He  who  expresses 
the  most,  and  the  most  significant,  with  the  fewest 
and  simplest  symbols,  he  is  the  greatest  artist. 

But  I  think  it  attains  its  highest  value  when 
the  symbol,  apart  from  its  inner  meaning,  delights 
our  senses  externally,  like  the  flowers  of  a  sdam, 
which,  without  regard  to  their  secret  significa- 
tion, are  blooming  and  lovely,  bound  in  a  bouquet. 
But  is  such  a  concord  always  possible  ?     Is  the 


*  Or  rather,  here  we  quit  it  for  a  shaky  bog  of  mad  oaprioe 
and  mystioism.      "Work   submitted,"  in  the  next  sentence, 
which  might  be  as  well  rendered  "the  matter  in  hand,"  is  in 
the  original /made  Ertcheinung,  or   "foreign  phenomenon,", 
onr  author  here  becoming  transcendental 

'  Da»  ErteJieirunde.     French  version — le  vuiUe  turtovt, 
'  Wdtgeitt.    Here  rather  the  spirit  of  the  universe. 


THE  SALON.  39 

artist  BO  completely  free  in  choosing  and  binding 
his  mysterious  flowers  ?  Or  does  he  only  choose 
and  bind  together  what  he  must  ?  ^  I  affirm  this 
question  of  mystical  unfreedom  or  want  of  will. 
The  artist  is  like  that  somnamMda  princess  who 
plucked  by  night  in  the  gardens  of  Bagdad,  in- 
spired by  the  deep  wisdom  of  love,  the  strangest 
flowers,  and  bound  them  into  a  selam,^  of  whose 
meaning  she  remembered  nothing  when  she 
awoke.  There  she  sat  in  the  morning  in  her 
harem,^  and  looked  at  the  loitquet  de  nuit,  mus- 
ing on  it  as  over  a  forgotten  dream,  and  finally 

^  "On  bien  ne  fsit-il  qu'oMir  dans  cette  operation  k  une 
puissance  oocuUeJ  Je  r^ponds  affinnativement  k  une  pareille 
qnestion  de  dependance  mystique."  It  will  be  seen  anon  that 
Heine,  to  bolster  up  his  theory  of  absolute  freedom  for  the 
"  illuminated,"  or  geniuses,  from  all  moral  law  or  responsibility, 
is  obliged,  like  all  his  predecessors,  to  fall  back  on  super- 
naturalism,  mysticism,  and  "  occult  nonsense."  Wherein  he 
and  all  the  "heretics"  before  him  were  like  children,  who 
violently  disobey  their  mother  in  her  absence,  and  then  run 
to  her  for  protection  when  startled  at  the  consequences  of  their 
own  folly.  He  who  departs  from  material  logic  has  no  refuge 
save  in  mysticism. — Tramlator. 

'  Salaam,  greeting,  peace,  as  in  Salaam  aUik&m. 

'  Her  Jiarem.  So  in  the  originaL  Heine  appears  to  have 
been  under  an  impression  that  a  harem  was  a  bedroom.  I  have 
heard  of  an  untnvelled  American  who  had  come  strangely  to 
the  idea  that  it  meant  a  hencoop,  which  is,  all  things  considered, 
-•  better  guess  than  the  one  by  our  author.  It  is  strange  that 
a  writer,  while  laying  down  the  eternal  laws  of  im-morality  and 
free  art,  should,  in  the  very  midst  thereof,  manifest  ignorance 
M  to  the  nature  oi  nicb  an  Oriental  institation.— ?V«n«2ator. 


40 


THE  SALON. 


sent  it  to  the  beloved  Caliph.  The  fat  eunuch 
who  brought  it  greatly  enjoyed  the  beautiful 
flowers  without  suspecting  their  meaning.  But 
Harun  al  Easchid,  the  commander  of  the  faithful, 
the  follower  of  the  Prophet,  the  possessor  of  the 
ring  of  Solomon,  he  recognised  the  deep  meaning 
of  the  beautiful  bouquet ;  his  heart  bounded  with 
delight,  he  kissed  every  blossom,  and  laughed 
till  tears  ran  down  his  long  beard. 

I  am  neither  a  follower  of  the  Prophet  nor 
possessor  of  the  ring  of  Solomon  nor  of  a  long 
beard,  yet  I  dare  assert  that  I  have  understood 
the  beautiful  selam  which  Decamps  brought  us 
from  the  East  far  better  than  all  the  eunuchs 
with  their  Kislar-Aga,  the  great  first  connoisseur, 
the  pandering  messenger  in  the  harem  of  Art. 
The  twaddling  of  such  castrated  connoisseurship 
is  intolerable  to  me,  especially  the  traditionary 
forms  of  speech,  and  the  well-meant  advice  to 
young  artists,  and  even  the  pitiable  referring 
them  to  Nature,  and  always  to  dear,  sweet  Nature. 

In  art  I  am  a  supernaturalist.^  I  believe  that 
the  artist  cannot  find  all  his  types  in  Nature,  but 


/:-:V 


^  Here  we  have  it  at  last,  as  might  be  expected.  And  it  ia 
difficult  to  iindentand  how,  when  a  writer  has  shown  himself  a 
thousand  times  in  his  works  an  atheist  or  generally  flippant 
Voltairean  or  Nothingarian,  he  can  with  any  sense  or  con- 
sistency claim  to  be  a  supematuralist  ur  spiritualist  in  art. 
Were  this  all  a  gigantic  joke  we  could  laugh  at  it.     But  it  has 


A 


N 


THE  SALON.  4! 

that  the  most  significant  types  are  simultaneonsly 
revealed  in  his  soul  as  the  inborn  symbolism  of 
inborn  ideas.  A  recent  professor  of  aesthetics, 
who  wrote  Italienische  Forschungen  (Italian  In- 
vestigations), has  endeavoured  to  make  the  old 
principle  of  imitating  (or  conforming  to)  Nature 
again  palatable  by  declaring  that  the  creating 
artist  should  find  all  his  types  in  Nature.  This 
aestheticist,  while  thus  setting  forth  such  a  fun- 
damental principle  for  the  formative  arts,i  never 
thought  of  one  of  the  earliest  of  them,  or 
architecture,  whose  types  men  are  now  foolishly 
pretending,  to  support  this  doctrine,  to  find  in 

been  adopted  with  serious  and  even  enthusiastic  admiration  by 
thousands,  especially  in  England,  and  it  may  be  said  to  be 
actually  regarded  as  gospel  by  all  those  who  accept  Rhapsody 
as  a  rule  in  art  instead  of  studying  it  in  its  periods  of  historical 
development.  The  man  never  yet  lived  whose  sole  feelings, 
fancies,  and  expressions  sufficed,  independent  of  all  authority 
and  precedent,  to  properly  teach  the  truth  ;  and  yet  in  England, 
the  home  of  evolution,  we  have  seen  and  still  see  the  silliest 
Rhapsody  prevail  as  the  governing  principle  among  the  vast 
majority  of  amateur  students  of  art  The  professor  of  esthetics 
at  whom  Heine  ungratefully  sneers  in  the  next  sentence  was  his 
(and  my  own)  old  teacher  Friedrich  Thiersch,  who  taught  a 
thoroughly  sound  and  grand  eclectic  system,  based  on  common- 
sense,  and  agreeing  on  the  whole  with  that  of  Taine.  I  ear- 
nestly commend  the  perusal  of  his  AestJietik  to  all  who  do  not 
make  it  a  principle  to  never  read  a  German  work  of  art. — 
Tramlator. 

1  BUdenden  KUtuU.  I  think  it  was  Hazlitt  who  first  used 
the  word  "  formative  "  in  English  as  applied  to  art.  French 
veraion — VartitU  pla$tiqtie  and  let  art  plattiquet. 


42  THE  SALON. 

forest  foliage  and  rocky  grottoes,  but  which  moat 
certainly  were  not  thence  derived.  They  did  not 
exist  in  external  Nature,  but  in  the  human  souL^ 
The  artist  may  answer  the  critic  who  misses 
Nature  in  the  picture  by  Decamps,  and  who 
blames  the  manner  in  which  the  horse  of  Hadji 
Bey  throws  out  his  feet  and  how  his  people  run 
as  unnatural,  that  he  painted  it  quite  accurately 
according  to  fairy-tale  fancy  and  to  the  inner 
intuition  of  a  vision.  Indeed,  when  dark  figures 
are  painted  on  a  light  ground,  they  acquire 
thereby  a  visionary  appearance ;  they  seem  to  be 
loosened  from  the  ground,  and  therefore  require  to 
be  treated  in  a  less  material,  more  aerial,  and 
fabulous  manner.*  The  mixture  of  animal  with 
human  nature  in  the  figures  in  this  picture  is, 
moreover,  a  motive  for  extraordinary  design,  for  in 
such  mixture  there  exists  that  antique  humour 
which  the  Greeks  and  Romans  developed  in  in- 
numerable chimeras  such  as  we  see  with  delight  on 
the  walls  of  Herculaneum  and  statues  of  satyrs 

^  And  whence  did  the  human  aoul  derive  them  if  not  from 
Nature  T  Did  it  evolve  them,  aa  the  artist  did  the  camel,  from 
the  depths  of  its  moral  conscioosnesa  t  To  declare  that  the  old 
Teutonic  passionate  worship  of  foliage  and  trees  did  not  pass 
into  Gothic  tracery,  or  that  Egyptian  columns  are  not  imitar 
tions  of  lotus  reeds,  is  to  deny  the  plainest  and  simplest  of  facts. 

'  That  is  to  say,  because  the  houses  are  whitewashed  the  police 
guard  are  to  be  represented  as  throwing  somersaults,  or  otherwise 
acting  like  lunatics  and  looking  like  animals  I — I'rcmdator. 


THE  SALON.  ♦! 

and  centaurs.  As  for  the  reproach  of  caricature 
the  artist  is  perfectly  protected  by  the  general 
agreement  of  his  work,  that  delicious  music  of 
colour  which  sounds  comically  yet  harmoniously, 
the  magic  of  his  hues.  Caricature  painters  are 
seldom  good  colourists  on  account  of  that  incon- 
gruity of  mind  (GemutTiszerrissenheit)  which  is  a 
condition  of  their  liking  for  such  a  style.  The 
mastery  of  colour  springs  quite  characteristically 
from  the  painter's  soul,  and  depends  on  the  sim- 
plicity or  singleness  of  his  feelings  {Einfachheif)} 
In  Hogarth's  original  pictures  in  the  National 
Gallery,  there  are  coloured  blurs  (Kleckse),  which 
seemed  to  quarrel  fiercely  among  themselves, 
forming  an  imeute  of  harsh  colours. 

I  forgot  to  mention  that  in  this  picture  by 
Decamps  there  are  a  few  young  Greek  girls 
unveiled  sitting  at  the  window,  who  see  the 
eccentric  cort^e  pass  hy.  Their  quietness  and 
beauty  form  a  very  charming  contrast  to  it. 
They  do  not  smile ;  this  impertinence  on  horse- 
back and  the  dog-like  train  of  followers  running 
with  him  3  is  to  them  a  common  sight,  and  by 
this  we  feel  ourselves  more  vividly  transferred 
to  the  native  land  of  barbarism. 


^  Not  EinJieit.  The  French  Tenion  gives  this  ai  "  I'unit^  de 
see  sentiments." 

'  French  version — "Et  I'obeissance  canine  qiii  se  ealbnte 
tout  anprte.'     The  next  passage  is  omitted  in  the  FrendL 


44  THE  SALON. 

Only  an  artist  who  is  at  the  same  time  a 
citizen  of  a  free  city  conld  paint  this  picture  in 
such  genial  mood.  Any  other  than  a  French- 
man would  have  given  the  colours  more  strongly 
and  bitterly ;  he  would  have  mixed  in  more  Berlin- 
blue,  or  at  least  green-gall,  and  so  the  fundamental 
tone  of  persiflage  would  have  been  lost.^ 

Not  to  dwell  too  long  on  this  picture,  I  pass 
quickly  to  another,  on  which  the  name  | 


Lessoee  ^  I 

was  inscribed,  and  which  attracted  general  atten- 
tion by  its  admirable  truthfulness  and  its  luxury 
of  simplicity  and  modesty.  Many  stopped, 
startled,  in  passing  it.  It  is  called  "  The  Sick 
Brother  "  in  the  catalogue.  In  a  poor  garret,  on 
a  wretched  bed,  lies  an  invalid  boy,  who  gazes 
with  imploring  eyes  at  a  rude  wooden  crucifix 
fastened  on  the  bare  wall.  At  his  feet  sits 
another  boy  with  downcast  look,  mournful  and 
sorrowing.  His  short  jacket  and  breeches  are 
indeed  clean,  but  much  patched  and  of  coarse 
cloth.  The  yellow  woollen  blanket  on  the  bed, 
and  still  more  the  furniture,  or  rather  the  want 
of  it,  indicate  great  poverty.  The  subject  is 
admirably  in  keeping  with  the  treatment  or 
execution,  which  chiefly   suggests  that    of   the 

*  Thia  paragraph  ia  omitted  in  the  French  version.  | 


THE  SALON.  45 

beggai^boys  of  Murillo.  There  are  sharply  de- 
fined shadows,  strong,  firm,  and  earnest  sweeps 
of  the  brush  or  touches ;  the  colours,  not  hastily 
wiped  on,  but  applied  calmly  and  boldly,  are 
singularly  deadened  (jgeddrrvpft),  and  yet  not 
dull,  while  the  character  of  the  whole  is  that 
which  Shakespeare  characterises  as  the  modesty  of 
Nature.  Surrounded  by  brilliant  pictures  with 
magnificently  glittering  frames,  this  one  was 
the  more  striking  because  its  frame  was  old  and 
the  gilding  tarnished,  quite  in  accordance  with 
the  subject  and  its  treatment.  Therefore,  being 
consistent  in  all  its  details,  and  forming  a 
contrast  to  all  round  it,  this  picture  made  a  deeply 
melancholy  impression  on  all  who  saw  it,  filling 
the  soul  with  that  nameless  pity  which  sometimes 
seizes  us  when,  leaving  in  good-humour  some 
well-lit  hall  and  cheerful  company,  we  suddenly 
encounter  in  the  street  some  wretched,  ragged, 
fellow-creature,  who  wails  with  hunger  and  cold. 
This  picture  says  much  with  a  few  touches,  and 
awakens  much  more  in  our  soul. 

SCHNETZ 

is  a  well-known  name.  Yet  I  mention  it  with 
less  pleasure  than  that  of  the  preceding,  who  as 
yet  has  been  little  known  in  the  world  of  art. 
It  may  be  that  the  amateurs  who  had  seen  far 


46  THE  SALON. 

better  works  by  him  (than  those  here  exhibited) 
assigned  him  a  high  rank,  and  I  therefore  giye 
him  in  consequence  a  reserved  seat  He  paints 
well,  but  is  not,  in  my  opinion,  a  good  painter.^ 
His  great  picture  in  the  Salon  of  this  year, 
representing  Italian  peasants  imploring  a  miracu- 
lous cure  of  the  Madonna,  has  certain  admirably 
executed  details ;  as,  for  instance,  that  of  a  boy 
afflicted  with  tetanus  (em  starrkramjpfbeTiaJieter 
Knahe)  is  admirably  drawn,  and  great  mastery 
of  art  reveals  itself  in  technicalities  everywhere ; 
but  the  whole  is  rather  edited  than  painted,  the 
figures  are  placed  en  scdne  with  a  declamatory 
air,  and  there  is  a  want  of  intuition,  originality, 
and  unity.  Schnetz  has  to  make  too  many  strokes 
and  touches  to  express  his  idea,  and  then  that 
which  he  sets  forth   is    partly  superfluous.     A 


^  Here  we  have  in  another  form  the  cheap  and  easy  para- 
dox, the  "sable  whiteness"  which  Heine  and  his  admirers  have 
carried  to  such  excess.  Sometimes  there  is  a  colour  of  truth  in 
such  coupling  of  contradictions,  but  often,  as  in  the  present 
instance,  they  are  affected  and  silly.  The  error  here  consists 
in  the  writer's  jauntily  confusing  the  conception  of  the  artist  or 
composer  with  that  of  the  mere  painter.  Heine  here  appears  to 
be  naively  unconscious  that  his  objection  to  Schnetz  for  wanting 
congruity  or  harmonious  truth  of  details  is  even  more  applicable 
to  the  picture  by  Decamps.  As  clever  newspaper  gossip,  such 
flippancy  may  be  tolerated,  but  the  Salon  has,  in  book  form,  been 
widely  read,  and  had  a  great  influence  not  only  on  many  thou- 
sands of  dabblers  in  criticism  and  art,  but  also  on  their  masten 
•ad  teachers. — Trandator.  I 


THE  SALON.  ]-  47 

great  artist  may  now  and  then,  eren  like  a 
mediocre  brother,  give  us  something  bad,  bnt 
never  anything  too  much.^  Great  tension  of 
e£fort,  a  vehement  desire  may  be  worthy  of  respect 
in  an  artist  of  middling  ability  {miUelmassigen)^ 
but  it  is  depressing  when  we  perceive  it  in  his 
work.  It  is  the  confidence  with  which  he  soars 
which  pleases  us  so  much  in  the  high-flying 
genius ;  we  are  the  more  delighted  with  his  flight 
the  more  we  realise  the  mighty  power  of  his 
wing,  and  then  our  soul  darts  upward  and 
onward  with  him  into  the  purest  sunlit  heights 
of  art.  Very  difierent  indeed  are  our  feelings 
as  to  those  theatrical  genii  or  geniuses  on  whom 
we  can  see  the  wires  by  which  they  are  drawn  up, 
so  that  we,  apprehending  their  fall,  regard  their 
lofty  elevation  only  with  trembling  discomfort. 
I  will  not  say  that  the  wires  on  which  Schnetz 
soars  are  too  thin,  or  whether  his  genius  is  too 
heavy.  I  can  only  say  that,  instead  of  elevating 
my  soul,  he  depressed  it. 

Schnetz  has,  as  regards  studies  and  choice  of 
subjects,  much  in  common  with  a  painter  who  is 
in  consequence  often  classed  or  mentioned  with 
him,  but  who,  in  the   Exhibition  of  this  year, 

1  Thus,  in  writing,  a  great  artist  may  commit  all  sins  save 
those  of  uselessly  repeating  ideas  or  verbal  superfluity  or  being 
inconsistent,  in  all  of  which  Heinrich  Heine  wa«  the  chief  of 
sinners. — Trarulator. 


49  THE  SALON. 

Burpskssed  with  few  exceptions  not  only  him,  but 
all  his  art  contemporaries,  and  who,  as  a  testi- 
monial of  public  recognition  of  his  merit,  re- 
ceived in  the  award  of  prizes  the  degree  of  an 
oflScer  of  the  legion  cChonneur, 

Leopold  Robbrt  j 

is  his  name.  "  Is  he  an  historical  or  genre 
painter  ? "  I  seem  to  hear  from  the  masters  of 
the  guilds  of  Germany.^ 

Unfortunately,  I  cannot  evade  this  question.  I 
must  once  for  all  come  to  some  understanding  as 
regards  this  unintelligible  expression,  in  order  to 
avoid  great  misunderstandings.  This  distinction 
between  history  and  genre  is  so  bewildering,  that 
one  might  well  believe  it  was  invented  by  the 
artists  who  worked  at  the  Tower  of  Babel.  Yet 
it  is  really  of  much  later  date.  In  the  earlier 
stages  of  (modem)  art  there  was  only  historical 
painting,  that  is  to  say,  scenes  from  sacred  his- 
tory. After  this,  men  distinctly  designated  as 
historical  paintings  those  whose  subjects  were 
drawn  not  only  from  the  Bible  and  [religious] 
legends,  but  also  from  profane  or  modem  history 
and  ethnic  fables   of  the  gods.     And  this  was 


^  Zunftmeister.     French  version — "Syndics-jar^  de corpora- 
tions allemandes."  i 


THE  SALON.  I  # 

done  in  opposition  to  representations  of  ordinary 
life,  which  came  most  commonly  from  the  Nether- 
lands, where  the  Protestant  spirit  turned  away 
from  both  Catholic  and  mythol(^c  material, 
there  being,  perhaps,  neither  models  nor  inclina- 
tion for  the  latter,  and  where  there  were,  not- 
withstanding, many  admirable  painters  wishing 
for  employment,  and  so  many  friends  of  art  who 
gladly  purchased  pictures.  The  different  deve- 
lopments of  familiar  life  therefore  became  known 
as  genres. 

Many  painters  have  very  ably  depicted  the 
humour  of  petty  domestic  life,  but,  unfortunately, 
mere  technical  excellence  became  the  main  thing 
in  it  all.  Yet  all  these  works  have  for  us  historic 
interest ;  for  when  we  look  at  the  beautiful  paint- 
ings of  Mieris,  Netscher,  Jan  Steen,  Van  Dow, 
or  Van  der  Werff,  their  spirit  of  the  time  reveals 
itself  marvellously ;  we  seem  to  see  as  through 
a  window  into  the  sixteenth  century,  and  spy 
unseen  the  deeds  and  dresses  of  the  olden  time. 
As  regards  the  latter,  Dutch  artists  were  not 
badly  off;  the  peasants'  garb  was  fairly  pictur- 
esque; that  of  the  bourgeoisie  was,  as  regards 
the  men,  a  delightful  blending  of  Netherland 
comfort  and  Spanish  grandeza,  while  with  the 
ladies  there  was  a  mixture  of  gay  and  bizarre 
fancies  from  all  the  world  and  native  calm  repose. 
Thus  Mynheer  with  the  Burgundian  velvet  cloak 

-    ■,-  D- 


so 


THE  SALON. 


and  the  chivalric  barett  or  cap  had  in  his  month 
a  clay  pipe ;  while  Myfrow  wore  heavy  shot-silk 
training  robes  of  Venetian  satin,  Brussels  lace, 
African  ostrich  feathers,  Russian  furs,  Oriental 
slippers,  and  held  on  her  arm  an  Andalusian 
mandoline^  or  a  shaggy  brown  Hondcken  or  lap- 
dog  of  Saardam  race.  With  all  this  the  little  negro 
page  in  attendance,  the  Turkish  carpet,  the  gaily 
coloured  parrot,  the  foreign  flowers,  and  great 
vases  of  gold  and  silver  in  repoussi^  cast  over  the 
cheese-life  of  Holland  the  gleam  of  an  Oriental 
fairy  tale. 

When  art,  after  a  long  sleep,  again  awoke  in 
this  our  age,  painters  were  in  no  small  perplexity 
as  regards  material.  The  sympathy  for  subjects 
drawn  from  sacred  history  and  mythology  was 
completely  dead  in  the  greater  portion  of  Europe, 
even  in  the  Catholic  countries ;  and  yet  our  con- 
temporary costume  seemed  to  be  too  unpicturesque 
even  to  depict  history  or  common  life  itself.  Our 
modem  frock  or  dress-coat  is  really  so  very  pro- 
saic to  its  very  depths,  that  one  can  only  use  it 
as  a  caricature  in  a  picture.^     It  is  not  long  since 


^  Query  :  guitar  ?     The  mandoline  was  specially  Italian. 

'  This  is  a  curious  illustration  of  a  common  object  without  a 
really  proper  name  ;  for  frac  confuses  it  with  frock-coat.  Dress- 
coat  is  absurd  and  inaccurate  ;  for  which  reason  the  humble 
slangiat,  whose  vocation  in  life  is  to  supply  the  building-stones 
omitted  by  lexicographers  (and  whose  reward  is  contempt),  has 


THE  SALON.       :  $1 

I  contended  with  a  philosopher  from  Berlin,  a 
city  in  Prussia,  who  would  fain  explain  to  me 
the  mystic  meaning  of  the  dress-coat  and  the 
natural-historic  poetry  of  its  form.  So  he  re- 
lated the  following  myth : — "  The  first  man  was 
not  indecently  undrest,  but  created  sewed  up  in 
a  night-gown,  and  afterwards,  when  woman  was 
made  from  his  rib,  there  was  at  the  same  time  a 
great  piece  cut  out  from  his  garment  in  front, 
which  was  given  to  Eve  for  an  apron,  so  that 
the  night-gown,  by  the  cutting  out  of  that  piece, 
became  a  dress-coat,  which  found  in  the  feminine 
apron  its  natural  enlargement  (missing  portion), 
or  complementary  part."  In  spite  of  this  beauti- 
ful origin  of  the  frock,  and  its  poetical  hints  as  to 
the  redintegration  of  the  sexes,  I  cannot  think 
favourably  of  its  form,  and  as  the  artists  agree 
with  me  in  this  respect,  they  have  looked  else- 
where for  picturesque  costumes.^ 


sought  to  make  good  the  deficiencj  by  calling  the  garment 
"a  swallow-tail"  and  "a  steel-pen,"  either  of  which  terms  is 
more  sensible  and  definite  than  "  dress  "  or  "  evening "  coat. 
The  following  passage  relative  to  the  myth  of  the  frock  was  in 
the  first  edition,  but  subsequently  omitted,  and  then  restored  in 
a  footnote  in  the  edition  of  1876.  It  is  wanting,  of  ooorse, 
in  the  complete  French  version, — Translator. 

^  Until  of  comparatively  recent  years,  the  fraek,  as  old  num- 
bers  of  the  Pliegende  Blatten  indicate,  was  a  distinctive  attri- 
bute of  the  Gemum  nobility,  who  wore  it  "  habitually,"  that  is, 
all  the  time.     Hence  the  anecdote  of  a  young  lady  of  ducally 


53  THE  SALON. 

The  predilection  for  ancient  historical  subjects 
has  been  by  this  greatly  heightened,  and  we  find 
in  Germany  a  whole  school,  which  certainly  does 
not  lack  talent,  but  which  is  unweariedly  occu- 
pied in  clothing  the  most  everyday  of  modem 
men  with  the  most  everyday  feelings  in  the  ward- 
robe of  the  Catholic  and  feudal  Middle  Age,  in 
cowls  and  coats  of  mail. 

Other  painters  have  had  recourse  to  other  ex- 
pedients, and  chose  for  models  populations  from 
which  progressive  civilisation  has  not  stripped 
their  originality  or  national  garb.  Therefore 
the  scenes  from  the  Tyrolese  mountains,  which 
we  so  often  see  in  the  pictures  of  Munich  artists. 
This  mountain  country  lies  near,  and  the  costume 
of  its  inhabitants  is  more  picturesque  than  that 
of  our  dandies.  Hence  those  gay  pictures  of 
popular  Italian  life,  which  is  also  near  to  most 


aristocratic  family,  who  was  fully  persuaded  with  Van  Man- 
teuffel  that  "humanity,  properly  speaking,  begins  with  the 
rank  of  Count."  To  her  it  happened,  while  swimming  in  a 
stream,  to  be  carried  away  by  a  terrible  rapid  far  down  into  a 
river.  A  handsome  young  peasant,  who  was  quite  unclad,  or 
in  puribut,  about  to  dive,  seeing  the  damsel  drift  by  screaming 
for  aid,  plunged  in,  and,  at  great  risk  of  his  own  life,  brought 
her  safely  ashore.  Thrilled  with  astonishment  at  the  bold 
deed,  and  not  supposing  that  a  man  of  rank  could  ever  be 
under  any  circumstances  without  a  dress-coat,  the  Freifratdein 
exclaimed,  as  she  gazed  admiringly  at  the  dripping  Antinous, 
"  So  nobd — und  dock  kein  Frock  /  "  (So  noble — and  yet  no  dress- 
Qoat  I),  which  is  now  a  common  proverb  in  Bavaria. — Translator. 


THE  SALON.  :$$ 

artists  when  in  Rome,  where  they  find  that  ideal 
nature,  and  those  primevally  ancient  human 
forms  and  picturesque  costumes,  for  which  their 
artist  souls  yearn. 

Robert,  a  Frenchman  by  birth,  and  an  en- 
graver in  his  youth,  subsequently  lived  many 
years  in  Rome,  and  the  pictures  which  he  has 
this  year  exhibited  belong  to  the  same  genre  or 
kind  of  which  I  speak,  that  is,  representations  of 
popular  Italian  life.  "Therefore  only  a  genre- 
painter,"  I  hear  one  of  the  German  guild-masters 
cry,  and  I  indeed  know  a  lady  historical-painter 
who  quite  turns  up  her  nose  at  Robert.  Yet  I 
cannot  quite  assent  to  the  term,  because  there 
is  no  longer  any  historical  painting,  in  the  old 
sense  of  the  word.  It  would  be  too  vague  should 
one  claim  this  term  for  all  pictures  which  express 
a  deep  thought,  the  end  of  which  would  be  a 
quarrel  over  every  picture  as  to  whether  it  had 
any  thought  in  it,  the  result  of  all  the  dispute 
being  only  a  word.  If  it  should  be  applied,  in  its 
most  natural  and  obvious  sense,  to  representa- 
tions of  the  world's  history,  the  term  "  historical 
painting  "  would  be  approximate  to  a  kind  which 
is  now  extremely  exuberant,  and  whose  growth 
is  seen  in  the  masterpieces  of  Delaroche. 

But  before  I  particularly  discuss  the  latter, 
I  would  devote  a  few  words  to  the  pictures  of 
Robert.     They  are,  as  I   have   said,  all  Italian 


54  THE  SALON. 

scenes,  and  such  as  bring  before  us  most  won- 
drously  the  loveliness  of  this  land.  Art,  which 
was  so  long  the  ornament  of  Italy,  is  now  the 
cicerone  of  its  magnificence  ;  the  speaking  colours 
of  the  painter  reveal  to  us  its  most  mysterious 
charms ;  an  ancient  magic  works  again  in  us, 
and  the  land  which  once  subdued  us  by  its 
weapons,  and  later  by  its  words,  now  conquers 
us  by  its  beauty.  Yes,  Italy  will  ever  rule  our 
souls,  and  painters  like  Bobert  chain  us  again 
to  Rome. 

If  I  am  not  mistaken,  "  The  Pififerari "  of  Robert, 
which  has  been  exhibited  this  year,  is  already 
known  in  lithograph  to  the  public.  It  represents 
those  pipers  from  the  Albanian  mountains  who 
come  at  Christmas  to  Rome  to  play  a  holy 
serenade  before  the  images  of  the  Virgin  Mary. 
This  work  is  better  designed  than  painted ;  there 
is  in  it  something  stiflf,  harsh,  and  Bolognese,  like 
a  coloured  engraving.  And  yet  it  moves  the  soul 
as  if  one  heard  the  simple  touching  pious  music 
as  piped  by  those  Alban  mountain  shepherds. 

Less  simple,  yet  perhaps  deeper  in  feeling,  is 
another  picture  by  Robert,  in  which  one  sees 
a  corpse  which,  uncovered  according  to  Italian 
custom,  is  being  borne  to  the  grave  by  the 
Misericordia  or  Brotherhood  of  Pity.  These, 
masked  in  black,  or  in  a  long  black  flowing  cap 
in  which  are  only  two  holes  for  the  eyes,  which 


THE  SALON.  5$ 

glare  out  in  an  unearthly  manner,  march  along 
like  an  array  of  spectres.  On  a  bench  in  the 
foreground  before  the  spectator  sit  the  father, 
mother,  and  younger  brother  of  the  deceased. 
The  old  man,  poorly  clad,  deeply  grieving,  with 
sunk  head  and  folded  hands,  sits  between  the 
wife  and  boy.^  He  is  silent,  for  there  is  no 
greater  grief  in  this  world  than  that  of  a  father 
when  he,  against  the  wont  of  Nature,  survives  his 
child.  The  sallow,  pale  mother  seems  to  lament 
in  despair.  The  boy,  a  poor  dull  creature,  has  a 
crust  in  his  hand,  and  would  eat,  but  relish  is 
wanting  on  account  of  unconscious  sympathetic 
grief ;  therefore  his  mifen  is  the  more  mournful. 
The  dead  seems  to  have  been  the  eldest  son, 
the  support  and  ornament  of  the  family,  the 
Corinthian  column  of  the  house,  as  yet  fair  with 
youth  and  grace,  who  lies  almost  smiling  on  the 
bier,  so  that  in  the  picture  life  seems  gloomy, 
ugly,  and  dreary,  whUe  death  is  infinitely  beautiful 
and  amiable  and  almost  laughing. 

But  the  painter  who  so  beautifully  trans- 
figured death  has  set  forth  life  with  far  greater 
magnificence,  for  his  great  masterpiece,  "  The 
Harvesters,"  is  as  it  were  the  apotheosis  of  exist- 


^  Heine  also  adds  that  he  is  "in  the  middle  between,"  Sec, 
which  is  omitted  in  the  French  version.  He  also  appears  to 
have  been  the  central  figure. — Tromdator. 


56 


THE  SALON. 


ence,  at  the  sight  of  which  we  forget  that  there 
is  a  realm  of  shades,  and  doabt  whether  it  is 
anywhere  more  glorious  or  brighter  than  on  this 
earth.  "  The  earth  is  heaven  and  men  are  holy, 
yea,  deified."  That  is  the  great  revelation  which 
gleams  with  happy  colours  from  this  picture.* 
The  Parisian  public  has  received  this  painted 
evangel  far  more  favourably  than  if  St.  Luke 
had  delivered  it.  In  fact,  the  Parisians  have  a 
much  too  unfavourable  prejudice  against  the  latter. 
In  the  picture  of  Robert  we  see  a  desert  place 
in  La  Eomagna  in  the  most  glaring  of  Italian 
sunsets.  The  centre  of  the  composition  is  a 
peasant's  cart,  drawn  by  two  immense  buffaloes 
harnessed  with  heavy  chains,  and  filled  with  a 
family  of  peasants  who  are  about  to  halt.  To 
the  right  hand  sit  reaping-girls  by  their  sheaves 
resting  after  their  work,  while  a  bagpiper  plays 
and  a  merry  fellow  dances  to  the  sound,  glad  at 
heart,  and  it  seems  as  if  we  heard — 


"  Damigella,  tutta  bella, 
Versa,  versa  il  buon  vino  !  "  ' 


^  The  remainder  of  this  passage  ia  wanting  in  the  French 
yersioo. 

3  "  Maiden,  all  beautiful,  |  . 

Pour,  pour  the  good  wine  I  "  j 

In  the  French  version  the  same  line  is  given  as  "  Versa,  vera* 
in  bel  vino  !  " — perhaps  a  vinous  confusion  with  in  vino  Veritas  ! 
— Trandator, 


THE  SALON.  $7 

There  come  to  the  left  also  women  with 
sheaves  of  fruit,  young  and  beautiful,  flowers 
loaded  with  ears  of  com,  and  then  two  young 
harvesters,  one  of  whom  totters  along  as  if 
yearning  voluptuously  with  his  eyes  cast  down 
to  the  ground,  while  the  other  with  uplifted 
sickle  utters  a  cry  of  joy.  Between  the  two 
buffaloes  stands  a  sturdy  brown-chested  fellow, 
who  seems  to  be  only  a  servant,  and  who  takes  a 
nap  while  standing.^  Up  on  the  cart  at  one 
side  the  grandfather  lies,  softly  bedded,  a  mild 
and  worn-out  old  man,  yet  one  who  perhaps 
mentally  directs  the  family  vehicle ;  on  the  other 
side  we  see  his  son,  a  bold,  calm,  manly  person, 
seated,  with  his  legs  crossed,  on  the  back  of  a 
buffalo,  bearing  a  whip,  the  visible  sign  of  a 
ruler.  Somewhat  higher,  almost  sublime,  rises 
his  beautiful  young  wife,  a  child  on  her  arm,  a 
rose  with  a  bud,  while  near  her  stands  an  equally 
fresh  and  beautiful  youthful  form — probably  her 
brother — who  is  unfolding  the  canvas  on  the 
tent-pole.  As  this  picture  will  soon  be  engraved, 
as  I  hear,  and  perhaps  travel  as  a  copperplate  to 
Germany,  I  will  spare  myself  further  description. 


^  Um  stehend  Siate  halt.  In  the  French  version — '*  et  se 
repose  sur  le  timon,"  which  is  much  better  than  the  original, 
which  rather  suggests  the  Dutchman's  obstinate  hen  who  sat  oa 
her  eggs  while  standing  up. — Trandator. 


58  THE  SALON. 

Bnt  an  engraving  will  not,  any  more  than  a 
description,  give  the  real  charm  of  the  work, 
which  lies  in  the  colour.  The  figures,  all  darker 
than  the  background,  are  so  divinely,  so  mar- 
vellously lighted  by  the  reflection  from  the  sky, 
that  they  gleam  of  themselves  in  gayest,  gladdest 
hues,  though  all  the  outlines  are  severely  given. 
Some  of  the  figures  seem  to  be  portraits.  But 
the  painter  has  not,  in  the  idiotically  honourable 
{dummhrlichen)  fashion  of  many  of  his  colleagues, 
painted  after  Nature,  and  copied  faces  with  dip- 
lomatic accuracy,  but,  as  a  clever  friend  remarked, 
Robert  first  took  into  his  heart  (Gemuth)  the 
forms  which  Nature  gave,  and,  as  souls  do  not 
lose  in  purgatory  their  individuality,  but  their 
earthly  dross,  ere  they  rise  beatified  to  heaven, 
so  are  those  forms  so  purified  in  the  glowing 
depth  of  flames  of  the  artist's  feeling^  that  they 
rise  glorified  and  evangelised  to  the  heaven  of 
art,  where  eternal  light  and  endless  beauty  reign, 
where  Venus  and  Mary  never  lose  their  wor- 
shippers, where  Romeo  and  Juliet  never  die, 
where  Helen  is  immortally  young,  and  Hecuba, 
at  least,  never  grows  old.^  i 


^  The  extraordinary  naiveU  of  the  remark  that  some  of 
Robert's  faces  appear  to  have  been  copied  from  life,  which 
eonnds  like  that  of  an  infant  schoolboy  ignorant  alike  of 
BtudioB  and  models,  is  only  paralleled  by  what  follows,  in  which 


THE  SALON.  Jf 


In  the  method  of  colour  in  Robert's  picture 
we  recognise  the  study  of  Raphael,  and  the 
architectonic  beauty  of  the  grouping  also  recalls 
the  latter.  There  are,  too,  certain  forms,  such 
as  that  of  the  mother  and  child,  which  resemble 
figures  by  Raphael,  and  that  in  his  earliest 
spring-time,  when  he  reflected  the  severe  type 
of  Perugino  with  tolerable  truth,  but  gently  and 
gracefully  softened. 

It  would  never  occur  to  me  to  draw  com- 
parisons between  Robert  and  the  great  painter 
of  the  great  Catholic  era,  but  I  cannot  refrain 
from  recognising  their  relationship.  And  yet  it 
is  only  a  material  affinity  of  form,  and  not  a 
spiritual  relationship.  Raphael  is  utterly  imbued 
with  Catholic  Christianity,  a  religion  which  ex- 
presses the  conflict  of  soul  with  matter,  which 
has  for  object  the  suppression  of  matter,  which 
calls  every  protest  of  the  latter  a  sin,  and  which 
would  spiritualise  the  earth,  or  rather  sacrifice 
earth  to  heaven.     But  Robert  belongs  to  a  race 


Heine  speaks  of  this  artist  as  if  be  were  actually  the  first,  or 
only  one,  or  one  most  original  and  peculiar  in  idealising  or  im- 
proving his  models !  Truly,  if  the  artist's  soul  is  like  purga- 
tory, that  of  Heinrich  Heine  might  be  compared  to  the  Limbo 
Patrum,  which  was  tenanted  chiefly  by  the  sonls  of  babes,  and 
au  rate  by  all  kinds  of  old  heathens,  goblins,  and  other  odd 
fish,  "ower  bad  for  blessing,  and  ower  gude  for  banning." — 
Trandator. 


Uia^« 


6o  THE  SALON. 

in  which  CathoKcism  is  extinguished.*  For,  to 
say  it  by  the  way,  the  expression  that  Catholi- 
cism is  the  religion  of  the  majority  of  the  people 
is  only  a  French  compliment  (gcUanterie)  to 
Notre  Dame  de  Paris,  who,  on  her  side,  wears 
with  equal  politeness  on  her  head  the  tricolour 
of  freedom — a  double  hypocrisy,  against  which 
the  rough  multitude  protested  rather  informally 
when  it  lately  demolished  churches  and  set  the 
saints  a  swimming  in  the  Seine.  Robert  is  a 
Frenchman,^  and  he,  like  most  of  his  fellow- 
countrymen,  cherishes  unconsciously  a  still  dis- 
guised doctrine  which  will  know  nothing  of  the 
battle  between  spirit  and  matter,  which  does  not 
forbid  to  man  the  certain  pleasures  of  earth, 
and,  on  the  contrary,  promises  him  all  the  more 
heavenly  enjoyments  in  mere  moonshine  (ins 
Blaue  hinein),  but  which  would  much  rather 
make  man  happy  here  on  earth,  and  regards  the 


*  French  version — "  Chez  lequel  le  catholicisme  est,  sinon 
mort,  du  moins  tr^-avance^  dana  son  agonie. " 

'  According  to  Heine  himself  ("  Letters  from  Paris,"  vol. 
ii.  XXXV.),  Robert  was  a  Swiss,  "  brought  up  in  severe  Swiss 
Protestantism — while  as  regards  anything  like  immorality,  it 
could  not  be  mentioned  in  connection  with  his  name  !  "  But 
it  may  be  that  between  1830  and  1841  our  author  acquired 
additional  information  as  to  Robert.  Every  doctrine,  good  or 
bad,  has  its  ecmt,  and  here  Heine  gives  us  the  twaddle  and  cant 
of  "  rehabilitation  "  and  Hellenism  to  excess. 


-■>', 


THE  SALON.  6i 

Bensual  world  as  holy  as  the  spiritnal ;  "  for  God 
is  all  that  there  is." 

Robert's  "  Harvesters  "  are,  therefore,  not  only 
sinless,  but  they  know  no  sin ;  their  earthly,  daily 
work  is  piety;  they  pray  continually  without 
moving  their  lips ;  they  are  blest  without  heaven, 
atoned  for  without  sacrifice,  pure  without  con- 
stant ablution,  and  altogether  holy.  And  as 
we  see  in  Catholic  pictures  the  heads  alone,  as 
the  seat  of  the  soul,  radiating  the  aureole  or 
symbol  of  spiritualisation,  so,  on  the  contrary,  we 
behold  in  the  work  by  Robert  matter  sanctified, 
since  here  the  entire  man,  body  as  well  as  head, 
is  surrounded  by  heavenly  light  as  by  a  glory. 

But  Catholicism  is  not  only  extinct  in  modem 
France;  it  has  not  here  even  a  reactionary  in- 
fluence on  art,  as  in  our  Protestant  Germany, 
where  it  has  regained  a  new  value  by  the  aid 
of  poetry,  which  always  embellishes  the  ruins 
of  the  past.  It  may  be  that  there  is  in  the 
French  a  sullen  spite  which  disgusts  them  with 
Catholic  tradition,  while  a  deep  interest  mani- 
fests itself  in  them  for  all  other  historical  sub- 
jects. I  can  prove  the  remark  by  a  fact  which 
in  turn  is  explained  by  the  remark  itself.  The 
number  of  pictures  representing  Christian  subjects 
drawn  from  the  Bible  or  from  religious  legends 
is  so  insignificant  in  this  year's  Exhibition  that 
many  a  subdivision  of    a    secular   motive   con- 


62 


THE  SALON. 


tains  many  more  and  far  better  pictures.  After 
counting  accurately,  I  find  among  the  3000  num- 
bers in  the  catalogue,  only  twenty-nine  such 
religious  pictures,  while  there  are  thirty  repre- 
senting scenes  from  Walter  Scott's  novels.  I 
can,  therefore,  when  I  speak  of  French  painting, 
not  be  misunderstood  when  I  use  the  expres- 
sions "historical  painting"  and  "historical  school" 
in  their  most  natural  meaning.  1 


DSLABOCHE 

-i 

is  the  leader  of  such  a  school.  This  painter  has 
no  great  predilection  for  the  past  in  itself,  but 
for  its  representation,  for  the  illustration  of  its 
spirit,  and  for  writing  history  in  colours.  This 
inclination  manifests  itself  among  most  French 
artists.  The  Salon  was  full  of  scenes  from 
history,  and  the  names  Dev^ria,  Steuben,  and 
Johannot  deserve  the  most  distinguished  con- 
sideration.^ There  is  also  such  a  tendency  in 
the  sister  arts,  especially  in  the  poetic  literature 
of  the  French,  which  Victor  Hugo  cultivates  in 
the  most  brilliant  manner.  The  latest  advances 
of  the  French  in  the  science  of  history,  and  their 


^  The  remainder  of  this  passage  is  wanting  in  the  French 
version.  ! 


THE  SALON.  63 

VBst  contributions  to  the  practical  writing  thereof, 
are  consequently  no  isolated  phenomena. 

Delaroche,  the  great  historical  painter,  has 
exhibited  this  year  four  works,  the  subjects  of 
two  of  which  are  drawn  from  French  history,  and 
the  other  two  from  that  of  England.  The  for- 
mer are  small,  such  as  are  called  cabinet  pieces/ 
and  very  rich  in  figures  and  picturesque.  One 
represents  Cardinal  Eichelieu,  "  who,  while  dying, 
ascends  the  Rhone  in  a  boat,  to  which  is  attached 
another  in  which  are  Cinq  Mars  and  De  Thou, 
whom  he  is  taking  to  Lyons,  to  there  have  them 
beheaded."  The  conception  of  the  boats  which 
thus  follow  one  the  other  is  indeed  inartistic,  but 
it  is  here  treated  with  great  skill.  The  colour  is 
brilliant,  almost  dazzling,  and  the  figures  seem 
to  swim  in  the  golden  purple  of  the  setting  sun. 
This  splendour  contrasts  strangely  with  the  fate 
impending  over  the  three  leading  figures.  The 
two  blooming  youths  are  being  taken  to  exe- 
cution, and  that  by  a  dying  old  man.''  Gaily 
adorned  as  these  boats  may  be,  they  row  into 
the  shadowy  realm  of  death.  The  glorious, 
golden  gleaming  of  the  sun  is  but  a  signal  that 
he  must  be  gone.     'Tis  evening,  and  ere  long  he 


^  French  version — tcMeaux  de  chevalet,  "easel  pictures,"  ag 
artists  say,  such  as  may  be  easily  carried. — Trantlator. 
^  This  sentence  is  omitted  in  the  French  versioDu 


64 


THE  SALON. 


must  descend,  leaving  a  blood-red  strip  along  the 
earth,  and  it  and  all  things  vanish  in  the  night ! 
Not  less  brilliant  in  colour,  nor  less  tragic 
in  significance,  is  the  historical  companion  piece, 
which  also  represents  the  last  hour  of  Cardinal 
de  Mazarin.  He  lies  in  a  splendid  bed  of  state, 
amid  a  splendid  surrounding  of  gay  courtiers  and 
domestics,  who  gossip,  play  cards,  and  stroll 
about  the  hall,  all  people  in  sparkling,  shifting 
colours,  useless,  superficial  creatures,  especially 
useless  for  a  dying  man.  They  wear  fine  cos- 
tumes of  the  time  of  the  Fronde,  not  as  yet  over- 
loaded with  gold  tassels,  embroidery,  ribbons,  and 
laces  as  came  to  pass  later  in  the  gorgeous  time 
of  Louis  XIV.,  when  the  last  knights  changed 
themselves  into  frivolous  courtiers,  just  as  the 
two-handed  sword  of  battle  refined  itself  and 
diminished  into  a  silly  court  rapier.  The  cos- 
tumes of  the  picture  of  which  I  speak  are  as  yet 
simple ;  coat  and  collar  (^jtistaticorps  et  la  gorger- 
ette)  still  recall  war,  the  original  occupation  of 
the  nobility,  even  the  feathers  on  the  hats  are 
stiff  and  boldly  set,  and  do  not  bend  to  every 
court  wind.  The  hair  of  the  men  flows  in 
natural  curls  upon  their  shoulders,  the  ladies 
wear  the  witty  frisure  d  la  Sivigni.  The  dress  of 
the  latter  indicates,  however,  a  transition  to  the 
long  trailing  skirts  and  wide-bagging  tasteless- 
ness   of   the    later   time.      But   the    corsets   or 


J 


THE  SALON.  65 

bodices  have  still  a  charm  of  naive  neatness,  and 
snowy  splendours  burst  forth  from  them  like 
blossoms  from  a  cornucopia.  They  are,  one  and  all, 
pretty  women  in  this  picture,  all  pretty  masqites 
de  cour,  laughing  love  in  their  faces,  and  perhaps 
grim  sorrow  in  their  hearts,  with  lips  innocent 
as  flowers,  and  perhaps  evil  little  tongues  lurking 
behind  like  cunning  serpents.^  At  the  left  side 
of  the  sick-bed  sit  three  of  these  dames  gossiping 
and  whispering,  and  near  them  an  acutely  listen- 
ing, keen-sighted  priest  with  a  crafty  nose.  At 
the  right  are  three  chevaliers  and  a  lady  playing 
cards,  probably  at  lansquenet,  a  good  game,  at 
which  I  once  won  six  thalers  in  Gottingen.  A 
noble  courtier  in  a  dark  violet  velvet  dress  with 
a  red  cross  stands  in  the  centre,  making,  with 
much  scraping  of  the  foot,  a  bow.^  To  the  right 
hand  of  the  picture  pass  two  ladies  of  the  court 
and  an  abb^,  who  gives  to  one  a  paper,  possibly 
a  sonnet  of  his  own  composition,  while  he  glances 
at  the  other,  who  plays  dexterously  with  her  fan, 
an  airy  telegraph  of  love.  The  two  ladies  are 
charming  creatures,  one  like  a  rose  in  an  aurora 
glow,  the  other  yearning  in  twilight  like  a  long- 


^  Latet  anguii  in  herba,  A  very  pretty  adaptation  of  the 
old  simile  of  the  snake  in  the  grass. — Translator. 

"  "Et  fait  la  r^v^rence  la  plus  belle  et  la  plus  pli^e."  The 
French  version  of  this  whole  description  is  naturally  superior  to 
the  German  original — Trcmdaior. 


66  THE  SALON. 

ing  star  (vapor&usement  pdle  comme  une  6toiU 
amoureuse).  In  the  background  are  seated  court 
servants,  who  chatter,  and  perhaps  confide  great 
petticoat  state  secrets  {StaastsuTiterocksgeheim- 
nisse),  or  bet  that  Mazarin  will  be  dead  in  an 
hour.  He  indeed  seems  to  be  near  his  end ;  his 
face  is  pale  as  a  corpse,  his  glance  failing,  his  nose 
becoming  dangerously  sharp ;  little  by  little  there 
is  being  extinguished  in  him  that  painful  flame 
which  we  call  life.  All  grows  dark  and  cold 
within  him  ;  the  flap  of  the  dark  wing  of  the 
angel  of  death  ^  is  even  now  felt  on  his  forehead, 
and  at  this  instant  the  lady  who  is  playing  near 
by  turns  to  him,  and  showing  him  her  cards, 
asks  him  whether  she  shall  trump  with  her  heart  ? 
The  two  other  pictures  of  Delaroche  set  forth 
subjects  from  English  history.  They  are  of  life- 
size,  and  more  simply  painted.  One  represents 
the  two  young  princes  in  the  Tower,  who  were 
murdered  by  command  of  Richard  III.  The 
young  king  and  his  younger  brother  are  seated 


^  "  The  fever  called  living 

Is  over  at  last" — Edgar  A.  Pot.  \ 

"  The  angel  of  death  i 

Flaps  his  wings  o'er  the  grave." 

— Karamtin,  trwndated  by  Bowring. 

I  do  not  believe  that  there  waa  any  borrowing  whatever  from 
any  one  in  these  two  instances,  but  the  close  collocation  of  tha 
similes  is  a  "  coincidental  curiosity." — Trandator.  i 


THE  SALON.  67 

on  an  antique  bed,  while  their  little  dog,  running 
to  the  door  of  the  prison,  seems  to  announce  by 
his  barking  the  coming  of  the  murderers.  The 
king,  who  is  between  boyhood  and  youth,  is  a 
very  touching  figure.  A  captive  king,  as  Sterne 
so  truly  felt,  is  in  himself  a  melancholy  idea,  and 
here  the  sufferer  is  an  innocent  boy,  given  over 
helpless  to  treacherous  murder.^  Although  so 
young,  he  seems  to  have  suffered  much ;  there  is 
a  tragic  dignity  in  his  pale,  sickly  face,  and  his 
legs,  which  hang  down  with  their  long,  blue 
velvet  peaked  shoes  from  the  couch,  yet  do  not 
reach  the  ground,  give  him  a  shattered  look  as  of 
a  broken  flower.  It  is  all,  as  I  said,  very  simple, 
and  therefore  the  more  impressive.  Ah !  it 
moved  me  the  more  deeply,  because  I  found  in 
the  face  of  the  unfortunate  prince  the  dear 
friendly  eyes  which  so  often  smiled  on  me,  and 
were  so  dearly  allied  to  still  more  loving  eyes. 
When  I  stood  before  the  picture  of  Delaroche,  it 
kept  returning  to  my  mind  how  I  once,  in  a  beauti- 
ful castle  in  dear  Poland,  also  was  before  the 
portrait  of  a  friend,  and  conversed  with  his  sweet, 
lovely  sister,  and  how  her  eyes  mysteriously  re- 
called those  of  the  friend.  We  also  spoke  of  the 
painter  of  the  picture,  who  died  not  long  before, 


^  This  remark,  and  also  the  conclusion  of  the  passage,  or 
about  thirty  lines,  are  wanting  in  the  French  version. 


68  THE  SALON.  \ 

1 

and  how  all  people  pass  away,  one  after  the  other. 
Ah !  the  dear  friend  is  himself  dead,  shot  by 
Prague ;  the  lovely  lights  of  the  beautiful  sister 
are  also  extinguished;  their  castle  is  burned  down, 
and  an  agony  of  desolation  seizes  on  me  when  I 
reflect  that  not  only  do  our  beloved  ones  vanish 
so  quickly  from  the  world,  but  that  no  trace 
remains  even  of  the  scene  where  we  once  lived 
with  them ;  it  is  as  if  nothing  of  it  had  ever 
existed,  and  all  was  an  idle  dream.  I 

And  yet  the  other  picture  of  Delaroche  awakens 
still  more  painful  feelinga  It  is  a  scene  from 
English  history,  and  from  that  terrible  tragedy 
which  has  been  translated  into  French,^  and,  caus- 
ing many  tears  to  flow  on  both  sides  of  the 
Channel,  has  also  deeply  moved  German  spec- 
tators. We  see  on  the  canvas  the  two  heroes 
of  the  play,  one  as  a  corpse  in  a  coflBn,  the  other 
in  abounding  strength  of  life,  and  lifting  the 
coflSn-lid  to  look  at  the  dead  enemy.  And  after 
all,  instead  of  being  the  heroes  themselves,  are 
they  not  merely  actors  to  whom  the  Director  of  the 
world  assigned  their  parts,  and  who,  without 
knowing  it,  act  in  tragedy  two  warring  prin- 
ciples ?     I  will  not  name  them  here,  these  two 


*  As  it  is  barely  possible  that  some  reader  may  miss  the 
point,  I  would  here  say  that  the  translation  referred  to  is  that 
of  the  idea  of  decapitating  a  king. — Translator. 


THE  SALON.  69 

inimical  principles,  the  two  great  thoughts  which 
contended  perhaps  in  the  soul  of  God  while 
creating  the  world,  and  which  we  here  see  opposed 
in  this  picture,  the  one  shamefully  wounded  and 
bleeding  in  the  person  of  Charles  Stuart,  the  other 
bold  and  victorious  in  that  of  Oliver  Cromwell. 

In  one  of  the  twilight,  sombre  rooms  of  White- 
hall, the  coflfin  of  the  decapitated  king  stands  on 
dark-red  velvet  chairs,  and  before  it  a  man  who 
lifts  the  lid  with  steady  hand  and  quietly  gazes 
on  the  corpse.  That  man  stands  there  all  alone  ; 
his  form  is  broad  and  sturdy,  his  attitude  care- 
less, his  countenance  that  of  an  honest  farmer. 
His  costume  is  that  of  a  common  soldier,  puri- 
tanically plain ;  a  long  hanging  waistcoat  of  dark- 
brown  velvet,  under  it  a  jacket  of  yellow  leather  ; 
jack-boots,  which  rise  so  high  that  the  black 
breeches  are  hardly  visible ;  a  soiled  yellow  sword- 
belt,  from  which  depends  a  sword  with  basket- 
hilt  (GrlockengrijP) ;  on  the  closely-cropped  hair  a 
hat  with  roUed-up  rim  and  a  red  feather ;  on  the 
neck  a  small  white  rolling  collar,  beneath  which 
a  little  armour  is  visible ;  dirty  tawny  gloves,  and 
in  the  hand  which  is  by  the  sword-hilt  is  a  short 
walking-cane  ;  the  other  holds  the  lifted  lid  of  the 
coffin  in  which  the  king  lies. 

The  dead  have  always  an  expression  of  coun- 
tenance which  makes  them  seem  superior  to  the 
living  who  are  about  them,  for  they  always  sor- 


70  THE  SALON. 

pass  us  in  aristocratic  indifference  to  passion, 
coldness  and  calm.  Men  realise  this,  and  there- 
fore the  sentinels  present  arms  out  of  respect  to 
the  higher  rank  of  death  when  a  corpse  is  carried 
by,  though  it  be  only  that  of  the  poorest  tailor 
(FlicJcschneider).  Therefore  it  is  intelligible  that 
Oliver  Cromwell  appears  unfavourably  as  regards 
the  dead  king.  The  latter  transfigured  and  re- 
fined from  the  martyrdom  which  he  has  endured, 
hallowed  by  the  majesty  of  misfortune,  the 
precious  purple  circlet  on  his  neck,  the  kiss  of 
Melpomene  on  his  white  lips,  forms  a  lofty  and 
crushing  contrast  to  the  rude  and  vigorously 
vital  Puritan.  And  the  external  garb  of  the 
latter  contrasts  significantly  and  sharply  with  the 
last  traces  of  splendour  and  of  fallen  dignity — 
the  rich  green  silk  cushions  in  the  coflfin,  the 
delicacy  of  the  dazzling  white  shroud,  adorned 
with  Brabant  lace.  t 

What  a  great,  what  a  general  grief  the  painter 
has  here  expressed  with  a  few  touches !  There 
lies  miserably  bleeding  the  splendour  of  royalty, 
once  the  comfort  and  glory  of  mankind.  The 
life  of  England  has  since  then  become  pallid  and 
grey,  and  poetry  in  terror  fled  the  soil  which  she 
ere  while  had  decked  with   her   gayest  colours.^ 


'  Where  then  did  it  take  refuge  ?     De  guttibtu  non  ett — but, 
like  Meister  Trongemund,  to  whom  twu-aad-seveoty  lands  were 


THE  SALON.  yi 

How  deeply  did  I  feel  this  when  I  once  at  mid- 
night passed  the  fatal  window  of  Whitehall  and 
the  modem  damp  and  cold  prose  of  England 
froze  through  my  veins !  But  why  was  not  my 
soul  moved  with  the  same  feelings  when  I  lately 
passed  for  the  first  time  the  terrible  spot  where 
Louis  XVI.  died  ?  I  believe  it  was  because  the 
latter,  when  he  perished,  was  no  longer  king, 
because  his  crown  had  fallen  ere  he  lost  his  head. 
But  Charles  the  First  lost  his  crown  with  his 
head.  He  believed  in  this  crown  in  his  own 
absolute  right ;  he  fought  for  it  like  a  knight, 
brave  and  tall ;  he  died  nobly  proud,  protesting 
against  the  legality  of  his  court,  a  true  martyr  to 
royalty  by  the  grace  of  God,  The  poor  Bourbon 
did  not  deserve  such  fame ;  his  head  had  already 
been  unkinged    before  his  death  by  a  Jacobin 


known,  I  too  have  lived  long  in  divers  countries,  and  foond  in 
England  more  deeply-seated  poetry,  beauty,  romance,  and  mate- 
rial for  art  than  in  any  other  place  on  earth ;  a  great  truth 
which  is  not  known  or  felt  as  it  should  be  even  to  or  by  all 
English  people.  That  Heine  knew  next  to  nothing  at  all  of 
it  was  his  misfortune,  but  that  he  must  needs  keep  hammer- 
ing abusively  at  it  in  all  his  works  was  his  fault — maxima 
culpa.  I  have  seen  an  American  poet  and  scholar  pause  as  if 
overawed  before  Whitehall  when  I  told  him  what  the  building 
was,  and  he  assuredly  was  not  chilled  with  a  sense  of  excessive 
prosiness  and  the  stupidity  of  modem  English  times,  as  was 
Heine,  with  whom  the  elevation  of  the  mountain  only  served  to 
remind  him  of  the  flatness  of  the  plains  or  the  depth  of  the 
valleys  below. — TrantUUor. 


7» 


THE  SALON. 


cap ;  he  no  longer  believed  in  himself ;  he  firmly 
believed  in  the  competence  of  his  judges  ;  he  only 
asserted  his  innocence ;  he  was  really  citizen- 
like virtuoQS,  a  good,  not  very  lean,  family  father ; 
his  death  has  rather  a  sentimental  than  a  tragic 
character  ;  he  reminds  us  too  much  of  the  German 
family  romances  of  Augusta  Lafontaine.  ...  A 
tear  for  Louis  Capet,  a  laurel  for  Charles  Stuart.^ 
"  Un  plagiat  infame  d'un  crime  Stranger,"  are 
the  words  with  which  the  Viscount  Chateau- 
briand characterised  that  sad  event  which  took 
place  January  2 1  on  the  Place  de  la  Concorde. 
He  proposes  to  erect  on  this  place  a  fountain, 
the  water  of  which  shall  play  forth  from  a  basin 
of  black  marble  in  order  to  wash  away — "  but 
you  well  know  what  I  mean,"  he  adds  patheti- 
cally and  mysteriously.*  The  death  of  Louis 
XVI.  is  above  all  things  the  parade-horse  decked 
with  black  crape  on  which  the  noble  Viscount 
specially  prances ;  he  works  up  {exploitieret)  by  the 


^  Therefore,  by  all  the  laws  of  human  nature  and  of  aentiment, 
one  should  have  felt  poetically  inspired  before  Whitehall,  and 
prosaically  inclined  in  the  Place  de  la  Concorde.  Truly  there 
is  great  lack  of  logic  here  !  All  that  follows  for  three  pages,  or 
until  the  words.  On  ne  peut  guirt  nier,  is  omitted  in  the  French 
version. 

'  An  abstract,  as  worded,  from  a  German  student  ballad — 


"  Neunmal  eins  sind  neune, 
Ihr  wifist  wohl  was  ich  meine, 
£s  geht  ein  Sauf -comment,"  && 


THE  SALON.  73 

year  and  day  the  heavenly  ascension  of  the  son 
of  St.  Louis ;  and  yet  even  the  refined  venomous 
scantiness  with  which  he  declaims,  and  his  oft- 
repeated  sorrowful  sallies,  indicate  no  real  sorrow. 
It  is  most  annoying  when  his  words  echo  from 
the  hearts  of  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain,  when 
the  old  emigrant  coteries  with  hypocritical  sighs 
wail  away  there  over  the  death  of  Louis  XVI.  as 
if  it  belonged  peculiarly  to  them,  or  as  if  they 
were  specially  privileged  to  mourn  his  loss.  And 
yet  this  death  was  a  general  grief  for  all  the  world, 
which  concerned  the  smallest  daily  labourer  as 
well  as  the  highest  master  of  ceremonies  in  the 
Tuileries,  and  one  that  must  inspire  every  feeling 
human  heart  with  infinite  sorrow.  Oh,  the  fine 
family  party !  since  they  can  no  longer  usurp 
our  most  legitimate  pleasures,  they  arrogate  unto 
themselves  our  most  legitimate  pains.^ 


^  This  indignation  of  the  Royalists  at  the  "  c&mmon  people  " 
because  the  latter  mourned  the  death  of  the  King  reminds  na  of 
the  small  boy  who,  when  his  grandmother  died,  was  very  angry 
at  another  boy  from  the  neighboiirhood  whom  he  found  at  the 
obsequies  weeping  for  the  deceased.  It  is  true  that  our  author 
wished  to  establish  that  it  was  everybody's  funeral,  where  all 
had  a  right  to  lament,  and  that  as  there  were  a  vast  number 
of  respectable  bourgeois  who  deeply  mourned  the  execution, 
the  aristocracy  committed  a  fatal  error  in  manifesting  in  many 
ways  that  they  considered  that  they  alone  were  aggrieved  by  it. 
In  which  (as  in  the  American  war)  they  suffered  petty  vanity 
to  blind  them  to  great  vital  interests. 


74  THE  SALON. 

It  is  now,  perhaps,  the  proper  time  to  vindicate 
on  one  side  the  general  right  of  the  people  to 
Buch  regret,  so  that  they  may  not  be  persuaded 
that  such  a  right  does  not  belong  to  them,  but 
to  a  few  chosen  ones  who  have  the  privilege  to 
bewail  that  disaster  as  their  own  \  and,  on  the 
other,  it  is  the  time  to  give  such  utterance  to 
such  grief,  because  there  are  certain  cold  crafty 
state  investigators,  or  sober  Bacchantaa  of  reason, 
who  in  their  logical  delusion  would  argue  away 
from  the  depths  of  our  hearts  all  the  respect  and 
honour  which  the  ancient  sacrament  of  royalty 
demands.  However,  we  do  not  call  the  sad  cause 
of  those  sorrows  a  plagiarism,  much  less  a  crime, 
and  least  of  all  infamous  ;  we  call  it  a  dispensa- 
tion of  God.  It  would  be  putting  men  too  high 
or  degrading  them  too  deeply  to  attribute  to 
them  so  giant-like  a  power,  and  so  much  insanity 
as  to  believe  that  they  had  of  their  own  free  will 
spilled  that  blood,  the  traces  of  which  Chateau- 
briand would  fain  wash  away  with  the  water  of 
his  black  basin. 

In  fact,  when  we  consider  the  circumstances  of 
those  times  and  the  confessions  of  still  living 
witnesses,  we  ascertain  how  little  free  human 
will  there  was  at  the  execution  of  Louis  XVI. 
Many  a  man  who  meant  to  vote  against  death 
did  the  contrary  when  he  mounted  the  tribune, 
and  was  seized  by  the  dark  delusion  of  political 


THE  SALON.  75 

despair.  The  Girondists  felt  that  they  were  at 
the  same  time  pronouncing  their  own  death- 
sentence.  Many  of  the  speeches  made  at  this 
time  only  served  for  self-delusion.  The  Abb^ 
Sieyes,  disgusted  by  repulsive  gossip,  simply 
voted  for  death,  and  as  he  descended  from  the 
tribune,  said,  "  J'ai  vot^  la  mort  sans  phrase."  ^ 
Malice  misused  this  private  expression ;  the 
terrible  formula  la  mort  sans  phrase  was  attri- 
buted as  parliamentary  to  the  mildest  men ;  now 


^  There  is  a  very  curious  American  jur3nnan's  expression 
bj  which  this  may  be  exactly  rendered,  "I  voted  for  death 
itraight,"  i.e.,  without  reserve,  change,  or  circumlocution.  A 
straight  ticket,  or  a  straight  price  in  purchasing,  means  that 
which  is  announced,  without  any  alteration,  deduction,  or  dis- 
count. It  is  derived  from  following  the  list  or  "  straight  series  " 
of  names  on  a  ballot. 

Our  author  here  leaves  out  of  sight,  as  do  most  historians,  the 
fact  that  revolutions  or  great  political  changes  are  frequently, 
if  not  generally,  effected  by  a  minority  as  regards  numbers, 
though  by  a  majority  or  preponderance  of  will,  courage,  and 
resolution.  There  would  never  have  been  a  revolution  in 
England  or  France,  or  perhaps  a  brave  war  anywhere,  could  a  fair 
vote  have  been  taken  on  it  beforehand  by  the  farmers  and  shop- 
keepers, or  the  timid  citizens  and  women,  who  dislike  social 
disturbance.  Even  the  American  war  of  emancipation  was 
carried  through  by  only  one-third  of  the  entire  population,  that 
is,  the  Republicans,  opposed  to  the  Democrats  and  SecessionistH, 
who  were  virtually  agreed.  Heine  is  right  according  to  the 
letter  in  saying  there  was  very  little  free  human  will  as  re- 
garded the  execution  of  Louis  XVI.,  if  a  mere  vote  is  implied, 
but  in  reality  nearly  all  the  free  will  or  mental  vigour  in  th« 
country  was  employed  in  carrying  it  out. — TrandcUor. 


76 


THE  SALON. 


it  is  in  all  schoolbooks,  and  the  young  get  it  by 
heart.  As  I  am  generally  assured,  alarm  and 
grief  prevailed  on  the  2 1  st  of  January  in  all 
Paris ;  even  the  most  raging  Jacobins  seemed  to 
be  oppressed  by  suffering  discontent.  My  usual 
hackney-coachman,  an  old  sans-culotte,  told  me 
that  when  he  saw  the  King  executed,  he  felt  "  as 
if  he  himself  had  had  a  limb  sawed  off!"  He 
added,  "  I  felt  sick,  and  had  all  that  day  a  dis- 
gust for  food."  And  he  also  thought  that  *'  Old 
Veto  looked  very  restless,  as  if  he  would  defend 
himself."  It  is  certain  that  he  did  not  die  so 
grandly  as  Charles  I.,  who  first  calmly  delivered 
his  long  speech  of  protest,  in  which  he  showed 
such  presence  of  mind  as  to  several  times  request 
the  nobles  who  stood  about  not  to  feel  the  edge 
of  the  axe  lest  they  should  blunt  it.  The  mys- 
teriously masked  headsman  of  Whitehall  had  a 
far  more  terribly  poetical  effect  than  Samson 
with  his  bare  face.  Court  and  hangman  had  let 
the  last  mask  fall,  and  it  was  a  prosaic  play. 
Louis  would  perhaps  have  delivered  a  long 
Christian  address  of  forgiveness  had  not  the 
drum  been  so  violently  beaten  at  the  first  words, 
that  his  declaration  of  innocence  was  hardly 
heard.  The  sublime  words  of  exhortation  to  a 
heavenly  journey,  "  Fils  de  Saint  Louis,  monte  au 
ciel ! "  were  not  spoken  at  all  on  the  scaffold ; 
they  do  not  suit  the  sober  work-day  character  of 


THE  SALON.  77 

the  good  Edge  worth,  to  whom  they  are  attri- 
buted, and  they  are  the  invention  of  a  journalist, 
then  of  Paris,  named  Charies  Hiss,  who  printed 
them  the  same  day.  Such  correction  is  of  course 
quite  useless;  these  words  are  now  in  every 
compendium,  they  have  long  since  been  learned 
by  heart,  and  the  poor  school-children  must  now 
learn  into  the  bargain  that  they  were  never 
spoken.^ 


^  Is  this  negation  in  itself  absolutely  true  and  perfectly  con- 
firmed ?  The  assertion  by  Heine  that  "  the  good  Edgeworth  " 
was  too  prosaic  to  have  invented  the  words,  proves  nothing 
whatever,  and  looks  as  if  better  proof  is  wanting.  Edge- 
worth  alone  could  have  completely  disproved  the  assertion. 
There  is,  in  fact,  no  proof  oi  the  denial.  I  call  attention  to  this, 
because  there  is  at  present  very  generally  prevalent  among 
writers  on  history,  and  especially  on  archaeology,  and  most  of 
all  in  folk-lore,  a  very  general  disposition  to  deny  not  only  aU 
tradition  or  tratismission,  but  all  theories  and  principles  in- 
herited from  the  past,  without  sufficient  reason  or  proof,  and  to 
accept  all  such  assertions  with  childish  eagerness. 

The  last  application  which  I  have  found  of  the  words  them- 
selves in  of  a  very  serio-comic  nature.  It  is  the  custom  even 
to-day  in  Sicily  to  make  what  are  virtually  gaint»  of  all  mur- 
derers  who  have  been  executed  for  crime,  but  who  confessed 
and  were  duly  oiled  before  execution.  To  these  infernal 
wretches  there  is  a  church  specially  dedicated  in  Palermo, 
where  people  go  to  pray  to  them  as  to  God.  A  priest  named 
the  Rev.  Fortunato  Mondello  has,  in  a  volume  of  "  Sacred  Dis- 
courses," greatly  praised  this  sanctification  of  assassins ;  there 
being,  as  he  declares,  something  exquisitely  tender  and  beauti- 
ful in  "  giving  to  these  pilgrims  of  eternity,  when  about  to  rise 
to  heaven,  the  refreshment  of  that  sublime  word,  '  Sons  of  peni- 
tence, fly,  fly  to  glory  ! '  "  ( Vide  G.  Pitr^,  Tradizioni  Popolari 


7- 


78  THE  SALON. 

It  cannot  be  denied  that  Delaroche,  by  exhi- 
biting this  picture,  intended  to  call  forth  historic 
comparison,  and  parallels  are  therefore  drawn 
between  Cromwell  and  Napoleon  as  between 
Louis  XVI .  and  Charles  I.  Yet  I  venture 
to  say  that  injustice  is  done  to  both  when  they 
are  thus  compared.  For  Napoleon  kept  him- 
self free  from  the  worst  blood -guiltiness  (the 
execution  of  the  Duke  of  Enghien  was  only 
secret  murder),^  but  Cromwell  never  sank  so  low 
as  to  let  himself  be  anointed  by  a  priest  as  em- 
peror, and,  as  a  renegade  son  of  the  Revolution, 
cajole  the  Church  for  the  crowned  cousinship  of 
the  Caesars.  There  is  a  blood-spot  in  the  life  of 
the  one,  and  an  oil-spot  on  that  of  the  other. 
But  both  were  conscious  of  a  secret  guilt.  For 
Bonaparte,  who  might  have  become  the  Wash- 
ington of  Europe,  and  was  only  its  Napoleon, 
was  never  at  his  ease  in  the  imperial  purple 
mantle.  Freedom  haunted  him  like  the  ghost 
of  a  murdered  mother ;  he  heard  her  voice  every- 
where, even  by  night ;  she  tore  him  from  the 
arms  of  the  espoused  legitimacy ;  she  frightened 


Sieiliane,  voL  xvii.,  Palermo,  1889).  One  may  search  in  vain 
among  the  heathen  of  ancient  or  modem  times  for  sach  a  degra- 
dation or  perversion  of  religion  as  this. — Translator. 

^  This  clause  does  not  occur  in  the  French  version,  and 
there  are  in  the  latter,  in  this  passage,  other  omissions  and 
variations. 


THE  SALON.  J9 

him  from  bed/  and  then  he  was  seen  rnnning 
hurriedly  in  the  echoing  halls  of  the  Tuileries, 
and  when  he  came  pale  and  weary  in  the  morn- 
ing into  the  State  Council,  he  complained  of 
id^ologie,  and  still  id^ologie — this  very  dangerous 
id^ologie — and  Corvisart  shook  his  head. 

When  Cromwell,  likewise,  could  not  sleep  in 
peace,  and  wandered  in  anxious  distress  in  White- 
hall, it  was  not,  as  pious  cavaliers  deemed,  a 
bloody  royal  spectre  which  pursued  him,  but 
dread  of  the  bodily  revengers  of  his  guilty  deed ; 
he  feared  the  real  poniards  of  his  foes,  and 
therefore  always  wore  a  coat  of  mail  under  his 
jerkin,  and  became  ever  more  distrustful ;  and 
finally,  when  the  pamphlet  appeared,  entitled, 
"  Killing  no  Murder,"  he  never  smiled  again. 

But  if  the  comparison  of  the  Protector  and 
the  Emperor  offers  few  points  of  resemblance, 
the  gain  is  all  the  greater  in  the  parallels  between 
the  errors  and  failings  of  the  Stuarts  and  of  the 
Bourbons,  and  between  the  restorations  in  both 
countries.  It  is  almost  one  and  the  same  story 
of  rapid  ruin.  There  is  even  the  same  quasi- 
legitimacy  in  the  new  dynasty  as  there  was  once 
in  England.     For,  as  before,  the  holy  weapons  are 


^  "  Elle  I'arrachait  pleni  d'effroi  des  bras  de  la  l^timit^  qui 
^tait  venue  partager  sa  concha."  There  is  obviously  ao  error 
or  omission  here  in  the  Grerman  text.  —  Trandaior. 


so  THE  SALON. 

again  smithed  in  the  furnace  of  Jesuitism ;  the 
Church,  away  from  which  is  no  eternal  happiness, 
sighs  and  intrigues  for  "  the  child  of  the  miracle," 
and  all  that  is  now  needed  to  complete  the  com- 
parison is  that  the  French  pretender  shall  return, 
as  did  the  English,  to  his  native  land.  I  pro- 
phesy for  him  a  fate  quite  contrary  to  that  of 
Saul,  who  sought  his  father's  asses  and  found  a 
crown ;  the  young  Henry  will  come  to  France  to 
seek  a  crown,  and  find  only  the  paternal  donkeys. 
All  who  looked  at  the  picture  of  Cromwell 
were  generally  busy  in  conjecture  as  to  what  were 
his  reflections  by  the  coffin  of  the  dead  Charles. 
History  gives  us  two  versions  of  this  scene,  or 
subject.  According  to  one,  Cromwell  had  the 
coffin  opened  by  night  and  by  torchlight,  and 
with  motionless  body  and  distorted  countenance 
stood  before  it  for  a  long  time  like  a  silent  statue. 
According  to  another  report,  he  opened  the  coffin 
by  day,  calmly  gazed  at  the  corpse,  and  spoke 
the  words,  "  He  was  a  strongly  built  man,  who 
might  have  lived  a  long  time."  ^     In  my  opinion, 

*  Heine,  like  a  poet,  leaves  out  of  sight  altogether  the  true 
object  of  this  visit,  which  was  to  officially  confirm,  or  prove  by  the 
highest  civil  authority,  the  fact  of  the  King's  death.  In  those 
days  it  was  a  rule,  with  few  exceptions,  that  men  personating 
deceased  claimants  to  the  throne  soon  appeared,  declaring  that 
the  dead  man  had  not  been  really  executed,  but  that  a  corpse 
had  been  substituted,  et  cetera.  History  abounds  in  such  cases. 
I  myself  have  heard  a  sermon  preached  by  a  venerable  clergy- 


;1'--.- 


THE  SALON.  8i 

Pelaroche  had  this  more  democratic  legend  in 
his  mind.  In  the  face  of  his  Cromwell  there  is 
not  the  least  expression  of  astonishment,  wonder, 
or  any  other  storm  of  the  soul ;  on  the  contrary, 
the  beholder  is  shocked  by  this  frightful,  horrible 
calmness  in  the  man's  countenance.  There  he 
stands,  a  form  as  firm  as  earth,  "  brutal  as  a 
fact,"  powerful  without  pathos,  naturally  super- 
natural,^ marvellously  commonplace,  outlawed 
and  yet  famous,  beholding  his  work  almost  like 
a  woodman  who  has  just  felled  an  oak.  He 
has  calmly  cut  down  the  great  oak  which  once 
so  proudly  spread  its  branches  over  England 
and  Scotland,  the  royal  oak,  in  whose  shadow 
bloomed  so  many  beautiful  races  of  men,  and 
under  which  the  elves  of  poetry  danced  their 
merriest  rounds ;  he  has  felled  it  with  his  fatal 
axe,  and  there   it  lies  on  the  ground  with  its 

man  of  the  Episcopal  Church  who  claimed  to  be  the  son  of 
Louis  XVI.,  and  who  certainly  bore  an  extraordinary  likeness 
to  his  alleged  father.  It  was,  therefore,  most  natural  that  all 
pains  should  be  taken  to  confirm  the  actual  execution  of  such 
men,  above  all  by  their  successors.  It  is  not  probable  that 
Cromwell  bad  any  save  "  business  feelings  "  on  this  occasion. 
— Translator. 

^  Such  I  take  to  be  the  real  meaning  in  this  place  of  the  word 
ddmonitch,  which  assuredly  is  not  correctly  translated  in  the 
French  as  cUmoniaque.  The  demon,  as  I  have  elsewhere  ex- 
plained, is  not  a  devil,  but  an  energetic  spirit.  It  was  the 
Church  which  converted  all  demons,  »ave  its  own,  into  infernal 
fiends. — Trandator. 

•r "  ■ 


82 


THE  SALON. 


charming  tracery  of  foliage  and  its  uninjured 
crown.     Ah,  fatal  axe  !  "  , 

"  Do  you  not  think,  sir,  that  the  guillotine  is  a 
great  improvement  ?  "  These  were  the  croaking 
or  quacked  words  with  which  a  Briton,  who  stood 
behind  me,  interrupted  the  sentiments  which  I 
have  just  written  down,  and  which  so  mournfully 
inspired  my  soul,  while  I  looked  at  the  wound 
on  the  neck  of  King  Charles  in  the  picture  by 
Delaroche.  It  is  somewhat  too  coarsely  bloody. 
The  lid  of  the  coflSn  is  also  badly  designed,  giving 
to  the  latter  the  look  of  a  violin-case.  In  other 
respects  the  picture  is  painted  with  incomparable 
superiority,  combining  the  refinement  of  Van 
Dyck  with  the  bold  shadowing  of  Rembrandt, 
especially  recalling  the  republican  warrior  forms 
in  that  great  historic  picture  by  the  latter,  "  The 
Night  Watch,"  which  I  have  seen  in  the  Trippen- 
huis  at  Amsterdam.  I 

The  character  of  the  talent  of  Delaroche,  as 
well  as  of  most  of  his  contemporaries,  closely 
approaches  that  of  the  Flemish  school,  only  that 
the  French  treat  subjects  with  a  lighter  grace, 
and  its  national  elegance  flits  over  it  super- 
ficially yet  beautifully.  Therefore  I  would  call 
Delaroche  a  graceful  and  elegant  Dutchman. 

I  may,  in  another  place,  report  the  conversa- 
tions which  I  frequently  overheard  near  this 
Cromwell.     There  could  be  no  better  place  for 


THE  SALON.  8j 

eavesdropping  {zur  Belauschung),  and  catching 
public  feelings  and  opinions.  The  picture  is  hung 
in  the  grand  salon,  at  the  entrance  of  the  long 
gallery,  and  near  it  was  placed  Robert's  admir- 
able masterpiece,  which  is  equally  consoling  and 
conciliatory.  In  fact,  if  the  rough  and  military 
Puritan  figure,  that  terrible  harvester  with  the 
shorn  royal  head,  stepping  from  a  dark  back- 
ground, terrified  the  beholder  and  awoke  in  him 
wildly  all  political  passions,  the  soul  again  felt 
itself  calmed  at  the  sight  of  those  other  more 
peaceful  reapers,  who,  returning  with  their  more 
beautiful  sheaves,  bloomed  in  the  purest  light  of 
heaven  at  the  harvest-home  of  love  and  peace. 
And  though  we  may  feel  before  one  of  these 
pictures  that  the  great  battle  of  the  age  is  not 
yet  at  an  end,  and  that  the  earth  still  trembles 
'neath  our  feet,  though  we  stUl  hear  the  roaring 
of  the  storm,  which  seems  to  threaten  that  it 
soon  will  tear  earth  from  its  firm  foundations, 
though  we  see  a  monstrous,  deep  abyss  which 
thirstily  absorbs  the  stream  of  blood  so  that 
dread  fear  of  utter  ruin  seizes  on  our  souls ;  still, 
in  the  other  picture,  we  behold  how  peaceably 
secure  the  earth  remains,  how  lovingly  she  yields 
her  golden  fruits,  though  all  the  mighty  Roman 
tragedy,  with  gladiators  and  great  emperors, 
vices  and  elephants,  once  trampled  down  the 
whole  beneath  their  weight,  then  passed  away. 


84  THE  SALON. 

If  we  have  contemplated  in  the  first  that  history 
which  rolls  on  so  crazily  in  mnd  and  blood,  and 
then  for  centuries  keeps  calm  and  quiet  to  bound 
up  again,  and  right  and  left  goes  wildly  raging 
on — that  which  we  call  the  history  of  the  world ; 
then  in  the  picture,  on  the  other  hand,  we  read 
a  history  which  is  greater  still,  yet  which  has 
ample  space  to  show  itself  in  a  farm-waggon 
drawn  by  buffaloes,  a  tale  without  a  beginning  or 
an  end,  which  ever  tells  itself  again  like  the  sea- 
waves,  and  which,  indeed,  is  simple  as  the  sea, 
as  the  blue  sky,  or  as  the  seasons'  round — a  holy 
history  which  the  poet  sings  whose  archives  are 
in  every  human  heart ; — I  mean  the  history  of 
humanity !  f 

It  was  really  benevolent  and  beneficent  that 
the  picture  of  Robert  was  placed  so  near  that  by 
Delaroche.  Many  a  time  after  I  had  looked  long 
at  the  Cromwell,  and  sunk  myself  so  deeply  in 
it  that  I  almost  heard  his  words,  monosyllabic 
and  harsh,  grimly  growled  and  hissed  according 
to  that  English  utterance,  which  sounds  like  far- 
off  rolling  of  the  sea  mingled  with  the  shrill 
cries  of  storm-birds ;  ^  then  I  feel  myself  attracted 
by  the  silent  magic  of  the  neighbouring  picture, 


^  I  beg  leave  to  point  out  this  simile  as  an  admirable  descrip- 
tion of  the  sounds  of  our  language,  which  has  been  spoken  of  aa 
"  indescribable  in  toD*."  i 


THE  SALON.  85 

and  then  I  seem  to  hear  the  merry  euphony  or 
the  soft  speech  of  Tuscany  ringing  on  Roman  lips, 
and  all  my  soul  was  cheered  and  elevated  by  the 
sound.* 

Ah  !  it  was  needed  that  the  beloved  ever- 
blooming  melodious  history  of  humanity  should 
console  our  soul  in  the  discordant  tumult  of  the 
history  of  the  world.  I  hear  it  at  this  instant 
as  I  write — hear  it  without — that  harsh  and 
horrid  sound,  more  threatening  and  bewildering 
than  ever,  that  maddening  confusion  of  noise ; 
drums  are  beating,  weapons  rattling  and  ringing, 
a  rising  flood  of  men  with  delirious  sufferings  and 
curses ;  for  the  mob  of  Paris  whirls  through  the 
narrow  streets  and  howls,  "Warsaw  is  fallen! 
Our  advanced  guard  has  fallen  !  Down  with  the 
Ministry  !  War  to  Russia !  death  to  Prussia ! " 
It  is  hard  for  me  to  remain  quietly  seated  at 
the  table  and  write  my  poor  paper  on  art,  my 
peaceful  criticism  of  pictures  to  an  end.  And 
yet,  should  I  go  forth  into  the  street  and  there 
be  recognised  as  a  Prussian,  then  my  brain  may 
be  so  crushed  in  by  some  hero  of  July  that 
all  my  ideas  may  be  also  flattened ;  or  I  may 
get  a  bayonet-thrust  in  the  left  side,  where  my 

^  Lingua  Toscana  in  bocea  Homana.  The  rest  of  this  paper, 
or  Dine  pages  of  the  Grerman  original,  is  omitted  from  the  last 
"complete"  French  version,  though  two  of  the  five  passages 
were  in  the  first  French  edition. 


16  THE  SALON. 

heart  is  already  bleeding  of  itself  j  and  more  than 
all  thatj  I  may  be  put  into  the  watcbhouse  as  a 
foreign  disturber  of  the  peace.^      '  I 

In  such  rioting  all  thoughts  and  pictures 
become  confused  and  repel  one  another.  The 
Goddess  of  Freedom  of  Delacroix  met  me  with  a 
changed  countenance,  almost  with  suffering  in 
her  wild  eyes.  Almost  miraculously  changed 
was  the  picture  of  the  Pope  by  Vernet.  The 
old  and  feeble  vicegerent  of  Christ  seemed  all 
at  once  to  be  young  and  vigorous,  and  rose 
smiling  on  his  chair,  while  his  sturdy  bearer 
was  apparently  opening  his  mouth  to  sing  Te 
Deum  laudamus.  The  young  English  prince 
sinks  to  the  ground,  and  dying  greets  me  with 
the  sad  deep  look  peculiar  to  Poles.  Then  the 
dead  Charles  assumes  another  face  in  sudden 
change,  and  looking  closer,  I  behold  no  king, 
but  murdered  Poland  in  the  black  coffin,  while 
Cromwell  stands  no  more  before  my  eyes,  but 
the  Czar  of  Russia,  a  noble,  opulent  form,  quite 
as  grand  as  he  seemed  to  me  to  be  years  before 
in  Berlin,  when  he  stood  beside  the  King  of 
Prussia  on  the  balcony  and  kissed  the  latter's 
hand.  Thirty  thousand  Berlin  folk,  longing 
for  anything  like  show,  shouted  "  Hurrah  !  "  and 
I   thought  in  my   heart,  "  God   be  gracious  to 

*  As  it  happened  to  George  A.  Sala. 


THE  SALON.  87 

US  one  and  all."  I  knew  the  Sannatian  pro- 
verb, "  Kiss  devoutly  the  hand  which  you  cannot 
cut  oflF."  ^ 

Ah !  I  would  that  the  King  of  Prussia  had 
allowed  only  his  left  hand  to  be  kissed  and 
grasped  the  sword  with  his  right,  and  therewith 
met  the  most  dangerous  enemy  of  our  native 
land,  as  duty  and  conscience  required  him  to  do. 
Since  those  Hohenzollerns  have  assumed  the  duty 
of  Lord  Wardens  of  the  realm  in  the  north 
{Vogtwiirde),  so  should  they  guard  the  Marches 
against  aggressing  Russia.  The  Russians  are 
brave  people,  very  nice  folk  indeed,  but  since 
the  fall  of  Warsaw,  the  last  bastion  which  sepa- 
rated them  from  us,  our  hearts  have  squeezed 
together  so  closely  that  I  am  getting  alarmed.^ 

'  In  the  first  edition,  says  the  German  publisher,  this  pas- 
sage, very  much  mutilated  by  the  censor,  read  as  follows  : — 

"...  Ah  1  Germany's  right  hand  was  lame,  lamed  by 
kissing,  and  our  best  bulwark  fell,  our  advanced  guard  felL 
Poland  lies  in  its  coffin,  and  when  the  Czar  again  visits  us,  it  is 
on  the  card  to  kiss  his  hand.     God  be  gracious  to  us  ! 

"  But  as  regards  regicide,  nothing  more  .  .  .  is  said  here.  I 
will  pass  over  further  discussion  and  return  to  my  proper 
theme." 

What  Heine  here  describes  as  a  Sannatian  saying  occurs  in 
Burckhardt's  "Arabic  Proverbs." 

'  This  reminds  me  that  once  when  in  conversation  with 
Tourgu^nief,  the  Russian  novelist,  at  the  house  of  G.  H.  Lewes, 
our  host  stepped  between  us  and  said,  "  Here  I  am  like  little 
England,  overwhelmed  between  great  Russia  and  America," 
the  allusion  being  to  our  respective  heights,  Lewes  being  a  short 


n  THE  SALON. 

I  am  afraid  that  if  the  Czar  of  Enssia  shonld 
visit  us  again,  it  will  be  on  the  card  for  us  to 
kiss  his  hand.    God  be  merciful  to  us  all ! 

God  be  merciful  to  us  all !  Our  last  bastion 
ia  fallen,  the  goddess  of  Liberty  turns  pale,  our 
friends  lie  on  the  ground,  the  Roman  high  priest 
rises  triumphant  by  the  coflfin  of  the  popular 
cause  {des  Volksthums). 

I  hear  that  Delaroche  is  now  painting  a  com- 
panion-piece to  the  Cromwell,  a  Napoleon  on 
St.  Helena,  and  that  he  has  chosen  the  moment 
when  Sir  Hudson  Lowe  is  lifting  the  lid  from  the 
corpse  of  that  great  representative  of  Democracy.' 

Returning  to  my  subject,  I  should  here  have 
praised  many  a  brave  painter,  as,  for  example,  the 
two  marine  artists,  Gudin  and  Isabey,  as  well  as 
certain  distinguished  depictors  of  ordinary  life,  such 
as  the  brilliantly  clever  Destouches  and  the  witty 

man,  while  the  Russian  and  I  were  equally  tall.     To  which  I 
replied  in  the  words  of  Heine,  and  in  jest — 

"  When  both  our  hearts  together  a  Holy  Alliance  made,  \ 

They  understood  eaoh  other,  both  were  together  laid.        I 

But  oh  1  the  poor  young  rosebud,  which  lay  just  underneath. 
The  minor,  weaker  ally,  was  almost  crushed  to  death." 

They  are  both  dead  now,  and  with  them  George  Eliot,  who 
stood  by.  But  I  trust  it  may  be  long  ere  the  rose  of  England 
will  ever  be  crushed  by  any  giant. — Translator. 

^  It  is  with  this  brief  passage  of  five  lines  that  the  French 
version  of  this  Salon  of  1830  ends.  The  comparison  of  Sir 
Hudson  Lowe  to  Cromwell,  and  the  calling  Napoleon  a  represen- 
tetive  of  Democracy,  are  not  very  happy. — Trtmdator. 


a.Ak^nifitffei 


THE  SALON.  Sf 

Pigal ;  but,  despite  the  best  will,  it  is  all  the 
same  impossible  to  calmly  analyse  their  merits, 
for  there,  out  of  doors,  the  storm  rages  too  terribly, 
and  no  one  can  concentrate  his  thoughts  when 
such  tempests  re-echo  in  the  soul.  It  is  even  on 
so-called  peaceful  days  very  hard  in  Paris  to  turn 
one's  mind  away  from  what  is  in  the  streets,  and 
indulge  in  wistful  private  dreams  (privattrdumend 
nachzuhdngen).  And  though  Art  blooms  more 
luxuriantly  in  Paris  than  elsewhere,  we  are  still 
disturbed  in  its  enjoyment  at  every  moment  by 
the  rude  rush  and  roar  of  life  ;  the  sweetest  tones 
of  Pasta  and  of  Malibran  are  jarred  by  the  suffering 
cries  of  bitter  poverty,  and  the  intoxicated  heart;, 
which  has  just  drank  eageriy  from  the  inspiring 
cup  of  Robert's  colour,  will  be  immediately  after 
sobered  by  the  sight  of  public  misery.  It  re- 
quires almost  a  Goethean  egoism  to  attain  here 
to  undisturbed  art  enjoyment,  and  how  very 
diflBcult  art  criticism  thereby  becomes  I  feel  at 
this  moment.  I  succeeded  yesterday  evening  in 
writing  something  more  of  this  paper,  after  I 
had,  however,  seen  a  deathly  pale  man  fall  to 
the  ground  on  the  Boulevards  from  hunger  and 
wretchedness.  But,  when  all  at  once  a  whole 
race  falls  on  the  Boulevard  of  Europe,  then  it  is 
impossible  to  write  further  in  peace.  When  the 
eyes  of  the  critic  are  wet  with  tears  his  opimon 
is  not  worth  much. 


THE  SALON. 


Artists  justly  complain  in  this  time  of  discord 
and  of  general  enmity.  They  say  that  painting 
needs  the  peaceful  olive-tree  in  every  respect. 
Hearts  which  are  anxiously  awaiting  the  sound 
of  the  trumpet  of  war  certainly  have  not  an  ear 
for  sweet  music.  Men  listen  to  the  opera  with 
deaf  ears,  the  ballet  is  stared  at  too  with  little 
joy  {sogar  wird  nur  theUnahmlos  angeglotzt). 
"  And  it  was  all  the  fault,"  the  artists  cry,  "  of 
that  damned  Revolution  of  July,"  and  they 
curse  freedom  and  the  detestable  politics,  which 
absorb  everything,  so  that  nobody  so  much  as 
mentions  them. 

I  have  heard,  yet  scarce  believe  my  ears,  that 
even  in  Berlin  people  talk  no  more  about  the 
theatre  ;  and  the  Moi-ning  Chronicle,  which  yester- 
day announced  that  the  Reform  Bill  had  passed 
the  Lower  House,  notices  incidentally  that  Doctor 
Raupach  is  now  in  Baden-Baden,  and  bewails  the 
times  because  his  artistic  talents  are  utterly  lost. 

I  am  certainly  a  great  admirer  of  Doctor  Rau- 
pach ;  I  have  always  gone  to  the  theatre  when 
the  Schiilerschwdnke  (Students'  Tricks),  or  the 
Seven  Maidens  in  Uniform,  or  the  Journey- 
man's Holiday  ^  was  performing,  but  I  must 
protest  that  the  fall  of  Warsaw  causes  me  more 


^  Or,  as  one  may  say  in  English  "  the  wayzgoose,"  dot  FeA 
der  Handwerker. 


THE  SALON.  91 

grief  than  I  should  experience  if  Doctor  Raupach 
and  all  his  artistic  talent  went  to  the  dogs. 
0  Warsaw,  Warsaw !  I  would  not  have  given 
thee  for  a  whole  wilderness  of  little  caterpillars 
(Eaupachen). 

My  old  prophecy  as  to  the  end  of  the  art 
period,  which  began  with  Goethe's  cradle  and 
which  will  end  with  his  coffin,  seems  to  be  near 
its  fulfilment  The  present  art  must  perish, 
because  its  principle  is  rooted  in  the  worn-out 
old  regime,  or  in  the  vanishing  past  of  the  Holy 
Roman  realm.  Therefore,  like  all  the  faded 
relics  of  that  past,  it  stands  in  comfortless  cold 
contradiction  with  the  present  age.  It  is  this 
contradiction,  not  the  tendency  or  taste  of  the 
time  itself  {Zeitbewegung)  which  is  so  injurious 
to  art ;  on  the  contrary,  this  tendency  and  action 
of  the  age  must  strongly  stimulate,  as  was  the 
case  in  Athens  and  Florence,  where  even  in  the 
wildest  storms  of  war  and  of  factions  art  developed 
its  most  magnificent  results.  It  is  true  that  those 
Greek  and  Florentine  artists  did  not  lead  an  iso- 
lated, egoistic  art  life,  (or  one  of)  idly  imagining 
souls  hermetically  sealed  to  the  great  joys  and 
sorrows  of  their  day  ;  on  the  contrary,  their  works 
were  but  the  visioned  mirror  of  their  age,  and 
they  themselves  were  thorough  men,  whose  indi- 
viduality was  as  strong  as  their  creative  power. 
Phidias  and  Michael  Angelo  were  men  of  one 


9S  THE  SALON. 

piece  with  their  works,  and  as  they  were  in  keep- 
ing with  their  Greek  or  Catholic  temples,  so  were 
those  artists  in  holy  harmony  with  their  surround- 
ings ;  they  did  not  work  with  pitifully  limited, 
private  personal  inspiration,  which  easily  and 
falsely  insinuated  itself  into  any  subject  at  will. 
./Eschylus  sang  of  the  Persians  with  the  same 
truth  which  he  manifested  in  fighting  them  at 
Marathon,  and  Dante  wrote  his  comedy,  not  as 
a  poet  waiting  for  orders,  but  as  a  fugitive  Guelf 
and  in  proscribed  exile,  and  in  the  dire  need 
of  war  he  did  not  bewail  the  decay  of  his  genius, 
but  that  of  freedom. 

However,  the  new  age  will  bring  forth  a  new 
art,  which  will  be  in  inspired  accord  with  itself, 
which  will  not  need  to  take  its  symbolism  fi:t)m 
a  faded  past,  and  which  must  even  develop  a  new 
style  of  work  (Technik),  which  will  altogether 
differ  from  that  which  preceded  it.  Until  then 
the  most,  self -intoxicated  subjectivity,  the  indi- 
viduality free  from  social,  worldly  influence  (die 
weltentziigelte  Individv/ilitat)  or  divine  person- 
ality, may  assert  itself  in  all  possible  enjoyment 
of  life,  which  is  always  worth  more  than  the 
dead  sham  existence  of  ancient  art.^ 


^  That  is  to  say,  until  art  shall,  in  accordance  with  a  new 
age,  have  settled  itself  into  new  form  and  character,  artists  do 
well  in  representing  at  will  all  kinds  of  subjects  and  ideas; 


THE  SALON.  jg 

Or  is  there  to  be  a  sad  and  dreary  end  of  art, 
as  with  the  world  itself?  That  overwhelming 
spirituality  which  now  manifests  itself  in  Euro- 
pean literature  is  perhaps  a  sign  of  near  extinc- 
tion, just  as  men  in  the  hour  of  death  suddenly 
become  clairvoyant  and  utter  with  pallid  lips  the 
most  supernatural  secreta  Or  will  grey,  old 
Europe  rejuvenate  itself,  and  is  the  twilighting 
(ddmmernde)  spiritualism  or  supematuralism  of 
its  artists  and  authors  not  a  marvellous  forebod- 
ing of  death,  but  the  terrible  thrilling  prescience 
of  a  new  birth,  the  intellectual  wafting  of  a  new 
spring  ? 

The  Exhibition  of  this  year  has,  by  many  a 
picture,  removed  that  uncanny  fear  of  death  and 
announced  a  better  promise.  The  Archbishop  of 
!Faris  expects  all  benefit  from  the  cholera  or  death ; 
from  it  I  hope  for  freedom  and  for  life.     There 


which  is  indeed  as  applicable  to  religion  and  political  economy 
as  to  art.  As  I  have  elsewhere  observed,  Heine  has  very 
decidedly  formed  the  idea,  which  was  much  in  advance  of  bis 
age,  and  which  is  even  yet  very  little  considered  by  anybody, 
that  we  are  advancing  rapidly  to  aif  age  when  all  the  art, 
poetry,  and  romance,  faith  and  ideals  of  the  past,  as  we  under- 
stand them,  are  to  pass  away  before  a  new  positive  or  scientific 
age,  in  which  in  due  time  the  feelings  which  survive  or  may  be 
developed  in  man  will  develop  in  their  turn  and  time  a  new  art.  >v 

Nor  is  it  impossible  that,  with  all  the  resources  of  science  allied 
to  all  that  is  recorded  of  the  past,  there  may  be  developed  an  art 
compared  to  which  all  that  ever  has  been  will  be  only  as  the  •* 
barbarous  alphabet  of  a  Btupendoas  literature. — Trandator. 


• »-  ■•• 


9«  THE  SALON. 

our  faiths  differ.  I  believe  that  France,  from 
the  depths  of  the  heart  of  its  new  life,  will 
exhale  a  new  art.  Even  this  difficult  problem 
will  be  solved  by  the  French,  by  that  light, 
fluttering  people  which  we  so  naturally  compare 
to  a  butterfly.  -     ( 

But  the  butterfly  is  also  a  symbol  of  the  im- 
mortality of  the  soul  and  of  its  eternal  renewal 
in  youth.^  , 


^  The  Salon  of  183 1  has  always  been  regarded  as  one  of 
Heine's  best  works,  and  it  has  had  certain  very  remarkable 
results.  It  did  much  to  prove  or  proclaim  to  the  world  out  of 
Germany  that  a  literary  man  or  scholar  could  really  write  as 
wisely  and  practically  on  art  as  if  he  were  an  artist,  which  fact 
has,  however,  been  widely  abused  of  late  years  by  an  innumer- 
able number  of  his  merely  "  literary  "  imitators,  who  have  not 
enjoyed  like  Heine  a  sound  education  or  regular  training  under 
such  teachers  and  friends  as  Thiersch  and  Cornelius.  Again, 
it  was  first  in  this  paper  that  the  theory  of  the  utter  irrespon- 
sibility and  independence  of  the  artist  or  genius,  which  has  led 
to  so  much  absurdity  of  late  years,  was  vigorously,  if  not  very 
logically,  enunciated,  as  it  had  never  been  before,  though  long 
quietly  adopted  by  the  disciples  of  Goethe.  With  his  usual 
inconsistency,  Heine  leaves  the  door  wide  open  for  every  one 
who  considers  himself  a  genius  to  rush  in  and  "  manifest "  juat 
as  be  pleases.  In  contrast  with  this,  his  conjecture  that  the 
age  of  all  art,  as  it  has  been  hitherto  understood,  is  drawing 
to  an  end,  is  replete  with  strange  truth,  and  was  marvelloui 
for  the  time  when  it  was  uttered. — Traiulator. 


•  -.1 


THE  EXHIBITION  OF  PICTURES  OF 

1833.'        ;:    :     : 

When  I  came  to  Paris  in  the  snmmer  of  1 8  3 1 , 
nothing  astonished  me  so  much  as  the  annual 
Exhibition  of  Pictures,  then  opened,  and  although 
the  most  important  political  and  religious  revolu- 
tions demanded  my  attention,  I  could  not  help 
writing  about  the  great  revolution  which  was 
here  taking  place  in  the  realm  of  art,  and  of 
which  the  Salon  alluded  to  was  the  most  impor- 
tant indication,  'v 

Like  the  rest  of  my  fellow-countrymen,  I  had 
the  most  violent  prejudices  against  French  art, 
that  is  to  say,  against  French  painting,  whose 
latest  developments  were  quite  unknown  to  me. 
But  there  is  something  which  is  very  peculiar  as 
regards  painting  in  France,  for  it  also  followed 
the  social  movement,  and  was  at  last  rejuvenated 
with  the  people.  Yet  this  did  not  take  place 
so  directly  or  promptly  as  in  the  sister-arts  of 
Music  and  Poetry,  which  had  begun  their  meta- 
morphosis before  the  Revolution. 


^  This  paper  is  omitted  in  the  French  yersion. — Otrman  Editor, 

95 


96 


THE  SALON. 


M,  Lonis  de  Maynard,  who  contributed  a 
series  of  articles  to  the  Europe  LitUraire  on  the 
Exhibition  for  this  year,  and  which  are  among 
the  most  interesting  ever  written  by  any  French- 
man on  art,  has,  as  regards  the  preceding  re- 
mark, expressed  himself  in  the  following  words, 
which  I  reproduce  as  accurately  as  I  can,  with 
regard  to  the  charm  and  grace  of  the  original : — 

"The  painting  of  the  eighteenth  century 
began  in  the  same  manner  and  under  the  same 
conditions  as  the  contemporary  politics  and  litera- 
ture ;  in  the  same  manner  it  attained  a  certain 
perfected  development,  and  they  all  broke  down 
together  when  all  in  France  was  crushed.  A 
strange  age  which  begins  with  wild  laughter  at 
the  death  of  Louis  XIV.,  and  which  ends  in  the 
arms  of  the  public  executioner,  of  Monsieur  le 
BourreaUy  as  Madame  du  Barry  called  him. 
Oh,  the  age  which  denied  everything,  mocked 
everything,  desecrated  everything,  and  believed 
in  nothing,  and  was  all  the  better  adapted  for 
that  to  the  great  work  of  destruction,  and  so 
destroyed  it  without  building  up  anything  in  the 
least,  and  not  desiring  to  do  so ! 

"  Meantime  the  arts,  though  they  followed  the 
same  movement,  did  not  pursue  it  with  equal 
pace.  Therefore  painting  in  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury lagged  behind.  It  had  produced  a  Crebillon, 
but  no  Voltaire  and  no  Diderot.     Always  in  the 


:■<?.- 


THE  SALON,  fT 

pay  of  aristocratic  patrons,  always  under  the 
petticoat  protection  of  reigning  mistresses,  little 
by  little,  I  know  not  how,  all  its  strength  and 
energy  gradually  dissolved.  In  all  its  extrava- 
gance and  wantonness,  it  never  manifested  that 
vehemence  or  inspiration  which  carries  us  away 
and  dazzles  us,  and  which  atones  for  bad  taste. 
It  impresses  us  disagreeably  with  its  frosted  ara- 
besques, and  their  faded  petty  decoration  in  the 
realm  of  a  boudoir,  where  a  jaunty  little  beauty, 
stretched  on  a  sofa,  frivolously  fans  herself. 
Favart  with  his  Egl^es  and  Zulmas  is  more 
truthful  than  Watteau  and  Boucher  with  their 
coquettish  shepherdesses  and  idyllic  abb^s. 
Though  he  made  himself  ridiculous,^  Favart 
meant  well.  The  painters  of  that  time  took 
little  part  in  that  which  was  going  on  and 
getting  ready  in  France.  The  outbreak  of  the 
Revolution  surprised   them   en  neglig4.      Philo- 

^  As  did  many  good  English  painters  of  the  last  generation, 
when  they  turned  from  the  sound  natural  Anglicism  which  was 
in  their  hearts,  and,  to  please  the  age,  painted  Southern  Euro- 
pean and  Oriental  trash,  after  the  tone  and  style  of  the  Leigh 
Hunt  Cockney-Italian,  Byronic-Greek  school.  In  which  thing 
it  is  curious  to  observe  that  they  even  lost  teehnic,  showing  that 
where  mind  goes,  matter  will  follow.  This  falling  off  from 
Nature  towards  the  fashionable,  fancy-ball  style,  was  due,  not 
to  the  artists,  but  to  their  patrons,  especially  to  the  rich  and 
ignorant ;  who  have  since  then  increased  incredibly  in  number, 
with  the  natural  result  of  a  corresponding  degradation  of  art— 
Tmndator. 


9S  THE  SALON.  | 

sophy.  Politics,  Science,  and  Literature,  every 
one  supported  by  a  single  man,  had  thrown  them- 
selves like  a  mob  of  drunken  men  in  stormy 
assault  all  at  one  object  and  aim,  whose  nature 
they  really  did  not  know  •  but  the  nearer  they 
approached  it,  the  lower  was  their  fever,  the 
more  peaceful  their  countenances,  the  more  deli- 
berate their  steps.  Yet  they  might  have  darkly 
foreboded  that  goal  which  they  did  not  know,  for 
they  could  have  read  in  the  Word  of  God  that 
all  mortal  joys  end  in  tears.  And  ah  !  they  came 
from  a  by  far  too  riotous  and  merrily  mad  orgie, 
not  to  be  destined  to  the  darkest  doom.  When 
one  considers  the  restlessness  wherewith  they 
were  often  tormented  in  the  sweetest  intoxication 
of  this  revel,  one  might  believe  that  the  scaffold 
where  all  this  delirious  rapture  was  to  end  rose 
before,  beckoning  from  afar  like  the  dark  head  of 
a  spectre. 

"  Painting,  which  held  itself  aloof  from  the 
actual  (emsthaften)  social  movement,  either  be- 
cause it  was  weary  of  wine  and  women,  or  because 
it  considered  its  co-operation  as  fruitless,  had  to 
the  last  moment  slipped  along  amid  the  roses, 
perfume  of  musk,  and  pastou relies  of  the  time. 
Vien  and  some  other  artists  felt  indeed  that 
their  art  must  at  any  price  be  raised  above 
all  this,  but  they  knew  not  where  to  begin. 
Leseur,  whom  David's  teacher  esteemed  highly, 


THE  SALON.  99 

could  not  develop  a  new  school.  He  must  be 
responsible  for  that.  Thrown  headlong  into  an 
age  when  all  spiritual  rule  and  power  was  in 
the  hands  of  a  Marat  and  Robespierre,  David 
was  in  the  same  perplexity  as  those  artists. 
We  know,  however,  that  he  went  to  Rome,  and 
returned  as  much  of  a  disciple  of  Vanloo  as 
when  he  had  departed.  It  was  not  till  later, 
when  GraBco-Roman  antiquity  was  preached,  and 
that  publicists  and  philosophers  came  to  the  idea 
that  the  world  must  return  to  the  literary,  social, 
and  political  forms  of  the  ancients,  that  his  in- 
tellect developed  itself  in  all  its  innate  boldness, 
and  then  with  a  daring  hand  he  tore  art  from 
the  trifling,  toying,  perfumed,  pastoral  frippery  in 
which  it  was  sunk,  and  raised  it  to  the  serious 
sphere  of  antique  heroism.  The  reaction  was, 
like  all  reactions,  without  pity,  and  David  carried 
it  to  extremes.  There  began  with  him  a  ter- 
rorism even  in  painting." 

Germany  has  long  been  well  informed  as  to 
David's  works  and  influence.  Our  French  guests 
informed  us  oft  and  amply  during  the  Empire  as 
to  the  great  David ;  and  we  have  heard  much 
of  his  pupils,  Gerard,  Gros,  Girardet,  and  Guerin. 
But  we  know  less  of  another  man  whose  name 
also  begins  with  G,  and  who,  if  not  the  founder, 
was  still  the  beginner  (der  Eroffner)  of  a  new 
school  in  France.     That  was  Gericault. 


THE  SALON.  \ 

I  k&ve  in  the  preceding  pagee  given  some 
indirect  information  as  to  this  school.  In  de- 
scribing the  best  works  of  the  Salon  of  1 83 1, 
I  also  explained  the  characteristics  of  the  later 
masters.  That  Exhibition  was,  according  to  nni- 
▼ersal  opinion,  the  most  remarkable  ever  seen  in 
France,  and  it  will  remain  memorable  in  the 
history  of  art.  The  pictures  which  I  praised  in 
my  description  will  be  famous  for  centuries,  and 
what  I  wrote  will  be  perhaps  a  valuable  contri- 
bution to  the  history  of  painting. 

I  was  able  for  the  first  time  to  convince  myself 
of  the  immeasurable  importance  of  the  Salon  of 
1 8  3 1  this  year,  when  the  halls  of  the  Louvre, 
which  had  been  closed  for  two  months,Nwere 
opened  on  the  ist  of  April,  and  we  were  greeted 
by  the  latest  products  of  French  art.  As  is  usual, 
the  old  pictures  which  constitute  the  National 
Gallery  were  covered  by  screens  of  cloth,  and  on 
this  were  hung  the  new  pictures,  so  that  here 
and  there  behind  the  Gothic  absurdities  of  some 
new  romantic  painter  there  peeped  out  charm- 
ingly the  mythologic  masterpieces  of  old  Italian 
artists.  The  whole  Exhibition  was  like  a  codex 
palimpsestus,  where  one  vexed  himself  the  more 
over  a  new  barbaric  text  because  he  knew  what 
divine  Greek  poetry  was  scribbled  over  by  it. 

Nearly  four  thousand  five  hundred  pictures 
were  exhibited,  and  there  was  hardly  one  master* 


v 


THE  SALON.  loi 

piece  among  them  alL  Was  that  the  oonsa- 
quence  of  a  too  great  exhaustion  after  excessive 
exertion?  Was  there  manifested  in  art  that 
national  drunken  sick  headache  (Nationalkatzen- 
jammer)  which  we  now  observe  in  the  political 
life  of  the  French  since  the  too  delirious  intoxi- 
cation of  freedom  has  been  subdued  ?  Was  the 
Exhibition  only  a  variegated  yawning,  a  coloured 
echo  of  the  Chamber  of  Deputies  of  this  year  ? 
If  the  Salon  of  1 8  3 1  was  still  glowing  with  the 
sun  of  July,  it  seemed  as  if  the  dreary  shower  of 
June  was  still  drizzling  in  that  of  1833.  The 
two  famed  heroes  of  the  last  Salon,  Delaroche 
and  Eobert,  did  not  appear  this  time  in  the  lists, 
and  the  other  painters  whom  I  had  praised  gave 
us  this  year  nothing  remarkable.  With  the  ex- 
ception of  a  picture  by  Tony  Johannot,  a  German, 
not  a  single  picture  in  the  Exhibition  touched  my 
feelings.  M.  Schefifer  gave  again  a  Margaret 
which  showed  great  progress  are  regards  tech- 
nical execution,  yet  which  had  no  great  signifi- 
cance or  force.  It  was  the  same  idea  more 
passionately  painted,  but  more  freezingly  con- 
ceived. And  Horace  Vemet  contributed  once 
more  a  great  picture  in  which  there  were  only 
certain  beautiful  details.  Decamps  would  seem 
to  have  made  merry  at  the  expense  of  the  Salon 
and  of  himself,  for  what  he  sent  were  monkey- 
pieces  j  among  them  a  really  admirable  baboon 


loa  THE  SALON. 

painting  an  historical  picture.  The  Gennan- 
Christian  long-flowing  hair  of  the  animal  re- 
minded me  amnsingly  of  friends  over  the  Ehine. 

Ingres  attracted  the  most  remark  this  year, 
and  was  made  noted  by  both  praise  and  the  con- 
trary. He  contributed  two  pictures  ;  one  was  the 
portrait  of  an  Italian  girl,  and  the  other  that  of 
M.  Bertin  Vatnd,  an  old  Frenchman.  Even  as 
Louis  Philippe  was  monarch  in  the  realm  of 
politics,  so  was  Ingres  this  year  king  in  the 
domain  of  art.  The  character  of  Ingres  is  also 
that  of  a  juste  milieu,  he  is  just  half-way  between 
Mieris  and  Michael  Angelo.  In  his  pictures  there 
is  the  heroic  boldness  of  Mieris  and  the  refined 
rendering  of  colour  of  Michael  Angelo.  i 

But  if  the  painting  in  the  Exhibition  of  this 
year  awoke  but  little  enthusiasm,  sculpture  mani- 
fested itself  all  the  more  magnificently,  contri- 
buting works  among  which  many  authorised  the 
highest  hopes,  and  among  them  was  one  which 
may  be  placed  in  rivalry  with  the  best  products 
of  the  art.  This  the  "  Cain  "  of  M.  Etex.  It  is 
a  group  of  symmetric,  even  monumental  beauty, 
fall  of  antediluvian  character,  and  yet  equally 
inspired  with  the  spirit  of  the  time.  It  seta 
forth  Cain  with  wife  and  child,  abandoned  to 
destiny,  brooding  without  thought,  a  petrifaction 
of  hopeless  calm.  This  man  slew  his  brother  in 
consequence  of  a  quarrel  as  to  a  sacrifice  or  a 


THE  SALON.  103 

religious  dispute.  Yes,  religion  caused  the  first 
fratricide,  and  since  then  it  bears  the  brand  of 
blood  upon  its  brow. 

I  shall  refer  again  to  the  "  Cain  "  of  Etex  when 
I  write  of  the  remarkable  flight  which  sculpture  has 
taken  above  and  beyond  painting.  The  Spartacus 
and  Theseus  which  are  placed  in  the  gardens  of 
the  Tuileries  awake  in  me,  whenever  I  walk  there, 
reflective  admiration.  Yet  it  pains  me  to  think 
when  it  rains  that  such  masterpieces  of  modem 
art  are  so  utterly  exposed  to  the  open  air. 
Heaven  is  not  so  mild  here  as  in  Greece,  and 
yet  even  there  the  better  works  of  statuary  were 
not  so  entirely  exposed  to  wind  and  weather  as 
is  commonly  thought,  for  they  were  well  pro- 
tected, generally  in  temples.  As  yet  atmospheric 
influences  have  not  much  injured  the  new  statues 
in  the  Tuileries,  and  it  is  pleasant  indeed  to  see 
them  greeting  us,  so  dazzlingly  white,  from  amid 
the  fresh,  green  chestnut  leaves.  And  it  is  so 
droll,  when  small  children  are  playing  about,  to 
hear  their  honnes  explaining  to  them  what  the 
naked  marble  man  means  who  looks  so  angry 
while  he  holds  a  sword  in  his  hand,  or  what  a 
queer  old  thing  that  is  who  has  an  ox's  head, 
and  who  is  being  killed  by  the  other  man  with 
a  club.  The  ox-man,  they  declare,  had  eaten  up 
a  great  many  children.  Young  Republicans,  in 
passing  by,  say  that  Spartacus  looks  significantly 


^♦*ff»Wf«SrtBVi 


4-;  ,;• 


KH  THE  SALON. 

up  at  the  wmdows  of  the  Tnileries,  and  in  the 
Minotaur  th'lj  see  the  kingdom.  Others  find 
fault  with  the  manner  in  which  Theseus  swings 
his  club,  and  insist  that  if  he  were  to  strike  he 
would  certainly  smash  his  own  hand.  However 
this  may  be,  thus  far  all  looks  promising  enough. 
Tet  after  a  few  winters  these  admirAble  statues 
will  be  weatherworn  and  ragged,  and  moss  will 
grow  on  the  sword  of  Spartacus,  and  peaceable 
families  of  insects  will  nestle  between  the  ox- 
head  of  Minotaurus  and  the  club  of  Theseus, 
unless  the  latter  be  broken  away,  club  and  all. 

And  since  so  many  useless  soldiers  must  be 
fed,  it  seems  to  me  that  it  would  be  well  if  His 
Majesty  in  the  Tuileries  were  to  place  by  every 
statue  a  sentinel,  who,  when  it  rains,  could  spread 
an  umbrella  over  it.  Thus  under  the  bourgeois- 
royal  umbrella  it  would  be  protected  in  the  true 
sense  of  the  word. 

Which  it  can  hardly  be  said  to  be  at  present, 
for  there  is  a  general  wailing  among  all  artists 
over  the  extreme  parsimony  of  the  King.  It  is 
said  that  as  Duke  of  Orleans  he  zealously  pro- 
tected art.  Now  they  grumble  that  he  orders 
too  few  pictures  in  proportion  to  his  position, 
and  in  like  proportion  pays  too  little  money  for 
them.  And  yet  he  is,  with  the  exception  of  the 
King  of  Bavaria,  the  greatest  connoisseur  among 
living  princes.     But  his  mind  is  perhaps  now  too 


4^- 


•r'i'-r"' 


^^[5y^ 


THE  SALON,  10$ 

mnch  occupied  with  politics  to  permit  him  to 
take  the  interest  in  art  matters  which  he  once 
did.  Bat  although  his  predilection  for  paint- 
ing and  sculpture  may  have  somewhat  cooled,  his 
inclination  to  architecture  has  risen  well  nigh  to 
raging  passion.  Never  yet  was  there  so  much 
building  in  Paris  as  is  now  being  carried  out 
by  the  King's  command.  We  see  everywhere 
the  plans  and  preparations  for  new  erections  and 
new  streets,  and  in  the  Tuileries  and  the  Louvre 
there  is  constant  sound  of  hammering.  The  plan 
for  the  new  library  is  the  grandest  which  can  be 
conceived.  The  Church  of  the  Madeleine,  the  old 
Temple  of  Fame,  is  near  its  completion,  and  they 
have  resumed  building  on  the  vast  Palace  of 
Ambassadors  which  Napoleon  began  to  build  on 
the  right  side  of  the  Seine,  and  which  was  only 
half  completed,  so  that  it  looked  like  the  ruin  of 
a  giant's  castle. 

In  addition  to  this,  colossal  monuments  are 
being  built  in  public  places.  On  the  Place  de 
la  Bastile  rises  the  great  elephant,  which  repre- 
sents, not  inaptly,  the  conscious  strength  and 
powerful  reason  of  the  people.  We  already  see 
in  the  Place  de  la  Concorde  a  wooden  facsimile 
of  the  Obelisk  of  Luxor ;  in  a  few  months  the 
Egyptian  original  will  take  its  place,  and  serve 
as  a  monument  of  the  fearful  events  which  here 
took  place  on  the  21st  January.     But  although 


io6  THE  SALON. 

this  hieroglyphed  messenger  from  the  marveHons 
land  of  Egypt  may  bring  us  so  many  experiences 
of  thousands  of  years,  still  the  old  lamp-post 
which  has  been  for  half  a  century  on  the  Place 
de  la  Concorde  has  experienced  far  greater  won- 
ders, and  the  ancient  red,  primevally  holy  giant 
stone  will  grow  pale  and  tremble  when  all  at 
once,  on  some  still  winter  night,  that  frivolous 
French  lantern  shall  begin  to  gossip  and  relate  the 
history  of  the  place  where  they  both  are  standing. 

Architecture  is  the  chief  passion  of  the  King, 
and  it  may  become  the  cause  of  his  fall.  I  fear 
lest,  despite  all  promises,  the  forts  cUtachAs  will 
always  be  in  his  head  and  in  his  heart,  for  his 
favourite  implements,  the  trowel  and  hammer, 
can  be  freely  applied  to  such  work — and  verily 
his  heart  leaps  up  for  joy  when  he  so  much  as 
thinks  of  hammering.  It  may  be  that  the  sound 
at  times  quite  drowns  even  the  voice  of  wisdom. 
When  it  does,  then  he  is  wheedled  by  his  greatest 
whim  into  the  faith  that  all  his  safety  lies  in 
those  fair  forts,  and  that  the  building  them  will 
be  an  easy  and  a  pleasing  task.  Thus  by  the 
medium  of  architecture  we  perhaps  may  come 
into  the  deepest  reach  of  politics.  As  regards 
the  fortifications  and  the  King  himself,  I  will 
here  give  a  fragment  from  a  memoir  which  I 
wrote  during  last  July. 

"  The  whole  secret  of ,  the  Revolutionary  party 


THE  SALON.  Wf 

consists  in  this,  that  the  Government  will  no 
longer  attack,  but  awaits  some  great  attack  from 
it,  so  as  to  be  able  to  offer  absolute  resistance. 
Therefore  a  new  insurrection  cannot  break  out  in 
Paris  without  the  special  sanction  or  connivance 
of  Government,  which  must  first  give  rise  to  it 
by  some  decided  act  of  folly.  Should  the  in- 
surrection succeed,  France  will  be  at  once  pro- 
claimed as  a  republic,  and  the  revolution  will 
whirl  all  over  Europe,  whose  ancient  institutions, 
should  they  not  be  shattered,  will  be  at  least 
terribly  shaken.  Should  the  revolution  fail,  then 
there  will  begin  a  terrible  reaction,  which  will  be 
aped  in  neighbouring  countries  with  the  usual 
clumsiness,  which  will  in  any  case  result  in 
bringing  abont  many  changes  in  existing  forms. 
In  any  case,  the  peace  of  Europe  will  be  endan- 
gered by  anything  out  of  the  common  course  of 
events  which  the  present  Government  may  un- 
dertake against  the  interests  of  the  revolution, 
and  by  every  inimical  act  which  it  may  commit 
against  its  parties.  And  as  the  will  of  the  pre- 
sent Government  is  entirely  that  of  the  King, 
therefore  the  breast  of  Louis  Philippe  is  the  true 
Pandora's  box  containing  all  the  evils  which  may 
all  at  once  be  poured  forth  over  all  the  earth. 
Unfortunately,  it  is  not  possible  to  read  the 
thoughts  of  his  heart  in  his  face,  for  the  younger 
line  seem  to  be  quite  as  accomplished  in  the  art 


to8  THE  SALON. 

of  dissimolation  as  the  elder.  No  actor  in  the 
world  has  his  own  face  so  completely  at  com- 
mand, no  one  knows  how  to  play  a  part  through 
in  such  masterly  manner  as  oar  Citizen-King. 
He  is  perhaps  one  of  the  cleverest,  wisest,  and 
bravest  men  in  France,  and  yet  he  was  perfectly 
able,  when  it  was  necessary  to  win  the  crown,  to 
assume  a  thoroughly  harmless,  small  citizen-like, 
timid  air,  and  the  people  who  put  him  on  the 
throne  believe  beyond  all  question  that  they  can 
pull  him  down  from  it  without  further  ceremony 
when  they  will. 

*'  But  this  time  it  is  the  monarchy  which  has 
played  the  idiot  part  of  Brutus,  for  which  reason 
it  is  really  at  themselves,  and  not  at  the  King, 
whom  the  French  should  laugh  when  they  see 
the  caricatures  in  which  the  latter  is  represented 
with  his  white  felt  hat  and  great  umbrella.  Both 
were  requisite  'properties'  (Eequisiten),  and  be- 
longed to  the  part  played,  just  as  much  as  the 
jpoigrUes  de  main.  Writers  of  history  will  some 
day  give  him  a  certificate  that  he  acted  it  very 
well ;  the  knowledge  of  which  may  console  him 
amid  the  satires  and  caricatures  which  choose 
him  as  the  target  of  their  wit.  The  number  of 
such  jeering  prints  and  jarring  pictures  (Zerr- 
bUder)  becomes  greater  every  day,  and  we  see 
everywhere  on  the  walls  of  houses  immense 
pears.     Never  yet  was  a  prince  so  mocked  in 


THE  SALON.  109 

Us  own  city  as  Lonis  Philippei  Bnt  he  thinks 
to  himself,  '  He  who  laughs  last  laughs  best ;  ye 
will  not  swallow  the  pear,  in  time  it  will  swallow 
you.'  Of  course  he  feels  all  the  insults  which 
are  heaped  on  him,  for  he  is  human.  Nor  is  he 
of  such  a  gentle,  lamb-like  nature  that  he  would 
not  revenge  himself;  he  is  a  man,  but  a  strong 
one,  who  can  restrain  his  anger  of  the  moment 
and  control  his  passions.  When  the  right  hour 
shall  arrive,  then  he  will  strike  boldly,  first  at 
the  petty  enemy  within,  and  then  against  the 
enemy  without,  who  has  wounded  and  slandered 
him  far  more  seriously.  This  man  is  capable  of 
anything,  and  who  knows  but  that  he  may  throw 
down  before  the  whole  Holy  Alliance,  as  gage 
of  battle,  that  glove  which  has  become  so  dirty, 
from  so  many  poignSes  de  main.  He  is  truly  not 
deficient  in  princely  feeling.  I  saw  him  just 
before  the  Revolution  of  July  in  felt  hat  with 
the  umbrella,  bnt  how  changed  of  a  sudden  did 
he  seem  on  the  6th  of  July  of  last  year,  when 
he  subdued  the  Republicans!  Then  he  was 
no  longer  the  good-natured,  great-bellied  petty 
citizen  and  laughing  face  of  flesh — even  his 
corpulence  now  gave  him  dignity ;  he  held  his 
head  as  proudly  and  as  high  as  any  of  his 
ancestors  had  done — yes,  rose  in  weighty,  mighty 
majesty,  grand  to  behold,  and  every  poimd  a 
king!     But  as  soon  as  he  felt  that  the  crown 


no  THE  SALON. 

I 

was  not  qnite  sare  on  his  head,  and  that  there 
might  be  many  a  tempest  yet,  how  soon  he 
cocked  the  old  felt  hat  on  his  head  and  took  the 
old  umbrella  in  his  hand !  How  like  a  hearty, 
cheerful  citizen,  a  few  days  later  at  the  great 
review,  he  greeted  Gossip-Tailor,  Cobbler-Snob, 
and  right  and  left  shook  hands  with  all  his 
might;  and  not  with  hand  alone,  but  with  his 
heart — with  smiling  lips — there  seemed  to  be  a 
smile  even  in  his  whiskers.  Yet  this  good,  brave 
man,  smiling  and  greeting,  praying  grace  from 
all,  had  fourteen  forts  cUtacMs  in  his  heart ! 

"  These  forts  are  now  the  subject  of  the  most 
serious  questions,  and  the  answer  thereto  may  be 
terrible  and  shatter  the  whole  world.  That  is 
ever  the  ancient  fatality  {FIvjcK)  which  has  hurled 
clever  men  headlong  to  destruction ;  they  be- 
lieved themselves  to  be  shrewder  than  whole 
races,  and  yet  experience  has  shown  that  the 
masses  always  judged  rightly,  and  always  saw 
through  the  intentions  of  their  rulers,  if  not  of 
all  their  plans.  For  the  people  are  all-knowing, 
all-seeing ;  the  eye  of  the  people  is  the  eye  of 
God.  And  the  French  people  compassionately 
shrugged  their  shoulders  when  Government  pater- 
nally feigned  ^  that  it  would  fortify  Paris  in  order 
^ 

^  Landeavateriichst  vorheucheUe,  literally,  "  patriotically-pater- 
nally  gammoaed  unto  them."  Landetvater,  "a  father  of  hia 
eoontry." 


THE  SALON.  Ill 

to  protect  it  from  the  Holy  Alliance.  Every- 
body knew  in  his  heart  that  Louis  Philippe 
wished  to  defend  himself  against  Paris.  And 
it  is  certainly  true  that  the  King  has  reason 
enough  to  fear  Paris,  for  his  crown  will  glow  on 
his  head  and  singe  his  wig  so  long  as  the  great 
flame  flares  in  Paris,  the  fireplace  of  the  Revo- 
lution. But  why  does  he  not  confess  all  this 
openly  ?  Why  does  he  always  pose  (jgebardet)  as 
a  trusty  watchman  of  this  fire  ?  It  would  per- 
haps be  more  to  his  advantage  if  he  would  plainly 
confess  to  his  grocers  and  similar  partisans  that 
he  can  no  longer  maintain  himself  and  them 
unless  he  is  altogether  lord  of  Paris,  and  unless 
he  can  surround  the  capital  with  fourteen  forts, 
whose  cannon  could,  from  above,  command  silence 
at  every  imeide.  An  open  confession  that  it  was  * 
a  matter  which  concerned  his  head,  and  those  of 
all  the  juste  milieu,  would  perhaps  have  produced 
good  results.  But  now  it  happens  that  not  only 
the  party  of  the  Opposition,  but  also  the  houti- 
quiers  or  shop-people,  and  most  of  the  hangers- 
on  of  the  jv^te  milieu  system,  are  out  of  all 
temper  with  the  forts  dMacMs,  and  the  press  has 
explained  to  them  in  complete  detail  the  reasons 
for  their  being  vexed.  For  the  greater  part  of 
the  shop-people  are  of  this  opinion,  namely,  that 
Louis  Philippe  is  an  admirable  king,  and  worth 
some  sacrifice,  or  even  putting  one's  self  into  danger 
to  defend,  as  was  the  case  on  the  5  th  and  6th  of 


ri2  THE  SALON. 

Jane,  when  40,000  men,  in  common  with  20,000 
troops  of  the  line,  risked  their  liyes  against  several 
hundred  Republicans ;  bat  that  for  all  this  he  i» 
not  worth  so  much  as  that,  in  order  to  keep  him 
in  case  of  later  and  more  serious  dmeuteSj  all 
Paris,  including  themselves,  their  wives,  children, 
and  shops,  should  be  in  imminent  danger  of  being 
shot  and  blown  to  annihilation  by  fourteen  citadels. 
Moreover,  they  assert  that  as  for  fifty  years  people 
have  here  been  accustomed  to  all  kinds  of  revo- 
lutions, it  has  been  so  planned  that  in  minor 
dmeutes  the  authorities  can  promptly  interfere, 
that  peace  can  be  soon  reinstated,  while  great 
insurrections  were  promptly  submitted  to  with 
the  same  result.  And  the  strangers,  too,  the 
rich  strangers  who  spend  so  much  money  in 
Paris,  have  learned  that  a  revolution  is  quite 
harmless  for  all  peaceable  spectators,  that  it  all 
takes  place  in  a  very  orderly,  in  fact,  in  a  nicely 
artistic  manner,  so  that  it  is  really  quite  an  amuse- 
ment for  a  foreigner  to  experience  a  revolution 
here.  But  if  the  city  were  to  be  surrounded  by 
forts  cUtaclUSj  then  the  fear  that  everybody  might 
be  blown  to  the  devil  early  some  morning  would 
frighten  away  foreigners  and  provincials,  and  not 
the  strangers  alone,  but  many  rentiers  who  in- 
habit the  city ;  in  which  case  there  would  be  much 
less  sugar,  pepper,  and  pomatum  sold,  less  house- 
rent  paid — in  short,  trade  and  traffic  would  be 
ruined.    Therefore  the  grocers,  who  are  thoB  con- 


THE  SALON.  II3 

cemed  for  the  interest  on  their  houses,  for  the 
customers  of  their  shops,  and  who  tremble  for 
themselves  and  families,  oppose  a  project  by  which 
Paris  would  become  a  fortress,  and  no  longer  be 
the  careless,  merry,  happy  Paris  of  the  olden 
time.  Others  who,  indeed,  belong  to  the  j'ltste 
milieu,  but  who  have  not  renounced  the  liberal 
principles  of  the  Revolution,  and  who  cherish 
those  principles  even  more  than  they  do  Louis 
Philippe,  would  much  rather  see  the  citizen-king- 
dom protected  by  institutions  than  by  a  kind  of 
buildings  which  recall  much  too  vividly  the  old 
feudal  times,  when  the  holder  of  the  citadel  ruled 
the  town  as  he  pleased.  Louis  Philippe,  they 
say,  has  been  thus  far  a  trusty  guardian  of  the 
citizenly  equality  and  freedom  which  was  con- 
quered with  so  much  blood,  but  he  is,  after  all, 
only  a  man,  and  in  all  men  there  lurks  a  longing 
for  absolute  dominion.  When  in  possession  of  the 
forts  dMacMs,  he  can,  unsuspected,  gratify  every 
caprice  at  will ;  he  would  then  be  far  less 
restrained  than  were  our  kings  before  the  Revo- 
lution ;  for  they  could  only  put  a  few  single 
discontented  subjects  into  the  Bastile,  but  Louis 
Philippe  is  surrounding  the  whole  city  with 
Bastilles,  and,  in  fact,  would  Ba-steal  all  Paris.^ 
And  even  though   the   noble   intentions  of  the 

^  Em^astiUire  gam  Paris,  hiuting  at  embalMrtn,  to  pack  up^ 
pat  away,  or  plunder. — Translator. 


114  rH£  SALON. 

present  King  were  absolutely  certain,  no  one 
would  be  responsible  for  those  of  his  successors, 
much  less  for  those  of  any  parties  or  persons  who 
by  subtlety  or  chance  might  acquire  the  control 
of  those  forts  cUtachiSj  and  so  control  Paris  at 
will.  But  far  more  serious  than  these  objec- 
tions is  another  source  of  anxiety  which  was  ex- 
pressed by  everybody,  and  which  even  silenced 
those  who  thus  far  neither  took  part  with  the 
Government  or  even  with  the  Revolution.  It 
involved  the  highest  and  deepest  interests  of 
the  whole  people,  or  their  national  independence. 
In  spite  of  all  French  vanity,  which  never  reflects 
willingly  on  the  events  of  1814  and  18 1 5,  it 
must  be  secretly  confessed  that  a  third  invasion  is 
not  so  altogether  out  of  the  reach  of  possibility, 
that  the  forts  cUtachis  might  not  only  be  no 
impediment  to  the  Allies,  if  they  would  take 
Paris,  but  that  they  might  even  take  these  forts, 
and  so  keep  the  city  for  ever  in  control,  or  even 
totally  destroy  it.  I  here  give  only  the  opinions 
of  the  French,  who  are  convinced  that  in  the 
former  invasion  the  foreign  troops  kept  at  a  dis- 
tance from  Paris  because  they  found  no  point  of 
resistance  against  the  vast  mass  of  the  inhabitants, 
and  that  now  the  ruling  sovereigns  in  the  depths 
of  their  hearts  have  no  deeper  desire  than  to 
utterly  destroy  Paris,  the  central  home  {foyer) 
of  Revolution.  i 


THE  SALON.  115 

"Will  the  project  of  the  forts  dStachds  then  be 
abandoned  for  ever  ?  That,  God  who  sees  into 
the  hearts  of  kings,  only  knows ! 

I  shonld  indeed  remark  that  we  are  perhaps 
blinded  by  a  party  spirit,  and  that  the  King 
entertains  views  for  all  common  interests,  and 
truly  means  nothing  more  than  to  barricade  us 
against  the  Holy  Alliance.  But  it  is  impro- 
bable. The  Holy  Alliance  has  a  thousand  rea- 
sons rather  to  fear  Louis  Philippe,  and,  moreover, 
a  very  great  and  weighty  cause  to  wish  for 
his  maintenance.  For,  firstly,  Louis  Philippe  is 
the  most  powerful  prince  in  Europe  ;  his  material 
resources  are  multiplied  tenfold  by  his  innate 
activity,  and  ten,  yes,  a  hundred  times  stronger 
are  the  intellectual  means  by  which  he  could 
rule  in  case  of  need.  And  should,  despite  all  this, 
the  united  sovereigns  bring  about  his  fall,  then 
they  would  have  overthrown  the  mightiest  and 
perhaps  last  support  of  monarchy  in  Europe. 
Yes,  all  sovereigns  should  daily  thank  the  Creator 
of  crowns  and  thrones  on  their  knees  that  Louis 
Philippe  is  King  of  France.  They  have  already 
committed  the  folly  of  killing  the  man  who  had 
the  greatest  power  to  control  the  Republicans. 
I  mean  Napoleon.  Truly  ye  are  right  in  calling 
yourselves  kings  by  the  grace  of  God ;  for  it 
was  a  special  grace  of  God  that  He  still  sent  the 
kings  a  man  who  rescued  them  when  Jacobinism 


1X6  THE  SALON. 

again  had  the  axe  in  its  hands,  and  threatened 
to  destroy  all  ancient  kingdoms.  Should  the 
princes  kill  this  man,  God  can  help  them  no 
more.  By  sending  Napoleon  Bonaparte  and 
Louis  Philippe  Orleans,  these  two  miracles.  He 
has  twice  saved  the  kingdom.  For  God  is 
reasonable,  and  sees  that  the  Republican  form  of 
government  is  very  ill-suited,  unprofitable,  and 
deadening  for  old  Europe ;  and  I  too  think  this. 
But  perhaps  both  of  us  can  do  nothing  against 
the  blindness  of  princes  and  demagogues ;  against 
stupidity  even  the  gods  fight  in  vain.  | 

Yes,  it  is  my  holiest  conviction  that  Republi- 
canism would  be  unsuitable,  unprofitable,  and  not 
enlivening  for  the  nations  of  Europe,  and  quite 
impossible  for  Germans.  \  When,  in  blind  imita- 
tion of  the  French,  the  German  demagogues 
preached  a  German  republic,  and  attempted  to 
vilify  and  slander  with  insane  rage,  not  only 
kings,  but  kingdom  itself,  which  is  the  last 
guarantee  of  society,  I  held  it  to  be  my  duty  to 
speak  out  plainly,  as  I  have  done  in  the  preceding 
pages,  regarding  the  2ist  January.  Although 
my  inclination  for  monarchy  was  somewhat  em- 
bittered since  the  28th  June  of  the  preceding 
year,  I  have  not  omitted  those  expressions  from 
this  republication  of  my  work.  I  am  proud  that 
I  once  had  the  courage  not  to  let  myself  lapse  or 
be  led    into  imprudence  and   error,  neither  by 


THE  SALON.  117 

cajolery,  nor  intrigue,  nor  by  threats.  He  who 
does  not  go  as  far  as  his  heart  impels  and  reason 
permits,  is  a  poltroon  ;  he  who  goes  further  than 
he  willingly  would,  is  a  slave.^ 


^  It  is  remarkable  that  the  best  portion  of  the  remarks  on 
art  in  this,  which  is  by  title  a  paper  entirely  on  pictures,  consists 
of  a  very  long  quotation  from  Louis  de  Maynard,  whose  style 
and  manner  of  thought  are  marvellously  like  Heine's  own,  and 
which  he  would  perhaps  have  made  his  own  by  paraphrase, 
had  he  not  been  on  this  occasion  like  the  Louisiana  darkey  who 
was  too  lazy  to  steal  even  a  fat  turkey  when  it  came  wandering 
by  his  door,  and  also  because  he  was  "too  anxious  to  talk." 
Heine  was  here  over-anxious  to  hold  forth — apropos  des  bottes — 
on  the  inexhaustible /ort«  ditacJUa,  Louis  Philippe  and  Napoleon. 
It  may  be  remarked  as  beautifully  illustrating  his  inconsistency, 
that  while  he  elsewhere  very  frequently  and  shrewdly  insists 
that  Communism  is  eventually  to  prevail  in  the  world,  he  here 
declares  it  to  be  his  "  holiest  conviction "  that  Republicanism 
"  would  be  unsuitable,  unprofitable,  and  not  enlivening  for  the 
nations  of  Europe,"  which  is  not  only  illogical,  but  also  sins 
against  the  canon  laid  down  by  Sainte-Beuve  in  flagellating 
Lamartine,  that  no  one  should  string  three  adjectives  together, 
or,  as  he  gives  it,  nobody  ought  to  form  "  I'habitude  de  couper 
sa  pens^,  sa  phrase  par  trois  membres,  de  proceder  trois  par 
trois."  But  Heine's  Muse  bears  triplets  of  words  on  all  possible 
occasions.     Of  the  whole  paper  it  may  well  be  said  : — 

"  All  you  have  told  us  ia  most  admirable, 
But  what  the  devil  has  it  all  to  do 
With  telling  us  about  the  Pumpkin  Fair  ? " 

— TraniUUor. 


THE  EXHIBITION  OF  PICTURES  OF 

1843.  i 

Pabis,  May  7,  1843. 

The  Exhibition  of  pictures  for  this  year  excites 

unusual  interest,  yet  it  is  impossible  for  me  to 

pass  even  a  half-way  seasonable  opinion  as   to 

the  vaunted  pre-eminence  of  this  Salon.      So  far, 

I  have  only  felt  discontent  beyond  comparison 

when  I  wandered  through  the  halls  of  the  Louvre. 

These    delicious   colours    which   all    burst  loose 

screaming  at  me  at  once,  this  variegated  lunacy 

which  grins  at  me  from  every  side,  this  anarchy 

in  gold  frames  makes  a  painful,  evil  impression 

on  me.     I  torture  myself  in  vain  in  trying  to  set 

in   order   this  chaos  in   my  mind,  and   to  find 

therein  the  thoughts  of  the  time,  or  even  the 

allied  mark  of  common  character,  by  which  these 

pictures  show  themselves  as  the  results  of  our 

time.     For  all  works  of  one  and  the  same  period 

have  a  trace    or    trait  of    such    character,   the 

painter's  mark,  which  we  call  the  spirit  of  the 

age.     Thus,  for  example,  the  canvases  of  Watteau, 

118 


-<•,.>>,:«' 


■.•    ' 


THE  SALON.  119 

Boucher,  Vanloo,^  reflect  the  graceful,  powdered 
playfulness  of  pastourdles  and  f6tes,  the  rouged 
and  frivolous  emptiness  des  fadaises  galantes,  the 
sweetish  hooped-petticoat  happiness  of  the  pre- 
valent Pompadour  rule,  in  which  we  see  every- 
where gaily-ribboned  shepherds'  crooks,  and 
never  a  sword.  On  the  other  hand,  the  pictures 
of  David  and  his  school  are  only  the  coloured 
echo  of  the  Republican  virtuous  period  which 
laps  over  into  the  Imperial  glory  of  war-time ; 
and  here  we  find  a  forced  inspiration  for  the 
marble  model,  an  abstract  frosty  intoxication  of 
reason,  the  design  being  correct,  severe,  and 
hard,  the  colour  turbid,  harsh,  and  indigestible — 
a  Spartan  broth.  But  what  will  manifest  itself 
as  the  real  character  of  the  age  (^die  zeitliche  Sig- 
naiur)  to  our  descendants  when  they  study  the 
pictures  of  our  present  painters  ?  By  what  com- 
mon peculiarities  will  these  pictures  show  them- 
selves at  a  glance  as  the  products  of  our  present 
period  ?     Has,  perhaps,  the  spirit  of  hourgeoisiey 


1  To  which  we  should  add  Lancret  and  Grenze.  Des 
fadaiset  galantet  occurs  only  in  the  French  version,  which  is 
naturally  in  all  such  passages  as  this  superior  to  the  Grerman, 
which  is  here  rather  rough-cornered,  clumsy,  and  affected. 
"  Hoop-skirt  happiness,"  however,  describes  admirably  the  silly 
smilingness,  the  air  of  baby-bliss  which  the  shallowest  and 
most  corrupt  of  ages  cast  over  the  life  of  its  feeblest  and 
wickedest  representatives.  Heine  here  merely  repeats  the  ideas 
given  by  Maynard  in  the  previous  paper.— I'rans!<Uor. 


-■*  t  #  »••-      .•  ♦»  /»    #1  nir^ ♦  —I..  ,  —  ».•■»..«.•■  rj.-*.  i«..,.... 


120  THE  SALON. 

of  industrialism,  which  penetrates  all  French  life, 
shown  itself  so  powerful  in  the  arts  of  design 
that  every  picture  of  our  time  bears  the  stamp  of 
its  coat  of  arms  ?  It  is  especially  the  pictures 
of  saints  which  abound  in  the  Exhibition  of  this 
year  which  awaken  in  me  such  conjecture.  There 
hangs  in  the  long  hall  a  Flagellation  (of  Christ), 
the  principal  figure  in  which,  with  his  suffering 
air,  resembles  the  chairman  or  president  of  some 
company  which  has  come  to  grief,  and  now 
appears  before  the  stockholders  and  creditors  to 
give  an  eiccount  of  himself  and  his  transactions. 
Yes,  the  latter  also  appear  on  the  scene  in  the 
form  of  hangmen  and  Pharisees  who  are  terribly 
angry  at  the  Ecce  Homo,  and  seem  to  have  lost  a 
great  deal  of  money  by  their  investments.  The 
artist  is  said  to  have  depicted  in  the  principal 
figure  his  uncle,  M.  August  Leo.^  The  faces  in 
the  properly  so-called  historical  pictures,  repre- 
senting heathen  or  mediaeval  subjects,  also  recall 
retail  shops,  stock  gambling,  mercantilism,  and 
petty  bourgeois  life.  There  may  be  seen  a 
William  the  Conqueror,  who  only  needs  a  bear- 
skin cap  to  be  changed  into  an  honest  National 
Guard,  who  with  model  zeal  mounts  guard,  pays 
his  bills  punctually,  honours  his  wife,  and  who 


^  An  unfortunate  bankrupt  railway  speculator,  whom  Heine 
ridicules  in  LuUtia. — Trantlator. 


-•<  !♦•-•••  t»',^-' •:■'  ■ •  -•»•      r  -n 


THE  SALON.  ui 

certainly  deserves  the  Legion  of  Honour.  But — 
the  portraits !  The  greater  part  of  them  have 
such  a  pecuniary  expression,  one  so  egoistic  and 
morose,  that  I  can  only  explain  it  by  thinking 
that  the  living  original  during  the  time  when  he 
was  sitting  for  his  portrait  thought  of  the  money 
which  it  would  cost,  while  the  painter  was  re- 
gretting on  his  side  the  time  which  he  must 
devote  to  the  pitiable  money-job.^ 

Among  the  pictures  of  the  saints  which  indicate 
the  great  pains  which  the  French  take  to  appear 
very  religious,  I  remarked  a  Woman  of  Samaria 
at  the  Well.      Although  the  Saviour  belongs  to 

^  Bitter,  but  perfectly  true.  What  is  remarkable  in  this 
sketch  is  that  it  should  have  been  written  in  1S43,  when  the 
spirit  of  which  Heine  complains  had  only  begun  to  manifest 
itself  a  little  in  art,  or  at  least  very  little  indeed  compared  to 
what  we  now  see  of  it.  The  mutual  relations  of  the  artist  and 
sitter  and  their  reflections  as  here  described  are  very  apropoa 
to  -an  anecdote  which  I  am  sure  many  of  my  readers  have 
heard.  A  great  American  banker  who  was  sitting  for  hia 
statue  to  a  very  distinguished  artist  and  man  of  letters,  also 
American,  asked  the  latter  if  he  did  not  think  that  the  statue 
when  completed  would  be  "  a  very  good  thing  "  for  him  (the 
artist) — meaning  that  it  would  not  only  be  well  paid  for,  but 
also  enhance  his  fame.  "And  don't  you  think,  Mr.  P.,"  re- 
torted the  artist,  "  that  it  will  be  a  very  good  thing  ybr  you  ?  " 
I  myself  knew  a  lady  artist  to  whom  one  of  the  same  class 

made  this  remark  :  "  It's  all  mighty  fine,  Miss ,  to  be  able 

to  make  pictures,  and  know  all  about  them,  but  it  is  a  great 
deal  better  to  have  the  money  to  buy  them  with,  and  to  know 
how  to  make  it"  As  the  remark  was  quite  imcalled  for,  its 
refinement  will  be  most  apparent. — Tramlator. 


j^^*f  l(ir^-».«*'>  •.•*■•'  "■-•' 


'  -^  Y  •s~>»-*r"~-»f'"r/v ,.,_(.  . 


122 


THE  SALON. 


the  mimical  race  of  the  Jews,  she  still  shows 
him  kindness.  She  offers  her  pitcher  of  water  to 
the  thirsty  man,  and,  while  he  drinks,  glances 
at  him  with  a  droll  and  very  shrewd  side-look, 
which  reminds  me  of  the  admirable  answer  given 
by  a  clever  young  Suabian  girl  to  the  Herr  Superin- 
tendent when  the  latter  examined  a  class  in  Bible 
catechism.  He  asked,  "  How  did  the  woman  of 
Samaria  know  that  Christ  was  a  Jew  ? "  "  By 
his  nose,"  answered  boldly  the  little  Suabian.^ 

The  most  remarkable  religious  picture  of  the 
Salon  is  by  Horace  Vemet,  the  only  great  mttster 
who  has  this  year  contributed  a  picture  to  the 
Exhibition.  The  subject  is  very  equivocal  and 
insidious,  and  we  must  most  decidedly  condemn, 
if  not  the  choice,  the  manner  in  which  it  is 
carried  out.^  This  subject,  taken  from  the 
Bible,  is  the  story  of  Judah  and  his  daughter-in- 
law,  Thamar.  According  to  our  modem  moral 
ideas  and  feelings,  these  two  persons  appear  to 

^  In  the  original,  An  der  Betehneidumg,  as  in  the  French, 
A  la  cvreoHcinon. — Trondator. 

^  Which  oondemnation  is  decidedly  as  great  a  specimen  of 
cant  and  humbag  as  was  ever  uttered,  even  by  a  critic,  Heine's 
own  works  abounding  in  "  pictures  "  of  quite  as  rosy  a  hue ;  the 
anecdote  of  the  little  Suabian  just  given  being  not  one  whit 
better  or  worse,  from  a  moral  point  of  view,  than  the  subject  of 
Yemet's  work.  But  it  was  perhaps  the  feeling  that  he  had 
gone  a  little  too  far  in  this  latter  sketch  which  suddenly  recalls 
our  author  to  virtuous  propriety.  If  he  thought  it  so  very 
immoral,  why  did  he  dwell  on  it  T — Trondator. 


>■» ,  »^- 


THE  SALON.  ««J 

US  in  a  very  immoral  light ;  but  according  to 
the  views  of  antiquity,  when  the  highest  duty  of 
woman  consisted  in  bearing  children  to  continue 
the  race  of  her  husband,  especially  after  the  old 
Hebraic  opinion,  according  to  which  the  nearest 
relation  should  marry  the  widow  of  a  deceased 
man,  if  the  latter  died  without  children,  in  order 
to  guarantee  by  such  posthumous  descent  not 
only  the  family  property,  but  also  the  memory  of 
the  dead,  the  continuation  of  their  lives  in  their 
posterity,  and,  so  to  speak,  their  earthly  immor- 
tality— from  such  an  antique  point  of  view  the 
deed  of  Thamar  was  in  the  highest  sense  a  moral, 
pious  act,  most  gratifying  to  God,  nsuively  beauti- 
ful, and  almost  as  heroic  ^  as  the  deed  of  Judith, 
which  approaches  near  to  our  modem  ideas  of 
patriotism.     As  for  her  father-in-law,  Judah,  we 


^  The  French  version  adds  auui  moral  to  presque  aussi 
hiroique.  It  was  certainly  a  deed  of  the  peculiar  kind  of 
morality  which  was  best  appreciated  by  oar  author.  Thamar 
means  a  palm-tree,  and  the  male  plant  bears  a  vast  blossom, 
the  pollen  from  which  is  wafted  often  scores  or  hundreds  of 
miles  ere  it  fructifies  the  Thamar,  who  is,  so  to  speak,  unknown 
to  him.  So  in  the  Biblical  narrative,  which  is  in  part,  at  least, 
a  myth,  Judah  fructifies  one  whom  be  does  not  see.  The  palm 
is  the  mother  of  Israel,  "  and  it  appears  on  Jewish,  Roman,  and 
Phcenician  coins  as  the  type  of  Palestine "  [Frolich,  Ann.  Syr. 
Tab.  i8,  also  Spanheim,  Deprautant,  et  utu  num.,  p.  272].  But 
it  is  "  remarkably  a  type  of  sexual  love  and  marriage "  [  Von 
Hammer,  in  J.  Wiener  Jdhrhuch,  18 18,  iiL  p.  151].  Hence 
Thamar  is  specially  the  heroine  of  snch  a  myth. — Trandaior. 


■>":•'•;  •■•  \-  >•.-.. 


124 


THE  SALON. 


do  not  claim  for  Idm  the  lanrel  (of  virtue),  but 
we  absolutely  deny  that  he  in  any  case  committed 
any  sin.^  For  firstly,  such  commerce  with  a 
woman  met  on  the  highway  was  for  a  Hebrew 
no  more  an  improper  act  than  was  enjoying  a  fruit 
plucked  from  some  tree  by  the  roadside  to  quench 
one's  thirst,  and  it  was  doubtless  very  warm  in 
Mesopotamia  when  this  occurred,  and  the  poor 
patriarch  was  in  great  want  of  something  to 
refresh  him.  And  then  the  whole  transaction 
bears  so  plainly  the  mark  of  the  Divine  will ;  it 
was  providential,  for  without  that  great  thirst 
Thamar  would  have  had  no  child  ;  but  this  child 
became  the  ancestor  of  David,  who  reigned  as 
king  over  Judah  and  Israel,  and  he  was,  at  the 
same  time,  the  ancestor  of  that  yet  greater  King 
with  the  crown  of  thorns  who  now  rules  all  the 
world — Jesus  of  Naaareth.  1 

As  for  the  conception  of  this  subject,  I  will 
describe  it  briefly,  without  involving  any  moral 
homily.  Thamar,  a  magnificently  beautiful 
woman,  sits  by  the  roadside,  revealing,  for  the 
opportunity,  her  most  voluptuous  and  luxuriant 
charms.     The  foot,  the  leg,  the  knee,  et  cetera. 


^  Quant  ik  son  bean-p^re  nous  ne  revendiquoDa  pas  pr^is^- 
ment  pour  Ini  le  priz  Monthyon,  a  prize  annually  awarded  to 
the  iDost  virtuous  persons.  As  for  the  tiruth  of  this  assertion, 
the  Old  Testament  aboundt  in  bitterest  denunciation  of  all 
adultery  and  fornication  by  either  man  or  woman. — Tramlator, 


't    %•  'i.  •  mt .    4  ** 


'»# 


THE  SALON.  .     125 

are  of  a  perfection  approaching  poetry.  Her 
breasts  burst  forth  from  a  tight  garment, 
blooming,  perfumed,  alluring  as  the  forbidden 
finiit  in  the  garden  of  Eden.  With  the  right 
hand/  which  is  also  most  ravishingly  and  admir- 


^  French  version — Avee  la  main  gauche,  which,  if  I  remember 
rightly,  is  correct.  The  original  text  renders  the  whole  of  our 
author's  somewhat  obscure  comment  much  clearer.  It  is  as 
follows :  it  being  premised  that  Thamar  first  "covered  herself 
with  a  vdL" 

"When  Jndah  saw  her,  he  thought  her  to  be  an  harlot, 
because  she  had  covered  her  face. 

"And  he  turned  tmto  her  by  the  way  and  said,  'Gro  to,  I 
pray  thee,  let  me  come  in  unto  thee '  (for  be  knew  not  that  she 
was  his  daughter-in-law).  And  she  said,  '  What  wilt  thou  give 
me,  that  thou  mayest  come  in  unto  me  t ' 

"  And  he  said,  '  I  will  send  thee  a  kid  from  the  flock.'  And 
she  said,  '  Wilt  thou  give  me  a  pledge  till  thou  send  it  ? ' 

"  And  he  said,  '  What  pledge  shall  I  give  thee ! '  And  she 
said,  '  Thy  signet  (ring),  and  thy  bracelets,  and  thy  staff  that  is 
in  thine  hand.'  And  he  gave  it  her,  and  came  in  unto  her,  and 
she  conceived  by  him." 

It  will  be  seen  by  this  that  the  substitution  of  a  comer  of  the 
garment  by  the  artist  is  a  liberty  which  materially  interferes 
with  the  whole  meaning  of  the  story.  When  Thamar  went 
home  "  she  laid  aside  her  veil."  As  death  was  the  penalty  of 
discovery  in  such  cases,  the  veil  was  absolutely  necessary.  The 
great  value  of  the  pledge  and  the  payment  of  a  kid  indicate 
that  prostitution  was  very  profitable ;  hence  the  great  risk 
incurred.  The  "  double  movement  of  the  hands  "  is,  therefore, 
entirely  an  error.  I  have  illustrated  this  rather  fully,  because 
the  Salon  is  professedly  a  work  of  art  criticism,  and  the  very 
highest  canon  in  it  is  that  the  artist  shall  manifest  ingenuUy  in 
the  disposition  of  personal  details,  as  when  the  author  declares 
in  bis  paper  on  Yemet  (Salon,  1831)  that  it  would  only  occur  to 


U6  THE  SALON. 

ably  painted,  the  beauty  holds  an  end  of  her 
white  garment  before  her  face  so  as  to  display 
only  her  forehead  and  eyes.  These  great  black 
eyes  are  as  seductive  as  the  voice  of  the  slippery 
aunt  of  Satan.  The  fair  woman  is  together  apple 
and  serpent,  and  we  cannot  blame  poor  Judah 
for  offering  her  in  such  haste  the  pledges  which 
she  demands,  staff,  ring,  and  girdle.  To  receive 
them  she  has  stretched  out  her  left  hand,  while 
she,  as  I  said,  hides  her  face  with  the  right  hand. 
This  double  movement  of  the  hands  indicates 
a  truthfulness  such  as  art  only  develops  in  its 
happiest  moments.  There  is  in  it  a  truth  to 
nature  which  is  enchanting.  The  artist  has  given 
to  Judah  a  lustful  physiognomy  more  appropriate 
to  a  faun  than  to  a  patriarch,  and  his  whole  garb 
consists  of  that  white  woollen  covering  which 
plays  so  great  a  part  in  so  many  pictures  since 
the  capture  of  Algiers.  Since  the  French  have 
entered  into  such  direct  relation  with  the  East, 
their  painters  give  to  Biblical  heroes  really 
Oriental  costumes.  The  earlier  traditional  and 
imaginary  dress  has  been,  in  fact,  somewhat  worn 
out  by  the  wear  of  three  hundred  years,  and  it 


a  very  great  artist  to  arrange  his  characters  in  a  certain  manner. 
Such  inventive  genius  may  be  more  developed  in  a  boy  who  has 
no  knowledge  of  drawing,  and  no  capacity  for  it,  than  in  a  great 
painter,  and  when,  as  in  the  present  case,  its  premises  are  false, 
it  simply  becomes  ridiculous. — TrantUUor. 


THE  SALON.  127 

would  be  most  nnsnitable  to  now  mask  the 
ancient  Hebrews,  after  the  fashion  of  the  Vene- 
tians, acx»rding  to  the  dress  of  the  present  day.^ 
The  landscape  and  animtds  of  the  East  have 
also  been  treated  of  late  by  the  French  with 
greater  truth  in  their  historical  pictures,  and  one 
sees  in  the  camel  which  Horace  Vemet  has  in- 
troduced to  this  work  that  the  painter  has  copied 
directly  from  nature,  and  not  developed  it  as  a 
German  artist  would  do  from  the  depths  of  his 
sentiment  ^  {Qemuthe).  A  German  painter  would 
here  perhaps  have  manifested  in  the  form  of  the 
head  of  the  camel  the  emotional  or  intellectual, 
the  early  worldly — yes,  the  Old  Testamental ;  but 
the  Frenchman  has  simply  painted  a  camel  as 
God  made  it — a  superficial  camel,  on  which  there 

^  I  have  seen  in  Sweden,  where  they  are  quite  common,  long 
pieces  of  painted  tapestries  or  hangings,  representing  invariably 
scenes  from  the  Bible,  and  executed  in  some  cases  within  fifty 
or  sixty  years,  in  which  all  the  characters  wear  swallow-tail 
coats,  round  hats,  and  knee-breeches  or  trousers. — Translator. 

*  In  allusion  to  a  story  to  which  Heine  several  times  refers. 
An  Englishman,  a  Frenchman,  and  a  German  were,  in  competi- 
tion for  a  prize,  to  paint  every  one  the  picture  of  a  cameL  The 
Englishman  went  to  the  East  and  studied  all  the  breeds  of 
camels,  mastered  the  animal  in  detail,  and  "made  his  work" 
very  welL  The  Frenchman  trotted  off  to  the  Jardin  des 
Flantes,  copied  the  first  camel  with  great  chiqiie,  threw  in  the 
Pyramids  and  some  palm-trees — v^la/  it  was  done.  But  the 
Grerman,  retiring  to  his  study,  buried  himself  in  thought,  and 
evolved  the  transcendental  ideal  of  a  camel  from  the  depths  of 
his  moral  consciousness. — Trandator.         ' 


\ 


128  THE  SALON. 

is  not  one  ^mbolical  hair,  and  who,  stretching 
out  his  head  over  the  shoulder  of  Jadah,  regards 
with  the  greatest  indifference  the  equivocal  trans- 
action. This  insouciance,  this  indifference,  is  a 
fundamental  trait  in  the  picture  here  in  ques- 
tion, and  in  this  too  it  bears  the  stamp  of  our 
age.  The  painter  has  neither  dipped  his  brush 
into  the  vitriolic  vindictiveness  of  Voltairean 
satire  (die  dtzenze  BoswUligkeit  Voltaire' scher 
Satire)  nor  the  licentious  smut-pots  of  Pamy  ^ 
and  Company  •  he  is  led  neither  by  polemics  nor 
immorality ;  the  Bible  is  all  the  same  to  him  as 
any  other  book ;  he  regards  it  with  true  tolerance; 
he  has  no  longer  prejudices  against  the  book ;  he 
even  finds  it  pleasant  and  amusing,  and  does  not 
disdain  to  borrow  subjects  from  it.  In  this 
manner  he  painted  "  Judith  "  and  "  Rebecca  at 
the  Weil ;  "  thus  it  was  he  painted  "  Judah  and 
Thamar,"  an  admirable  picture,  which,  owing  to 
its  local  colour,  would  be  a  very  suitable  altar- 


*  A  writer  once  sapposed  to  be  very  witty  and  wicked,  bnt 
of  whose  works  it  might  now  be  said,  as  it  was  of  La  Rdigiaue 
of  Diderdt,  that  it  seemed  to  be  written  to  show  the  world  to 
what  an  extreme  degree  dulness  and  silliness  could  be  combined 
with  immorality.  The  very  extensive  class  who  are  deladed 
with  the  idea  that  everything  is  nice  which  is  merely  naughty, 
may  find  in  the  French  faeetia  of  the  eighteenth  century  that 
there  are  as  dreary  and  wearisome  swamps  of  corruption  in 
literature  as  there  are  dry  and  dismal  deserts  of  theology.  Ah 
hit  dtrit  mali»,  lUritque  generis,  libera  not  Dotnine  / — Trcmilator. 


THE  SALON.  -:  129 

piece  for  the  new  Parisian  chnrch  of  Notre  Dame 
de  Lorette,  in  the  lorette  quarter  of  the-town.^ 

Horace  Vemet  is  regarded  by  many  as  the 
greatest  painter  in  France,  and  I  would  not  abso- 
lutely contradict  this  popular  opinion.  He  is  in 
any  case  the  most  national  of  French  painters, 
and  he  surpasses  all  by  his  productive  ability 
idds  fructhare  Konnen),  by  his  vigorously  genial 
(ddmonische)  extravagance,  by  the  ever-blooming 
self -rejuvenation  of  his  creative  force.  Painting 
to  him  is  innate,  as  spinning  to  the  silkworm,  as 
singing  to  the  bird,  and  his  work  seems  like 
results  of  necessity.  There  is  no  style  in  him 
but  nature,  and  withal  a  fecundity  which  borders 
on  the  ridiculous.  There  is  a  caricature  which 
represents  Horace  Vemet  riding  a  high  horse  at 
full  gallop,  brush  in  hand,  by  an  immensely  long 
canvas,  and  when  he  shall  have  got  to  the  end, 
the  picture  will  be  finished.  What  an  immense 
number  of  colossal  battle-pieces  has  he  painted 
of  late  for  Versailles  !  If  the  pious  legend  be 
true  that  on  the  day  of  resurrection  every  man 

^  French  version — "  Dans  le  quartier  de  ces  dames  auxquelles 
cette  ^glise  a  donn6  son  nom."  The  lorette  was  of  the  haute 
voUe,  or  highest  class  of  Parisian  hetairas,  and,  like  her  successor 
the  cocotte,  kc,  of  insatiable  greed  and  extravagance.  "There 
are,"  said  an  American,  "great  contradictions  in  the  French 
language.  Modiste  does  not  mean  modest  by  a  long  shot,  and 
low-rateM  (lorettet)  stand  for  high  prices,  as  I  am  informed." — 
Tremdator. 


130 


THE  SALON. 


will  be  followed  by  his  works  to  the  place  of 
judgment/  then  will  Horace  Vemet  appear  on 
that  day  in  the  Valley  of  Jehoshaphat,  accom- 
panied by  some  hundred  thousands  of  infantry 
and  cavalry.  And  however  terrible  the  judges 
may  be  who  will  sit  there  to  judge  the  quick  and 
the  dead,  I  do  not  believe  that  Horace  Vemet 
will  be  condemned  to  fire  eternal  for  the  naughti- 
ness of  his  Judah  and  Thamar.  I  do  not  believe 
it ;  for,  firstly,  the  picture  is  so  admirably  painted, 
that  were  it  but  for  that  the  culprit  must  needs 
be  acquitted.  Secondly,  Horace  Vemet  is  a 
genius,  and  things  are  permitted  to  geniuses 
which  are  forbidden  to  common  sinners.  And 
finally,  unto  him  who  comes  marching  at  the 
head  of  some  hundreds  of  thousands  of  soldiers 
much  will  be  forgiven,  even  if  he  did  not  chance 
to  be  a  genius."  ' 


1  Not  a  "  piouB  "  or  Christian  legend,  as  Heine  intimates, 
but  manifestly  the  Mahometan  article  of  strict  faith,  of  which 
I  have  often  read,  and  which  was  told  me  as  a  truth  by  my 
Muslim  friend,  Mehemet  of  Alexandria.  It  is  that  on  the  day 
of  judgment  all  the  pictures  or  images  of  human  beings  whom 
an  artist  has  made  will  rise  up  before  him,  and  he  will  be  con- 
demned for  not  giving  them  souls. — Trandator. 


THE     FRENCH     STAGE. 


CONFIDENTIAL   LETTERS 

ADDRESSED  TO 

M.  AUGUST  LEWALD, 

DIKECTOR  OF  THE  DRAMATURGIC  REVIEW, 
IN  STUTTGART. 

Written  in  May  1837  at  a  Village  near  Paris. 

LETTER  L 

At  last,  at  last  the  weather  has  permitted  me  to 
leave  Paris  and  the  warm  fireplace,  and  the  first 
hours  which  I  am  to  pass  in  the  country  shall  be 
dedicated  to  my  dear  friend.  How  beautifully 
the  sun  shines  on  my  paper  and  gilds  the  letters, 
which  will  bear  to  you  my  most  joyous  greet- 
ings !  Yes,  winter  is  fleeting  over  the  mountains, 
and  after  him  fly  the  merry  mocking  breezes  of 
spring  like  a  flock  of  gay  grisettes  who  are  chas- 
ing a  grey-haired  lover  with  derisive  laughter, 
or  it  may  be  with  birch  twigs.     How  he  pants 

«3« 


132 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 


and  groans,  the  white-haired  fool !  ^  How  the 
young  girls  drive  him  along  without  pity  before 
them !  How  the  many-coloured  breast-knots 
flutter  and  shine;  here  and  there  one  falls  in 
the  field ;  the  violets  peer  forth  and  with  an 
anxious  joy  look  at  the  merry  chase.  Now  the  old 
man  is  fairly  put  to  flight  and  nightingales  sing 
a  triumphant  song.  And  what  they  sing  is  all 
so  fresh  and  fair.  At  last  we  can  dispense  with 
the  grand  opera,  Duprez  and  Meyerbeer ;  we 
learned  to  do  without  Nourrit  long,  long  ago. 
Here  in  this  world  at  last  all  things  can  well  be 
spared  except  the  sun  and  I ;  for  quite  without 
these  two  I  can't  imagine  spring,  nor  zephyrs, 
nor  grisettes,  nor  German  literature  !  Without 
me  all  the  world  would  be  a  gaping  naught, 
a  zero's  shadow,  and  the  vision  of  a  flea,  or 
even  a  poem  by  Karl  Streckfuss — nothing 
more !  '  I 

Yes,  it  is  spring,  and  I  can  lay  aside  my  under 
garment.^     The  small   boys  have  already  taken 


^  Oeck.  Quite  the  same  as  the  old  English  proTincial  gatek, 
still  common  in  America.  Original  geeke,  hence  gawky ;  gawk, 
to  stare  about  like  a  fooL 

^  Heine  here  indirectly  jests  on  Fichte's  "Idealism,"  as 
Goethe  has  done  in  "Faust."  It  has  sometimes  occurred  to 
me  that  Goethe's  fancy  was  suggested  by  a  passage  in  the 
"  Edda." 

•  Unterjacke.      French    version — gilet    de  eoton.      Flannels 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  133 

oflf  their  coats,  and  are  gambolling  in  their  shirt- 
sleeves ronnd  the  giant  tree  close  by  the  little 
church  for  which  it  serves  as  tower  in  which  to 
hang  the  bell.  And  now  the  tree  is  covered 
with  white  blossoms,  and  looks  like  a  powdered 
grandfather,  who  is  calmly  smiling  among  the 
blonde  grandchildren  who  merrily  dance  around, 
He  often  covers  them  in  jest  with  his  white 
flakes  {Flocken),  and  then  the  boys  frolic  more 
gaily  than  ever.  It  is  sternly  forbidden,  yes, 
under  whipping  penalty,  to  pull  the  church  bell- 
rope,  bat  the  largest  of  the  boys,  who  ought  to 
set  a  good  example  to  the  rest,  cannot  resist  the 
terrible  temptation;  he  pulls  at  the  prohibited 
cord,  and  the  clock  sounds  like  a  warning,  scold- 
ing voice  from  grandfather. 

Later  in  summer,  when  the  tree  is  splendid  in 
all  its  green  luxuriance  and  the  bell  is  hidden 
in  foliage,  its  tone  has  in  it  something  mys- 
terious; it  utters  strangely  subdued  tones,  and 
when  they  are  heard,  all  at  once  the  gaily  jar- 
goning  birds,  who  were  rocking,  cradled  on  the 
branches,  take  to  their  wings,  and,  frightened, 
fly  away. 


were  not  by  any  means  so  generally  worn  in  1838  as  at  present, 
although  even  at  that  time  there  was  a  saying — 

"  Ye  who  would  the  doctor  pay, 
Leave  your  flannels  off  in  May  ! " — Traiuiiitor, 


134  THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 

In  autumn,  the  sound  of  the  bell  is  deeper, 
sadder,  stranger,  and  we  seem  to  hear  in  it  a 
spirit's  voice.  But  it  is  chiefly  when  some  one  is 
buried  that  the  long-resounding  tones  have  an 
indescribably  mournful  echo ;  at  every  stroke  a 
few  yellow  leaves  fall  from  the  tree,  and  this  re- 
sounding fall  of  the  leaf,  this  ringing  emblem  of 
mortality,  filled  me  once  with  such  irresistible 
grief,  that  I  wept  like  a  child.  That  was  last 
year,  when  Margot  buried  her  husband.  He 
came  to  grief  (er  ivar  verungluckt)  in  an  unusually 
high  inundation  of  the  Seine.  For  three  days 
and  three  nights  the  poor  woman  plied  the  oar, 
and  sought  by  every  bank  of  the  river  to  find 
her  husband  and  give  him  Christian  burial,  and 
when  found,  she  herself  washed  and  clothed  him, 
and  placed  him  in  his  coffin,  and  in  the  church- 
yard once  more  lifted  the  lid  to  gaze  upon  the 
dead.  She  spoke  no  word,  nor  dropt  a  single 
tear,  but  her  eyes  were  blood-shot,  and  I  never 
shall  forget  the  marble  face  and  deep-red  eyes ! 

But  now  it  is  fair  and  fine  spring  weather,  the 
sun  smiles,  children  shout  for  joy,  perhaps  a 
little  louder  even  than  they  need  to,  and  I,  here 
in  this  small  village-house,  where  I  passed  last 
year  the  pleasantest  months,  will  write  you  a 
series  of  letters  on  the  French  stage,  and  there- 
withal, as  you  desired  of  me,  will  not  forget  due 
parallels    with    ours.     The    latter    task  has  its 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  135 

trouble,  for  recollections  of  the  German  theatre 
fade  from  memory  with  every  day.  Among  the 
dramatic  pieces  which  have  appeared  of  late,  I 
have  seen  nothing  save  two  tragedies  by  Immer- 
mann,  "  Merlin  "  and  "  Peter  the  Great,"  neither 
of  which  could  certainly  be  played,  "  Merlin  "  on 
account  of  its  poetry,  and  "  Peter "  because  of 
its  politics.  And  then  imagine  the  face  I  made 
when,  in  this  packet  which  contained  the  creations 
of  a  great  poet  whom  I  loved,  I  found  some  other 
volumes  also  stuffed,  which  were  entitled  Drama- 
tische  Werke  von  Ernst  Baupach  (the  Dramatic 
Works  of  Ernst  Eaupach). 

I  knew  him  by  sight,  it  is  true,  but  I  had 
never  read  anything  by  this  pet  nursling  of  the 
directors  of  the  German  theatres.  I  had  seen 
some  of  his  plays  upon  the  stage,  but  there  one 
does  not  exactly  know  whether  the  author  is 
executed  by  the  comedian,  or  the  comedian  by  the 
author.  Chance  now  permitted  me  in  foreign 
lands  to  read  at  my  leisure  some  comedies  by 
Doctor  Ernst  Baupach,  but  I  could  not,  with- 
out great  effort,  get  to  the  last  acts.  I  pass  over 
his  wretched  efforts  to  be  witty,  for  they  are, 
after  all,  only  intended  to  flatter  the  public.  For 
the  poor  stupid  devil  (ffecht)  in  the  parterre  will 
say  to  himself,  "  Why,  I  can  make  jokes  like 
those,"  and  for  this  gratified  vanity  he  will  feel 
grateful  to  the  author.     But  the  style  was  to  me 


'•!•  ""    ■■'"  "    '  ''•'^"  '     "         '"  ■"  _^  -■■■•*^» 


1J6 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 


insupportable.  I  have  been  so  spoiled  in  this 
respect;  the  bon  ton  of  conversation,  the  truly 
light  and  graceful  language  of  society,  has,  owing 
to  my  long  residence  in  France,  become  such  an 
absolute  necessity,  that  in  reading  the  comedies 
of  Doctor  Ernst  Raupach  I  really  felt  extremely 
ill.  His  style  has  in  it  something  so  solitary 
and  peculiar,  isolated  {ahgesond&rtes),  and  unso- 
cial, that  it  gives  one  a  choking  sensation.^  The 
conversation  in  these  comedies  is  feigned ;  it 
is  always  only  a  ventriloquistic  monologue  in 
several  voices,  a  worthless  heap  of  old  bachelor 
thoughts — thoughts  which  sleep  alone,  make  their 
own  coffee  of  a  morning,  shave  themselves,  go 
walking  out  alone  before  the  Brandenburg  Gate, 


^  Dcu  die  Brust  behlemmt.  I  think  that  every  German  will 
a£^ee  with  me  that  there  is  something  very  eiruam  or  solitary 
in  the  style  of  this  sentence.  It  is  always  very  easy  to  discern 
where  Heine  is  straining  hard  for  effect,  and  here  he  is  doing 
his  utmost,  without  a  spark  of  inspiration,  producing  such  a 
marvellous  illustration  of  what  he  is  condemning  in  Raupach, 
that  it  forms  one  of  the  magna  euriota  or  great  curiosities  of 
literature.  As  regards  his  singular  use  of  the  word  eintam,  I 
once  heard  it  used  in  precisely  the  same  sense,  and  that,  too,  in 
criticising  a  poem,  by  an  old  English  Gypsy.  He  told  me  that 
the  evening  before,  his  sister  Grentilla,  thinking  that  she  would 
not  live  long,  passed  the  evening  in  singing  her  death-song — 
improvised.  I  asked  him  what  it  was  like.  He  replied,  "  It 
was  a  vt^ry  lonetome  ditty,  Rya  (master),  and  "  (stretching  out 
his  arms  as  widely  as  possible  to  illustrate  magnitude),  "about 
a  yard  and  a  half  long."  The  reader  may  find  the  anecdote  in 
my  *'  English  Gypsies." — Trandaior. 


'■'.<- 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  137 

and  who  pick  flowers  for  themselves.  When  his 
women  speak,  we  infer  from  their  expressions 
that  they  wear  under  their  muslin,  nasty,  greasy 
drawers  of  "  health-flannel,"  and  smell  of  tobacco 
and  Russia  leather.  '    \ 

But  the  one-eyed  man  is  a  king  in  the  country 
of  the  blind,  and  among  our  bad  writers  of  come- 
dies Raupach  is  the  best.  By  bad  writers  of 
comedies  I  mean  only  those  poor  devils  who  have 
their  wretched  pUees  de  manufacture  {Machwerke) 
played  under  the  name  of  "  comedies,"  or,  as  they 
are  mostly  comedians  by  calling,  act  them  them- 
selves. But  these  so-called  comedies  are  in 
reality  only  prosaic  pantomimes,  with  traditional 
masks — stage  fathers,  villains,  court-councillors, 
chevaliers,  the  lover,  the  beloved,  soubrettes, 
mothers,  or  whatever  else  they  may  be  called  in 
the  contracts  of  our  actors  who  are  only  adapted 
(abgerichtet)  exactly  to  similar  set  parts  accord- 
ing to  traditional  types.  Like  the  Italian  mask 
comedy,  our  German  is  one  and  the  same  piece 
infinitely  varied.^     The  characters  and  situations 

^  The  Italian  characters,  which  were  popular  types  serving  for 
various  plays,  such  as  R  Capitano  SpaventOy  Truffaldina,  Soara- 
muecia,  Tartaglia,  Brighdla,  U  Dottore,  ftc.,  were  engraved 
by  Callot,  and  are  given  in  full,  with  descriptive  text,  in  the 
Masques  et  Bouffona  by  Maurice  Sand.  This  taste  for  masked 
and  familiar  characters  still  exists  in  Italy  to  such  an  extent  that 
there  are  now  about  300  small  comedies  or  farces  all  more  or 
less  on  the  stage  in  Florence,  in  every  one  of  which  the  honest. 


-'>-.:-■•  ^>fc.*«_:- :.":'- -^r.    "■    :^'-::^r:::  Jt^^LTl^  .  ;-;^Liii-irV'j,^.y.   •  •  v-*^ 


138 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 


are  given,  and  any  one  who  has  a  talent  for 
games  of  combination  may  undertake  to  put 
together  these  given  characters  and  events  and 
make  out  of  them  an  apparently  new  piece, 
according  to  the  same  process  followed  in  a 
Chinese  puzzle,  in  which  different  pieces  of  cut- 
out,  flat  pieces   of  wood,   coloured,  are  so  put 

Bimple  dttmmMttg,  Stentorello,  is  the  principal  personage.  The 
lower  we  descend  in  society  to  all-alike  people  of  a  limited 
range  of  ideas,  the  better  satisfied  do  we  find  them  with  a  cer- 
tain set  of  well-known  types  of  character,  and  the  less  inclined 
to  master  new  ones.  Thus  Punch  and  his  troupe  cover  all  the 
types  needed  for  the  street  populace  of  London.  It  is  a  curious 
fact  that  the  development  of  newpersonce  within  original  shades 
of  character,  which  was  once  so  eminently  characteristic  of 
English  literature,  has  to  a  great  degree  died  out  in  dramatic 
and  novel  writing.  This  is,  however,  quite  in  accordance  with 
the  age,  especially  among  the  "  classes,"  where  every  form  of 
marked  originality  is  regarded  as  eccentricity,  consequently  "  in 
bad  form,"  just  as  in  the  best  Chinese  society,  where  anybody 
who  is  markedly  different  in  any  manner  of  thought  from  others 
is  a  moral  monster.  A  curious  confirmation  of  this  is  found  in 
the  fact  that  of  late  years  there  have  been  cases  (and  they 
are  rapidly  increasing)  where,  in  legal  trials,  the  most  trifling 
differences  of  opinion  of  a  man  from  his  neighbours,  or  even  his 
being  addicted  to  science  or  travel,  have  been  advanced  and 
accepted  as  proofs  of  insanity,  just  as  Democritus  was  held  by 
the  Abderites  to  be  mad.  It  was  one  of  Heine's  innumerable 
and  admirable  original  observations  that  the  Philistine,  like  the 
bee,  runs  into  types  and  classes,  and  is,  as  a  man,  inclined  to 
prefer  "  secondary  automatism, "  or  instinct  induced  by  custom, 
to  any  original  effort  of  understanding,  such  as  is  called  for 
by  original  types.  The  subject  is  one  of  very  great  interest  as 
a  presage  of  the  coming  twilight  of  the  gods  in  art  and  its 
renaissance  in  science. — Trandator. 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  139 

together  as  to  form  all  kinds  of  figures.  The 
pettiest  minds  are  often  gifted  with  this  talent, 
while  the  true  poet,  who  can  only  move  freely, 
and  can  only  fonn  living  conceptions,  can  do 
nothing  at  this  wooden  work  A  few  true  poets, 
who  undertook  the  ungrateful  task  of  writing 
German  comedies,  did  indeed  create  certain  new 
masks  or  characters,  but  the  result  was  collision 
with  the  actors,  who,  accustomed  only  to  the  old 
types,  for  fear  lest  their  incapacity  or  laziness 
should  be  exposed,  made  war  efiectually  on 
the  new  plays  that  they  never  could  be  per- 
formed.^ 

It  may  be  that  in  the  opinion  which  I  have 
expressed  as  to  the  works  of  Dr.  Eaupach  that 
there  is  a  secret  personal  dislike.  I  once  trem- 
bled at  the  sight  of  him,  and  tJuU  is  never 
pardoned  by  a  prince !  You  look  at  me  with 
amazement,  for  you  do  not  find  Dr.  Eaupach 
so  terrible,  and  are  not  accustomed  to  see  me 


^  All  that  Heine  here  asserts  as  to  popular  plays  is  quite  true 
as  regards  the  vast  majority  of  novels  of  the  present  day,  in 
which  we  simply  find  old  types  of  humanity  adapted  to  shuffled 
and  cut  situations,  the  exceptions  or  variations  being  morbid 
or  sesthete-eccentric  characters,  the  range  of  which  latter  is, 
however,  very  limited,  and  is  already  rapidly  becoming  known. 
It  is  remarkable  that  this  decadence  has  been  closely  accom- 
panied with  a  disappearance  from  "  polite  literature "  of  any- 
thing  like  genial  humour,  and  an  increased  worship  of  the 
"wise  but  feeble,"  and  soulless  French  stylists. — Trandator. 


«40 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 


tremble  before  a  living  man.  And  yet  it  is  true 
that  I  once  experienced  before  him  such  terror 
that  my  knees  began  to  totter  and  my  teeth  to 
chatter,  and  to  this  day  I  cannot  look  at  the 
engraving  of  Ernst  Kaupach  which  faces  the 
title-page  of  his  works  without  feeling  my  heart 
beat  in  my  bosom.  You  stare  indeed  amazed,  dear 
friend,  and  I  hear  by  you  a  feminine  voice  which 

says  in  an  inquisitive  tone 1 

But  it  is  a  long  story,  and  I  have  not  time  to 
tell  it  all  to-day.  And  what  is  more,  it  would 
recall  to  me  full  many  things  which  I  would  fain 
forget;  for  instance,  all  the  melancholy  days  I 
passed  in  Potsdam,  and  of  the  great  grief  which 
bound  and  banned  me  there  to  solitude.  I 
walked  there,  to  my  very  soul  alone,  in  the  dead- 
silent  garden  Sans  Souci,  amid  the  orange-trees 
where  in  the  olden  time  great  Eampe  walked. 
O  Lord !  how  dull  and  void  of  poetry  those 
orange-trees  do  always  seem  to  me !  They  look 
like  disguised  oak- scrub  saplings.  And  then 
every  tree  has  its  number  like  a  coUaborateur 
on  the  Brockhaus  Kbnversaiion^latte,  and  there  is 
in  this  numbered  nature  something  so  deliberately 
and  cleverly  tiresome,  so  compulsory,  as  if  accord- 
ing to  the  corporal's  stick !  (so  korporcdstockig 
gezimmgeTies).  It  always  seems  to  me  as  if  these 
orange-trees  take  snufiE  like  their  late  master, 
old  Frederick,  who  was,  as  you  know,  a  great 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  141 

king  about  the  time  when  Ramler  was  a  great 
poet  But  do  not  think  that  I  would  in  aught 
diminish  the  fame  of  great  Frederick.  I  even 
acknowledge  his  merits  in  recognising  German 
poetry.  Did  he  not  give  a  grey  horse  to  Gellert, 
and  five  thalers  to  Madame  Karschin  ?  Did  he 
not,  in  order  to  advance  and  aid  German  litera- 
ture, write  his  own  wretched  poems  in  French  ? 
Had  they  appeared  in  German  there  might  have 
resulted  from  his  high  example  incalculable  injury! 
The  German  Muse  will  never  forget  this  kind 
service.  ^     ' 

I  found  myself,  as  before  said,  in  Potsdam, 
but  not  in  very  joyous  mood,  and  thereunto  for 
grief  was  added  this,  that  my  body  seemed  to  be 
striving  with  my  soul  to  see  which  could  torment 
me  most  Ah !  psychic  pain  is  easier  to  endure 
than  physical,  and  if  I  had  to  choose  between  an 
evil  conscience  and  an  aching  tooth,  I  would 
prefer  the  former.  Ah !  there  is  nothing  so 
horrible  as  toothache.  I  learned  that  in  Pots- 
dam, and  forgetting  all  my  spiritual  griefs,  re- 
solved to  go  at  once  to  Berlin,  and  there  have  it 
out !  Yet  what  a  horrible,  cruel  operation  it  is ! 
Something  in  it  so  like  being  beheaded !  You 
must  sit  in  a  strange  chair  and  keep  perfectly 
still,  and  quietly  await  the  awful  pang !  My 
hair  rises  on  end  when  I  but  think  thereon ! 
But  Providence  in  its  wisdom  has  ordained  all 


142 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 


things  for  our  benefit,  and  even  the  sufferings  of 
man  serve  in  the  end  to  his  advantage.  Of  course 
toothaches  are  terrible — ^intolerable ;  yet  bene- 
ficent, foreseeing  Providence  has  bestowed  this 
fearful  and  intolerable  character  to  make  us  in 
our  despair  rush  to  the  dentist's  and  have  the 
tooth  extracted.  For  of  course  nobody  would 
ever  make  up  his  mind  to  endure  such  an  opera- 
tion, or  rather  execution,  if  the  toothache  were 
in  the  least  supportable ! 

You  cannot  imagine  the  wretchedness  and 
misery  of  my  mind  during  the  three  hours  which 
I  passed  in  the  post-coach.  When  we  arrived  at 
Berlin  I  was  utterly  broken  down,  and  as  no  man 
in  the  world  at  such  moments  thinks  of  money, 
I  gave  the  postillion  for  pour-boire  twelve  good 
groschen.  The  fellow  looked  at  me  with  an  air 
of  strange  irresolution,  because,  according  to  the 
postal  regulation  recently  established  by  Herr 
Nagler,  it  was  sternly  forbidden  to  the  postillions 
to  accept  fees.  He  held  the  twelve-groschen 
piece  for  some  time  in  his  hand,  as  if  weighing 
it,  and  ere  he  pocketed  it  said  with  a  sorrowful 
voice,  "  I  have  been  postillion  for  twenty  years, 
and  am  used  to  taking  '  drink-money,'  and  now 
all  at  once  the  head  post-director  forbids  us 
under  a  heavy  penalty  to  take  a  tip.  But  it  is 
an  inhuman  law,  for  no  man  can  refuse  one ;  it  is 
against  nature."     I  pressed  the  good  man's  hand, 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  143 

and  sadly  sighed.  Sighing  too  I  entered  the 
hotel,  and  when  I  inquired  there  where  I  could 
find  a  good  dentist,  the  landlord  cried  joyfully, 
"  That  is  all  right,  for  a  very  celebrated  dentist 
from  St.  Petersburg  has  just  arrived  here,  and 
if  you  will  dine  at  the  table  d'hote  you  will  see 
him."  "Yes,"  I  thought,  "I  will  take  my  last 
hangman's  meal  before  I  sit  in  the  poor  sinner's 
seat."^ 

But  I  had  at  table  no  desire  to  eat.  I  had 
hunger  without  any  appetite.  Despite  my  light 
and  easy  temperament,  I  could  not  banish  from 
my  mind  the  terrors  which  awaited  me  in  the 
hour  to  come.  Even  my  favourite  dish  of  mutton 
with  Teltower  turnips  disgusted  me.  My  eyes 
involuntarily  sought  for  the  terrible  man,  the 
hangman-dentist  from  St.  Petersburg,  and,  guided 
by  the  instinct  of  agony,  I  soon  selected  him 
from  among  the  other  guesta  He  sat  afar  from 
me  at  the  end  of  the  table,  and  had  a  pinching 
and  a  nipping  face— a  face  like  the  forceps  (une 
figure  crochue,  un  profile  en  tenailles).  He  was  an 
evil-boding  oddity,  in  an  ashen-grey  coat  with 
glittering  steel  buttons.  I  hardly  dared  to  look 
him  in  the  face,  and  when  he  brandished  a  fork  it 


'  HenkertnuMzeit.  Equivalent  to  the  last  cup  formerly  given 
in  England  to  criminals  before  their  execution.  Of  which  there 
is  a  song  in  the  novel  of  "  Jack  Sheppard  "  by  Ainsworth. 


J44 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 


seemed  to  me  as  if  he  were  coming  at  my  montb 
with  his  jaw-breaker.  With  trembling  terror  I 
averted  my  eyes  from  his  glance,  and  would 
gladly  have  closed  my  ears  from  the  sound  of  his 
voice.  From  that  sound  I  noted  that  he  was 
one  of  the  kind  of  people  who  are  inter- 
nally painted  all  over  grey,  and  have  entrails 
of  wood.  He  spoke  of  Russia,  where  he  long 
had  dwelt,  but  where  his  art  had  not  found  full 
room  for  development  He  conversed  with  that 
calm,  impertinent  reserve  which  is  more  intoler- 
able than  the  loudest  braggadocio,  and  when- 
ever he  spoke  I  felt  faint  at  heart,  and  my  soul 
trembled.  Out  of  sheer  despair  I  began  to  con- 
verse with  the  one  who  sat  next  to  me  at  table, 
and  turning  my  back  to  the  Terror,  talked  so 
loudly  to  deafen  myself  that  I  at  last  no  longer 
heard  the  awful  voice.  My  neighbour  was  an 
agreeable  man  of  distinguished  air,  with  most 
refined  manners,  and  his  kind  and  gentle  conver- 
sation greatly  relieved  my  suffering  state  of  mind. 
He  was  modesty  itself;  the  words  flowed  softly 
from  his  gently  arched  lips,  his  eyes  were  clear 
and  friend-like  in  expression,  and  when  he  heard 
that  I  was  suffering  from  toothache  he  blushed, 
and  offered  me  his  professional  services.  I 

"  In  God's  name,  who  are  you  then  ?  "  I  cried. 

"  I  am  the  dentist  Meier  from  St.  Peters- 
burg," was  the  reply.  I 


THE  FRENCH  ST  A  GE.  145 

Involuntarily,  and  almost  impolitely,  I  pushed 
back  my  chair  from  him,  and  stammered  in  the 
greatest  embarrassment — 

"Who  then  is  that  man  yonder,  he  in  the 
ashen-grey  coat  with  shining  steel  buttons  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,"  answered  my  neighbour, 
looking  at  me  with  surprisa 

But  the  waiter,  who  heard  my  question, 
whispered  in  my  ear  with  an  air  of  great  im- 
portance— 

"  That  is  Herr  Raupach,  the  theatrical  poet." 


SECOND  LETTER. 

.  .  .  Oe  is  it  true  that  we  Germans  really  cannot 
produce  a  good  comedy,  and  are  condemned  to 
borrow  such  poetic  creations  from  the  French  ? 

I  hear  that  you  in  Stuttgart  tormented  your- 
selves so  long  with  this  question,  that  at  last  in 
despair  you  set  a  price  on  the  head  of  the  best 
comic  dramatic  poet  As  I  learn,  you  yourself, 
my  dear  Lewald,  are  one  of  the  jury,  and  that 
the  bookselling  firm  of  J.  G.  Cotta  locked  you 
up,  without  beer  or  tobacco,  until  you  should 
have  pronounced  your  dramatic  verdict.  At 
least  you  got  from  that  experience  the  subject 
for  a  good  comedy. 

Nothing  is  more  untenable  than  the  reasons 
which  are  generally  alleged  to  support  the  ques- 
tion here  submitted.  It  is  asserted,  for  instance, 
that  the  Germans  have  no  good  comedy  because 
they  are  a  serious  race,  while  the  French,  on  the 
contrary,  being  merry  folk,  are  therefore  more 
gifted  for  such  writing.  The  proposition  is  utterly 
false.  The  French  are  by  no  means  a  gay  and 
cheerful  people.  On  the  contrary,  I  begin  to  believe 

146 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  14T 

that  Laurence  Sterne  was  quite  right  when  he 
asserted  that  they  are  much  too  serious.  And 
yet  in  those  days  when  Yorick  wrote  his  "  Senti- 
mental Journey  "  there  still  flourished  all  the  light- 
footed  frivolity  and  -perlumed  fadaise  of  the  ancien 
regime  ;  the  French  had  not  yet  taken  from  the 
guillotine  and  from  Napoleon  the  necessary  lessons 
in  reflection.  And  even  of  late,  since  the  Revo- 
lution of  July,  what  wearisome  dismal  progress 
they  have  made  in  seriousness,  or  at  least  in 
unjoyousness  !  Their  faces  have  grown  longer,  the 
corners  of  their  mouths  drawn  downward  more 
reflectively ;  they  have  learned  from  us  philo- 
sophy and  smoking  tobacco.  Since  that  time 
there  has  been  a  great  change  in  the  French ; 
they  no  longer  look  like  themselves.  Nothing 
is  wretcheder  than  the  twaddle  of  our  Teuto- 
maniacs,  who,  when  they  revile  the  French,  have 
always  in  mind  the  Frenchmen  of  the  Empire 
whom  they  have  seen  in  Germany.  They  never 
reflect  that  this  volatile  race,  whose  inconstancy 
they  have  so  long  zealously  attacked,  could 
remain  constant  in  feeling  as  in  thought  for 
twenty  years. 

No,  they  are  not^  more  cheerful  than  we,  for 
we  Germans  have  perhaps  more  sense  and  sus- 
ceptibility for  the  comic  than  the  French,  for  we 
are  the  people  of  humour.  Add  to  this  that  we 
find  in  Germany  better   subjects  for   laughter, 


148  THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 

more  realty  langhable  and  ridicnlons  chEiracters 
than  in  France,  where  the  persiflage  of  society 
kills  in  the  bud  every  extraordinary  or  droll 
oddity,  and  where  no  really  original  fool  or  jester 
{Narr)  can  develop  and  complete  himself  un- 
hindered. A  German  may  declare  with  pride 
that  it  is  only  on  German  soil  that  fools  flourish 
and  grow  to  that  stupendous,  Titanic  height  of 
which  a  flattened-out,  suppressed  French  fool 
has  no  conception.  Only  Germany  can  produce 
those  colossally  comic  clowns  whose  bell-caps 
reach  and  ring  in  heaven  on  high,  and  delight 
the  stars  with  their  jingling.  Let  us  not  ignore 
the  merits  of  our  fellow-countrymen,  and  pay 
homage  to  foreign  folly.  Let  us  be  just  to  our 
own  native  land ! 

It  is  also  an  error  to  ascribe  the  sterility  of 
our  German  Thalia  to  a  want  of  free  air,  or,  if 
you  will  excuse  the  rash  word,  to  the  want  of 
political  freedom.  For  what  is  called  political 
liberty  is  not  at  all  necessary  for  the  success  of 
comedy.  We  have  only  to  recall  Venice,  where, 
in  spite  of  "  the  leads "  ^  and  secret  drownings, 
Goldoni  and  Gozzi  still  wrote  their  masterpieces ; 
or  Spain,  where,  notwithstanding  the  absolute 
axe  and  the  orthodox  fire,  the  most  charming 


'  Chambers  under  the  leaden  roof  of  the  buildings  of  St. 
Mark  in  Venice,  which  were  used  m  prisons. — Tnmtlator. 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  Mf 

"  cloak-and-sword "  pieces  were  produced ;  or 
think  of  Moli^re,  who  wrote  under  Louis  XIV. 
Why,  even  China  has  excellent  comedies.  .  .   . 

No,  it  is  not  the  political  condition  which 
determines  the  development  of  comedy  in  a 
people,  and  this  I  would  circumstantially  prove, 
were  it  not  that  I  should,  by  so  doing,  find 
myself  in  a  field  which  I  much  prefer  to  avoid. 
Yes,  my  dearest  friend,  I  have  a  real  horror  of 
politics,  and  go  ten  steps  out  of  my  way  when 
I  encounter  a  political  thought,  even  as  if  it  were 
a  mad  dog.  When,  lost  in  the  labyrinth  of  my 
ideas,  such  a  thought  meets  me  unforeseen,  then 
I  at  once  repeat  the  spell.   .   .   . 

Do  you  know,  dearest  friend,  the  spell  which 
must  be  pronounced  when  we  meet  a  mad  dog  ? 
I  knew  it  in  my  early  boyhood,  and  learned  it 
then  from  the  old  chaplain,  Asthover.  When  in 
walking  we  see  a  dog  whose  taU  is  drawn  in  in  a 
suspicious  manner,  then  we  must  say  at  once : — 

"  0  hound,  thou  hound. 
Thou  art  not  Bane  or  sound  ; 
Accurst  thou  shalt  be 
To  all  eternity : 
From  thy  bite. 
Lord  Saviour  Jesus,  guard  me  day  and  night    Amen." 


1  "O  Hand,  da  Hand, 
Du  hist  nlcht  gesond ; 


ISO 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 


Even  as  I  dread  politics,  I  have  a  boundless 
fear  of  theology,  which  has  drenched  and  soaked 
me  in  sorrow.  I  let  myself  be  no  longer  tempted 
by  Satan;  I  refrain  from  all  reflections  on  Chris- 
tianity, and  am  no  longer  such  a  fool  as  to  wish  to 
convert  Hengstenberg  and  his  company  to  faith 
in  worldly  pleasures.  For  all  I  care,  these  miser- 
able wretches  may  eat  thistles  instead  of  pine- 
apples to  the  end  of  their  days,  and  chastise  and 
mortify  their  flesh — tant  mieux.  I  would  like 
myself  to  supply  the  rods  for  the  purpose. 
Theology  has  brought  me  to  sorrow ;  you  know 
by  what  a  misunderstanding  it  came  about.  You 
know  how  I,  without  solicitation,  was  appointed 
by  the  Diet  to  Young  Germany,^  and  how  I  unto 
this  day  have  in  vain  prayed  for  my  dismissal. 
In  vain  I  write  the  humblest  petitions ;  in  vain  do 
I  declare  that  I  no  longer  believe  in  any  of  my 


Du  bist  vermaledeit 

In  Ewigkeit ;  | 

Von  deinem  Bias 
Behiite  mich  mein  Herr  und  Heiland  Jesus  Christ.     Amen." 

Many  of  these  incantations,  some  of  which  are  of  earlj 
haathen  origin,  are  still  current  among  the  peasantry  not  only 
of  Germany,  but  even  in  Pennsylvania. — Translator. 

^  Beim  jungen  DetUscJdand  angetteUt  wurde.  Heine  wm 
officially  described  as  its  leader,  but  in  his  letters  he  appears 
as  flying  from  the  party  which  pursued  him,  praying  him  to  be 
its  chief.  On  the  whole,  he  appears  to  have  played  fast  and 
loose  with  it,  as  be  did  with  most  things. — Trandator.  j 


J«..,.. 


't  k  .      *<•-!-• 


".""-'     'I  1    _■....  .<i 


#*-»'>t!*AilA 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  151 

religious  errors.  Naught  avails.  I  do  not,  indeed, 
ask  for  any  great  pension,  but  only  to  be  super- 
annuated (m  JRuhestand  gesetzt  werden).  Dearest 
friend,  you  could  do  me  a  great  favour  if  you 
would,  when  the  opportunity  presents  itself, 
accuse  me  in  your  journal  of  obscurantism  and 
servilism ;  ^  it  might  be  of  great  service  to  me. 
As  regards  my  enemies,  I  have  no  occasion  to 
beg  any  such  service  of  them ;  they  will  slander 
me  with  the  greatest  possible  obligingness. 

I  have  remarked  that  as  the  French,  among 
whom  comedy  flourishes  more  than  with  us,  do 
not  derive  this  advantage  from  their  political 
freedom,  it  may  be  permitted  to  me  to  point  out 
somewhat  more  in  detail  how  it  is  rather  to  cer- 
tain social  conditions  that  comic  dramatists  owe 
their  supremacy  in  France. 

You  know  what  I  mean  by  social  conditions. 
They  are  the  manners  and  customs,  the  doing 
and  letting  be  done  (das  Thun  und  Lassen),  the 
whole  public  as  well  as  private  impulse  of  a  race, 
so  far  as  the  predominant  views  of  life  are  ex- 
pressed by  them.     The  French  comic  dramatist 


^  Old  fogejism  and  toadying  are  not  elegant  terms,  bat 
slang  here  expresses  the  author's  real  meaning  more  rigorously 
and  accurately  than  the  choicest  licensed  expressions  could 
have  done.  More  than  two  pages  are  omitted  in  the  French 
Tereion  after  the  ending  of  this  sentence,  or  till  the  words,  "  I 
have  already  said  that  in  France." 


.iM->-?».,»;^»_'T.<»?-'-.\*..-'»V,V5/>.  '^tilT^i.-j;    >,..l 


152  THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 

Beldom  employs  the  public  active  life  as  chief 
material;  he  only  uses  certain  incidents  in  it; 
from  this  soil  he  only  plucks  now  and  then  a 
few  quaint  flowers,  with  which  he  enwreaths  the 
mirror  from  whose  ironically  cut  and  polished 
facets  laughs  and  glitters  the  domestic  life  of 
the  French.  Those  are,  indeed,  distorted  images 
which  this  mirror  shows,  but,  as  everything 
among  the  French  is  exaggerated  to  the  very 
extreme  and  to  caricature,  such  images  still  give 
us  the  unpitying  truth,  if  not  that  of  to-day,  yet 
still  the  truth  as  it  may  be  to-morrow.  Such 
dramatists  find  a  greater  source  of  subjects  in 
the  contrasts  of  many  old  institutions  with 
modem  customs,  or  of  the  latter  with  the  private 
opinions  which  people  have  of  them.  But  what 
are  most  profitable  are  the  contrasts  which  appear 
80  amusing  when  the  noble  enthusiasm  which 
flames  up  so  lightly  with  the  French,  and  is  as 
lightly  quenched,  comes  into  colKsion  with  the 
positive  industrial  tendencies  of  the  time.  Here 
we  stand  on  a  ground  where  that  great  female 
despot,  the  Revolution,  has  exercised  for  fifty 
years  her  arbitrary  power,  tearing  down  here, 
sparing  there,  but  shaking  violently  everywhere 
at  the  foundations  of  social  life ;  and  this  rage 
for  equality  which  cannot  raise  the  lowly,  but 
only  lay  level  the  lofty,  this  quarrel  of  the  pre- 
sent with    the    past,  who    mutually  mock   one 


..  ■' 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  1|S 

another — ^the  anger  of  a  madman  at  a  ghost— this 
overthrow  of  all  authorities,  be  they  of  spirit  of 
material,  this  stumbling  over  their  last  relics, 
and  this  want  of  wit  in  the  stupendous  hours  of 
fate,  when  the  great  need  of  stem  authority  is 
plain  as  the  day  to  every  one— when  the  de- 
stroyer, scared  at  his  own  work,  begins  for  very 
agony  to  sing,  and  then  at  last  bursts  into 
laughter  wild — yes,  it  is  fearful,  even  horrible, 
but  for  a  comedy,  most  excellent ! 

But  here  a  German  begins  to  feel  uncomfort- 
able. By  the  eternal  gods  !  we  should  thank 
our  Lord  and  Saviour  daily  that  we  have  no 
comedy  like  that  of  the  French,  that  we  have 
none  of  those  flowers  which  only  bloom  on  hills 
of  potsherds  and  heaps  of  ruin,^  such  as  French 
society  consists  of.  The  French  writer  of  comedy 
seems  to  me  at  times  to  be  like  a  monkey  who 
sits  on  the  ruins  of  some  ancient  city  and  makes 
grimaces,  and  raises  grinning  laughter  when  he 
espies  among  the  broken  ogives  of  a  cathedral 
the  head  of  a  real  fox  peeping  out,  and  the  sow 
brings  forth  her  young  in  what  was  once  the 
boudoir  of  a  royal  mistress,  or  when  the  ravens 
meet  in  solemn  council  on  the  leads  of  the 
Guildhall,  or  when  the  hyenas  dig  up  and  gnaw 
the  ancient  bones  from  regal  tombs.   ... 

^  Sach  as  that  of  Monte  Teataccio  in  Rome,  which  oonsista 
•ntirely  of  fragments  of  broken  pottery. — Trantlator. 


'*>V,- 


»54 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 


I  have  already  said  that  in  France  the  leading 
motives  of  comedy  are  borrowed  not  from  public 
life,  but  from  the  inner  life  of  the  people,  and 
here  the  relations  between  man  and  wife  furnish 
the  most  fertile  theme.  In  the  French  family, 
as  in  all  the  other  relations  of  life,  all  bonds 
are  broken  and  all  authority  overthrown.  That 
paternal  influence  on  son  and  daughter  is  de- 
stroyed is  easily  understood  when  we  reflect  on 
the  corrosive  power  of  that  criticism  which 
resulted  from  the  Materialistic  philosophy.  This 
want  of  reverence  (Pieidt)  shows  itself  more 
glaringly  in  the  relation  between  man  and 
wife,  either  in  the  marital  or  extra-marital 
alliances,  which  here  assume  a  character  which 
specially  adapts  them  to  comedy.  Here  is  the 
original  stage  of  all  those  wars  between  the 
sexes  which  are  only  known  in  Germany  by  bad 
translations  or  imitations,  and  which  a  German 
may  possibly  or  barely  describe  as  a  Polybius, 
but  never  as  a  Caesar.  The  psdr  indeed  make 
war  in  every  land,  but  specially  they  fight  as 
man  and  wife.  In  every  country,  too,  as  in 
France,  freedom  of  action  is  wanting  to  women ; 
therefore,  as  it  must  be  conducted  more  secretly, 
cannot  come  openly  and  dramatically  to  view. 
Elsewhere  women  barely  bring  it  so  far  as  to  a 
small  emetUe,  or  at  the  most  an  insurrection  ; 
but  here  the  two  married  powers  stand  opposed 


^f'^ 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.     ::-^  '':  ■-''-■\:!ll^ _ 

with  equal  military  resources  and  wage  their 
most  terrible  domestic  battles.  In  the  uniformity 
of  your  German  life  you  are  much  amused  in  the 
German  theatre  at  seeing  such  a  campaign  of  the 
two  sexes,  in  which  one  seeks  to  subdue  the  other 
by  strategic  arts,  secret  ambush,  nightly  surprise, 
ambiguous  truces,  or  even  by  propositions  of 
eternal  peace.  But  when  one  is  here  in  Franc© 
on  the  very  field  of  battle  itself,  where  such  things 
do  not  merely  appear,  but  are  practically  carried 
out,  and  if  he  has  a  German  heart  in  his  breast — 
all  pleasure  oozes  away  at  seeing  the  best  French 
comedy.  Ah  !  for  a  long  time  I  have  no  longer 
laughed  at  Amal  when  he,  with  such  delightful 
niaiserie,  plays  the  cuckold,  nor  at  Jenny  Vert- 
pr6  when  she,  displaying  all  the  most  exquisite 
graces  as  a  grande  dame,  dallies  and  fondles  with 
the  flowers  of  adultery.  Neither  do  I  laugh  at 
Mademoiselle  Dejazet,  who,  as  you  know,  can 
play  the  part  of  a  grisette  so  perfectly,  with 
such  classical  insolence  and  divine  licentiousness 
{Liederlichkeit).  Heavens !  how  many  dire  defeats 
in  virtue  must  this  damsel  have  endured  ere  she 
rose  to  such  triumphs  in  aH !  She  is  perhaps 
the  best  actress  in  France.^     How  admirably  she 

^  I  saw  Dejazet  when  Bhe  reappeared  on  the  stage  in  1848, 
and  her  performancea  were  such  as  to  fully  justify  Heine  in  his 
praise  of  her  talent,  while  in  other  respects  they  were  even  more 
remarkable.     For  though  she  was  now  beyond  sixty,  her  extra- 


■  -•1)0,  ,.  ,/— '  ■    -  ''  ■'^'-  ■■."•-^■"■''"'■^"■■"■■■.'''■rV'-  '•'■*  -'-VH-i  ..,-.••  l.tfj-  i  ,  V<f>*l    fj' 


IS* 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 


plays  "  Fretillon,"  or  a  poor  modiste  who  by  the 
liberality  of  a  rich  lover  all  at  once  sees  herself 
surrounded  by  all  the  luxury  of  a  great  lady  ;  or 
a  little  washermaid  who  for  the  first  time  listens 
to  the  tender  speeches  of  a  carabin  (in  German, 
Stvdiosibs  MedicincB),  and  allows  him  to  accompany 
her  to  the  hal  champitre  de  la  Grande  Chau- 
rniire}     Ah  !  that  is  all  very  pretty  and  merry, 


ordinary  physique  and  preservation  of  youthful  activity  and 
energy  were  such  that  she  played  and  looked  to  perfection 
the  parts  of  girls  of  seventeen.  The  r6U  of  Mademoiselle  de 
Choisy  is  a  much  more  artistic,  delicate,  and  difficult  one  than 
the  parts  mentioned  by  Heine,  it  being  throughout  ambiguous, 
a  boy  in  it  believing  himself  to  be  a  girl,  and  attracted  by 
strange  feelings,  which  he  cannot  comprehend,  to  a  fair  maid 
who  shares  these  mysterious  longings.  "  Impropriety,"  or  all 
that  Swinburne's  rosiest  ballads  intimate,  was  developed  in  this 
comedy  by  the  great  actress  to  the  very  utmost,  but  without  a 
single  immoral  word  or  "  overt  act."  As  the  audience  were  all 
aware  that  the  artiste  was  personally  and  in  private  life  deeply 
initiated  into  the  mysteries  hinted  at,  there  were  of  course 
many  situations  where  the  superhuman  effrontery  of  Made- 
moiselle Dejazet  and  the  intelligence  of  her  auditors  combined 
to  produce  roars  of  laughter,  such  as  would  have  been  utterly 
incomprehensible  to  a  stranger.  Add  to  this  an  indescribable 
and  peculiar  grace  in  every  movement,  constant  novelty  and 
freshness,  with  marvellous  inUynation  of  voice,  and  we  have  a 
truthful  sketch  of  this  great  actress  who  has  never  been  ap- 
proached since  her  time,  even  at  a  great  distance,  by  any  one 
in  espUgle  comedy.  A  Dejazet  would  now  be  as  great  an  im- 
poBsibility  on  any  European  stage  as  a  Taglioni. — TramUUor. 

^  A  famous  resort  for  students  in  the  Forties.     It  was  cum* 
memorftted  in  a  very  popular  song : — 
"  Mesaieon  lea  ^tudiants, 
Montez  k  la  Chanmiftre. 


,  .'.cy*  •• 


f^'- 


/  ■• ' 


■••"■T —«>»>., 


^»».  »»»!■ 


y^-^fi^^ 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  157 

and  people  laugh  at  it ;  but  I,  when  I  secretly 
reflect  where  all  this  comedy  really  ends — ^that 
is,  in  the  sinks  of  prostitution,  in  the  hospitals 
of  Saint-Lazare,  and  on  the  tables  of  anatomy, 
where  the  carahin  not  unfrequently  sees  his 
late  companion  in  love  dissected  for  the  advan- 
tage of  science — ^then  the  laugh  is  stifled  in  my 
throat,  and  did  I  not  fear  that  I  should  appear 
as  a  fool  before  the  most  highly  cultivated  public 
in  the  world,  I  would  not  restrain  my  tears.^ 


Pour  y  danser  le  cancan, 
Et  la  Robert  Macaire  ! 
Toujours — toujoura 
La  noit  comme  auz  jonn, 

Et  roupiou  piu,  la  ral  a  ral  la. " — Trcmdator. 
^  Our  author  here  appears  to  be  either  slightly  canting  or 
misled  by  a  common  error.  We  should  always  admit  the  trutk, 
whether  it  clashes  with  what  we  have  been  taught  to  believe  or 
not,  and  extensive  researches  have  certainly  proved  that  the 
"sinks"  or  gutters,  hospitals  and  dissecting-table,  &c.,  are  by 
no  means  the  final  destiny  of  a  very  great  majority  of  "  social 
evils."  A  very  pious  and  benevolent  Presbyterian  clergyman, 
who  had  passed  many  years  in  ameliorating  the  condition  of  the 
poor  in  a  very  large  city,  and  who  was  perfectly  familiar  with 
thousands  of  the  most  degraded  class,  once  said  to  me,  "  Though 
it  seems  a  terrible  thing  for  me  to  admit,  I  must  honestly  de- 
clare that,  taking  all  things  into  consideration,  the  great  majority 
of  fallen  women  do  acttially,  in  the  end,  from  a  merely  temporal 
point  of  view,  better  their  condition  in  life.  This  great  majority 
are  bom  of  the  poorest  class,  or  that  in  which  they  now  live ; 
they  nearly  all  have  relations  who  sponge  on  them,  and  however 
wretched  they  may  seem  to  us,  they  are  far  better  fed  and  clad 
than  most  poor  girls  who  work  honestly  for  a  living.     When 


IS8  THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 

See,  dear  friend,  that  is  the  secret  curse  of 
exile,  that  we  never  feel  exactly  like  ourselves  or 
as  brave  in  the  air  of  a  foreign  land,  and  that, 
with  the  manners  of  thought  and  of  feeling 
which  we  have  brought  from  home,  we  are  always 
isolated  among  people  who  do  not  feel  and  think 
as  we  do,  and  that  we  are  continually  pained  by 
moral,  or  rather  immoral,  incidents  and  things 
with  which  the  native  has  long  been  familiar  and 
at  ease;  yes,  as  regards  which  he  has  become 
as  used  as  to  the  natural  products  of  his  land. 
Ah  !  the  spiritual  climate  is  as  uncongenial  as  the 


they  find  their  youth  passing  sway,  they  have  no  difficulty  in 
marrying  some  man,  neither  better  nor  worse  than  themselves, 
who  has  a  home  and  who  wants  a  housekeeper."  These  are 
very  literally  the  words  of  the  man  most  deeply  experienced  in 
the  lives  of  such  women  whom  I  ever  knew,  and  I  certainly 
never  met  one  who  was  more  honest,  while  shrewd  and  intelli- 
gent. He  added  that  it  is  absolutely  the  very  worst  side  only  of 
such  lives  which  is  known  to  the  better  class,  also  the  fact  that 
the  weak-minded  among  the  poor  generally  "go  to  the  bad," 
with  or  without  this  special  form  of  vice,  while  the  more  intelli- 
gent learn  a  great  deal  from  their  experience  of  the  world,  or 
enough  to  finally  settle  in  some  condition  or  calling  which  sup- 
ports them  decently.  The  only  remark  of  my  own  which  I 
have  to  offer  is  that  the  world  attributes  entirely  to  lust  or  drink 
a  state  of  wretchedness  of  which  nine-tenths  or  more  is  due  to 
poverty  alone,  or  in  many  cases  to  that  weakness  and  want  of 
will  which  is  sure  to  lead  its  subject  astray  in  some  direction. 
Our  author's  assertion  that  the  medical  student  "not  infre- 
quently "  finds  bis  late  mistress  dead  in  the  dissecting-room  is 
an  absurdity  quite  in  keeping  with  the  rest  of  the  remarks  oo 
tlie  subject. — Trandator. 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  159 

physical — in  fact,  one  can  much  more  readily 
reconcile  himself  to  the  latter,  and  at  the  worst 
it  is  the  body,  and  not  the  soul,  which  suffers 
thereby.^ 

A  revolutionary  frog  who  would  gladly  rise 
from  his  native  mud  and  water,  and  who  re- 
gards the  life  of  birds  in  the  air  as  the  ideal  of 
freedom,  could  not,  for  all  that,  endure  existence 
in  a  dry  state  or  in  the  so-called  free  air,  and 
would  certainly  soon  sigh  for  the  good  substan- 
tial swamp  where  he  was  born.  At  first,  on 
land,  he  puffs  himself  well  out,  and  gaily  greets 
the  sun  which  shines  so  bright  all  in  July,  and 
says  unto  himself,  "  I  am  far,  far  above  my 
native  folk,  the  fish,  stockfish,  and  all  dumb  aquatic 
things,  for  Jove  has  given  me  the  gift  of  speech. 


^  Here  we  certainly  have  cant  "straight"  and  undiluted. 
Heine  indeed  made  the  utmost  out  of  his  being  an  exile ;  it  was 
as  "  a  poor  exiled  poet "  that  he  took  a  pension,  but  as  for  leaving 
Paris  or  returning  to  his  dear  native  land,  one  might  as  well 
have  proposed  to  him,  or  to  Baron  Rothschild,  to  settle  in 
Judeea.  And,  for  a  professed  cosmopolite,  such  wailing  is 
certainly  very  inconsistent.  But  drollest  of  all  is  his  sad 
complaint  that  he  cannot  reconcile  himself  to  the  frightful 
habits  and  immorality  of  French  life,  to  its  dreadful  grisettes 
and  acquiescing  actresses,  et  toute  la  eompagnie.  This,  while 
the  poor  exile  was  all  the  while  living  with  one  of  these 
graceful-graceless  creatures,  is  indeed  touching  !  The  truth  is 
that  the  exile  was  really  more  familiar  and  fond  with  such 
frightful  foreign  "phenomena"  thaa  he  gives  himself  credit 
for  being. — Tran^ator. 


l6o  THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 

Yes,  I  can  sing,  and  therefore  am  allied  unto 
the  birds ;  all  that  I  want  is  wings."  I 

Poor  frog !  if  he  had  wings  he  would  not  soar  ; 
flying,  he'd  lack  the  lightness  of  the  bird,  his 
eyes,  despite  him,  ever  seek  the  earth.  From 
this  height  all  that  is  wretched,  all  that  is  mis- 
erable here  in  this  earthly  vale  of  misery  would 
be  for  the  f^rst  time  all  visible,  and  the  poor, 
feathered,  flying  frog  would  feel  far  greater  suffer- 
ing than  he  ever  did  in  the  old  fanuliar  German 
swamp.* 


^  Our  author's  assertions  in  this  letter  that  he  does  not 
belong  to  Young  Germany,  that  his  whole  soul  is  averse  to 
French  immorality,  and,  in  short,  that  he  is  in  no  respect  what 
he  is  supposed  to  be,  recall  the  fact  that  in  a  very  remarkable 
little  book,  Heinrich  Heine  der  Unsterbliche,  or  "Heine  the 
Immortal,"  by  D.  Homung  (1859),  the  soul  of  the  poet,  evoked 
by  a  spiritualist,  declares  that  he  is  now  happy  in  heaven, 
because  he  was  always  true  to  himtdf.  If  this  be  so,  verily  no 
man  living  need  despair  of  eternal  bliss. — Trandator.  , 


THIRD  LETTER. 

My  head  is  wild  and  waste.  I  have  not  been 
able  to  sleep  all  last  night.  I  rolled  continually 
in  my  bed,  and  as  continually  rolled  in  my 
head  the  thought,  "Who  was  the  masked  exe- 
cutioner who  beheaded  Charles  the  First  at 
Whitehall  ?"i 

It  was  not  till  toward  morning  that  I  fell 
asleep,  and  then  I  dreamed  again  that  it  was 
night,  and  I  stood  on  the  Pont  Neuf  in  Paris, 
and  looked  adown  into  the  dark  rolling  Seine. 
And  there  came  out  from  below,  from  between 
the  pillars  of  the  bridge,  naked  men,  hidden  in 
the  water  to  their  hips,  and  they  held  flaming 
lamps  in  their  hands,  and  seemed   to  seek  for 

^  This  fancy  of  the  hollow  or  unearthly  voice  which  asks  an 
unmeaning  question,  I  first  met  in  an  English  tale  of  about 
1832,  in  which  a  ghostly  vision  ends  with  the  mysterious  words, 
"Did  ThuriiJma  rise  again  ?"  But  Heine's  question,  aa  here 
given,  undoubtedly  suggested  to  Reybaud  in  Jeromue  Paturdt, 
"Whose  was  that  head,  and  whose  that  hand?"  which  is  also 
awfully  unmeaning.  Heine  here  suggests  Mr.  DicL — Trant- 
lator. 

i6x  T 


i6a 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 


Bometliiiig.  They  looked  up  at  me  with  meaning 
glances,  and  I  nodded  again  to  them  as  if  there 
were  a  secret  mysterious  intelligence  between  us. 
And  tJien  the  great  bell  of  Notre  Dame  rang, 
and  I  awoke.  And  now,  for  an  hour,  I  have 
been  trying  to  recall  what  it  was  that  the  naked 
people  were  looking  for  under  the  Pont  Neuf. 
I  believe  that  I  knew  in  my  dream  what  it  was, 
but  now  I  have  forgotten  it.  1 

The  brilliant  gleam  of  the  morning  mist  i  pro- 
mises a  fine  day.  The  cock  crows.  The  old 
invalid  soldier  who  lives  near  us  sits  already 
before  his  door  singing  his  songs  of  Napoleon. 
His  grandson,  a  child  with  blonde  locks,  is  also 
afoot  with  his  little  bare  legs,  and  now  stands 
before  my  window,  a  bit  of  sugar  in  his  hand, 
vdth  which  he  pretends  to  feed  my  roses.  A 
sparrow  comes  tripping  up  on  his  small  toes  and 
looks  at  the  child  with  curious  surprise.  But 
the  mother,  a  beautiful  peasant  woman,  comes 
hurriedly,  and  catching  up  the  child,  carries  him 
into  the  house,  lest  he  should  take  cold  in  the 
early  morning  air. 

And  I  take  up  my  pen  to  scribble  my  con- 
fused ideas  as  to  the  French  theatre  in  still  more 
confused  style.  In  this  written  wilderness,  my 
dear  friend,  there  will  hardly  be  anything  edify - 


*  French  versioD — "  Lea  brilUots  nuages  da  matin." 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  163 

ing.  To  you,  oh  teacher  of  dramatic  art  (Drama- 
turg),  who  know  the  theatre  in  all  its  phases, 
and  see  into  the  inner  hearts  of  comedians,  even 
as  God  sees  into  ours  ;  to  you  who  have  lived  and 
loved  and  lost  upon  the  boards  which  mean  the 
world,  as  God  himself  did  in  this  greater  world, 
to  you  I  can  tell  nothing  new  as  regards  the 
French  or  German  theatre.  I  only  venture  here 
to  throw  out  fleeting  remarks  which  may  deserve 
from  you  an  approving  nod. 

Therefore  I  hope  that  what  I  wrote  in  my  last 
letter  on  French  comedy  met  with  your  appro- 
bation. The  moral  relation  and  agreement,  or 
rather  disagreement,  between  man  and  wife  is 
here  the  dunghill  which  so  richly  fertilises  the 
soil  of  comedy.  Marriage,  or  rather  adultery,  is 
the  central  point  whence  are  let  fly  all  those 
comic  rockets  which  shoot  so  brilliantly  on  high, 
but  which  leave  behind  them  a  melancholy  dark- 
ness, if  not  a  vile  smell.  The  old  Catholic  Chris- 
tian religion,  which  sanctioned  marriage  and 
threatened  the  unfaithful  spouse  with  hell,  has 
been  extinguished  with  hell-fire  itself.  Morality, 
which  is  nothing  else  but  religion  passed  into 
manners  and  customs,  has  by  this  lost  all  its 
vital  roots,  and  now  twines  miserably  faded  on 
the  dry  sapling  poles  of  reason  which  have  been 
put  in  the  place  of  religion.  But  even  this  poor, 
rootless  moral  system,  which  is  only  based  on 


i64 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 


reason,  is  not  properly  respected  here,  and  society 
regards  only  convenances  or  the  mere  appearance 
of  morality,  the  obligation  of  a  careful  avoidance 
of  all  that  which  might  cause  a  public  scandal ; 
I  say  a  public,  not  a  private  one,  for  all  that  is 
scandalous  which  does  not  come  to  light  does  not 
exist  for  society,  which  only  punishes  sin  in  cases 
where  people  talk  too  londly.  And  even  then 
there  are  amiable  mitigations.  The  lady  sinner  is 
not  truly  damned  until  her  husband  utters  sen- 
tence on  her.  The  folding-doors  of  eveiy  French 
salon  open  wide  to  the  most  notorious  Messa- 
linas  so  long  as  the  conjugal  ram  {Homvieh)  trots 
patiently  by  her  side.  But,  on  the  other  hand, 
the  young  girl  who  madly  yet  nobly  and  gener- 
ously throws  herself  into  the  arms  of  a  lover,  and 
makes  for  him  woman's  greatest  sacrifice  (weihlich 
au/opferungsvoll  in  die  Arme  wirft),  is  for  ever 
banned  and  banished  from  society.  But  this 
seldom  happens,  firstly,  because  maidens  here 
never  love,  and,  secondly,  because  when  they  do, 
they  try  to  get  husbands  as  soon  as  possible,  in 
order  to  enjoy  that  freedom  which  castom  only 
grants  to  married  dames.  1 

And  it  is  in  this  the  difference  consists. 
With  us  in  Germany,  as  in  England  and  other 
Germanic  countries,  girls  are  allowed  the  greatest 
possible  freedom,  while  married  women  pass  into 
a  state  of  most  absolute  dependence  under  the 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  165 

most  painfnlly  severe  guardianship  of  their  hus- 
bwods.^ 

But  here  in  France,  as  I  have  said,  the  contraiy 
is  the  case,  and  young  girls  remain  in  cloister-like 
seclusion  or  reserve  (JSiTigezogenheit)  until  they  .     .^ 

either  marry  or  are  taken  into  society  under  the 
strictest  guard  of  some  one  near  of  kin.*  In  "the 
world" — ^that  is,  in  a  French  salon — they  always 
sit  silent  and  little  heeded,  for  it  is  here  neither  > 

va.  good  form  nor  sensible  to  pay  attention  to  or 
flirt  with  a  young  lady. 

And  there  it  is.  We  Germans,  like  our  Ger- 
manic neighbours,  offer  our  homag©  and  our  love 
only  to  unmarried  maids,  and  our  poets  only  sing 
of  them  J  but  with  the  French,  on  the  contrary,  be 
it  in  life  or  in  art,  the  married  woman  is  the  only 
subject  of  love.' 

^  Heine  rivalled  American  young  ladies   in   his  excessive  .      .'' 

indulgence  in  superlatives,  which  often  led  him  unconsciously 
to  exaggeration  and  untruth.     The  reader  may  have  observed 

that  by  far  too  many  subjects  were  to  him  the  mott  exquisite  or  '  - 

mo«l  infamous  conceivable ;  the  result  being  very  naturally  the 
impression  that  he  was  over-susceptible,  and,  like  a  child,  re- 
garded whatever  was  nearest  to  him  as  greatest  Even  in 
America  girls  are  nowhere  allowed  t^  ^reoteit  7)o«*ti2e  freedom, 
while  as  for  Grermany,  the  restrictions  of  this  kind  are  far 
greater  than  in  England,  and  were  much  more  so  fifty  years  aga 
There  are  very  great  differences  in  "G^ermanic  lands"  in  this 
respect. — Tramlator. 

'  Omitted  in  the  French  version. 

'  There  was  even  in  Heine's  time  a  aoTel  entitled  "The 


Itf6  THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 

I  have  here  pointed  out  a  fact  which  establishes 
a  fundamental  difference  between  German  and 
French  tragedy.  The  heroines  of  German  trage- 
dies are  always  maids  ;  in  those  of  France  they 
are  married  women ;  and  the  complicated  relations 
which  result  from  it  open,  it  may  be,  a  wider 
field  for  action  and  passion. 

It  would  never  occur  to  me  to  praise  French 
or  German  tragedy  at  the  expense  of  the  other. 
The  literature  and  art  of  every  land  are  subject 
to  local  limitations  which  must  not  be  lost  sight 
of  when  we  would  appreciate  them.  The  merit 
of  German  tragedies  like  those  of  Goethe,  Schil- 
ler, Kleist,  Immermann,  Grabbe,  Oehlenschlager, 
Uhland,  Gillparzer,  Werner,  and  similar  great 
poets,  consists  more  in  poetry  than  in  action 
(Kandlung)  or  "  treatment "  and  passion.  But 
however  exquisite  the  poetry  may  be,  it  makes 
more  impression  on  the  solitary  reader  than  on 
a  great  audience.^     That  which  acts  most  impres- 


Elective  Affinities"  by  one  Goethe,  and  quite  a  literature  of 
minor  works  in  prose  and  verse,  from  which  no  foreigner  could 
fail  to  conclude  that  Grermans,  like  all  other  weak  and  sinful 
mortals,  "now  and  then,  if  not  oftener,"  broke  the  seventh 
commandment,  and  "  the  better  the  society,  the  more  frequent 
were  the  breaches."  Even  in  Canning's  time,  to  "chop  and 
change  ribs,  d  la  mode  Grermanorom,"  was  proverbial  in  England. 
— Translator. 

*  The  solitary  reader  who  appreciates  the  text  is  in  nineteen 
ease*  out  of  twenty  a  genius  or  a  person  of  refined  susceptibility ; 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 


rtf 


sively  in  a  theatre  on  the  mass  of  the  public  is 
simply  action  and  passion,  and  the  French  writers 
of  tragedy  excel  in  these.  The  French  are  by 
nature  more  active  and  passionate  than  we,  and 
it  is  difficult  to  decide  whether  it  is  innate 
activity  which  causes  passion  to  manifest  itself 
more  in  them  than  in  us,  or  whether  inborn 
passion  gives  to  their  acts  a  more  ardent  char- 
acter, and  imparts  to  their  lives  a  more  dramatic 
form  than  ours,  whose  ever-silent  waters  flow  in 
the  enforced  channel  of  habit  and  custom,  and 
manifest  far  greater  depth  below  than  billows 
breaking  wildly  on  the  surface.  In  short,  life  in 
France  is  more  dramatic,  and  the  theatre,  that 
mirror  of  life,  here  manifests  action  and  passion 
in  the  highest  degree.  ;^ 

Passion,  as  it  acts  in  French  tragedy,  is  an 
incessant  storm  of  feelings,  a  continual  alterna- 
tion of  thunder  and  lightning,  an  eternal  fever 
of  raging  sensibility,^   and   it  is   as    accurately 


the  "  great  audience,"  on  the  contrary,  as  a  rule  consists  of  Philis- 
tines, nineteen  out  of  twenty  of  whom  are  satisfied  or  delighted 
with  acting  which  would  be  intolerable  to  the  cultivated  r^Mler. 
Heine,  as  a  great  many  instances  prove,  lacked  to  a  great  de- 
gree what  is  perhaps  the  first  qualification  of  a  critic — ^the 
instinct  or  art  of  considering  an  idea  in  all  its  lights  and  from 
all  sides  before  advancing  it. 

^  Yet  Voltaire  was  of  the  opinion  that  in  his  time  there  was 
a  great  want  of  true  passion  in  the  drama.  He  says  {Des  Divert 
Changements  Arrives  d  VArt  Tragique,  Mdangea  Littirairca,  Tol. 


I^^S^u.. 


i -<•  T  ■-.%-  f  : 


tm 


THE  FRENCH  STAOB. 


adapted  to  the  taste  of  the  French  public,  as  it 
is  to  those  of  the  G-enDan,  that  the  aathor  shall 
first  deliberately  set  forth  the  motive  of  the  pas- 
sion, and  then  bring  in  between  the  storms  in- 
tervals of  calm  repose,  so  that  we  may  be  excited 
or  moved  comfortably  and  at  our  ease.  There 
ait  in  a  German  parterre  peace-loving  citizens  and 
Government  o£Bcials,  who  would  digest  their  sour- 
kraut  in  peace,  while  above,  in  the  balcony  boxes, 
are  the  blue-eyed  daughters  of  the  better  class, 
beautiful  blonde  souls,  who  have  brought  with 
them  their  knitting,  and  who  would  fain  indulge 
in  gentle  visions  and  emotions  without  missing 
a  stitch.  And  all  the  audience  have  that  great 
German  virtue  which  is  bom  in  us,  or  unto 
which  we  are  trained  or  taught — ^that  of  patience. 
And  we  also  go  to  the  theatre  to  criticise  the 
play  of  the  actors,  or,  as  we  express  it,  the  ren- 
dering of  the  artists.^  But  a  Frenchman  goes 
to  see  the  play  and  to  be  excited ;  the  actors  are 
forgotten  in  the  piece,  and  little  do  we  hear  men 
speak  of  them.     Restlessness  drives  men  to  such 


ii.),  "  II  nous  a  presque  toajonn  manqu^  nn  degr^  de  ohalenr ; 
notu  avions  tont  le  reste.  L'origine  de  cette  langaeor,  de  ostte 
faiblesse  monotone,  venait  en  partie  de  ce  petit  esprit  de  galan- 
terie,  si  cher  alors  aox  conrtisans  et  anx  f emmes  qui  a  trantf orm< 
le  th^tre  en  oonvenations  de  Clflie."  Heine  here  confoand* 
passion  with  ranting. — TrantUUor. 

^  Die  LeiMtungen  der  KUn$tler.     Fiench  version — L'aeeom- 
pliuemerU  de  lew  mmion  artUtique,  which  is  a  ahade  better. 


*,.  ,-■  >•■'■• 


THE  FRENCH  STAGS,  169 

resorts,  and  calm  is  the  last  thing  which  they 
require.  Should  the  author  giye  him  an  in- 
stant's repose,  he  would  be  capable  of  "  calling 
Azor,"  which  means  in  German  to  hiss  the  play. 

What  is  chiefly  important  to  a  French  theatri- 
cal poet  is  that  his  public  shall  never  come  to 
itself  or  its  senses;  that  emotions  shall  rapidly 
follow,  like  blows  on  blows,  or  shock  on  shock; 
that  love,  hatred,  jealousy,  ambition,  pride,  potrU 
c^hormew — in  fact,  all  the  passionate  feelings 
which  constantly  rage  unchained  in  the  real  life 
of  the  French,  shall  burst  forth  on  the  stage  in 
wilder  rage.^ 

But  to  know  in  a  French  play  whether  the 
exaggeration   of  passion    is   too  great    and    far 


'  Few  of  the  yoanger  generation  can  hftve  any  conception  of 
the  extent  to  which  such  acting  was  carried  in  France  at  the 
time  when  Heine  wrote.  I  once  saw  a  play  which  was  almost 
entirely  sustained  by  one  woman,  a  very  eminent  actress,  in 
which  for  three  hours  there  was  such  an  unbroken  series  of 
agonies,  declamations,  faintings,  paroxysms,  showers  of  tears, 
heartrending  maternal  passion,  convulsions  of  terror,  woes, 
horrors,  and  screams,  that  the  whole  seemed  Incredible,  simply 
from  a  physical  point  of  view.  It  was  all,  however,  very  tire- 
some. It  is  remarkable  that  both  in  such  moral-mental  and 
gjrmnastic  performances,  women  excel  men  so  far  as  feats  of 
mere  endurance  are  concerned.  I  have  seen  the  dancing-girls 
in  Egypt  keep  up  for  hours  together,  apparently  without  fatigue, 
such  tricks  as  would  utterly  exhaust  any  male  European  athlete. 
These  women  drank  incredible  quantities  of  spirits  while  thus 
posturing  and  performing,  yet  were  not  intoxicated. — Tranilaior. 


I70 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 


beyond  all  bounds,  one  should  have  the  deepest 
knowledge  of  that  French  life  itself  which  served 
the  poet  as  example.  To  submit  French  pieces 
to  proper  criticism,  we  must  measure  them  by 
French,  and  not  by  German  rule.  The  passions 
which  seem  to  be  utterly  overdone  when  we  see 
them  played  or  read  of  them  in  a  quiet  comer  of 
calm  Germany,  are  perhaps  true  to  the  life  here, 
and  what  appears  so  horribly  unnatural  in  thea- 
tric gaise  may  happen  daily  and  hourly  in  Paris 
in  the  most  ordinary  reality.  No,  it  is  simply 
impossible  in  Germany  to  form  any  idea  of  this 
French  frenzy  of  passion.  We  see  its  deeds, 
we  hear  its  words;  but  these  deeds  and  words 
astonish  us,  and  awaken  in  us,  perhaps,  a  vague 
presentiment,  but  certainly  do  not  give  us  an 
exact  knowledge  of  the  feelings  which  they  ex- 
press or  from  which  they  spring.  He  who  would 
truly  know  what  burning  is  must  really  put  his 
hand  into  the  fire ;  the  sight  of  others'  bums  is  not 
enough,  and  least  of  all  do  we  learn  the  effect  of 
flame  by  what  we  are  told  by  others  or  from 
books.  Those  who  live  at  the  North  Pole  of 
society  have  no  conception  how  easily  hearts  are 
inflamed  in  the  torrid  zone  of  French  Kfe,  or  how, 
during  the  days  of  July,  heads  are  heated  by  the 
maddest  sunstrokes.  Listen  to  their  cries  and 
see  their  grimaces  when  such  flames  scorch  their 
brains  and  hearts,  and   then  we    Germans  are 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE,  171 

amazed,  and  shake  oar  Heads  and  declare  that  it 
is  all  unnatnral  and  nnreasonable.^ 

And  as  we  Germans  cannot  comprehend  the 
ceaseless  storm  and  pressure  of  passion,  even  so 
unintelligible  to  the  French  is  the  quiet  home-life, 
this  dream-existence  of  presentiment  and  memo- 
ries, which  constantly  presents  itself  in  the  most 
passionate  poems  of  Germany.  Men  who  only 
think  of  the  day  and  live  for  the  present  as  if  it 
were  everything,  and  therefore  turn  it  to  account 
with  incredible  security  and  certainty,  have  no 
conceptions  of  the  manner  of  feeling  of,  a  race 
whichever  recalls  the  past  and  forebodes  the  future, 
but  knows  not  how  to  seize  the  present  in  love  or 
,  in  politics.  They  regard  with  amaaement  us  Ger- 
mans, who  often  look  for  seven  years  into  the 
blue  eyes  of  a  beloved  before  we  venture  to  pass 
an  arm  around  her  waist.  And  they  are  sur- 
prised to  see  us  thoroughly  study  the  whole 
history  of  the  French  Revolution,  with  all  its 
commentaries,  and  wait  for  the  last  supplemen- 
tary volumes  before  we  translate  the  work  into 
German,  or  before  we  publish  a  superb  edition 


^  As  they  well  might,  if  this  be  a  description  of  an  extreme 
case  of  sanstroke.  According  to  my  experience,  the  sufferers 
fall  into  insensibility,  and  if  not  promptly  relieved,  die.  How- 
ever, there  are  many  sad  instances  in  which  insanity  manifests 
itself  subsequently. — Trandator. 


ijZ  THB  FRENCH  STAOB. 

of  the  "  Rights  of  Man,"  with  a  dedication  to  the 
King  of  Bavaria.^ 

"  Oh  hound  !  thou  hound  i 
Thou  art  not  sane  or  sound ; 
Accurst  thou  ehalt  be 
To  all  eternity ; 
From  thy  bite, 
Lord  Jesus,  guard  me  day  and  night    Amen  ! " 


*  French  version — Avant  de  favrt  iprouver  d.  «n  Cumber- 
land. Though  this  letter  rolls  a  little  unsteadily,  like  a  crank 
ship  in  a  chopping  sea,  the  vessel  gets  into  a  fine  harbour  at 
last  with  the  happy  reflection  that  it  is  the  great  characteristic 
of  the  Grermans  that  they  think  more  abont  the  past  and  the 
future  than  the  French,  with  the  just  inference  that  they  are 
consequently  both  more  elevated  and  also  profounder  in  thought. 
The  very  same  idea  in  very  different  form  is  given  by  Sainte- 
Beave  as  follows :  "Tout  ce  qu'il  faut  de  travail,  d'^tude,  de 
talent,  de  merite  et  de  meditation  pour  composer  mdme  une 
erreur,  tout  cela  ram^ne  aussi  k  une  pens^  plus  severe  a  la 
pens^e  d'lme  force  supreme "  (M.  Guizot,  Cauteries  de  Lwndi, 
yoL  L).  That  is,  that  seeking  far  and  wide  with  serious  medita- 
tion leads  to  the  greatest  results. — Trcmdator, 


FOURTH  LETTER. 

.  .  .  The  Lord  will  manage  all  things  for  tho 
best.  He,  without  whose  will  no  sparrow  falls 
to  the  ground,  and  no  Court-Councillor  Karl 
Streckfuss  writes  any  poems — he,  I  say,  will 
not  leave  the  fate  of  whole  nations  to  the  caprice 
of  the  most  miserable  short-sightedness.  Well 
do  I  know,  and  that  most  certainly,  that  he  who 
once  led  the  children  of  Israel  with  such  miracu- 
lous power  oat  of  Egypt,  out  of  the  land  of 
castes  and  of  deified  oxen  or  asses,  will  also  show 
his  artistic  feats  to  the  Pharaohs  of  this  our  time. 
He  will  from  time  to  time  drive  back  into  their 
bounds  the  arrogant  Philistines,  even  as  he  did 
under  the  Judges.  And  the  new  Babylonian 
whore,  how  he  will  treat  her  to  kicks !  Dost 
thou  behol^  it — the  great  will  of  God?  It 
sweeps  through  the  air  like  the  silent  secret  of 
a  telegraph,  which,  high  above  our  heads,  imparts 
its  announcements,  while  the  uninitiated  below 
live  in  the  tumult  of  the  noisy  mart,  and  never 
perceive  that  their  most  weighty  interests,  be 
they   of   war   or   peace,  are   being  treated  all 

»73 


174 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 


invisibly  in  heights  above.  When  one  of  us  by 
chance  looks  to  that  height,  and  if  he  be  well 
learned  in  the  signs  upon  the  towers,  warns 
the  multitude  of  coming  evil,  then  that  man  is 
called  an  idle  dreamer  and  they  laugh  at  him. 
But  full  often  worse  befalls,  and  those  who  are 
warned  blame  him  for  his  bad  news  and  stone 
him.  And  often,  too,  they  put  him  as  a  prisoner 
in  the  tower  until  the  prophecy  shall  be  fulfilled, 
and  then  he  may  wait  long  till  it  comes  to  pass. 
For  the  blessed  Lord  always  does  what  he  has 
discovered  and  determined  is  for  the  best,  but  he 
does  not  hasten.  ^v  '  I 

0  Lord !  I  know  that  thou  art  wisdom  itself 
and  justice,  and  that  what  thou  dost  is  ever  just 
and  wise.  But,  I  pray  thee,  do  what  thou  wilt  a 
little  more  quickly.  Thou  art  eternal  and  hast 
time  enough,  but  I  am  only  mortal  and  I  die.^ 

This  morning,  my  dear  friend,  I  am  of  a 
marvellously  mild  and  tender  disposition.  The 
spring  weather  exercises  a  strange  influence  on 
me.  During  the  day  1  am  as  if  benumbed  and 
my  soul  slumbers;  but  I  am  so  excited  by 
night  that  I  do  not  fall  asleep  till  towEirds 
morning,  and  then  the  most  torturing  yet  rap- 
turous dreams  twine   about    me.     0   agonising 


^  The  preceding  paragraphs  are  omitted  in  the  French 
▼ersion. — Trandator. 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  175 

happiness !  with  what  pain  didst  thou  press  me 
to  thy  heart  a  few  hours  ago  !  I  dreamed  of 
her  whom  I  will  not,  should  not  love,  though 
the  passion  secretly  charms  me.  It  was  in  her 
country-house,  in  the  little  dimly-lighted  cham- 
ber where  the  wild  oleander  trees  rose  above  the 
window  on  the  balcony.  The  window  was  open, 
and  the  bright  full  moon  shone  into  the  room,  and 
threw  its  silver  stripes  over  her  white  arms  which 
held  me  lovingly  embraced.  We  sat  in  silence, 
thinking  only  on  our  sweet  misery.  The  shadows 
of  the  trees  waved  on  the  wall,  and  their  perfume 
grew  more  and  more  perceptible.  Then  there 
sounded  in  the  garden,  at  first  as  if  afar  and 
then  nearer,  the  long,  long  drawn  notes  of  a 
violin,  now  sad,  anon  merrily  cheerful,  often  with 
sorrowful  sobbing,  at  times  angry,  but  always 
lovely,  beautiful,  and  true.  "  Who  is  that  ?  " 
I  softly  whispered.  And  she  replied,  "It  is  my 
brother  who  plays  the  violin."  Then  the  violin 
was  suddenly  silent,  and  we  heard  in  its  place 
the  melting  echoing  melody  of  a  flute,  and  it 
sounded  so  imploringly,  so  beseechingly,  so  bleed- 
ingly,  and  there  were  in  it  such  mysterious  wails, 
which  filled  the  soul  with  insane  shuddering  and 
thoughts  of  life  without  love,  death  without 
resurrection,  and  of  tears  which  cannot  be  wept. 
"  Who  is  that  ? "  I  again  asked.  And  she 
replied,  "  It  is  my  husband  playing  the  flute." 


n« 


THE  FRENCH  STAQB, 


And,  my  dear  friend,  awaMng  is  even  worse 
than  dreaming. 

How  happy  Frenchmen  are  !  Que  les  Fraji^ii 
sont  heurevx  I  They  never  dream.  I  hare  in- 
quired accurately  on  the  subject,  and  this  fact 
explains  why  they  do  their  daily  work  with  such 
wide-awake  confidence,  and  never  lose  themselves 
in  cloudy  twilight  thoughts  and  feelings,  be  it  in 
art  or  life.  In  the  tragedies  of  our  great  German 
poets  the  dream  plays  a  great  part,^  of  which 
French  dramatists  have  no  conception.  But  such 
foreboding  conceptions  or  presentiments  {Ahnv/ng) 
they  never  have.  What  there  is  of  the  kind  in 
later  French  literature  is  due  neither  to  the 
natures  of  poets  or  the  public  ;  it  has  only  been 
fdt  after  the  Germans — ^indeed,  only  pitifully 
stolen.  For  the  French  do  not  limit  themselves 
to  plagiarising  thoughts  alone  ;  they  pilfer  not 
merely  our  poetic  figures  and  images,  ideas  and 
views,  but  they  steal  our  deepest  feelings,  moods, 


^  French  version — "  Dans  les  trag^ies  de  nos  grands  poetes 
allemands,  le  songe,  la  reverie,  le  preesentiment  joaent  an  r61e 
important. "  It  is  certainly  true,  at  least  so  far  as  my  own  know- 
ledge goes,  that  dreaming  is  not  developed  among  the  French 
to  the  degree  which  it  is  among  Northern  races.  I  have  read  a 
large  French  work  on  the  subject.  I  forget  the  name  of  its 
author,  who  had,  however,  extensively  investigated  the  subject 
in  France,  and  I  inferred  from  it  that  dreaming  has  not  among 
the  French  anything  like  the  extent  or  variety  of  form  which  it 
assumes  with  os. — Trandutor. 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  177 

spiritnal  conditions  and  most  peculiar  sentiments. 
This  occurs,  for  instance,  when  any  of  their 
writers  affect  or  hypocritically  imitate  the  senti- 
mental rubbishy  ravings  of  the  Romantic  Catholic 
school  of  the  time  of  the  Schlegels. 

The  French,  with  few  exceptions,  cannot  deny  or 
lie  away  their  education ;  they  are  all  more  or  less 
materialists,  according  to  the  degree  in  which  they 
have  had  more  or  less  of  that  French  education 
which  is  a  result  of  the  materialistic  philosophy. 
Therefore  the  charm  of  naivetS,  genial  feeling, 
(Gemiith),  knowledge  by  intuitive  perception,  and 
the  passing  into  subjects  perceived  is  denied  to 
their  poets.  ^  They  have  only  reflection,  passion, 
and  sentiment. 

Yes,  I  would  here  suggest  something  which 
would  much  avail  in  judging  of  many  a  German 
author.  Sentimentalism  is  a  result  of  materialism. 
The  materialist  has  really  in  his  soul  the  dim 
consciousness  that,  after  all,  everything  in  the 
world  is  not  mere  matter,  and  though  his  limited 
understanding  demonstrates  ever  so  convincingly 
the  materiality  of  all  things,  his  feelings  still 
resist  it,   and  there   steals  over  him  ever   and 


^  Das  Aufgehen  im  angetchavten  Oegenstande.  The  identifi- 
cation of  ounelres  with  the  true  inner  life  or  nature  of  the 
subject.  Heine  here  need  not  langh  at  Jacob  Bobme.  French 
version — "  La  faculty  de  s'ideatifier  avec  la  nature."  Which  ia 
very  good  for  French. 


178 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 


anon  in  silent  honrs  a  mysterious  desire  or  secret 
need  to  find  in  things  something  primevally 
spiritual,  and  these  vague  longings  and  desires 
produce  that  obscure  susceptibility  which  we  call 
sentimentalism.  Sentimentalism  is  the  doubting 
or  despairing  state  of  matter  which,  dissatisfied 
with  itself,  yearns  as  if  in  dreams  for  something 
better  in  obscure  feeling.  And  I,  in  fact,  have 
found  that  the  sentimental  authors  ws  en  rUg- 
ligiy  seen  familiarly  at  home,  or  when  wine  had 
loosed  their  tongues,  loosely  uttered  their  mate- 
rialism in  the  coarsest  jests  {Zoten).  But  the 
sentimental  tone,  especially  when  it  is  trimmed 
with  patriotic,  morally  religious,  beggarly  thoughts, 
passes  among  the  masses  for  the  sign  of  a  beau- 
tiful pure  soul.* 

France  is  the  country  of  materialism  ;  it  shows 
itself  in  all  the  manifestations  of  public  or  private 
life.  Many  gifted  minds  seek,  it  is  true,  to  ex- 
tirpate its  roots,  but  these  efforts  only  lead  to 
still  more  deplorable  results.  Into  the  loosened 
soil  falls  the  seed-corn  of  those  spiritual  errors 
whose  poison  aggravates  the  social  condition  of 
France  in  a  most  evil  manner,"^ 

I  become  every  day  more  anxious  from  fore- 


^  SchJOne  SeeU.  French  version — "Faase  auprte  de  la  masse 
pour  le  eigne  d'un  naturel  chaste  et  noble." 

2  "Dont  les  fruits  v^n^neux  r^pandent  leurs  fimestes  exha- 
laisons  sur  la  France. " 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  179 

seeing  the  crisis  to  which  this  social  coiidition 
of  France  may  lead.  If  the  French  reflected  in 
the  least  on  the  future,  they  could  never  enjoy 
another  instant's  peace.  And  indeed  it  is  with 
little  peace  of  mind  that  they  rejoice  over  it. 
They  do  not  sit  calmly  or  easily  at  the  banquet 
of  life,  but  gulp  down  in  haste  the  delicious  food, 
swallow  at  a  draught  the  dainty  drinks,  and 
cannot  enjoy  the  meal  in  comfort.  They  put  me 
in  mind  of  the  old  woodcut  in  our  family  Bible, 
where  the  children  of  Israel,  before  the  exodus 
from  Egypt,  held  the  passover-feast,  and  ate 
their  roasted  lamb  standing  up  with  pilgrims' 
staves  in  their  hands.  If  the  joys  of  life  are 
measured  out  to  us  in  Germany  with  a  more 
sparing  hand,  it  is  at  least  vouchsafed  to  us  that 
we  shall  enjoy  them  at  our  most  comfortable  ease. 
Our  days  glide  as  softly  as  a  hair  drawn  through 
milk.   ;  ■     _ 

My  dear  Lewald,  this  last  comparison  is  not 
from  me,  but  from  a  rabbL  I  read  it  not  long 
ago  in  a  selection  of  rabbinical  poetry,  where  the 
writer  compared  the  life  of  the  just  to  a  hair 
drawn  through  milk.  At  first  I  was  disgusted 
(anfangs  hotzte  ich)  a  little  at  this  figure  of  speech, 
for  nothing  nauseates  my  stomach  so  much  as 
when  I  of  a  morning,  drinking  my  coffee,  find  a 
hair  in  the  milk.  And  then  the  idea  of  a  long 
hair  which  is  softly  drawn  out  like  the  life  of 


l8o  THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 

the  just !  But  that  is  all  only  an  idiosyncrasj 
of  mine.  I  will  in  future  accustom  myself  to  the 
simile,  and  use  it  on  every  occasion.  An  author 
should  not  yield  to  his  subjectivity  ;  he  must  be 
able  to  write  any  and  everything,  however  dis- 
gusting to  him  it  may  be,^ 

The  life  of  a  German  is  like  a  hair  drawn 
through  milk.  Yes,  one  could  greatly  improve 
the  comparison  by  saying  that  the  German  people 
are  like  a  wig  of  thirty  million  braided  hairs 
swimming,  calm  of  soul,  in  a  vast  milk-pot.  I 
might  keep  half  the  simile  by  comparing  French 
life  to  a  milk-pot  in  which  thousands  upon  thou- 
sands of  flies  have  fallen,  who  are  all  climbing 
on  one  another's  backs  trying  to  escape,  but  who 
will  all  perish  at  last,  except  a  few  who,  by 
chance  or  ability,  manage  to  get  to  the  edge,  and 
crawl  out  with  dabbled,  clogged  wings. 

For  peculiar  reasons,  I  have  made  but  few  re- 
flections over  the  social  condition  of  the  French. 
No  one  can  tell  how  the  great  knot  will  be  disen- 
tangled. It  may  be  that  France  is  drawing  near 
a  terrible  catastrophe.  The  men  who  begin  a 
revolution  are  generally  its  victims,  and  such  a 

^  If  our  author  foand  himself  at  first  ditgtuted  with  a  hair  in 
milk — the  whole  conception  is  borrowed  from  a  story  of  Napoleon 
being  sickened  at  a  similar  occurrence — he  should  have  reflected 
that  bis  readers  would  probably  be  even  more  so,  and  have 
quietly  dropped  or  passed  over  the  simile  without  dwelling  on 
it — TrandcUor. 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  i«l 

fate  overtakes  races  as  well  as  individuals.  It  is 
possible  that  the  French  people,  which  began  the 
great  revolution  in  Europe,  may  perish,  while  the 
nations  coming  after  may  reap  the  harvest  which 
it  sowed. 

Yet  I  hope  that  I  err.  The  French  race  is 
like  a  cat,  which,  though  it  may  fall  from  the 
most  terrible  height,  never  breaks  its  neck,  but 
always  alights  upon  its  feet. 

But  to  admit  the  truth,  my  dear  Lewald,  I  do 
not  know  whether  it  is  naturally  or  historically 
true  that  cats  always  do  fall  on  their  four 
paws,  as  I  heard  when  a  small  boy.  Once,  at 
that  time,  I  wished  to  test  it  by  experiment,  and 
climbed  with  our  cat  on  the  roof,  and  threw  her 
down  into  the  street.  But  by  chance  a  Cossack 
soldier  was  at  that  instant  riding  by,  and  the 
poor  cat  fell  exactly  on  the  point  of  his  lance, 
and  he  rode  away  with  the  spitted  animal — re- 
joicing !  If  it  be  true  that  cats  when  projected 
from  a  given  height  always  fall  uninjured  on 
their  feet,  they  should  always  in  such  cases 
beware  of  Cossack  lances.   .   .   . 

I  have  said  in  my  preceding  letter  that  it  is 
not  owing  to  the  political  situation  that  comedy 
flourishes  better  in  France  than  in  Germany,  for 
the  same  is  the  case  as  regards  tragedy.  I  even 
dare  to  assert  that  this  political  situation  is  here 
detrimental  to  tragedy.     The  tragic  poet  most 


i8a 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 


believe  in  and  feel  heroism,  which  is  all  impos- 
sible in  a  country  where  freedom  of  the  press, 
a  representative  constitution,  and  a  bourgeoisie 
flourish.  For  the  freedom  of  the  press,  while 
it  daily  illuminates  with  its  boldest  lights  the 
humanity  of  a  hero,  steals  from  his  head  that 
charitable  (woMthatigen)  nimbus  which  assures 
him  the  blind  adoration  of  the  people  and  of 
the  poet.  I  will  not  even  mention  that  Republi- 
canism in  France  uses  the  liberty  of  the  press  to 
crush  all  predominant  grandeur  by  mockery  or 
slander,  and  utterly  destroy  all  enthusiasm  for 
individuals.  This  lust  for  calumny  is  now  quite 
extravagantly  supported  by  the  so-called  repre- 
sentative constitutional  system  {Verfassungswe- 
sen),  or  that  system  of  fictions  which  retards  the 
cause  of  freedom  instead  of  advancing  it,  and 
suffers  no  great  personalities  to  rise,  either  among 
the  people  or  on  the  throne.  For  this  system, 
this  mockery  of  a  true  representation  of  national 
interests,  this  hotch-potch  of  petty  election 
intrigues,  mistrusts,  love  of  brawling,  public 
insolence,  secret  corruption,  and  official  lies, 
demoralises  kings  every  whit  as  much  as  it  does 
the  people.  Here  monarchs  must  play  at  comedy, 
answer  idle  gossip  with  still  idler  commonplaces, 
smile  graciously  on  enemies,  sacrifice  friends,  act 
in  all  things  in  an  underhand  manner,  and  by 
eternal  self-abnegation,   and  by  belying  them- 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  if} 

selves,  extinguish  in  their  own  breasts  all  the 
free,  great-minded,  and  vigorous  inspirations  of 
a  royal  and  heroic  mind.  For  this  belittling  of 
all  that  is  great  and  such  a  radical  destruction 
of  heroism  we  may  thank  that  bourgeoisie,  that 
citizen  class  which  has  risen  to  power  here  in 
France  by  the  overthrow  of  the  hereditary 
nobility,  and  made  its  narrow-minded,  sober, 
shopkeeper  opinions  prevail  in  every  sphere  of 
life.  Nor  will  it  be  long  before  all  heroic 
thoughts  and  feelings  will,  even  if  they  do  not 
perish  utterly,  become  ridiculous.  I  will  not,  by 
my  soul !  wish  that  the  old  regime  of  privileged 
nobility  should  return,  for  it  was  nothing  but  a 
varnished  rottenness,  a  bedecked  and  perfumed 
corpse,  which  must  have  been  quietly  let  down 
into  a  grave  or  violently  cast  into  a  vault,  in 
case  it  was  determined  to  continue  its  hopeless 
sham-life  and  revolt  too  violently  against  its 
interment.  But  the  new  r^ime  which  has  sup- 
planted the  old  one  is  even  more  hateful ;  and 
far  more  repulsive  do  we  find  this  unvarnished 
coarseness,  this  life  without  perfume,  this  ever- 
busy  moneyed  chivalry,  this  National  Guard,  this 
weaponed  fear  which  bears  you  down  with  the  in- 
telligent bayonet  ^  when  you  dare  assert  that  the 


'  Here  again  we  find  in  another  form  the  famoTU  phrase  of 
KoBsnth  that  "  bayonets  think."    This  passage  ends  as  follows 


.^»  "4  "---«..  ^. 


lS4  THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 

world  should  be  led  not  by  petty  talent  for 
arithmetic,  or  by  a  highly  remunerated  talent 
for  calculation,  but  by  genius,  beauty,  love,  and 
strength. 

The  men  of  thought,  who  so  unweariedly  pre- 
pared the  Revolution  in  the  eighteenth  century, 
would  blush  if  they  could  see  how  selfishness 
now  builds  its  wretched  huts  where  palaces  once 
stood,  and  how  from  these  huts  a  new  aristocracy 
is  working  itself  out  by  usury,  an  aristocracy  more 
disagreeable  than  the  older,  and  which  does  not 
even  attempt  to  justify  itself  by  an  idea,  or  by 
ideal  faith  in  hereditary  {fortgezeugte)  virtue,  but 
which  finds  its  basis  only  in  the  inherited  pos- 
session of  money,  which  is  commonly  the  result 
of  mere  petty  perseverance,  if  not  of  the  dirtiest 
vices. 

And  yet,  when  we  closely  examine  this  aris- 
tocracy, we  find  that  it  has  certain  analogies  with 
the  older  aristocracy,  especially  with  the  latter, 
as  it  showed  itself  shortly  before  its  death.  The 
privilege  of  birth  based  itself  then  on  papers 
which  proved  not  the  excellence  of  ancestors 
but  their  number.  It  was  a  kind  of  birth 
paper-money   which   gave   to   the   nobles   under 

in  the  French  version  :  "  Cette  peur  arm^  qui  vous  frappe 
avec  la  batonette  intelligente  quand  vous  asez  soutenir  que  le 
gouvemement  du  monde  n'appartient  qu'au  g^nie,  &  la  beautd,  ^ 
I'amour  et  )i  la  force." — Trantlator, 


!-;' 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  flj 

Louis  XV.  and  Louis  XVI.  their  legal  value,  and 
classified  them  in  different  grades  of  considera- 
tion, just  as  the  commercial  paper  of  to-day- 
assigns  to  commercial  men  (Tndiistriellen)  their 
social  value  and  their  rank.  Here  the  Bourse 
assumes  the  assignment  of  dignities  and  the 
allotment  of  rank  to  which  the  paper  entitles 
men,  showing  in  this  the  same  conscientiousness 
as  did  the  sworn  heralds  in  the  last  century, 
when  they  investigated  the  diplomas  with  which 
the  nobility  •  verified  their  pretensions  to  pre- 
eminence.^ These  moneyed  aristocrats,  though 
they  form  a  hierarchy  in  which  every  one  thinks 
himself  better  than  another,  have,  however,  a 
certain  esprit  de  corps,  they  hold  in  an  emergency 
solidly  together,  make  sacrifices  when  the  honour 
of  the  corporation  is  at  stake,  and,  as  I  learn, 
establish  societies  to  support  their  colleagues  who 
are  in  adversity. 

I  am  bitter  to-day,  my  dear  friend,  and  do  not 
do  justice  to  that  spirit  of  benevolence  which  the 
new  aristocracy  displays  far  more  than  did  the 
old.  I  say  displays  {an  den  Tag  giebt),  for  this 
benevolence  does  not  shun  the  light,  and  shows 
itself  gladly  in  clear  sunlight.  This  benevolence 
or  charity  is  among  the  present  moneyed  aris- 
tocracy  just  what    condescension  was  with  the 

^  Here  this  letter  ends  in  the  French  version. 


i\  I. 


i86 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 


former  hereditary  nobility,  a  praisewortliy  virtue, 
the  practice  of  which,  however,  wounded  our 
feelings  and  often  struck  us  as  refined  insolence. 
Oh,  I  hate  the  benevolence  of  the  millionaire  far 
more  than  the  meanness  of  the  miser  who  keeps 
his  money  in  anxiety  and  care  under  lock  and 
key.  He  at  least  insults  us  less  than  the  bene- 
factor who  gained  his  wealth  by  trading  on  our 
wants  and  necessities,  and,  while  openly  displaying 
it,  throws  back  to  us  a  few  farthings  for  alma^ 


'  The  most  admirable  point  in  this  letter  is  the  analysis  of 
that  sentimentalism  which  prevails  when  men  have  the  least 
depth  of  feeling,  or  when  they  are  most  under  the  influence  of 
materialism.  The  illastrations  may  be  found  in  Bemardin 
de  St.  Pierre,  Chateaubriand,  and  Laraartineu 


FIFTH  LETTER. 

My  neighbour,   the   old    grenadier,    sits   to-day 

musing    before   his  street-door.     From  time  to 

time  he  begins  one  of  his  old  songs  of  Bonaparte, 

but  his  voice  fails  him  from  deep  emotion ;  his 

eyes  are  red,  and  from  all  appearance  the  old 

boy  has  been  weeping. 

For  he  was  last  night  at  Franconi's  Theatre, 

where  he  saw  the  "Battle  of  Austerlitz."     He 

left  Paris  at  midnight,  and  the  memory  of  what 

he  had  seen  moved  his  soul  so  mightily  that  he 

marched   about    all   night   in   his    sleep    like   a 

somnambulist,  and  was  amazed  to  find  himself  on 

awaking  this  morning  here  in  the  village.      He 

explained  one  by  one  to  me  the  defects  of  the 

piece  as  it  was  played,  for  he  himself  had  been 

at   Austerlitz,    where  the  weather   was   so  cold 

that  his  gun  froze  fast  to  his  fingers,  while  at 

Franconi's  he  could  hardly  bear  the  heat.     He 

was    very    much    pleased   with    the  gunpowder 

smoke,  and  also  the  smell  of  the  horses,  ^i  6tait 

bien  rendue,  which  was  as  natural   as  life,  but 

remarked  that  in  the  cavalry  at  Austerlitz  the 

187 


1 88 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 


horses  were  not  so  well  trained.  He  could  not 
really  say  whether  the  manoeuvres  of  the  infantry 
were  correctly  given  or  not,  because  at  Auster- 
litz,  as  in  every  battle,  the  smoke  was  so  thick 
that  one  could  hardly  see  what  was  going  on 
round  him.  But  the  gunpowder  smoke  at 
Franconi's,  as  the  old  soldier  said,  was  of  the 
very  best  quality,  and  agreed  so  well  with  his 
lungs,  that  he  was  cured  then  and  there  of  his 
cough. 

"  And  the  Emperor  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  The  Emperor,"  replied  the  veteran,  "  was 
just  the  same  as  when  in  body  and  life,  in  his 
grey  overcoat  and  three-cornered  hat,  so  that  it 
made  my  heart  beat." 

"  H^las  !  I'Empereur !  "  he  added.  "  God 
knows  how  much  I  loved  him !  I  have  been 
often  enough  through  fire  for  him  in  this  life, 
and  even  after  my  death  I  must  go  through  fire 
again."  ! 

Ricou — so  the  old  soldier  was  named — uttered 
these  last  words  in  a  gloomy  and  mysterious  tone, 
and  I  recalled  that  I  had  already  more  than  once 
heard  him  say  that  he  had  damned  himself  for 
the  Emperor.  And  when  I  begged  him  seriously 
to-day  to  explain  these  enigmatic  words,  he 
related  to  me  the  following  terrible  tale. 

When  Napoleon  I.  carried  away  Pope  Pius 
VI.  as  prisoner  from  Rome,  and  brought  him  to 


J- 1  • .  "■  •-**.. 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  iff 

the  lofty  mountain-c5astle  of  Savona,  Ricou  was 
one  of  a  company  of  grenadiers  who  guarded  him. 
At  first  much  freedom  was  allowed  to  the  Holy 
Father;  he  could  without  hindrance  leave  his 
rooms  when  he  pleased,  and  go  to  the  castle 
chapel,  where  he  read  mass  every  day.  And 
when  he  passed  through  the  great  hall  where  the 
Imperial  grenadiers  kept  watch,  he  stretched  out 
his  hands  to  them  and  gave  them  his  blessing. 
But  one  morning  the  grenadiers  received  the 
consigne  expresse,  or  express  orders  to  guard  much 
more  strictly  the  entrance  to  the  Papal  apart- 
ments, and  to  prevent  the  Pope  from  passing 
through  the  hall.  Unfortunately,  fate  so  willed 
it  that  the  execution  of  this  order  fell  on  Ricou — 
he,  a  bom  Breton,  therefore  an  arch-Catholic,  and 
one  who  worshipped  in  the  prisoner  the  true 
vicar  of  Jesus  Christ 

Poor  Bicou  stood  as  sentinel  before  the  apart- 
ments of  the  Pope,  when  the  latter,  as  usual, 
wished  to  cross  the  great  hall  in  order  to  go  and 
read  mass  in  the  chapel.  But  Ricou  stepped 
promptly  before  him,  and  declared  that  he  had 
the  consigne  not  to  permit  the  Holy  Father  to  pass. 
In  vain  did  several  priests  who  accompanied  the 
Pope  strive  to  move  the  soldier's  heart,  and  make 
him  feel  what  madness,  what  a  sin,  what  deep 
damnation  he  drew  on  his  soul  by  preventing 
or  hindering  His  Holiness  from  reading  mass. 


I90- 


THB  FRENCH  STAGE. 


But  Bicon  was  immovable ;  he  steadily  fell 
back  on  the  impossibility  of  disobedience  to 
orders,  and  when  the  Pope,  regardless  of  him, 
would  still  go  on,  he  cried  resolutely,  "  An  nom 
de  I'Empereur ! "  and  pressed  him  back  with  his 
bayonet.  After  a  few  days  the  strict  regulation 
was  relaxed,  and  the  Pope  could  go  to  the  chapel, 
as  before,  to  read  mass ;  and  he  again  gave  his 
benediction  to  all  the  soldiers  except  to  poor 
Bicou,  at  whom  he  always  looked  severely  (mU 
strengem  Strafblicke  ansah),  and  on  whom  he 
turned  his  back  while  he  spread  out  his  hands  in 
blessing  the  other  guards. 

"  And  yet  I  could  not  act  otherwise  ;  I  had  my 
consigne  ;  I  must  obey  the  Emperor,"  added  the 
old  invalid  as  he  told  me  the  terrible  tale,  "  and 
if  he  had  commanded  it — God  forgive  me ! — I 
would  have  run  my  bayonet  into  the  belly  of  the 
Eternal  Father  Himself."  ^  | 

I  assured  the  poor  man  that  the  Emperor 
alone  was  responsible  for  all  the  sins  of  all  the 
Grande  Arme6,  which  would  cause  him  little 
trouble,  since  no  devil  in  hell  would  dare  to 
tackle  him  (anzutasten).     The  veteran  was  much 


'  The  French  version,  with  graceful  duplicity,  makes  this 
Pire  iternel,  which  may  pass  for  the  Pope,  but  Heine  has  it, 
"  Hatte  ich  dem  liebea  Gott  selber  das  Baionett  durch  den  Leib* 
gerannt." 


THE  FRENCH  S  TA  GE.  191 

pleased  at  this,  and  related,  as  he  often  did,  with 
fluent  inspiration,  the  time  when  all  was  rippling 
and  running  with  gold — ou  tout  ruisselait  d'or — 
and  so  flourishing,  while  to-day  the  whole  world 
seems  to  be  so  faded  and  colourless. 

Was  this  Imperial  epoch  in  France  really  so 
beautiful  and  inspired  with  happiness  as  these 
Bonapartists,  small  and  great,  from  the  invalid 
soldier  Ricou  to  the  Duchess  of  Abrantes,  would 
have  us  beKeve  ?  I  doubt  it.  The  fields  lay 
waste,  and  men  were  marched  away  to  be 
slaughtered.  There  were  everywhere  weeping 
mothers  and  desolate  homes.  But  it  is  with 
these  Bonapartists  as  it  was  with  the  drunken 
beggar,  who  made  the  shrewd  observation  that 
so  long  as  he  was  sober,  his  dwelling  was  only 
a  wretched  hut,  his  wife  in  rags,  and  his  child 
sick  and  hungry ;  but  when  he  had  swallowed  a 
few  glasses  of  brandy,  all  this  misery  was  changed, 
his  hut  became  a  palace,  his  wife  a  gloriously 
arrayed  princess,  and  his  child  smiled  like  cheerful 
health  itself.  And  when  he  was  reproved  for  his 
bad  conduct  and  management,  he  insisted  that  if 
he  could  only  be  supplied  with  brandy  enough,  all 
his  household  affairs  would  soon  assume  a  more 
brilliant  aspect.  Instead  of  brandy,  the  Bona- 
partists were  so  much  intoxicated  with  fame, 
ambition,  and  the  lust  of  conquest  that  they 
never  realised  the  true  state  of  afiairs  during  the 


19a 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 


Empire,  and  now,  on  every  occasion,  when  there 
is  a  complaint  of  hard  times,  they  cry,  "  All  that 
will  be  changed,  and  France  will  flourish  and  be 
glorious  if  you  only  will  give  us  to  drink  once 
more  crosses  of  honour,  epaulettes,  contributions 
volontaires,  Spanish  pictures,  and  duchies  d,  pleins 
bords,  in  full  draughts."  I 

However  it  may  be,  it  is  not  only  the  old 
Bonapartists,  but  even  the  great  majority  of  the 
people,  who  fondly  cradle  themselves  in  these 
delusions,  and  the  days  of  the  Empire  are  their 
poetry,  a  poetry  which  still  forms  an  opposition 
to  the  petty  prosaic  spirit  of  the  victorious 
bourgeoisie.  The  heroism  of  the  Imperial  rigime 
is  the  only  thing  to  which  the  French  are  still 
susceptible,  and  Napoleon  the  only  hero  in  whom 
they  believe.  I 

When  you  duly  reflect  on  this,  dear  friend, 
you  will  comprehend  its  importance  and  value 
(Geltung)  to  the  French  theatre,  and  the  advan- 
tageous results  which  the  dramatic  authors  draw 
from  this  only  source  of  inspiration  in  the  sandy 
deserts  of  indifierentism.  When  in  the  small 
vaudevilles  of  the  theatres  of  the  Boulevards  there 
is  given  a  scene  from  the  days  of  the  Empire, 
or  the  Emperor  himself  in  person  appears,  let 
the  piece  be  bad,  nay,  detestable,  there  will  be 
applause,  for  the  heart  and  soul  of  the  auditors 
is  in  and  with  the  acting,  and  they  applaud  their 


^      »  THE  FRENCH  STAGE.        ^       A       193 

own  feelings  and  remembrances.  There  are  coup- 
lets in  which  there  are  stinging  retorts  which 
are  as  blows  of  a  club  on  the  brain  of  a  French- 
manj  and  others  which  are  as  onions  to  his  eyes. 
All  hurrah,  weep,  and  flame  at  the  words  aigle 
frangais,  soleil  d^Austerlitz,  Jena,  Us  Pyramides,  la 
grande  arm4e,  rhonneur,  la  vielle  garde,  NapoUon 
— but  when  the  man  himself,  I'homme,  appears  at 
the  end  of  the  piece  as  deus  ex  machind,  then  the 
enthusiasm  is  at  its  height.  He  always  has  the 
magic  hat  ( Wunschelhiitchen)  on  his  head  and  his 
hands  behind  his  back,  and  speaks  as  laconically 
as  possible,  but  never  sings.  I  have  never 
seen  a  vaudeville  in  which  Napoleon  sung.  All 
the  others  sing.  I  have  even  heard  old  Fritz, 
Frederick  the  Great,  sing  in  certain  vaudevilles 
— sing  such  bad  poetry  that  one  might  think  it 
was  his  own. 

In  fact,  the  verses  of  these  vaudevilles  are 
cruelly  bad  {Spottschlecht),  but  the  music  is  good, 
especially  in  the  pieces  where  the  old  veterans,  or 
vieux  grognards,  sing  the  martial  greatness  and 
the  mournful  end  of  the  Emperor.  The  grace- 
ful lightness  of  the  vaudeville  then  turns  to  an 
elegiac,  sentimental  tone,  which  might  move  even 
a  German.  The  detestable  words  of  these  com- 
plaintes  are  adapted  to  the  well-known  melodies 
of  popular  Napoleonic  songs.  These  latter  are 
heard  here  everywhere ;  one  might  believe  that 


■•../■ 


«94 


THE  FRENCH  STAGS. 


they  flew  in  the  air  or  that  the  birds  snng  them 
on  the  sprays  of  trees.  I  am  always  recalling 
these  elegiac,  sentimental  melodies,  as  I  have 
heard  them  sung  by  young  girls,  small  children, 
crippled  soldiers,  with  all  kinds  of  accompani- 
ments and  variations.  They  were  most  touch- 
ingly  sung  by  a  blind  invalid  of  the  citadel  of 
Dieppe.  My  dwelling  was  at  the  foot  of  that 
citadel  where  it  juts  out  into  the  sea,  and  there 
the  veteran  sat  all  night  long  singing  the  great 
deeds  of  Napoleon.  The  ocean  seemed  to  listen 
to  his  song;  the  word  gloire  flew  proudly  o'er 
the  waves,  which,  rising,  seemed  to  utter  wild 
applause,  and  then  go  rolling  on  their  nightly 
way.  Perhaps  arriving  at  St.  Helena,  they  greet 
with  reverence  the  tragic  rocks,  or  broke  in 
rage  and  agony  upon  them.  How  many  a  night 
I  stood  by  the  window  and  listened  to  that  old 
invalid  soldier  of  Dieppe !  I  can  never  forget 
him ;  I  see  him  always  sitting  on  the  old  wall, 
while  the  moon  looks  out  of  the  dark  clouds  and 
sadly  casts  its  light  on  him,  the  Ossian  of  the 
Empire.  I 

It  is  impossible  to  estimate  the  importance  of 
Napoleon  for  the  French  stage  of  the  future. 
Hitherto  he  has  been  seen  only  in  vaudevilles  or 
great  melodramas  of  noise  and  display — a  decora- 
tions et  d  fracas — but  it  is  the  goddess  of  Tragedy 
who  will  finally  reclaim  this  great  character  as 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  19S 

her  own  by  right.  Does  it  not  seem  as  if  that 
Fortune  who  so  strangely  directed  his  life  had 
reserved  him  as  a  special  gift  for  her  cousin 
Melpomene  ?  The  tragic  bards  of  every  age  will 
exalt  and  glorify  the  fate  of  this  man  in  verse 
and  prose,  but  it  is  to  the  French  poets  that  this 
hero  is  especially  assigned,  because  the  French 
people  have  broken  with  all  their  past,  and  only 
feel,  as  regards  the  great  representatives  of  the 
feudal  and  courtesan  age  of  the  Yalois  and  Bour- 
bons, no  sympathy  whatever,  or  perhaps  a  bitter 
hatred.  Therefore,  Napoleon,  the  son  of  the 
Revolution,  the  only  great  conquering  form,  is 
the  only  royal  hero  to  whom  Young  France  can 
devote  its  whole  heart.  '>;:::: 

I  have  here  incidentally,  and  from  another 
side,  indicated  that  the  political  situation  of 
France  is  not  favourable  to  tragedy.  For 
when  they  take  historical  subjects  from  the 
Middle  Ages  or  from  the  time  of  the  last  Bour- 
bons, they  cannot  guard  themselves  against  the 
influence  of  a  certain  party  spirit,  and  the  poet 
beforehand,  and  all  unconsciously,  forms  a  modem 
Liberal  Opposition  to  the  old  king  or  knight 
whom  he  would  celebrate.  Hence  ensue  discords 
which  grate  most  unpleasantly  on  the  feelings 
of  a  German,  who  has  never  actually  broken  off 
relations  with  the  past,  and  especially  a  German 
poet  who  has  been  trained  to  the  impartiality  of 


.  t, 


196  THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  I 

Goethe's  artistic  manner.  The  last  note  of  the 
Marseillaise  must  die  away  for  the  last  time 
before  author  and  public  can  suitably  agree  as 
to  the  heroes  of  their  earlier  history.  And  even 
if  the  soul  of  the  author  were  perfectly  purified 
from  all  the  dross  of  hate,  his  words  would  not 
meet  a  single  impartial  ear  in  the  parterre,  where 
the  men  sit  who  can  never  forget  the  bloody 
conflicts  in  which  they  met  the  kinsmen  of  those 
heroes  who  are  being  dramatised  before  them. 
There  is  little  pleasure  in  beholding  the  parent 
when  we  have  beheaded  the  son  in  the  Place  de 
Gr^ve.  Such  things  interfere  with  our  enjoying 
the  theatre.  And  sometimes  the  impartiality 
of  the  poet  is  so  much  distrusted  that  anti- 
revolutionary  opinions  are  attributed  to  him. 
Then  the  enraged  Republicans  cry,  "  What  is  the 
meaning  of  all  this  chivalry  —  this  fantastic 
rubbish  ?  " — and  then  roar  anathema  at  the  poet 
who  exsdts  the  heroes  of  the  olden  time,  to  the 
leading  astray  of  the  people,  and  to  the  awaking 
aristocratic  sympathies  with  his  verses. 

Here,  as  in  many  other  things,  there  is  mani- 
fested an  aflmity  and  similarity  {waJdverwandt- 
schaftliche  AehnHchkeit)  between  the  French 
Republicans  and  the  English  Puritans.  The 
same  tone  growls  and  grumbles  through  all  their 
controversies  as  to  the  theatre,  with  only  this 
difference,  that  the  latter  draw  the  most  absurd 


'  THE  FRENCH  STAGE.       ;  ifT 

arguments  from  reKgious,  and  the  forpier  from 
political,  faaiaticism.  Among  the  documents  of 
Cromwell's  time  there  is  a  controversial  work  by 
the  celebrated  Puritan  Prynne  entitled  Histrio- 
mos/ia;  (The  Player's  Scourge),  printed  in  1633, 
from  which  I  extract  the  following  for  your 
amusement: — 

"There  is  scarce  one  devil  in  hell,  hardly  a 
notorious  sin   or    sinner   upon   earth,   either    of 
^kr.  ancient  or  modem  times,  but  hath  some  part  or 

other  in  our  stage-plays. 

"  Oh,  that  our  players,  our  play-hunters,  would 
now  seriously  consider  that  the  persons  whose  parts, 
whose  sins  they  act  and  see,  are  even  then  yelling 
in  the  eternal  flames  of  hell  for  these  particular 
sins  of  theyrs,  even  then  whilst  they  are  playing 
of  these  sins,  these  parts  of  theyrs  on  the  stage ! 
Oh,  that  they  would  now  remember  the  sighs, 
the  groans,  the  tears,  the  anguish,  weeping  and 
gnashing  of  teeth,  the  crys  and  shrieks  that 
these  wickednesses  cause  in  hell,  whilest  they  are 
acting,  applauding,  committing,  and  laughing  at 
them  in  the  playhouse  ! " 


SIXTH  LETTER. 


My  dear,  deeply  beloved  friend  !  I  feel  this 
morning  as  if  I  wore  a  garland  of  poppies, 
which  cause  all  my  senses  and  thoughts  to  sleep. 
Sulky  and  sour,  I  often  shake  my  head,  and  then 
perhaps  here  and  there  a  few  sleeping  thoughts 
awake,  but  immediately  after  begin  to  nod,  and 
in  an  instant  are  all  snoring  together,  d  Venvi, 
as  if  for  a  bet.  And  the  sallies  of  wit,  the  snaps 
of  fun,  those  fleas  of  the  brain  who  jump  about 
among  the  sleeping  thoughts,  do  not  seem  to  be 
particularly  lively,  and  are  rather  sentimental  and 
dreamy.  Is  it  the  air  of  spring  which  causes 
such  stupefaction,  or  the  change  in  my  manner 
of  life  ?  Here  I  go  to  bed  of  evenings  at  nine 
o'clock  without  being  weary,  and  then  do  not 
enjoy  a  sound  sleep  which  holds  every  limb,  but 
roll  about  all  night  in  a  dream-seeking  half- 
slumber.^     In   Paris,  on   the    contrary,  where   I 

^  Traumtilehtig  Balhiehhimmer.  A  very  accurate  description 
of  the  wakeful  man  trying  to  create  fancies  or  maJce  dreanu 
which  will  perhaps  lead  to  sleep.  The  French  version  gives 
this,  as  it  does  almost  all  very  German  phrases,  very  carelessly, 

»»» 


t^ 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  »•» 

did  not  retire  for  several  hours  past  midnight, 
my  sleep  was  like  iron.  I  left  the  dinner-table 
at  eight  o'clock,  and  then  we  rolled  in  a  carriage 
to  the  theatre.     Our  third  companion,  Dr.  Det- 


i.e.,  as  "  dans  nne  sorte  d'hallncination  somnolente."  This  is 
not  at  all  because  the  French  language  is  not  sufficiently  snpple 
or  plastic  or  subtle  ;  the  real  reason  is  that  the  French,  like  the 
dunese,  or  like  many  English  ptuists,  are  so  tenacious  of  old 
forms,  not  only  of  language,  but  of  thought,  that  they  oppose 
everything  which  is  not  absolutely  and  easily  familiar  to  them. 
There  are  in  the  French  language  elements  of  strength,  com- 
bination, and  flexibility  not  inferior  perhaps  to  those  of  English 
or  German,  as  may  be  seen  by  the  works  of  Rabelais  and  the 
Norman  Trouveurs  and  chroniclers.  But  the  "  cultivated  "  lack 
the  determined  courage  to  develop  their  language  as  men  should, 
and  criticism,  unfortunately,  in  France  as  in  England,  limits  its 
work,  like  Mr.  Turveydrop,  to  "  polish-polish,"  and  to  outlawing 
all  who  are  not  "  in  good  form."  I  have  just  finished  reading  a 
book  (in  English)  on  errors  in  language,  which,  were  all  its  laws 
and  precepts  to  be  carried  out  by  all  writers,  would  have  the 
result  of  killing  all  style  whatever,  and  of  reducing  it  to  that  of 
the  author,  which  is  one  of  the  dreariest  leaden-grey  conceivable. 
These  people  do  not  comprehend  that  if  the  English  language 
has  the  noblest  literature  in  Europe,  it  is  because  our  tongue 
has  been  the  freest  of  any  in  the  world  from  those  laws,  regula- 
tions, and  paltry  petty  traditions  with  which  they  would  fain 
encumber  it.  I  am  told  that  there  is  no  language  in  which 
grand  and  vigorous  poetry  is  not  only  so  deficient,  but  so 
impossible  as  Chinese,  the  reason  being  that  the  school- 
masters, critics,  purists,  professors,  and  other  forms  of  the 
arbiUr  eUgantiarum  have  for  two  thousand  years  so  completely 
influenced  words  and  their  uses  or  mianses  in  the  Celestial  King- 
dom that  there  is  now  no  conceivable  manner  of  expressing  any 
Chinese  thought  which  is  not  formalised  and  known  to  every 
"  topside,  numpa  one,  litee-man "  (or  truly  cultivated  man  of 


200 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 


mold  of  Hanover,  who  passed  last  winter  in  Paris, 
always  accompanied  ns,  and  kept  us  awake  and 
merry,  however  soporific  the  piece  may  have 
been.  Much  have  we  laughed,  drunk,  and  criti- 
cised together.  Be  of  good  cheer,  good  friend  ; 
you  were  never  spoken  of  save  with  warmest 
praise. 

You  are  astonished  that  I  went  so  often  to  the 
theatre,  knowing  that  it  is  not  one  of  my  habits. 
Out  of  caprice  I  abstained  this  winter  from 
society  {Sahnlebens),  and  in  order  that  my  friends, 
whom  I  seldom  visited,  should  not  see  me  in  the 
theatre,  I  usually  chose  a  proscenium-box  or  avant 
sc^ne,  in  the  comer  of  which  one  can  best  con- 
ceal himself  from  view ;  and  besides,  these  are 
my  favourite  seats.  From  them  one  can  see  not 
only  what  is  being  played,  but  also  what  is  going 
on  behind  the  scenes,  where  art  ceases  and  nature 
again  begins.  When  a  pathetic  scene  is  being 
acted  on  the  stage,  and  at  the  same  time  bits  of 
free  and  easy  actor's  life  are  now  and  then  caught, 
it  reminds  us  of  pictures  on  the  walls,  or  of  the 
frescoes  in  the  Glyptothek  of  Munich  or  in  many 
Italian  palazzi,  where,  in  the  vacant  comers  of 


letters),  and  this  form  must  be  displayed.  They  have  not  only 
got  the  giant  genius  of  language  fastened  down  by  pins,  as  the 
Lilliputians  confined  Gulliver,  but  bid  fair  to  keep  him  down  for 
ever. — TrandcUor. 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE,  J    ?  aoi 

great  historical  pictures,  are  only  grotesque  ara- 
besques, merry  frolicking  of  gods,  and  idylls  of 
bEM^chanals  and  satyrs. 

I  went  seldom  to  the  Theatre  Fran^ais  ;  there 
is  something  in  it  desolate  and  dull.  It  seems 
to  be  still  haunted  by  the  ghosts  of  the  old 
tragedy  with  dagger  and  poisoned  cups  in  their 
pale  hands,  and  the  place  is  dusty  with  the 
powder  of  the  old  classic  perukes.  But  what  is 
most  intolerable  is  that  on  this  classic  ground 
the  innovation  of  modem  Romanticism  with  its 
wild  fancies  is  often  permitted,  or  that,  as  if 
it  were  to  meet  the  requirements  of  the  older 
and  the  younger  public,  we  meet  with  a  mixture 
of  the  Classic  and  Romantic.^  These  French 
dramatic  poets  are  emancipated  slaves,  who 
always  drag  after  them  a  fragment  of  the  old 
Classic  chain.  A  delicate  ear  hears  at  every 
step  a  rattling  as  if  in  the  time  of  the  Empire 
of  Agamemnon  and  of  Talma. 

I  am  far  from  being  inclined  to  entirely  reject 
unconditionally  the  old  French  tragedy.  I  honour 
Comeille,  and  I  love  Eacine.  They  have  given 
us  masterpieces  which  should  remain  for  ever  on 
pedestals  in  the  temple  of  art.  But  their  day 
for  being  acted  has  long  gone  by ;  they  accom- 
plished their  mission  before  a  public  of    noble 

*  French  version — "  Espfece  de  tragique  juste  milieu." 


202  THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 

spectators,  who  loved  to  consider  themselves  as 
the  inheritors  of  ancient  heroism,  or  who,  at  least, 
did  not  reject  their  heroism  in  a  petty  bourgeois 
spirit.  Even  under  the  Empire  the  heroes  of 
Comeille  and  of  Racine  could  expect  the  greatest 
sympathy  when  they  played  before  the  box  of  the 
great  Emperor  and  a  pit  full  of  kings.  Those 
times  are  past ;  the  old  aristocracy  is  dead  ;  the 
throne  is  now  nothing  but  a  common  wooden 
chair  covered  with  red  velvet,  and  to-day  the 
heroes  of  Paul  de  Kock  and  of  Eugene  Scribe 
reign  in  their  place.^ 

A  mixed  style  and  an  anomaly  of  taste,  such 
as  now  prevails  in  the  Th^&tre  Fran^ais,  is  not 
agreeable.  The  innovators  mostly  incline  to  a 
naturalism  which  is  as  objectionable  in  high 
tragedy  as  the  puffed-out  windy  imitation  of 
Classic  pathos.  You  know  only  too  well,  dear 
Lewald,  the  "  natural  system  "  of  Ifflandism  which 
once  raged  in  Germany,  and  which  was  put  down 
by  the  influence  of  Schiller  and  Goethe.*  Such 
a  system  of  naturalism  is  endeavouring  to  estab- 
lish itself  here,  and  its  followers  fight  against 
metrical  form  and  measured  delivery.  If  the  first 
consisted  only  of  Alexandrines  and  the  latter  of 


1  Engtoe  Scribe  is  omitted  in  the  French  version. 
'  French  version — "  Et  que  vainqait  la  phalange  de  Weimar 
oommand^  par  Schiller  et  Goethe." 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  203 

the  quavering  guttural  tone  (Zittergegrdhle)^  of 
the  old  school,  these  people  would  be  in  the 
right,  and  plain  prose  and  the  most  common- 
place tones  of  ordinary  life  of  course  far  prefer- 
able for  the  scene ;  but  then  true  tragedy  must 
perforce  perish  because  it  requires  measured 
language,  and  a  very  different  style  of  declama- 
tion to  that  of  society.  I  would  almost  require 
this  for  all  dramatic  productions.  The  stage 
certainly  is  never  a  commonplace  reproduction 
of  life,  and  it  should  show  this  in  a  certain 
dignified  ennobling  (of  it),  manifesting  itself,  if 
not  in  the  measure  of  words  and  of  delivery, 
at  least  in  the  fundamental  tone  (Grundton),  in 
the  deeply  felt  solemnity  of  a  piece.^  For  the 
theatre  is  another  world,  apart  from  our  own,  as 
the  stage  is  from  the  pit.  Between  the  theatre 
and  reality  lie  the  orchestra,  the  music,  and  the 
dividing  line  of  footlights  on  the  front.  Reality, 
after  having  crossed  the  realm  of  music  and  the 
impressive  row  of  lights,  stands  before  us  on  the 
stage  transfigured  and  revealed  as  poetry.  The 
charming  euphony  of  the  music  rings  from  her 


*  French  version — Ltfroufrcm  monotone, 

^  Peierlichkeit,  though  defined  as  "solemnity,"  does  not  convey 
the  idea  of  seriousness  allied  to  melancholy,  but  that  which 
is  peculiar  to  celebrations  and  dignified  ceremonies.  It  rather 
implies,  on  the  contrary,  an  exalted  sense  of  joyoosness  in 
festivity. 


a04  THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 

in  dying  echoes,  and  she  is  illumed  as  in  a  fairy 
vision  by  the  mysterious  lamps.  It  is  all  a 
magic  sound  and  a  magic  gleam,  which  readily 
seem  to  a  prosaic  public  to  be  unnatural,  and 
yet  are  far  more  natural  than  ordinary  nature, 
for  it  is  nature  elevated  by  art  to  its  fairest 
divinity. 

The  best  tragic  poets  in  France  are  still  at 
present  Alexandre  Dumas  and  Victor  Hugo.  I 
put  the  latter  in  the  second  place,  because  his 
efficiency  as  regards  the  theatre  is  not  so  great 
or  productive  of  result,^  although  he  surpasses  all 
his  contemporaries  on  this  side  of  the  Rhine 
in  poetical  power.  I  will  not  deny  him  drama- 
tic talent,  as  many  who  perfidiously  continually 
praise  his  lyrical  greatness.  He  is  a  poet,  and 
commands  poetry  in  every  form.  His  dramas 
are  as  admirable  as  his  odes.  But  in  the  theatre 
the  rhetorical  is  more  efiective  than  the  poetic, 
and  the  reproaches  which  the  poet  endured  on 
the  failure  of  a  play  were  more  deserved  by  the 
public,  which  is  less  susceptible  to  naive  natural 
expression,  deeply  significant  forms  and  characters 
and  psychologic  refinements,  than  it  is  to  pompous 
phrases,  broad  bleatings,  or  roars  of  passion  and 


^  The  conclasion  of  this  sentence,  and  the  beginning  of  the 
next  to  the  words  "  The  Carlista  regard  him  as,"  are  omitted 
in  the  French  version. 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  :  y  :     205 

gags  (Koulissenreisserei).     This  last  is  called  in 
French  bruler  les  planches. 

Victor  Hugo  is  actually  not  as  yet  esteemed 
here  in  France  at  his  fuU  value.  German  critics 
and  German  impartiality  mete  out  his  merits 
with  a  better  measure,  and  honour  him  with 
higher  praise.  This  want  of  recognition  is  due 
not  only  to  contemptibly  petty  criticism,  but  to 
political  partisan  feeling.  The  Carlists  regard 
him  as  a  renegade,  who,  while  his  lyre  still  rang 
with  the  lost  chords  of  a  song  of  consecration 
(Salbungslied)  for  Charles  X.,  tuned  it  to  a 
hymn  on  the  Revolution  of  July.  The  Republi- 
cans mistrust  his  zeal  for  the  popular  cause,  and 
spy  out  in  every  phrase  a  secret  predilection  for 
nobility  and  Catholicism.  Even  the  Invisible 
Church  of  the  St.  Simonians,^  which  is  every- 
where and  nowhere,  like  the  Christian  Church 
before  Constantine,  disowns  him ;  for  these  men 
regard  art  as  a  priesthood,  and  require  that  every 
work  of  the  poet,  the  painter,  the  sculptor,  or 
musician  shall  in  itself  bear  witness  to  its  higher 
consecration  and  set  forth  its  holy  mission,  which 
is   the    making    happy  ^    and    beautiful   of    the 


^  This  appears  to  have  been  suggested  by  Die  Uruichtbare 
Loge,  the  Invisible  Lodge,  by  Jean  Pavil  Richter. 

*  Beglucken.  Very  well  translated  in  American  by  "to 
bappify."  The  French  version  here  translates  vrrigen  in  the 
following  sentence  as  "  abmrdet,"  which  is  very  far  from  what 


Mi  THB  FRENCH  STAGE. 

human  race.  The  works  of  Victor  Hugo  indicate 
no  such  moral  standard,  and  they  sin  against  all 
the  noble  but  erroneous  laws  of  the  new  church. 
I  call  them  erroneous,  because,  as  you  know,  I 
am  for  the  autonomy  of  art,  which  should  be  the 
handmaid  of  neither  religion  nor  politics,  for  it  is 
in  itself  its  own  aim,  like  the  world  itself.  Here 
we  encounter  the  same  narrow-minded  or  one- 
sided reproaches  which  Goethe  had  to  endure 
from  the  pious  brethren,  and,  like  him,  so  must 
Victor  Hugo  bear  the  unjust  accusation  that  he 
has  no  enthusiasm  for  the  ideal,  that  he  is  with- 
out moral  basis,  is  a  cold-hearted  egoist,  and  so 
forth.  And  add  to  this  a  false  criticism,  which 
declares  that  the  best  which  there  is  to  praise  in 
him,  his  talent  for  sensuous  or  material  form  and 
creation  (sinnlichen  Gestaltung),  is  a  fault,  and 
adds  that  in  these  creations  there  is  a  want  of 
deep  poetry,  la  poesie  iTUime;  outline  and  colour 
are  everything  to  him ;  he  gives  us  only  superficial 
(dusserlich  fasshare)  poetry ;  he   is  material ;  in 


the  anthor  would  convey  in  the  German.  Nothing  which  is 
really  noble  can  be  quite  absurd  or  contrary  to  reason.  I  may 
here  remark  that  one  of  the  most  absurd  misuses  of  "  absurd " 
is  the  vulgar  application  of  it  to  anything  which  is  witty, 
humorous,  or  droll.  "  Ridiculous "  is  also  perverted  in  the 
same  manner.  A  good  jest  is  neither  absurd  nor  ridiculous  if 
it  amuses  us.  This  misuse  is  a  relio  of  the  old  Puritanical 
affectation  of  seriousness,  which  regards  all  mirth,  laughter, 
and  even  whistling,  as  "  vara  preposterous." — Tranilator. 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  /  :i8r 

short,  they  blame  in  him  his  most  praiseworthy, 
peculiar  talent,  his  sense  for  the  plastic.^ 

And  such  injustice  is  not  done  him  by  the 
old  Classicals,  who  only  attacked  him  with  Aristo- 
telian weapons,  and  who  have  long  been  con- 
quered, bat  by  his  former  companions  in  arms,  a 

^  Which  is,  however,  quite  true,  Heine  being  very  much 
inclined  to  confuse  moral  principles  drawn  from  high  human 
ideals  with  those  of  mere  objective  art.  Next  after  Edgar  A. 
Poe,  Victor  Hugo  is  the  most  atheittic  poet  in  verse  or  prose 
with  whom  I  am  acquainted — that  is  to  say,  the  most  remote 
from  any  prineipU  save  that  of  "  art  for  the  sake  of  art,"  to 
those  to  whom  tJcill  alone  is  everything.  Victor  Hugo  is  regarded 
by  Swinburne  as  the  greatest  genius  of  our  age  ;  that  be  is  the 
great  French  genius,  no  one  will  deny.  There  is  nowhere  in  his 
works  one  warm  and  genial  spark  of  life,  but  abundance  of 
galvanism  and  electricity,  enough  to  make  dead  mammoths 
dance  and  cover  the  heavens  with  northern  lights.  Edgar  A. 
Poe,  however,  never  so  much  as  suspected  or  conceived  of  the 
existence  of  a  higher  principle  or  ideal  of  anything  in  any  human 
being,  while  Victor  Hugo  had  just  enough  knowledge  of  what  he 
supposed  men  had  imagined  about  such  things  to  use  them  in 
constructing  and  planning.  Foe  dwelt  in  a  burnt-out  world  of 
grey  ashes  and  scorise,  in  constant  dim  twilight ;  Victor  Hugo, 
in  a  similar  planet,  but  one  not  quite  devoid  of  at  least  mosses, 
lichens,  and  petrified  trees,  nor  wanting  occasional  gleams  of 
lightning,  or  star-  and  moon-light.  To  judge  from  his  conversa- 
tion rather  than  from  his  works,  I  should  say  that  Walt  Whitman 
really  belonged  to  this  school,  and  perhaps  by  nature  Swinburne, 
although  the  latter  often  tears  himself  away  from  rt  with  great 
energy,  as  if  it  were  below  him.  Heine,  who  had  a  full  percep- 
tion of  both  schools,  subjective  and  objective,  belongs  to  both, 
and  praises  or  abuses  either  according  to  the  vein  which  he  may 
be  in.  Fifteen  lines  of  the  German  original  are  here  omitted 
from  the  French  version. — Translator. 


2o8  THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 

fraction  of  the  Romantic  school  which  has  quar- 
relled utterly  with  its  literary  standard-bearer. 
Almost  all  of  his  earlier  friends  have  fallen  away 
from  him  ;  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  fallen  away  by 
his  own  fault,  wounded  by  that  egoism  which  is 
very  advantageous  as  regards  creating  master- 
pieces, but  very  detrimental  to  social  intercourse. 
Even  Sainte-Beuve  could  at  last  endure  him  no 
longer — Sainte-Beuve,  he  who  was  once  the 
trustiest  squire  of  his  renown.  As  in  Africa, 
when  the  king  of  Darfour  rides  forth,  he  is 
preceded  by  a  panegyrist,  who  cries  continually 
in  tremendous  tones,  "  Behold  the  Buffalo,  the 
descendant  of  a  baffalo,  the  Bull  of  bulls;  all 
others  are  oxen — this  is  the  only  real  Buffalo  !  " 
— even  so  Sainte-Beuve  always  ran  before  Victor 
Hugo  when  the  latter  came  before  the  public  in 
a  book,  and,  blowing  a  trumpet,  loudly  praised 
the  Great  Buffalo  of  Poetry.  That  time  of  praise 
has  now  quite  passed  away ;  Sainte-Beuve  now 
only  exalts  the  common  calves  or  eminent  cows 
of  French  literature  ;^  the  once  friendly  voices  are 
now  no  longer  heard,  or  heard  in  blame,  and  the 
greatest  poet  in  France  can  never  more  receive 


^  "Les  vaches  distingn^g  de  la  litt^rature  franfaise."  In 
allnaion,  of  course,  to  the  lady-writers.  The  rest  of  this  para- 
graph and  the  whole  of  the  one  following  are  omitted  from  the 
French  version. — Trandator. 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 


209 


in  his  own  home  (ffeimath)y  or  where  he  dwells, 
the  recognition  which  is  his  due. 

Yes,  Victor  Hugo  is  the  first  poet  in  France, 
and,  which  is  a  great  deal  to  say,  he  might  even 
take  place  in  Germany  among  our  own  first-class 
poets.  He  has  fanta^,  wild  imagination,  and 
genial  feeling,  and  with  it  a  want  of  tact  such  as 
is  never  found  in  Frenchmen,  but  only  among 
us  Germans.  His  soul  wants  harmony,  and  he 
abounds  in  exuberances  of  bad  taste,  as  do  Grabbe 
and  Jean  Paul.  The  beautiful  rhythmic  mea- 
sure which  we  admire  in  classic  authors  is  want- 
ing in  him.  His  Muse,  despite  her  magnificence, 
displays  a  certain  German  awkwardness — I  might 
say  of  her  what  we  say  of  beautiful  English  girls, 
"  They  have  two  left  hands."  ^     ■    v      V 

^  It  is  a  great  pity  that  this  admirably  aocnrate  estimate  of 
Victor  Hugo's  genius  should  end  with  such  a  remark  as  to 
English  ladies.  But  it  is  true  that  in  the  Thirties,  and  even  in 
the  Forties,  a  far  greater  proportion  of  English  women  than  at 
present  were  noted  for  a  peculiar  gaueherie  of  manner  and 
dowdinesB  in  dress,  which  was  too  universal  and  marked  to  be 
honestly  denied.  Nous  avont  changi  tout  cda,  or  at  least  the 
ladies  have  changed  it  themselves  ;  for  at  Hombui^-les-Bains, 
where  I  am  now  writing  (August  1892),  one  has  but  to  step  to  the 
tennis-ground — a  furlong  from  the  door — to  see  among  a  hundred 
English  maids  and  matrons  as  much  grace,  litheness,  and  beauty, 
and  above  all  that  nameless  air  which  constitutes  the  diitingu^, 
as  could  be  found  among  an  equal  number  of  women  anywhere 
in  the  world.  It  is  also  very  remarkable  that  English  girls,  as 
they  have  grown  graceful,  have  greatly  increased  in  height. — 
Trantlator. 


itfc-.. 


aio  THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  v 

Alexandre  Dumas  is  not  so  great  a  poet  as 
Victor  Hugo,  tant  s'enfaiU,  but  he  has  qualities 
which  go  much  further  as  regards  the  theatre. 
He  has  at  command  that  prompt,  straightforward 
expression  of  passion  which  the  French  call 
verve,  and  therewith  he  is  more  French  than 
Hugo.  He  sympathises  with  all  virtues  and  vices, 
daily  needs  and  restless  fancies,  of  his  fellow- 
countrymen  ;  he  is  by  turns  enthusiastic,  riotous, 
comedian-like,  noble,  frivolous,  swaggering,  a 
real  son  of  France,  that  Gascony  of  Europe.  He 
speaks  to  heart  with  heart,  and  is  understood 
and  applauded.  His  head  is  a  public-house, 
where  many  good  thoughts  stay,  which  often 
remain  only  for  a  night ;  it  very  often  happens 
too  that  the  house  is  empty.  No  one  has  such 
a  talent  for  the  dramatic  as  Dumas.  The  theatre 
is  his  true  calling ;  he  is  a  bom  stage-poet,  and  all 
materials  for  the  drama  belong  to  him,  whether 
he  finds  them  in  Nature  or  in  Schiller,  Shake- 
speare or  Calderon.  He  gets  from  them  new 
effects,  and  melts  down  old  coins  to  utter  them 
anew  for  more  agreeable  currency ;  and  we  should 
even  thank  him  for  his  thefts  from  the  past, 
since  he  therewith  enriches  the  future.  A  very 
unjust  criticism,  an  article  which  appeared  long 
ago,  under  most  deplorable  circumstances,  in  the 
Jounnal  des  DSbats,  greatly  injured  our  poor  poet 
among  the  ignorant  multitude.     In  it  was  shown 


VICTOR   HUGO 

From  a  Miniature,  1S2S-1SJO 


;■  \ 


,t 


i  ! 


ii 


SIS 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 


that  a  poet  shall  create  all  his  subject-matter 
from  himself,  and  that  that  constitntes  originality. 
I  remember  a  fable  ^  in  which  the  spider  re- 
proached the  bee  that  she  collected  from  a  thou- 
sand flowers  the  material  with  which  she  made 
wax  and  honey,  "  while  I,"  she  triumphantly 
added,  "  spin  all  my  artistic  webs  in  original 
lines  from   myself." 

As  I  said,  the  article  against  Dumas  in  the 
Journal  des  Dihats  appeared  under  very  deplorable 
circumstancea  It  was  written  by  one  of  those 
young  Seiden,  or  devoted  attendants,  who  blindly 
obeyed  the  orders  of  Victor  Hugo,  and  was 
printed  in  a  newspaper  whose  directors  were 
most  intimate  with  the  latter.  Hugo  was  mag- 
nanimous enough  not  to  deny  his  knowledge  of 
the  affair,  and  he  believed — as  is  usual  and  cus- 
tomary in  Uterary  friendships— to  have  given  his 
old  friend  Dumas  the  proper  death-blow  at  a 
fitting  time.^  i 


^  To  which  shonld  be  added  "of  my  own  manafaotore," 
Bince  in  the  first  edition  this  is  given  aa  follows  :  **  I  remember 
that  among  my  last  papers  there  was  a  fable  in  which  I  made 
the  spider  talk  with  the  bee,  and  the  spider  reproached  the 
bee,"  &c.  This  passage  gave  a  hint  to  an  American  named 
Fetteridge,  who,  having  invented  a  soap  made  of  honey,  in- 
geniously called  it  "the  balm  of  a  thousand  flowers."  Heine 
had  advised  the  stealing  of  ideas,  and  Fetteridge  took  the 
advice.  — Tranalator. 

'  One  cannot  very  clearly  make  oat  from  the  original  here 


.wJIH' 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  tlf 

In  fact,  a  veil  of  black  crape  has  ever  since 
hong  over  the  fame  of  Dnmas,  and  many  assert 
that  should  that  veil  be  withdrawn  nothing 
would  be  found  behind  it.  But  since  the  intro- 
duction of  such  a  drama  as  "  Edmund  Kean  "  to 
the  public,  the  reputation  of  Dumas  has  again 
come  forth  in  brilKancy  from  its  dark  conceal- 
ment, and  he  has  again  made  known  his  great 
dramatic  talent. 

This  piece,  which  has  certainly  been  appro- 
priated by  the  German  stage,^  is  conceived  and 
executed  with  a  truth  to  life  (Zebendigkeit)  and 
vividness  such  as  I  have  never  seen ;  there  is  a 
gush,  a  novelty  in  the  means  employed,  which 
present  themselves,  as  it  were,  a  tale  {Fabel)  the 
involutions  of  which  spring  naturally  one  from 
the  other,  a  feeling  which  comes  from  and  speaks 
to  the  heart — ^in  short,  a  creation.  Although 
Dumas  may  have  committed  some  trifling  errors 
of  costume  and  locality,  there  prevails  neverthe- 
less in  the  whole  picture  a  startling  truthfulness 


whether  Heiae  means  that  it  is  usual  in  all  literary  friendships 
to  believe  that  one  has  given  a  death-blow  to  Alexandre 
Dumas,  or  to  one's  own  friends.  In  my  own  opinion,  just  at 
the  instant  when  this  was  written,  the  heart  of  our  author  was 
in  as  bad  a  condition  as  his  grammar.  This  beautiful  passage 
is  wanting  in  the  French  version. — Trandator. 

^  "  Cette  pidoe  qui  est  certainement  faite  pour  r^ussir  egale- 
ment  sur  la  scdne  allemande."  This  certainly  would  aeem  to 
indicate  that  the  French  veniou  was  here  the  original  text. 


j^i 


214  ^^^  FRENCH  STAGE. 

which  bore  me  again  in  spirit  to  Old  England, 
and  Kean  himself,  whom  I  there  so  often  saw, 
seemed  to  be  living  again  before  my  eyes.  The 
actor  who  played  the  part  of  Kean  naturally 
contributed,  although  his  exterior,  which  was  the 
imposing  form  of  Fr^d^ric  Lemaltre,  was  so  very 
different  from  the  small  stout  figure  of  Kean. 
Yet  there  was  something  in  his  personality,  as 
well  as  in  his  playing,  which  I  find  again  in 
Fr^d^ric  Lemaltre,  for  there  is  between  them  a 
marvellous  ajQfinity.  Kean  was  one  of  those  ex- 
ceptional natures  who,  by  certain  sudden  move- 
ments, mysterious  tones  of  voice,  and  still  more 
incomprehensible  glances,  render  apparent  not 
60  much  everyday  prosaic  feelings,  but  all  which 
there  is  in  human  nature  of  the  unusual,  bizarre, 
and  marvellous.  This  is  the  same  with  Frederic 
Lemaltre,  and  the  latter  is  also  one  of  those 
terrible  farceurs  at  whose  sight  Thalia  grows 
pale  with  fright  and  Melpomene  laughs  for  joy. 
Kean  was  one  of  those  men  whose  character 
defies  all  the  rubbing  or  polish  of  civilisation, 
and  who  are,  I  will  not  say  of  better  stuff  than 
the  rest  of  us,  bat  of  an  entirely  different  kind, 
angular  originals  with  a  single  gift  on  one  side, 
but  in  this  one-sided  faculty  surpassing  to  an 
extraordinary  degree  all  Burrounding  them,  fully 
inspired  with  that  illimitable,  unfathomable,  un- 
conscious, diabolically  divine  power  which  we  call 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  215 

das  Bdmonische — the  doBrnonic}  This  dsBmonic 
(force)  is  found  more  or  less  in  all  men  great  by 
word  or  deed.  Kean  was  by  no  means  a  uni- 
versal actor,  for  though  he  could  play  in  many 
parts,  it  was  always  himself  whom  he  played. 
But  in  so  doing  he  gave  us  a  tremendous  truth- 
fulness ;  and  though  ten  years  have  passed  since 
I  saw  him,  I  still  behold  him  before  me  as 
Shylock,  Othello,  Richard,  or  Macbeth.  The  full 
meaning  of  many  a  passage  which  had  been  dark 
to  me  was  made  clear  by  his  acting.  There  were 
modulations  in  his  voice  which  revealed  a  whole 
life  of  horror  ;  there  were  in  his  eyes  lights  which 
illuminated  within  all  the  darkness  of  a  Titanic 
soul,  sudden  actions  in  the  movement  of  a  hand, 
a  foot,  or  the  head  which  told  more  than  a  com- 
ment in  four  volumes  by  Franz  Hom.^ 


*  Not  exactly  "we,"  but  rather  Goethe,  from  whom  Heine 
here  helps  himself  freely,  albeit  he  adds  to  and  varies  somewhat 
the  great  poet's  comment  on  the  young  Duke  of  Weimar. 

'  Heine  in  this  paper  describes  with  marvellous  and  vivid 
truthfulness  Fr^d^ric  Lemaitre  as  a  terrible  jester,  in  whose 
comic  acting  there  was  always  perceptible  a  mysterious  power 
of  latent  greatness,  which  moved  us  even  when  not  manifested. 
I  was  deeply  impressed  with  this  when  I  saw  Lemaitre  in  a  play 
which  called  for  this  dual  display  of  mental  forces  to  a  far 
greater  degree  than  "Kean."  This  was  the  part  of  Robert 
Macaire,  immediately  after  the  overthrow  of  Louis  Philippe. 
Robert  Macaire,  the  popular  type  of  a  villain  of  the  deepest 
dye,  who  plays  many  parts  in  life,  is  withal  always  dryly  comic ; 
and,  to  complicate  the  character,  it  had  been  long  identified  with 


f 


3l6 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 


that  of  LoaiB  Philippe  in  a  long  series  of  caricatures  by  Gavami. 
What  Lemattre  had  to  do  was  to  give  the  comic  villain,  yet 
manifest  in  him  thronghout  a  something  kingly  and  uncon- 
sciously refined.  This  very  difficult  task  he  performed  to  per- 
fection, BO  that  it  seemed  like  a  king  of  genius  acting  the 
scoundrel. 

As  regards  Kean,  I  was  once  intimate  with  an  actor  who 
was  not  only  a  very  able  artist  in  his  calling,  but  also  a 
scholar.  He  had  often  seen  Eean,  and  formed  himself  on  his 
manner.  What  I  learned  from  him  in  many  conversations 
confirms  me  in  the  belief  that  what  Heine  has  written  on  the 
great  actor  is  a  sketch  of  very  great  truth  and  insight. — 
Tran$iator. 


•JiMll^ll  I.Ullf ._ 


VOLUME 


I  B  R.AR.Y 
OF  THE 
UNIVERSITY 
or    ILLINOIS 


834H36 
LL53 

V.8 


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I  sponsible  for  its  return  on  or  before  the 
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'  Theft,    mutilation,   and    underlining    of    books 

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University  of  Illinois  Library 


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HEINRICH    HEINE 


^ 


3fet)ition  &e  %use 


TXm  E£tion  of  the  Works  of  Heinricu  Hiine  it  limited 
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America. 

1   ■  - 


'-^ 


This  is  Copy  No. 


1 


i:i)MUND   KEAX  (AS   RICHARD    III.) 
From  fly  Picture  by  J.  J.  Halls 


■hH 


H^iurkh  Hem^ 


Translated  by  Charles  Godfrey  Lele^nd 


■>  '■ ...  ,• 


J.^1. .. ' ■■*-'■  •    - Lli-^ 


?3S  Hcii 


CONTENTS 

VOLUME  EIGHT 

THE  FRENCH  STAGE— Coftiinued 

Confidential   Letters   addressed  to  M.  August 
Lewald — 

PAGE 

Seventh  Leti'er    .        .        .      ^.       ,        »  .    217 

Eighth  Letter      ,        .        .        ,        »        .  .    231 

Ninth  Leti'er        .        .        .        .        .        .  .     242 

Tenth  Letter       .        .        ...        .  .    265 

George  Sand — A  Supplement    .        >        .        .  ,.     284 
A  Later  Notice  (1854)         .        .        ...    297 

Letters  on  Music  from  Paris  (1840-1847) — 

Spontini  and  Meyerbeer     .        ,        .  ,     .  ^    314 

The  Musical  Season  of  184  i       «        .        .  .    329 

The  Carnival  in  Paris        .        ,      \       .  .    349 

Rossini  AND  Mendelssohn   .        ,       -       -  ■    362 

The  Musical  Season  of  1843 — 

First  Paper     .        .       .       .        .        .  .    372 

Second  Paper.       .        .       .        .       .  .    383 


^Etl»fMk.>^«.*4  W'»4    .      .    .... 


CONTENTS. 

Lbttbrs  on  Music  from  Paris  (1840-1847)— f<7n/t»M«^. 
The  Musical  Season  of  1844 — 

PAGB 

First  Paper 406 

A  Later  Notice 446 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


Edmund  Kean  (as  Richard  III.)        .  Frontispiece 

From  the  Picture  by  J.  J.  Halls.  i 

George  Sand To  face  page  284 

From  a  Mtxtotint,  1838.  | 

Alfred  de  Musset t       »    304 

From  an  Engraving.  ; 

Handel ...„,,     366 

From  an  Engraving. 


SEVENTH  LETTEB. 

1  HAVE  not,  as  yoa  know,  dear  Lewald,  the  habit 
of  discussing  with  easy  loquacity  the  playing  c^ 
comic  actors,  or,  as  it  is  called  by  the  elegantly 
cultured,  their  artistic  manifestations ;  but  Ed- 
mund Kean,  whom  I  mentioned  in  a  former 
letter,  and  to  whom  I  return,  was  no  ordinary 
hero  of  the  stage ;  and  I  confess  that  during  my 
last  journey  to  England  I  did  not  disdain  to 
include  in  my  journal,  after  a  criticism  of  the 
most  important  Parliamentary  orators  of  the  day 
and  of  the  world,  my  fugitive  observations  on 
Kean's  acting.  Unfortunately  this  book  was  lost 
with  many  more  of  my  best  papers.  But  I  think 
I  can  remember  reading  to  you  in  Wandsbeck 
something  of  Kean's  rendering  of  Shylock  from  it. 
The  Jew  of  Venice  was  the  first  heroic  part  which 
I  saw  him  play.  I  say  heroic  part,  for  he  did  not 
play  it  like  a  broken-down  old  man,  a  kind  of 
Sehewa  of  hatred,  as  our  Devrient  does,  but  like 
a  real  hero.      So  he  appears  to  me  in  memory, 

dressed   in   his  black   silk  roquelaure,  which  is 

3x7 


2l8 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 


without  sleeves  and  only  reaches  to  the  knee,^  so 
that  the  blood-red  under-garment  which  falls  to  the 
feet  seems  more  startling  by  contrast.  A  black 
broad-rimmed  felt  hat  rolled  up  on  both  sides,  its 
high  conical  crown  wound  round  with  a  crimson 
ribbon,  covered  his  head,  the  hair  of  which,  like 
that  of  his  beard,  hung  down  long  and  black  as 
pitch,  forming  as  it  were  a  wild  disordered  frame 
to  the  healthy  red  face  from  which  two  white 
rolling  eyeballs  glare  out  as  if  in  ambush,  in- 
spiring uncanny  dread.*  He  holds  in  his  right 
hand  a  staff,  which  is  rather  a  weapon  than  a  sup- 
port.     He  only  leans  the  elbow  of  his  lefb  arm 


^  Sbylock  himself  describes  this  garment  as  a  gabardine. 
The  roqtidcmre  is  properly  a  long  overcoat  for  traTelling,  if  I 
am  not  mistaken,  with  sleeves,  and  very  much  like  a  very  loose 
ulster.  Sculptures  of  the  fourteenth  and  fifteenth  century,  both 
in  England  and  on  the  Continent,  represent  Jews  as  wearing  a 
rather  broad-rimmed  felt  hat,  the  top  or  edge  of  the  crown  being 
somewhat  rounded  outwards,  after  a  fashion  still  common  in  the 
East.  They  are  anything  but  conical,  nor  are  there  any  ribbons 
on  them. — Trandator. 

*  "Worin  zwei  weisse  lechzende  Augapfel  schauerlich  be- 
angstigend  hervorlauem."  If  that  which  qualifies  the  noun 
ean  be  overdone  by  excess,  our  author  far  too  frequently  over- 
does it.  The  full  spirit  of  this  description  is  to  be  found  in  an 
American  sketch,  which  states  that  the  face  and  eyes  of  a 
certain  man  looked  like  a  panther  glaring  out  of  a  pig-pen. 
The  mention  of  the  elbow  and  cane  reminds  me  that  the  actor 
before  mentioned  once  lent  me  a  very  curious  MS.  It  was  a 
collection  of  notes  of  all  minvtiai  of  Kean's  acting  in  Shylock, 
or  of  such  literal  details  as  this. — Trandator.  .         \ 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  219 

on  it,  and  in  the  left  hand  rests  in  treacherous 
meditation  his  black  head  with  still  blacker 
thonghts,  while  he  explains  to  Bassanio  what  is 
to  be  understood  by  tiie  expression,  which  is  to 
this  day  current,  of  "  a  good  man."  When  he 
narrates  the  parable  of  the  sheep  of  the  patriarch 
Jacob  and  of  Laban,  he  seems  to  find  himself 
entangled  in  his  own  words,  and  breaks  out  sud- 
denly with,  "Ay !  he  was  the  third."  ^  And  while, 
during  a  long  pause,  he  seems  to  reflect  on  what 
he  shall  say,  one  feels  how  the  tale  is  gradually 
shaping  itself  in  his  head,  and  when  he  suddenly 
breaks  out  with  "  No,  not  take  interest !  "  as  if 
he  had  found  the  clue,  it  did  not  seem  as  if  one 
listened  to  a  rdle  learned  by  heart,  but  to  a  speech 
improvised  with  great  difficulty.  And  at  the 
end  he  smiled  like  an  author  who  is  very  much 
pleased  with  his  own  conception.  He  begins 
slowly — 

"Signer  Antonio,  many  a  time  and  oft," 

till  he  comes  to  the  word  "  dog,"  which  is  thrown 
out  with  more  force.  His  anger  rises  from 
"  and  spit  upon  my  Jewish  gabardine  "  till  "  own." 
Then  he  approaches,  upright  and  proudly,  and 


^  The  French  venion  gives   as   a  new  and  certainly  very 
singular  version  of  this  text,  "Ay,  he  was  the  ihirtt."    Per 
haps  the  translator  was  thinking  of  PantagrueL — Trcmdator. 


aao 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 


says  with  scomfnl  bitterness,  **  WeU  then  .  .  .**  to 
"  ducats."  But  all  at  once,  bowing  low,  he  takes 
off  his  hat,  and  with  servile  mien  continues,  "  Or 
shall  I  bend  low  "  nnto  "  monies."  Yes,  his  very 
voice  becomes  submissive ;  one  only  seems  to  hear 
in  it  a  slight  ring  of  intense  wrath  ;  gay  little  ser- 
pents twine  round  his  complaisant  lips — only  his 
eyes  cannot  restrain  themselves,  and  continue  to 
shoot  forth  their  poisoned  arrows,  and  this  contrast 
or  combat  between  external  humility  and  internal 
vindictiveness  ends  at  the  last  word,  "  monies," 
with  a  terrible  prolonged  laugh,  which  suddenly 
breaks  off,  while  the  face,  convulsively  contracted 
or  compelled  to  servility,  remains  for  a  time 
motionless  as  a  mask,  and  only  the  eye — ^that 
evil  eye — glared  out  threatening  and  deadly. 

But  it  is  all  in  vain ;  the  best  description  can 
give  no  idea  of  Edmund  Kean.  Many  actors  have 
very  well  imitated  his  declamation,  his  broken 
delivery,  for  the  parrot  can  perfectly  imitate  to 
deception  the  scream  of  the  eagle,  the  monarch 
of  the  air.  But  the  eagle's  glance,  the  daring 
fire  which  looks  at  the  akin  sun,  Kean's  eye, 
that  magic  lightning  and  enchanted  flame,  no 
common   bird  of  the  theatres  can  appropriate.^ 


1  Heine  here  sails  anconsciously  very  near  to  a  very  appro- 
priate word.  This  fowl  of  the  theatre  "is  a  bird  men  call  a 
goose  when  it  is  '  goosed,'  "  in  theatrical  parlance,  or  hissed. — 
TraruUUor.  I 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  aai 

It  was  only  in  tihe  eye  of  Fr^^ric  Lemaltire,  and 
that  while  he  played  Kean,  that  I  discovered 
something  which  had  the  greatest  resemblance 
to  Kean. 

It  would  be  onjust  if  I,  after  paying  such  a 
tribute  of  admiration  to  Fr^d^c  Lemaltre,  should 
pass  by  in  silence  the  other  great  actor  whom 
Paris  boasts.  Socage  enjoys  here  quite  as  great 
a  reputation  as  the  former,  and  his  personality  is, 
if  not  so  remarkable,  at  least  quite  as  interesting 
as  that  of  his  colleague.  Bocage  is  a  handsome 
man  of  distingvA  air,  whose  mien  and  manner  are 
of  the  noblest.  He  has  a  metallic  or  sonorous 
voice,  rich  in  inflection,  which  adapts  itself  as 
perfectly  to  the  most  terrible  thunders  of  wrath 
and  scorn  as  to  the  most  melting  tenderness  of 
murmuring  love.  He  always,  even  in  the  wildest 
outbreaks  of  passion,  preserves  the  grace  and 
dignity  of  art,  and  disdains  to  grasp  and  dash 
into  coarse  nature,  like  Fr^d^ric  Lemattre,  who 
by  this  means  attains  to  greater  effects,  but 
effects  which  do  not  charm  us  by  poetic  beauty. 
For  his  is  a  very  exceptional  nature  and  that  of 
one  who  is  more  posiessed  by  his  dssmonic  power 
than  possessing  or  controlling  it  himself;  forwhich 
reason  I  compared  him  to  Kean.  Bocage  is  not 
organised  differently  from  other  men,  but  dis- 
tinguished from  them  by  a  more  finely  developed 
organisation.     He  is  not  an  incongruous  mixture 


222 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 


of  Ariel  and  Caliban,  but  a  harmonions  being, 
a  beautiful  tall  form  like  a  Phoebus  Apollo.  His 
eye  is  not  so  inspired  with  power  or  significance, 
but  he  can  produce  marvellous  effects  with  a 
movement  of  the  head,  especially  when  he  throws 
it  backward  in  scorn  as  if  defying  the  world.  He 
utters  cold  ironic  sighs  which  go  through  the  soul 
like  a  steel  saw.^  He  has  tears  in  his  voice,  and 
such  deep  utterances  of  suffering  or  pain  that  one 
would  believe  that  he  was  bleeding  internally. 
And  when  he  suddenly  covers  his  eyes  with  his 
hands,  we  feel  as  though  death  had  said,  "  Let  it 
be  night !  "  And  when  he  again  smiles — smiles 
with  all  his  sweet  sorcery — then  it  seems  as  if 
the  sun  were  rising  on  his  lips. 

And  since  I  have  come  to  discussing  play,  I 
permit  myself  a  few  modest  remarks  as  to  the 
difference  of  declamation  in  the  three  kingdoms 
of  the  civilised  world — England,  France,  and 
Germany. 

When  I  first  saw  tragedies  in  England,  I  was 
struck  by  the  gesticulation,  which  much  resembled 
that  of  pantomime.  It  did  not  seem  to  me  to  be 
unnatural,  but  rather  an  exaggeration  of  nature  ; 


^  A  perilooB  simile  in  French,  in  which  sde  means  not  only 
a  saw,  but  a  continnallj  repeated  bore,  a  "chestnut,"  a  hoax,  or 
humbug.  A  sigh  or  $eie  would  indeed  be  a  "  saw  "  if  too  often 
repeated.  "  Sawing  away  at  it  "  is  a  common  popular  phrase. 
— Trandator. 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  223 

and  it  was  a  long  time  before  I  conld  accnstom 
myself  to  it,  and  enjoy  the  beauty  of  a  Shake- 
spearean tragedy  on  English  soil  despite  this 
caricatured  delivery.  Neither  could  I  endure 
the  screaming,  the  rending  screaming,  with  which 
men  and  women  utter  their  parts.  Is  it  perhaps 
necessary  that  in  England,  where  the  theatres  are 
BO  vast,  this  roaring  aloud  is  really  necessary, 
BO  that  every  word  may  everywhere  be  heard  ? 
And  is  the  caricatured  gesticulation  of  which  I 
speak  also  a  local  necessity,  because  so  many  of 
the  audience  are  at  such  a  distance  from  the 
stage  ?  ^  I  do  not  know.  There  is  perhaps  in 
the  English  theatre  a  law  of  custom  as  regards 
acting,  and  it  may  be  that  to  this  we  must 
attribute  the  exaggeration  which  astonished  me, 
especially  among  actresses,  whose  delicate  organs, 

^  Very  shrewdly  conjectured.  Among  the  Eomans,  masks 
with  trumpet-like  mouths  were  used,  because  few  voices,  if  any, 
could  make  themselves  heard  in  their  immense  amphitheatres. 
But  it  has  escaped  Heine  that  the  English  language  as  spoken 
in  England  by  the  most  cultivated  people  is  extremely  difficult 
to  understand,  and  requires  a  higher  pitch  than  other  languages 
anywhere  spoken  by  anybody.  I  have  not  only  observed,  but 
determined  by  careful  experiment,  the  fact  that  a  Bed  Indian 
calling  to  another  in  his  native  tongue  makes  his  utterance  an 
octave  lower  than  a  white  man,  and  will  be  distinctly  under- 
stood at  a  hundred  feet,  or  even  yards,  distance  when  speaking 
in  the  ordinary  tones  of  conversation,  while  an  American  or 
Briton  roars  aloud,  and  in  fact  must  do  so  if  he  would  have  his 
meaning  clearly  apprehended. — Translator. 


fcii  miiniiMii  I    ■  III 


324 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 


as  if  staUdng  on  stilts,  frequently  flang  them- 
selves headlong  into  the  most  repulsive  discor- 
dant sounds  in  virgin  passions  which  behaved 
like  dromedaries.^  The  circumstance  that  the 
parts  of  women  were  formerly  played  on  the 
English  stage  by  men  may  influence  the  decla- 
mation of  the  actresses  of  the  present  day,  who 
perhaps  still  scream  their  r61es  according  to  old 
theatrical  reports  and  traditions. 

Yet,  great  as  the  faults  may  be  with  which 
English  declamation  is  burdened,  it  is  fully 
atoned  for  by  the  traits  of  deep  feeling  and 
naturalness  (Innigkeit  v/nd  Naivet&t)  which  it 
occasionally  manifests.  These  characteristics  are 
due  to  the  language  of  the  country,  which  is 
really  a  dialect  ^  possessing  all  the  qualities  of  a 
tongue  which  has  come  directly  from  the  people. 
French  is  more  the  product  of  society,  and  it 
wants  that  naturalness  and  depth  which  only 
a  pure  source  of  words  which  has  sprung  from 


^  No  true  translation  can  make  anything  better  of  this 
appalling  mdamge  of  vocal  organs  on  stilts  and  virgin  passions 
which  act  like  dromedaries.  It  is  somewhat  improved  in  the 
French  version  as  follows: — "  L'exag^ration  .  .  .  surtout  chez 
les  actrioes  dont  les  organes  delicate,  se  montant  k  un  diapason 
extreme,  retombent  snr  des  dissonances  criardes  et  se  d^mdnent 
eomme  des  dromedaires,  pour  exprimer  des  passions  virginales." 
— TrandoUor. 

^  By  dialect  we  should  here  understand  patoitf  or  perhaps 
jargon,  Le,,  a  mixed  language. — Tranalator. 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  225 

the  heart  of  a  race  and  has  been  fecnndated  by 
its  heart's  blood  can  retain.     On  the  other  hand, 

;/  French  declamation  has  a  grace  and  fluency  which 
is  foreign  to,  and  even  impossible  in,  English. 
Speech  has  been  so  purely  filtered  here  in 
France  through  the  gossiping  life  of  three  hun- 
dred years  that  it  has  lost  every  vulgar  idiom  and 
obscure  turn  of  expression  ( Wendungen),  all  that 
is  muddled  and  mean,  but  with  it  also  and  irre- 
coverably all  perfume,  all  of  that  wild  healthy 
strength  and  mysterious  charm  which  runs  and 
ripples  in  rough  words.  The  French  language 
and    French    declamation    are,  like    the    people 

\^  themselves,  only  adapted  to  the  day  or  the 
A  present  time ;  the  twilight  realm  of  association 
{Errinerung)  and  deep  presentiment  is  closed  to 
them ;  it  flourishes  only  in  the  light  of  the  sun, 
and  from  that  results  its  beautiful  clearness  and 
warmth.  Night,  vdth  its  pale  moonshine,  mysti- 
cal stars,  sweet  dreams,  and  terrible  spectres,  are 
to  them  strange  and  uncomfortable. 

But  as  regards  true  acting,  French  players 
surpass  their  colleagues  in  all  other  countries, 
for  the  very  natural  reason  that  all  Frenchmen 
are  born  actors.  It  is  really  a  pleasure  to  see  how 
readily  they  learn  their  parts  in  every  situation 
of  life,  and  fall  into  them  and  clothe  themselves 

'  to  such  advantage.  The  French  are  God's  own 
court-players,   les   comMiens   ordinaires   du    bon 

r- 


226 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 


Dveu,  a  select  troupe ;  and  all  French  history 
often  seems  to  me  like  a  great  comedy,  but  one 
played  for  the  benefit  of  mankind.  In  their  life, 
as  well  as  in  their  literature  and  art,  there  pre- 
vails the  theatrical. 

As  for  us  Germans,  we  are  honest  men  and 
good  citizens.  What  Nature  denies  we  attain 
by  study.  It  is  only  when  we  roar  too  loudly 
that  we  fear  lest  we  frighten  the  folk  in  the  dress 
circle,  and  are  afraid  of  incurring  punishment ; 
and  then  we  insinuate  with  a  certain  craftiness 
that  we  are  not  real  lions,  but  only  jesters  sewed 
up  in  lions'  skins,  and  such  insinuations  we  call 
irony.^  We  are  honourable,  and  it  is  the  parts 
of  honest  people  which  we  play  best.  State 
ofiScials  of  fifty  years'  standing,  trusty  old  twad- 


^  The  "  ironic  "  stage  or  phase — that  which  succeeds  an  era 
of  decided  humoar — is  now  in  full  play  in  England,  and  to  a  far 
greater  degree  than  it  ever  was  in  Germany.  It  is  sometimes 
called  "  incisive,"  "subdued,"  or  " latent "  humour,  but  it  covers 
an  enormous  amount  of  twaddle.  Irony,  or  something  which 
passes  for  it,  is  within  the  reach  of  the  feeblest  intellects,  which 
even  the  coarsest  real  humour  is  not.  As  regards  the  French 
being  the  best  actors  in  the  world,  it  may  be  observed  that  it  is 
only  true  as  regards  French  subjects.  An  English  actor  wonld 
set  forth  any  kind  of  a  foreigner  better  than  a  Frenchman. 
One  can  hardly  conceive  of  a  Frenchman  who  has  perfectly 
comprehended  English  or  German  intellect  in  every  phase, 
but  there  have  been  many  English  who  have  been  "French 
within  the  French  "  in  all  things,  as  Sainte-Beuve  baa  proved. 
— Translator. 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  227 

dling  retainers  (JDalners),  honest  head-foresters, 
and  true  servants  are  onr  delight.  Heroes  give 
us  some  trouble  and  come  rather  hard  (werden 
aus  sehr  sauer),  but  we  can  manage  to  find  them, 
especially  in  garrison  towns,  where  we  have  good 
patterns  before  onr  eyes.  We  are  not  so  fortu- 
nate as  to  kings.  Eespect  hinders  us  in  royal 
residential  cities  from  playing  royal  parts  with 
absolute  boldness;  it  might  give  offence,  and 
so  we  let  the  shabby  blouse  of  the  peasant  peep 
out  under  the  royal  ermine.  In  the  German  free 
cities,  in  Hamburg,  Liibeck,  Bremen,  and  Frank- 
fort— in  these  glorious  republics — actors  may 
play  the  parts  of  monarchs  as  they  please ;  but 
patriotism  misleads  them  to  intentionally  repre- 
sent such  subjects  as  evilly  as  possible,  so  as  to 
render  kingship  ridiculous.  They  aim  directly 
at  republicanism,  and  this  is  especially  the  case 
in  Frankfort,  where  kings  are  more  wretchedly 
played  than  anywhere  else.  If  the  eminently 
wise  Senate  there  were  not  ungrateful,  as  sl\ 
republics  are,  and  as  Athens,  Rome,  and  Florence 
were,  then  Hamburg  should  erect  a  grand  pan- 
theon with  the  inscription,  "  The  grateful  country 
to  its  bad  actors  !  "  >      *    " 

Do  you  not  remember,  my  dear  Lewald,  the 
late  Schwarz,  who  in  Hamburg  played  King 
Philip  in  "  Don  Carlos,"  and  who  always  dragged 
out  his  words  as  if  from  the  middle  of  the  earth, 


Ml  THE  FRENCH  STAOE. 

and  then  shot  them  up  to  heaven,  bo  that  they 
were  only  in  sight  for  a  second  ?  ^ 

Bat  not  to  be  unjust,  we  must  confess  that  the 
fault  lies  principally  in  the  German  language  if 
the  delivery  is  worse  in  our  theatres  than  with 
the  English  and  French.  The  speech  of  the 
first  is  a  dialect,  that  of  the  latter  a  product  of 
society;  ours  is  neither  one  nor  the  other,  and 
therefore  it  lacks  naive  depth  as  well  as  fluent 
grace.  It  is  only  a  book  language,  a  bottomless 
abyss  manufactured  by  authors,  which  we  obtain 
fixjm  the  Leipzig  fair  through  the  booksellers. 
The  declamation  of  the  English  is  the  exaggera- 
tion of  nature  or  over-natural ;  ours  is  ww-naturaL 
The  delivery  of  the  French  is  the  affected  tone  of 
tirade  ;  ours  is  pure  lying.  There  is  a  traditional 
tearful  tenderness  (Gegreine)  in  our  theatres,  by 
which  the  best  plays  of  Schiller  are  often  spoiled 
for  me,  especially  in  sentimental  passages,  where 
our  actresses  melt  into  a  watery  flood  of  sing- 
song, of  which  Gulitz  says  they  make  water  with 
their  hearts.^  But  we  will  say  nothing  to  the 
discredit  of  German  actresses.  They  are  my 
fellow-countrywomen,  and  then  the  geese  saved 


^  This  paragraph  is  omitted  in  the  French  version.— 
Translator. 

^  This  beautiful  simile  is  omitted,  probably  by  inadvertence, 
from  the  French  version.  It  is  in  the  original,  Sie  p — M — « 
mit  dem  Herzen. — Trandator. 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  229 

the  Capitol,  and  there  are  so  many  virtuous 
women  among  them,  and  finally  .   .  . 

(I  am  here  interrupted  by  the  devil's  own  row 
— tapage  infernal — which  has  broke  loose  in  the 
churchyard  under  my  window.) 

.  .  .  the  crowd  of  boys  who  were  just  before 
dancing  as  peaceably  as  mice  round  the  great  tree 
all  at  once  began  to  raise  the  old  Adam,  or  rather 
the  old  Cain,  and  to  bang  one  another  (JSinander 
zu  balgen).  I  was  obliged,  in  order  to  re-establish 
peace,  to  go  down  unto  them,  and  verily  I  had  a 
hard  time  of  it  to  pacify  the  minor  multitude. 
There  was  a  small  youth  who  laid  it  on  with 
special  rage  to  the  back  of  another  little  boy. 
And  when  I  asked  him  what  the  poor  child  had 
done  to  be  so  mauled,  he  stared  at  me  with  his 
great  eyes  and  said,  "  Why,  it's  my  brother  ! " 

Nor  does  eternal  peace  flourish  to-day  within 
doors  in  my  house.  I  hear  in  the  corridor  a 
racket  as  if  an  ode  by  Klopstock  had  rolled  down- 
stairs. My  host  and  hostess  are  at  it  again, 
quarrelling,  and  the  latter  reproaches  the  poor 
man  for  being  a  spendthrift  and  squandering  her 
dowry,  and  declares  that  she  is  dying  of  vexation- 
Ill  she  is,  but  with  avarice.  Every  mouthful  which 
the  man  eats  is  indigestible  to  her,  hurts  her ;  and 
when  he  takes  medicine,  if  there  be  any  left  in  the 
bottle,  she  drinks  it,  so  that  nothing  may  be  lost 
of  what  cost  80  much  money,  and  so  falls   ill. 


y')iii<i»(ii|j>i»ii!ii.'  *  [*'i[itv,<i*^'  ■*^.^_ 


u» 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 


The  poor  man,  a  tailor  by  nation  and  a  German 
hj  trade,  has  retired  into  the  country  to  enjoy  his 
remaining  days  in  rural  peace,  but  this  peace  he 
will  find  only  in  the  grave  of  his  wife.  It  may 
be  that  it  was  for  this  reason  he  bought  a  house 
close  by  the  churchyard,  and  gazes  so  wistfully 
on  the  resting-places  of  the  dead.  His  only  joys 
on  earth  are  tobacco  and  roses,  and  he  knows 
how  to  grow  the  most  beautiful  varieties  of  the 
latter.  This  morning  he  placed  several  pots  of 
them  in  the  parterre  under  my  window.  They 
bloom  admirably.  But,  my  dear  Lewald,  ask 
your  wife  why  these  flowers  have  no  perfume  ? 
Either  they  have  a  bad  cold — or  I. 


Heine's  comments  on  Edmund  Eean  in  this  paper 
express,  better  than  anything  I  have  elsewhere  read,  the 
peculiar  and  mysterious  nature  of  this  great  man's  acting, 
causing  a  regret  that  the  more  amplified  comments  on 
the  subject  were  lost.  His  views  on  irony — ^by  which 
he  means  something  corresponding  exactly  to  the  New 
Humour — appear  in  another  form  in  the  Reisebilder. 


'V- 


•*  « 


EIGHTH  LETTER, 

I  HAVE  spoken  in  a  preceding  letter  of  the  two 
eorypMes  or  chorus-leaders  of  the  French  drama. 
However,  it  was  not  the  names  of  Victor  Hugo 
and  Alexandre  Dumas  which  were  in  the  greatest 
renown  among  the  theatres  of  the  Boulevard. 
Here  there  were  three  names  which  rang  con- 
tinually in  the  mouths  of  the  people. 

These  names  were  those  of  Mallefile,  Rouge- 
mont,  and  Bourchardy.  From  the  first  I  hope 
for  the  best.  He  has,  I  think,  great  poetic 
capacity.  You  remember,  perhaps,  his  "  Seven 
Children  of  Lara,"  a  drama  of  horrors,  which  we 
once  saw  together  at  the  Porte  Saint-Martin.  Li 
this  fearful  mess  of  blood  and  mud  and  stage 
rage  there  were  many  remarkably  beautiful  and 
truly  dignified  scenes  which  indicated  a  roman- 
tic imagination  and  dramatic  talent.  Another 
tragedy  of  Mallefile,  "  Glenarvon,"  is  of  much 
greater  value,  as  it  is  less  confused  or  obscure, 
and  contains  an  exposition  which  is  overwhelm- 
ingly grand  and  beautiful.     In  both  pieces  the 


'  *^^  i<u»-«-i»  .•"•!*.•* 


232 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 


part  of  the  adulterous  mother  is  admirably  played 
by  Mademoiselle  Georges,  that  immensely  bright 
and  shining  sun  of  flesh  who  illuminates  the 
theatrical  heaven  of  the  Boulevards.  Mallefile 
gave  us  some  months  ago  a  new  piece  called  Ze 
Paysan  des  Alpes — the  Alpine  Shepherd.  This 
he  worked  out  with  greater  simplicity,  but  at 
the  expense  of  poetry.  This  piece  is  weaker 
than  his  earlier  tragedies.  In  it,  as  in  them, 
the  barriers  of  marriage  are  pathetically  demo- 
lished. 

Rougemont,  the  second  laureate  of  the  Boule- 
vards, established  his  renown  by  three  plays  which 
appeared  one  after  the  other  within  the  short 
space  of  six  months,  and  enjoyed  a  great  success. 
The  first  was  called  Za  Duchesse  de  LavaubalUre, 
a  feeble  piece  of  hack-work  (Machwerk),  in  which 
there  is  a  great  deal  of  action,  yet  which  is  not 
developed  in  a  manner  which  is  either  bold  or 
natural,  but  always  carefully  worked  out  by  petty 
calculation,  and,  in  keeping  with  this,  all  its  out- 
ward passion  has  only  a  simulated  glow,  while 
all  within  is  clammy  and  cold  as  a  graveworm. 
His  second  piece,  entitled  Z^on,  is  better,  and 
though  it  suffers  from  the  same  defects  as  the 
preceding,  it  still  contains  some  grand  and 
moving  scenes.  Last  week  I  saw  the  third  piece, 
Hidalie  Granger,  a  purely  middle-class  drama, 
which  is  an  excellent  work,  since  in  it  the  author 


■...,...>.,^*^/,^,.^-. 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  «SS 

obeys  the  promptings  of  his  natural  talent,  and 
sets  forth  in  a  beautiful  picture,  well  framed  and 
with  great  clearness  of  judgment,  the  sad  incon- 
gruities of  modem  society. 

We  have  had  thus  far  from  Bourchardy,  the 
third  laureate,  but  a  single  piece,  yet  one  which 
has  been  rewarded  with  unexampled  results.  It 
is  called  Gaspardo.  It  has  been  played  daily  for 
five  months,  and  should  it  continue  thus,  it  may 
have  a  run  of  several  hundred  nights.^  But 
honourably  confessed,  my  judgment  is  at  a  stand- 
still when  I  reflect  on  the  ultimate  cause  or  reason 
of  this  colossal  success.  The  piece  is  of  only 
mediocre  merit,  where  it  is  not  absolutely  bad ; 
and  it  is  full  of  action,  but  in  it  one  incident 
comes  stumbling  in  on  the  head  of  another,  so 
that  one  eflFect  breaks  the  neck  of  the  next.  The 
conception  or  plot  {Gedanke),  in  which  the  whole 
moves,  is  so  narrow  that  not  a  single  character 
nor  situation  can  develop  itself  naturally  nor 
properly.  This  heaping  up  of  incident  and 
material  is  indeed  to  be  found  in  excess  in  the 
stage  poets  before  described,  but  in  Gaspardo  the 
author  has  gone  far  beyond  them.  Yet  all  of 
this  was  predetermined  and  a  principle,  as  several 


*  Doubtless.  "  If  it  should  keep  going  long  enough,  then  it 
will  have  a  run,"  is  a  manifest  truth,  which  would  elicit  roars  of 
applause  were  it  to  be  uttered  by  an  Irishman  on  the  stage. — 
Trcmdator. 


'■'■lit  -f^t^f-s 


^34 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 


yonng  dramatists  assure  me,  and  it  is  by  this 
accumnlation  of  heterogeneous  stuff  and  charac- 
ters, times  and  localities,  that  the  present  Rom- 
anticist distinguishes  himself  from  the  former 
Classicists,  who  kept  themselves  so  strictly  within 
the  narrow  limits  of  the  drama  to  the  unities 
of  time,  place,  and  action. 

Have  these  innovators  really  enlarged  the 
limits  of  the  French  theatre  ?  I  do  not  know. 
But  these  French  dramatic  authors  always  re- 
mind me  of  the  jailor  who  complained  that  his 
prison  was  too  small,  and  who  could  find  no 
better  way  to  enlarge  it  than  to  keep  cramming 
in  more  and  more  prisoners,  who,  however,  in- 
stead of  squeezing  out  the  walls,  crowded  one 
another  to  death.^ 

By  the  way,  I  add  that  in  Oaspardo  and 
Eulalie  Granger,  as  in  all  the  Dionysiac  games 
or  plays  of  the  Boulevards,  marriage  is  slaugh- 
tered like  a  scapegoat.' 


1  Told  in  another  form  by  xne  in  the  United  States  jnst 
before  the  civil  war,  as  follows :  — 

"  The  South  are  always  crying  out  for  more  land  whereon  to 
put  their  niggers,  and  more  niggers  for  their  land,  in  which  they 
are  like  the  superintendent  of  a  penitentiary  in  Ohio,  who  was 
always  wanting  more  cells  for  his  prisoners  and  more  prisoners 
for  his  cells.  This  jailor  had  the  idea  that  the  whole  human 
race,  except  his  family  and  himself,  ought  to  be  imprisoned." 
— Trandalor. 

'  This  passage  u  wanting  in  the  French  version. — Trandator. 


V  ;  ' 


^' 


V. 


THE  FRENCH  STAQB.     i,  235 

I  wonld  willingly,  my  dear  friend,  discnss 
several  other  dramatists  of  the  Boulevards,  but 
though  they  now  and  then  bring  out  a  piece 
which  may  pass  (einverdaiUiches  Sttick),  all  that 
we  find  in  them  is  that  ease  of  treatment  which 
is  common  to  all  French  writers,  but  no  origi- 
nality of  conception  whatever.  And  so  I  have 
only  seen  the  plays  and  soon  forgotten  them, 
and  never  took  the  trouble  to  find  out  the  names 
of  their  authors.  In  their  place  I  can  give  you 
those  of  the  eunuchs  who  served  King  Ahasuerus 
as  chamberlains  in  Susa,  and  their  names  were 
Mehuman,  Bistha,  Harbona,  Bigtha,  Abagtha, 
Sethar,  and  Charkas. 

The  theatres  of  the  Boulevards,  of  which  I 
have  spoken,  and  which  I  have  always  had  in 
my  mind  while  writing  these  letters,  are  the  true 
resorts  of  the  people.  They  begin  at  the  Porte 
Saint-Martin,  and  run  in  a  line  alongthe  Boulevard 
du  Temple,  ever  diminishing  in  importance  and 
value.  Indeed,  this  local  rank  and  range  is  very 
correct.  First  of  all  we  have  the  theatre  which 
bears  the  name  of  the  Porte  Saint-Martin,  and 
which  is  the  best  theatre  for  the  drama  in  Paris. 
There  the  works  of  Victor  Hugo  and  of  Dumas 
are  most  admirably  given  by  an  excellent  troupe, 
in  which  are  Mademoiselle  Georges  and  Bocage. 
Then  comes  the  Ambigu-Comique,  which  is  in- 
ferior as    regards    plays   and    actors,  yet   where 


'36 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 


the  Romantic  drama  is  still  given.  Then  we 
come  to  Franconi's,  which  cannot  properly  be  in- 
cluded among  my  subjects,  since  they  there  give 
plays  written  more  for  horses  than  for  men. 
Then  we  have  La  Gaiety,  a  theatre  which  was 
burned  down  not  long  ago,  but  which  is  now 
rebuilt  in  a  style  corresponding  externally  and 
internally  to  its  name.  The  Romantic  drama  has 
here  also  rights  of  citizenship,  and  here  too,  even 
in  this  pleasant  place,  tears  flow  and  hearts  beat 
with  the  most  terrible  emotions ;  but  there  is 
on  the  whole  more  singing  and  laughter,  and 
here  the  vaudeville  often  comes  lightly  trilling 
forth.  1 

It  is  much  the  same  in  the  neighbouring 
building,  Les  Folies  Dramatiques,  which  gives 
dramas,  and  even  more  vaudevilles;  but  this 
theatre  is  by  no  means  bad,  and  I  have  seen 
many  a  good  piece  there  well  brought  out. 
Following  the  Folies  Dramatiques  in  direction 
as  well  as  in  decreasing  quality,  is  the  theatre 
of  Madame  Saqui,  where  there  are  also  dramas, 
but  of  the  wretchedest  quality,  with  miserable 
music-hall  pieces  (Singspdsse),  which  finally  de- 
generate in  the  neighbouring  Funambules  (the 
rope-dancers)  to  the  grossest  farces.  Here,  how- 
ever, one  of  the  most  comical  of  clowns  (Pierrots)^ 
the  famous  Debureau,  cuts  his  white  flour-faced 
grimaces.     And  behind  this,  again,  I  discovered 


»   «>/(   If »      *>  .-;». 


..^«»»y.  *  -f' 


•^-^. --«'',  V* 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.      ;  ^ 

a  very  small  theatre  where  they  play  as  badly 
as  possible,  where  badness  reaches  its  extreme 
limits,  and  art  is  nailed  up  with  boards. 

Since  you  left  Paris  a  new  theatre  has  been 
built  at  the  very  extremity  of  the  Boulevards, 
near  the  Bastile,  and  it  is  called  the  Th^tre  de 
la  Porte  Saint- Antoine.  It  is  in  every  respect 
hors  de  ligne,  and  it  cannot  be  ranked,  either 
as  regards  artistic  or  local  position,  among  the 
theatres  of  the  Boulevard  which  I  have  de- 
scribed. And  it  is  as  yet  too  new  for  me  to 
decide  as  to  the  exact  measure  of  its  merits.  It 
is  near  the  Place  de  la  Bastile,  as  I  said,  and  I 
saw  in  it  not  long  ago  a  drama  bearing  the  name 
of  the  prison,  in  which  there  were  some  very 
striking  scenes.  The  heroine  was  of  course  a 
married  lady,  wife  of  the  governor  or  jailor, 
and  she  escapes  with  a  prisoner  of  state.  I  there 
also  saw  a  good  comedy  called  Mariez-vous,  done, 
setting  forth  the  sorrows  of  a  husband  who  could 
find  or  make  no  Tnariage  de  convenance  in  good 
society,  and  so  weds  a  pretty  girl  from  among 
the  people.  The  young  wife  takes  a  cousin  for 
a  lover ;  this  latter  and  the  mother-in-law  unite 
in  enmity  against  the  husband,  whom  they  ruin 
by  extravagant  luxury  and  disorder.  To  make  a 
living  for  his  family,  the  poor  devil  is  obliged  to 
open  at  the  Barrier  a  pot-house  and  dance-hall 


338 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 


for  the  lowest  class.  When  a  quadrille  was  not 
complete,  he  made  his  seven-year-old  son  dance 
in  it,  and  this  infant  had  already  learned  how  to 
vary  his  steps  with  the  most  indecent  pantomime 
of  the  cTiahut.  In  this  situation  the  father  is 
found  by  a  friend,  to  whom  the  poor  man,  violin 
in  hand,  while  fiddling,  jumping,  and  calling  out 
the  figures,  relates  during  the  pauses  all  his 
family  troubles.  One  can  imagine  nothing  more 
painful  than  this  contrast  of  the  narrative  and 
the  occupation  of  the  narrator,  who  must  often 
break  ofi"  his  bitter  story  with  a  chassez!  a  en 
avant  devx  !  and  spring  into  the  figure  and  dance 
himself.  The  music  of  the  contre-danse  which 
melodramatically  accompanies  this  story  of  mar- 
ried woes,  with  its  pretty  melodies  associated 
with  so  much  gaiety  and  cheerfulness,  here  form 
a  contrast  of  irony  which  cuts  to  the  heart.  I 
could  not  join  in  the  roars  of  laughter  of  all 
around.  But  I  did  laugh,  and  that  only  at  the 
father-in-law,  an  old  toper  who  has  drunk  up 
house  and  home,  and  who  must  at  last  beg  for  a 
living.  But  his  style  of  begging  is  original  and 
humoroua  He  is  a  fat  lazy-belly  with  a  tippling 
red  face — un  gros  faineant  d  rouge  trogne  de 
huveur — and  he  leads  about  with  a  cord  a 
wretched  blind  dog  whom  he  calls  his  Belisa- 
rius.     Man,  he  declares,  is  ungrateful  to  dogs, 


THE  FRENCH  STAOE.  90 

who  SO  often,  as  trusty  guides,  lead  blind  men 
about ;  and  he  will  repay  them  this  debt  due  to 
their  philanthropy,  and  so  leads  a  blind  dog — 
his  dear  Belisarius. 

I  laughed  so  heartily  at  this  that  my  neigh- 
bours certainly  thought  I  was  the  chatouillev/r 
or  tickler  of  the  theatre. 

Do  you  know  what  a  chatouilleur  is  ?  I  my- 
self only  recently  learned  its  meaning,  and  I  owe 
the  information  to  my  barber,  whose  brother  has 
the  situation  of  chatouUleur  in  a  theatre  on  the 
Boulevards.  He  is  paid  to  attend  comedies,  and, 
whenever  a  witticism  is  uttered,  to  burst  into  a 
roar  of  laughter,  so  as  to  excite  it  in  all  about 
him.  This  is  a  very  important  situation,  and 
the  success  of  many  farces  depends  entirely  on  it. 
For  the  good  jokes  are  often  fearfully  bad,  and 
the  public  might  never  notice  them  at  all  did  not 
the  chatouilleur  J  by  the  infinitely  varied  modula- 
tions of  his  laughter,  from  a  subdued  chuckle  up 
to  the  most  tremendous  horse-laugh,  know  how 
to  spread  the  contagion  of  merriment.  Laughter 
has,  like  yawning,  an  epidemic  character,  and  I 
recommend  you  to  introduce  the  chatouilleur  to 
the  German  stage.  Yawners  you  have  already 
in  abundance.  But  it  is  not  so  easy  to  fulfil  its 
functions,  for,  as  my  barber  assures  me,  it  requires 
a  great  deal  of  talent.  His  brother  has  prac- 
tised it  for  fifteen  years,  and  brought  it  to  such 


240 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 


a  virtnoBO  force,  that  he  has  but  to  raise  one  of 
his  finer,  half-subdned,  half-involuntary  sniggers 
to  make  the  whole  audience  roar.  "He  is  a 
man  of  talent,"  added  my  barber,  "  and  earns 
more  money  than  I  do;  for  besides  being  a 
laugher,  he  is  also  a  regular  mourner  at  the 
pompes  funSres,  and  he  often  attends  as  many 
as  five  or  six  funerals  of  a  morning.  Ah !  if 
you  could  see  him  in  his  raven-black  suit  of 
clothes,  with  his  white  handkerchief  and  sorrow- 
ful face — why,  he  can  look  so  sad  that  one  would 
swear  he  was  following  the  funeral  of  his  own 
father!"  I 

Really,  my  dear  Lewald,  I  am  full  of  respect 
for  such  brilliant  versatility,  and  yet  for  all  the 
money  in  the  world  would  not  fulfil  the  functions 
of  that  man.  Fancy — I  say  fancy — how  terrible 
it  must  be  in  a  fine  morning  in  spring,  when  one 
has  enjoyed  a  delightful  cup  of  coffee,  and  the 
sun  smiles  into  your  very  heart,  to  have  to  as- 
sume a  long  funeral  face  (^Leicheribittermiene)  and 
to  shed  tears  for  some  small  grocer  whom  one 
probably  did  not  know,  and  whose  death  can  only 
benefit  you  to  the  extent  of  seven  francs  and  ten 
sous.  And  then,  when  one  has  returned  six 
times  from  churchyards,  and  is  dead-tired  and  ready 
to  die  of  mourning  and  misery,  to  have  to  laugh 
all  the  evening — aye,  laugh  at  all  the  wretched 
tips  which  one  has  laughed  at  so  often — laugh 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  241 

with  all  your  face,  and  with  every  nmscle — with 
all  the  convulsions  of  body  and  soul — to  wake  to 
laughter  a  hlas^  pit.  .  .   . 

It  is  awful !     I  had  rather   be  the  King  of 
France.^ 


^  Heine  here  does  not  qnite  understand  the  bnsiness  of  the 
ehatouHleur  or  tickler,  so  called  because  he  is  supposed  to 
increase  gaiety  and  thereby  stimulate  interest.  A  great  many 
even  of  the  very  best  jests  or  witticisms  are  not  caught  in 
ordinary  conversation  (especially  when  they  are  not  deliberately 
set  forth  as  droll)  by  ordinary  minds.  I  once  knew  a  man  who 
prided  himself  on  being  able  to  pass  off  the  most  exquisite  bits 
'  of  humour  in  talking  so  that  no  one  could  perceive  them,  and 
bis  Buocew  was  great.  The  ehatouUUur  points  out  good  thing*, 
which  may  be  indeed  admirable,  and  which  might  in  the  haste 
of  action  and  dialogue  be  lost.  Now  that  "subdued  irony" 
prevails,  there  is  no  occasion  for  a  tickler  to  awake  us  to  a  sense 
of  jokes— there  being  none — only  a  subdued  senw  of  "  s(»nething 
smileable. " — TratuUUor, 


NINTH  LETTER' 

But  what  is  music  ? 

This  question  occupied  my  mind  last  night  for 
full  an  hour  before  I  fell  asleep.  There  is  some- 
thing marvellous  in  music — I  may  say  that  it  is 
a  marvel.  It  has  a  place  between  thought  and 
what  is  seen ;  it  is  a  dim  mediator  between  spirit 
and  matter,  allied  to  and  differing  from  both ;  it 
is  spirit  wanting  the  measure  of  time  and  matter 
which  can  dispense  with  space. 

No,  we  do  not  know  what  music  is.  But 
what  good  music  is,  is  certainly  known  to  us,  and, 
better  still,  that  which  is  bad  j  for  we  have  all 
heard  a  great  deal  of  the  latter.  Musical  criticism 
can  only  base  itself  upon  experience,  not  on 
synthesis ;  it  should  only  classify  musical  works 
according  to  their  similarity,  and  take  the  impres- 
sion deduced  from  the  whole  as  standard. 

Nothing  is  more  inadequate  than  theorising  in 


;-^^^v 


^  The  ninth  and  tenth  letters  of  this  series  are  omitted  in  the 

French  version. 

343 


::.J'' 


THE  FRENCH  STAOB.  843 

music.  Here  there  are  indeed  laws,  mathemati- 
cally determined  laws.  Yet  these  laws  are  not 
mnsic,  but  its  conditions,  jnst  as  the  art  of 
drawing  and  the  theory  of  colours,  or  even 
palette  and  brush,  are  not  painting,  but  only 
means  needful  for  it.  The  soul  of  music  is  reve- 
lation ;  there  can  be  no  accurate  account  thereof, 
and  true  musical  criticism  is  a  science  of  expe- 
rience. ■'.'■^  ''■■-.  ■-■'■''■■■'^^  :-- 

I  know  of  nothing  more  wearisome  than  a 
criticism  by  Monsieur  Fetis,  or  by  his  son  Mon- 
sieur Foetus,^  in  which  the  value  or  worthlessness 
of  a  musical  work  is  proved  by  d  priori  reasoning 
from  final  grounds.  Such  critiques,  composed  in 
a  kind  of  argot,  are  larded  with  technical  expres- 
sions not  familiar  to  the  generally  cultivated 
world,  but  only  to  practical  artists,  yet  which 
give  to  their  rubbish  (leeren  Gewdsche)  an  air 
which  imposes  on  the  multitude.  As  my  friend 
Detmold  has  written,  as  regards  painting,  a 
manual  by  means  of  which  any  one  can  become  a 
connoisseur  in  two  lessons,  so  should  some  one  by 
means  of  an  ironical  vocabulary  of  musical  critic 
phrases  and  orchestra  jargon  put  an  end  to  the 


^  Unless,  indeed,  it  be  the  too  frequent  assurance  that 
nothing  is  more  wearisome  or  more  inadequate,  and  so  on. 
When  a  superlative  of  anything  has  been  once  declared,  there 
can  be  no  duplicates.  Heine  is  as  bad  as  Foe's  "  Raven,"  with 
his  "Never" — or  "Nothing  more." — Tramlator. 


■f.u.^^ 


244 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 


mere  tirade-work  of  Fetis  and  Fcstns.  The  very 
best  musical  criticism — ^the  only  kind,  perhaps, 
which  proves  anything — I  heard  last  year  in 
Marseilles  at  a  tdble-d'hdte  where  two  commis- 
voyageurs  disputed  over  the  topic  of  the  day,  as 
to  whether  Rossini  or  Meyerbeer  was  the  greatest 
master.  As  soon  as  one  declared  that  the  Italian 
had  pre-excellence,  the  other  replied,  not  however 
with  dry  words,  but  by  trilling  several  particularly 
beautiful  airs  from  jRobert  le  Diahle.  Thereupon, 
the  other  could  make  no  keener  retort  than  to 
sing  with  zeal  firagments  from  the  Barber  of 
Seville,  and  so  the  two  kept  it  up  all  through  the 
dinner.  Instead  of  a  noisy  war  of  worthless 
words,  they  gave  us  admirable  table-music,  and 
I  finally  admitted  that  people  should  either  never 
dispute  at  all  as  to  music,  or,  if  they  must,  let  it 
be  in  this  realistic  illustrative  manner. 

You  see,  my  dear  friend,  that  I  shall  not  bur- 
den yon  with  hackneyed  (Tierkommlichen)  phrases 
as  regards  the  opera.  Yet,  in  speaking  of  the 
French  stage,  I  cannot  leave  the  latter  all  un- 
noticed. Nor  need  you  fear  from  me  any  com- 
parative discussion  of  Rossini  and  Meyerbeer  in 
wonted  fashion.^  I  limit  myself  to  loving  both, 
nor  would  I  praise  one  at  the  expense  of  the  other. 


*  This  ia  the  dne  notification  that  a  tremendons  oomparisoa 
of  the  two,  in  qoite  wonted  faahion,  is  coining. — Trandator. 


THE  FRENCH  STAOB.  MS 

If  I  sympathise  a  little  more  perhaps  with  the 
former  than  with  the  latter,  it  is  only  a  private 
or  personal  feeling,  and  in  no  respect  a  recogni- 
tion of  greater  merit.  Perhaps  it  is  unvirtuous 
qoalities  (VnttLgenden)  which  chime  in  echo  to 
so  many  un virtues  corresponding  by  elective 
affinity  in  myself.  By  natnre  I  incline  to  a 
certain  dolce  far  niente,  and  I  like  to  loll  on 
flowery  banks  and  gaze  upon  the  calmly  passing 
clouds,  and  take  joy  in  the  light  upon  them  ;  but 
chance  wills  it  that  I  must  be  very  often  awakened 
from  such  comfortable  dreaming  or  visioning  by 
hard  knocks  in  the  ribs  administered  by  fate. 
Yes,  1  must  by  compulsion  take  part  in  the 
sufferings  and  battles  of  the  time  ;  and  my  share 
therein  was  honourable,  and  I  battled  against  the 
bravest.^  .  .  .  But  I  know  not  how  I  shall  ex- 
press myself;  in  my  feelings  there  was  always  a 
certain  difference  from  those  of  others.  I  knew 
what  their  feelings  were,  but  mine  were  unlike 
theirs ;  and  when  I  rode  my  war-horse  ever  so 
wildly  and  daringly,  and  struck  so  mercilessly  at 


^  One  would  really  like  to  know  when,  where,  and  how  all 
this  tremendous  fighting,  of  which  Heine  boasts  so  much,  ever 
came  off,  unless  it  is  that  he  alludes  to  his  ribald  onslaughts 
on  such  folk  as  Platen,  the  Schlegels,  Raupach,  and  one  or  two 
women ;  most  of  which  recalls  what  was  said  of  a  New  York 
journalist,  that  be  was  the  bravest  man  who  ever  lived,  becanag 
nobody  ever  beat  him  in  blackguarding. — Translator. 


t^^**^ *••«.-  *««-* i»^«^, ^»-'*-i» ^:f-»^*^«fe.^:^,f«-*s^;«i»*fi!^ 


346 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 


the  enemy  with  my  sword,  still  I  never  felt  the 
fever  nor  the  joy  nor  the  agony  of  battle  ;  my 
own  inner  calm  seemed  to  me  uncanny.  I 
observed  that  my  thoughts  lingered  elsewhere, 
while  I  fought  in  the  thickest  press  of  party 
strife ;  and  I  often  seemed  to  myself  like  Ogier 
the  Dane,  who  fought  the  Saracens  while  walking 
in  his  sleep.  Hossini  must  needs  correspond 
more  nearly  to  such  a  man  than  does  Meyer- 
beer, and  yet  at  certain  times  the  man  will 
assuredly  enthusiastically  adore  the  latter,  though 
he  may  not  throw  his  whole  soul  towards  him. 
For  it  is  on  the  waves  of  Rossini's  music  that 
there  are  rocked  as  in  a  boat  most  at  their  ease 
the  individual  joys  and  sorrows  of  man — ^love 
and  hate,  tenderness  and  yearning,  jealousy  and 
sulkiness.  Everything  is  here  the  isolated  feel- 
ing of  a  single  mind.  Therefore  the  predomi- 
nance of  melody,  which  is  always  the  direct 
expression  of  isolated  sentiment  (isolirten  Emp- 
Jindens)}  But  in  Meyerbeer  harmony  governs, 
and  the  melodies  die  away,  yea,  are  drowned  in 
the  stream  of  harmonious  masses,  just  as  the 
characteristic  feelings  of  single  men  are  lost  in 
the  united  feeling  of  a  whole  race,  and  our  soul 
gladly  throws  itself  into  this  harmonious  flood 


^  Perceptive  feelinga,  or  susceptibility  in  its  truej  not  ezag- 
gersted  sense. — Trandator. 


i^'-*   .  ^  .*T»« 


r"«<**^t*, ,  .»**-^„«>»'-i-»  *.  * 


>r..j>?^ 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  247 

when  it  is  inspired  and  seized  by  the  joys  and 
sorrows  of  all  mankind,  and  takes  part  in  the 
great  questions  of  society.  Meyerbeer's  music 
is  rather  social  than  individual ;  and  the  grate- 
ful present,  which  finds  its  internal  and  external 
strifes,  its  differences  of  feeling  and  its  differ- 
ences of  personal  opinion  (  WUlenskampf ),ita  needs 
and  hopes,  in  his  music,  exults  in  or  exalts  (feiert) 
its  own  passion  and  inspiration  while  it  applauds 
the  great  master.  Rossini's  music  was  better 
adapted  to  the  time  of  the  Restoration,  when, 
afber  great  struggles  and  disillusions,  enthusiasm 
for  their  great  common  interests,  among  men 
who  were  wearied  of  it  all,  passed  into  the  back- 
ground, and  a  realisation  of  their  own  personality 
{Ichkeit)  began  to  again  assume  its  legitimate 
rights.  Rossini  would  never  have  attained  his 
great  popularity  during  the  Revolution  or  in  the 
days  of  the  Empire.  Robespierre  would  perhaps 
have  accused  him  of  anti-patriotic,  moderating 
melodies,  and  Napoleon  certainly  would  not  have 
appointed  him  master  of  music  for  the  grand 
arm^,  where  a  universal  inspiration  was  required. 
Poor  Swan  of  Pesaro !  the  Gallic  cock  and  the 
Imperial  eagle  would  perhaps  have  torn  thee, 
and  fitter  far  for  thee  than  battlefields  of  bour- 
geois virtue  and  fame  would  have  been  some 
silent  lake  on  whose  banks  the  tender  lilies  would 
have  gently  and  peacefully  bowed  to  thee,  and 


■♦!^'%.i;>*»  "i«i^^i,#.4*^^ 


248 


THE  FRENCH  STAOE. 


where  thoa  coaldst  have  swum  calmly  here  and 
there,  with  beauty  and  loveliness  in  every  move- 
ment The  Restoration  was  Rossini's  time  of 
triumph,  and  even  the  stars  of  heaven,  who  were 
then  holding  their  eve  of  repose,  and  had  ceased 
to  trouble  themselves  with  the  affairs  of  man- 
kind, listened  to  him  enraptured. 

But  meantime  the  Revolution  of  July  had 
caused  a  vast  movement  in  heaven  and  on  earth. 
Stars  and  men,  angels  and  kings,  yea,  even  God 
himself,  were  rapt  from  their  life  of  peace,  had 
once  more  a  great  deal  to  do,  had  to  arrange  a 
new  era,  had  neither  leisure  nor  repose  enough 
of  soul  to  enjoy  the  melodies  of  private  feelings ; 
and  only  when  the  great  chorus  of  Robert  It 
Diahle  or  of  the  Huguenots  harmoniously  growled, 
harmoniously  exulted,  harmoniously  sobbed  and 
sighed,  did  their  hearts  listen,  and  sob  and  sigh, 
exult  and  growl,  in  inspired  unity  with  it. 

This  is  perhaps  the  ultimate  foundation,  a  real 
reason  of  that  unheard-of  colossal  approbation 
which  the  two  operas  of  Meyerbeer  enjoy  through 
all  the  world.  He  is  the  man  of  his  time,  and 
the  time,  which  always  knows  how  to  choose  its 
men,  has,  with  a  tumult,  raised  him  on  the  shield 
and  proclaimed  his  mastery  and  dominion,  and 
makes  with  him  triumphal  entrance.  Yet  it  is 
not  such  a  very  comfortable  position  when  one 
is  carried  in  triumph.     By  a  stumble,  or  by  the 


THE  FRENCH  STAQB.         -  4|t 

awkwardness  of  one  o^tibe  shield-bearers,  one 
may  be  sadly  jolted,  if  not  badly  injured  j  the 
garlands  and  bouquets  which  are  thrown  at  the 
conqueror's  head  may  now  and  then  wound  more 
than  gratify,  if  they  at  least  do  not  defile  when 
thrown  by  dirty  hands;  and  the  overload  of 
laurels  may  at  least  cause  a  sweating  of  anxiety. 
When  Bossini  meets  such  a  procession,  he  laughs 
ironically  with  his  Italian  lips,  and  bewails  his 
digestion,  which  becomes  worse  day  by  day,  so 
that  he  can  eat  nothing. 

Which  is  a  hard  case,  for  Bossini  was  always 
one  of  the  greatest  of  gourmands.  Meyerbeer  is 
just  the  contrary ;  he  is  in  his  pleasures,  as  in 
his  external  appearance,  modesty  itself.  It  is 
only  when  he  invites  friends  that  he  has  a  good 
table.  Once  when  I  dropped  in  to  dine  with 
him,  d  la  fortune  du  pot,  and  take  pot-luck,  I 
found  him  over  a  poor  dish  of  dried  cod-fish 
(Stockfische),  which  was  all  his  meal ;  on  seeing 
which,  I  naturally  declared  that  I  had  already 
dined. 

Many  say  that  he  is  miserly,  but  it  is  not  true. 
He  is  only  parsimonious  as  regards  his  own  per- 
sonal expenses.  He  is,  as  regards  others,  prodi- 
gality itself,  and  his  poor  fellow-countrymen  have 
benefited  by  this  even  unto  abuse.  Benevolence 
is  a  household  virtue  among  the  Meyerbeers, 
especially  with  the  mother,  to  whom  I  send  pack- 


*  Jfc»>»i»i*^t^»--*--«>  ."»■■*  ••.fc.'Wi*-  '*'^ 


•9ft 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 


ing  all  who  need  charity,  and  never  in  vain. 
This  woman  is,  however,  the  most  fortunate 
mother  in  the  world.  The  renown  of  her  son 
rings  round  her  wherever  she  goes  or  stands ; 
everywhere  she  hears  scraps  of  his  music,  every- 
where there  shines  his  fame ;  and  in  the  opera, 
where  an  entire  public  expresses  its  enthusiasm 
for  Giacomo  in  noisiest  applause,  her  mother's 
heart  beats  with  raptures  which  we  can  hardly 
imagine.  I  know  of  but  one  mother  in  all  the 
history  of  the  world  who  is  to  be  compared  to 
her.  That  was  the  mother  of  San  Carlo  Borromeo, 
who  during  her  life  saw  her  son  canonised,  and 
who  in  the  church  among  thousands  of  believers 
could  kneel  and  pray  to  him. 

Meyerbeer  is  now  writing  a  new  opera,  which 
I  anticipate  with  great  eagerness.  The  deve- 
lopment of  this  genius  is  for  me  a  very  notable 
drama.  I  follow  with  interest  the  phases  of  his 
musical  as  well  as  of  his  personal  life,  and  observe 
the  mutual  influences  existing  between  him  and 
his  European  public.  It  is  now  ten  years  since 
I  first  met  him  in  Berlin,  between  the  University 
and  the  watch-house,  between  learning  and  the 
drum-beat,  and  he  seemed  to  feel  himself  sadly 
crammed  and  confined  in  such  a  situation.  I  re- 
member that  I  met  him  in  the  company  of  Dr.  Marx, 
who  then  belonged  to  a  certain  musicsJ  regency, 
which,  during  the  minority  of  a  certain  youthful 


THE  FRENCH  STAGS,  251 

genius,  who  was  regarded  as  the  legitimate  royal 
heir  of  Mozart,  paid  constant  homage  to  Sebas- 
tian Bach.  The  enthusiasm  for  Sebastian  Bach 
was  not  only  intended  to  fill  that  interregnum, 
but  also  to  ruin  the  reputation  of  Bossini,  whom 
the  regency  chiefly  feared,  and  also  mostly  hated. 
Meyerbeer  then  passed  for  a  follower  of  Rossini, 
and  Dr.  Marx  treated  him  with  a  certain  conde- 
scension and  affable  air  of  superiority  at  which  I 
must  needs  now  laugh  heartily.  Rossinism  was 
then  the  great  fault  or  failing  of  Meyerbeer ;  he 
was  still  far  from  the  honour  to  be  opposed  to 
him  in  person.  He  wisely  refrained  from  all 
pretension,  and  when  I  once  told  him  with  what 
enthusiasm  I  had  lately  seen  his  Crociato  re- 
ceived in  Italy,  he  smiled  with  an  eccentric  sad- 
ness and  said,  "You  compromise  yourself  by 
praising  me,  a  poor  Italian,  here  in  Berlin,  in 
the  capital  of  Sebastian  Bach." 

Meyerbeer  in  those  days  had  really  become 
entirely  an  imitator  of  the  Italians.  Discontent 
with  the  clammy,  cold,  deliberately  witty,  colour- 
less Berlinism  had  at  an  early  period  produced 
in  him  a  natural  reaction ;  he  escaped  to  Italy ; 
gaily  enjoyed  his  life ;  gave  himself  altogether 
up  to  his  private  feelings,  and  there  composed 
those  exquisite  operas  in  which  Rossinism  is 
heightened  with  the  most  charming  exaggera- 
tion, where  the  gold  is  over-gilt,  and  the  flower 


^•wr.4»,.;,.  »  t'  •  ■  -rr^  >  A.  ■••»4k;.,^*-»*«pij*l^  |^.^-.^;i^^:>^,.^v--     v  ,  ,^'».>., 


»S2  THE  FRENCH  STAOB. 

perf  amed  with  more  flagrant  odonrs.  That  was 
the  happy  time  of  Meyerbeer,  he  wrote  in  an 
enraptured  revel  of  Italian  sensoality,  and  plucked 
the  fairest  flowers  of  life  or  art. 

But  that  could  not  long  satisfy  a  German 
nature.  A  certain  home-sickness  for  the  serious- 
ness of  his  native  land  awoke  in  him,  and  while 
he  lounged  under  Italian  myrtles,  there  stole 
over  him  memories  of  the  mysterious  strange  awe 
in  German  forests,  a^d  while  southern  zephyrs 
fanned  him,  he  thought  of  the  dark  chorals  of 
the  north  wind.  He  felt  perhaps  as  did  Madame 
de  S^vign^,  who,  when  dwelling  near  an  orangerie, 
and  constantly  perfumed  with  orange  flowers, 
began  at  last  to  long  for  the  smell  of  a  manure 
cart.  In  short,  a  new  reaction  took  place.  Sig- 
nore  Giacomo  suddenly  became  once  more  a 
German,  and  again  allied  himself  to  Germany — 
not  to  the  old,  decayed,  lived-out  Germany  of 
narrow-hearted  petty  hov/rgeoisie,  but  to  the  young 
great-hearted,  cosmopolite  Germany  of  a  new 
generation,  which  has  made  all  questions  of 
humanity  its  own,  and  which  has  inscribed,  if 
not  on  its  banner,  yet  all  the  more  indelibly,  the 
greatest  problems  of  mankind  on  its  heart. 

Soon  after  the  Revolution  of  July,  Meyerbeer 
came  before  the  public  with  a  new  work,  which, 
during  the  storm  (Wehen)  of  that  Kevolution, 
had  sprung  from  his  soul;  ?rith  Robert  le  Diable, 


»»»rv<ui>i 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  253 

the  hero  who  knows  not  what  he  will  or  would, 
who  is  ever  at  war  with  himself,  a  true  picture 
of  the  moral  irresolution  of  that  epoch,  a  time 
which  in  tortured  restlessness  fluttered  between 
virtue  and  vice,  which  fretted  and  exasperated 
itself  amid  efforts  and  hindrances,  and  which 
never  had  strength  enough  to  resist  the  attacks 
of  Satan !  I  do  not  in  any  respect  like  this 
opera,  this  masterpiece  of  timid,  faint-hearted- 
ness.  I  say  faint-heartedness  not  only  as  regards 
the  subject,  but  the  exertion,  since  the  composer 
in  it  does  not  trust  to  his  genius,  does  not  dare 
to  surrender  himself  to  his  full  will,  and,  trem- 
bling, ministers  to  the  multitude  instead  of  boldly 
commanding  it. 

Meyerbeer  was  then  called,  quite  correctly, 
an  anxious  genius ;  there  was  wanting  a  con- 
quering faith  in  himself;  he  showed  himself 
afraid  of  public  opinion ;  the  least  blame  fright- 
ened him  ;  he  flattered  all  the  caprices  of  the 
public,  and  shook  hands  right  and  left  with 
everybody  most  earnestly,  as  if  he  had  recognised 
in  music  itself  the  sovereignty  of  the  people,  and 
would  found  his  government  on  a  majority  of 
votes ;  unlike  Bossini,  who  ruled  absolutely  in 
the  realm  of  the  art  of  sweet  sounds.  This 
anxiety  has  not  left  him  as  yet  in  life ;  he  is 
still  deeply  concerned  as  to  public  opinion,  but 
the   result    of  Robert   le  DiabU   was  thus   far 


254  THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 

fortunate  for  him  that  he  was  not  worried  with 
snch  care  while  working  j  that  he  composed  with 
greater  certainty ;  that  he  allowed  the  great  will 
of  his  soul  to  show  itself  in  its  creationa  With 
this  extended  freedom  of  soul,  he  wrote  the 
Huffiunots,  in  which  all  doubt  and  indecision 
disappeared ;  the  inner  strife  with  self  ceased, 
and  the  external  conflict  began,  whose  colossal 
form  amazes  us.  By  this  work  Meyerbeer  won 
for  himself  his  immortal  right  of  citizenship  in 
the  eternal  spiritual  city  (Geisterstadt),  in  the 
Heavenly  Jerusalem  of  art.  It  was  in  the 
HitgtLenots  that  Meyerbeer  finally  revealed  him- 
self without  fear;  in  it  he  drew  with  bold 
outlines  all  his  thoughts,  and  here  he  dared  to 
utter  as  boldly  all  which  inspired  his  heart  in 
unrestrained  tones.  I 

What  specially  distinguishes  this  work  is  the 
symmetry  or  due  proportion  in  it  between  enthu- 
siasm and  artistic  finish,  or,  to  better  express 
myself,  the  equal  height  which  passion  and  art 
attain  in  it.  Here  the  man  and  the  artist  have 
competed,  and  while  the  former  rings  the  alarm- 
bell  of  the  wildest  passions,  the  latter  transforms 
the  rude  chords  of  nature  to  the  most  thrilling 
and  sweetest  euphony.  While  the  multitude  are 
carried  away  by  the  inner  strength  and  the 
passion  of  the  HiLguenots,  he  who  is  versed  in 
art  admires    the  mastery  which  is  manifest  in 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  »$$ 

the  form.  This  work  is  a  Gothic  cathedral, 
whose  columns  rising  to  heaven,  and  whose 
colossal  dome,  seem  to  have  been  raised  by  the 
bold  hand  of  a  giant;  while  the  innumerable 
daintily  fine  festoons,  rosettes,  and  arabesques 
which  are  spread  over  it,  like  a  veil  of  lace  in 
stone,  testify  to  the  unwearied  patience  of  dwarfs. 
A  giant  in  the  conception  and  forming  of  the 
whole,  a  dwarf  in  the  laborious  execution  of 
details,  the  architect  of  the  Huguenots  is  as  far 
beyond  our  intelligence  as  the  composers  of  the 
old  cathedrals.  When  I  lately  stood  with  a 
friend  before  that  of  Amiens,  and  he  beheld  with 
awe  and  pity  that  monument  of  giant  strength 
in  towering  stone,  and  of  dwarfish  patience  in 
minute  sculpture,  he  asked  me  how  it  happens 
that  we  can  no  longer  build  such  piles  ?  I 
replied,  "  Dear  Alphonse,  men  in  those  days 
had  convictions ;  we  modems  have  opinions,  and 
it  requires  something  more  than  an  opinion  to 
build  such  a  Gothic  cathedral." 

There  it  is.  Meyerbeer  is  a  man  of  convic- 
tion. This  does  not  really  refer  to  the  social 
questions  of  the  day,  though  even  in  this  respect 
Meyerbeer  has  more  firmly  settled  ideas  than 
other  artists.  Meyerbeer,  who  has  been  loaded 
by  all  the  princes  on  earth  with  all  possible 
orders  and  honours,  and  who  has  also  so  great 
a  fondness  for  such  distinctions,  still  has  a  heart 


25^ 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 


which  glows  for  the  holiest  interests  of  hnma- 
nity,  and  he  plainly  confesses  his  regard  for  the 
heroes  of  the  Revolution.  It  is  well  for  him 
that  many  northern  sovereigns  do  not  understand 
music,  or  they  would  find  in  the  HugtLenots  some- 
thing more  than  a  strife  between  Protestants 
and  Huguenots.  And  yet  his  convictions  are 
not  really  of  a  political,  much  less  of  a  religious 
kind.  Certainly  they  are  not  of  the  latter ;  his 
religion  is  merely  negative  ;  it  only  consists  in 
this,  that  he,  unlike  other  artists,  be  it  from  pride, 
will  not  defile  his  lips  with  any  lie,  and  that  he 
turns  away  from  certain  officious  intrusive  bless- 
ings, the  acceptation  of  which  must  always  be 
regarded  as  an  equivocal,  and  never  as  a  noble 
act. 

Meyerbeer's  real  religion  is  that  of  Mozart, 
Gluck,  or  Beethoven  ;  it  is  music — he  believes 
only  in  it;  it  is  only  in  this  faith  that  he  believes; 
in  it  only  will  he  find  his  happiness,  and  he  holds 
to  a  belief  which  is  like  that  of  earlier  ages  in 
depth,  passion,  and  duration.  Yes,  I  would  even 
say  that  he  is  the  apostle  of  this  religion.  All 
that  which  concerns  his  music  he  treats  as  with 
apostolic  zeal  and  impulse ;  while  other  artists 
are  contented  if  they  have  composed  something 
fine,  and  indeed  often  lose  all  interest  for  their 
work  as  soon  as  it  is  finished,  the  great  anxiety 
as  to  the  child  with  Meyerbeer  begins,  on  the 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  Iff 

contraxy,  after  its  birth ;  he  is  not  content  till 
the  creation  of  his  intellect  reveals  itself  in  full 
brilliancy  to  others,  till  the  whole  public  is 
edified  by  his  music,  till  his  opera  has  poured 
its  sentiments  into  every  heart — sentiments  which 
he  will  preach  to  the  whole  world  and  com- 
municate unto  all  mankind.^  As  the  apostle 
heeded  neither  weariness  nor  psdn  to  rescue  a 
single  lost  soul,  so  Meyerbeer,  when  he  hears 
that  any  one  rejects  his  music,  waylays  him  un- 
weariedly  until  he  is  converted,  and  this  one  lost 
sheep,  be  it  the  soul  of  the  BmaWeat  feuUletoniste 
or  newspaper  scribbler,  is  dearer  to  him  than 
the  whole  flock  of  believers  who  revere  him  with 
orthodox  faith.^ 

Music  is  the  conviction  of  Meyerbeer,  and  that 
is  perhaps  the  cause  of  all  the  deep  anxieties  and 
troubles  of  which  the  great  master  so  often 
publicly  proclaims,  and  which  oft»n  cause  us  to 
smile.  One  should  see  him  when  he  is  prepar- 
ing to  bring  out  a  new  opera.     Then  he  is  the 


^  This  instance  of  repetition  ia  a  mere  trifle  to  one  or  two 
others  which  occur  in  this  sermon  on  Meyerbeer,  which  snper- 
finities  I  have  charitably  suppressed. — Trandator. 

*  This  was  amusingly  set  forth  in  an  article  by  some  Parisian 
journalist,  in  which  Meyerbeer  was  represented  as  being  in 
despair  and  anxiety  for  a  long  time,  and  indifferent  to  all 
honours  and  applause,  because  he  had  found  out  that  a  fourth 
flutist  or  drummer  in  the  orchestra  had  but  an  indifferent 
opinion  of  his  merits  as  a  composer. — Traiulator. 


258  THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 

tormenting  spirit  of  all  the  mnsicians  and  singers, 
whom  he  goads  with  incessant  rehearsals.  He 
is  never,  never  contented.  A  single  false  note 
in  the  orchestra  is  the  stab  of  a  dagger  in  his 
heart,  which  he  thinks  is  a  death-wound.  This 
anxiety  torments  him  even  after  the  opera  has 
been  sung  and  received  with  thunders  of  applause. 
He  still  worries  and  wearies  over  it ;  nor  do  I 
believe  that  he  is  at  peace  until  some  thousands 
of  people  who  have  heard  and  admired  his  opera 
have  died  and  are  buried.  From  these  he  has 
no  cause  to  fear  a  change  of  opinion — their  souls 
are  secured  to  him. 

On  the  day  when  his  opera  is  to  be  brought 
out,  God  himself  cannot  content  or  pacify  him. 
Should  it  rain  and  be  cold,  he  fears  lest  Made- 
moiselle Falcon  catch  cold  ;  but  if  the  evening  is 
fine  and  warm,  then  the  pleasant  weather  will 
tempt  people  into  the  open  air  and  away  from 
the  theatre,  which  will  then  be  empty.  Nothing 
is  to  be  compared  to  the  painful  accuracy  with 
which  Meyerbeer  corrects  his  proofs  when  his 
music  is  at  last  printed,  and  this  has  become 
proverbial  among  Parisian  artists.  But  one 
should  remember  that  music  is  dearer  unto  him 
than  all  on  earth — yes,  dearer  far  than  is  his 
life  itself.  When  the  cholera  began  to  rage  in 
Paris,  I  implored  him  to  flee  as  soon  as  possible, 
but   he  had,   as    he    averred,    affairs    which  he 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  s$9 

absolutely  could  not  put  off — he  had  to  arrange 
with  an  Italian  the  Italian  libretto  for  Robert 
le  Diable. 

And  the  Huguenots  is,  much  more  than  Bobert 
le  Diable,  a  work  of  conviction  both  as  regards 
subject  and  form.  As  I  have  observed,  while 
the  great  multitude  is  carried  away  by  the  sub- 
ject, the  calmer  observer  admires  the  vast  progress 
of  art  and  the  new  forms  which  show  themselves. 
According  to  the  opinions  of  the  most  competent 
judges,  all  musicians  who  would  write  for  the 
opera  must  first  study  the  Huguenots.  Meyerbeer 
has  brought  instrumentation  farther  than  any 
one  before  him.  His  management  of  the  choruses, 
which  here  speak  like  individuals  and  have  aban- 
doned operatic  tradition,  is  unheard  of.  Since 
Don  Juan  there  has  been  assuredly  no  greater 
phenomenon  in  the  realm  of  music  than  that 
fourth  act  of  the  Huguenots,  where,  in  the  terribly 
affecting  scene  of  the  consecration  of  the  swords 
— a  blessing  of  the  lust  for  murder — there  is 
given  a  duet  which  surpasses  what  preceded  it 
— a  colossally  daring  effort,  of  which  one  would 
hardly  have  believed  such  an  apprehensive 
genius  capable,  yet  whose  success  awakens  as 
much  our  delight  as  our  astonishment.  As  for 
me,  I  believe  that  Meyerbeer  did  not  solve  this 
problem  by  means  of  art,  but  by  natural  methods, 
since  that  famous  duet  expresses  a  series  of  feel- 


26o  THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 

ings  which  were  perhaps  never  before  given  in 
an  opera,  certainly  never  with  such  truthfulness, 
and  yet  for  which  the  wildest  sympathy  flamed 
up  in  the  souls  of  all  of  the  present  day.  And  I 
confess  that  my  heart  never  beat  so  wildly  at 
hearing  any  music  as  in  the  fourth  act  of  the 
ffugtienots ;  and  yet  I  gladly  avoid  this  act  and 
its  terrible  excitement,  and  listen  with  far  greater 
pleasure  to  the  second  act.  This  is  an  idyll 
more  abundant  in  intrinsic  merit  (gehcUtvoUeres), 
which  in  fascination  and  grace  recalls  the  roman- 
tic comedies  of  Shakespeare,  and  which  is  yet, 
however,  more  like  the  Aminta  of  Tasso.  And 
indeed  among  its  roses  of  delight  there  lurks 
a  gentle  melancholy  which  recalls  the  ill-fated 
court-poet  of  Ferrara.  It  is  more  the  yearning 
for  joyous  merriment  than  joy  itself;  it  is  no 
laughter  from  the  heart,  but  a  smile  of  the  heart, 
a  heart  which  is  secretly  sick  and  can  only  dream 
of  health.  How  comes  it  that  an  artist  who 
from  his  cradle  onwards  has  had  all  the  blood- 
sucking cares  of  life  fanned  away,  who,  bom 
in  the  lap  of  wealth,  was  fondled  and  pampered 
by  the  whole  family,  who  willingly,  nay,  enthusi- 
astically indulged  all  his  fancies,  and  who  seemed 
more  than  any  mortal  artist  to  be  bom  to  good 
luck — how  comes  it  that  he  experienced  those 
stupendous  sorrows  which  sigh  and  sob  to  ns  in 
his  music  ?     For  what  he  has  not  felt  himself,  no 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  a6l 

musician  can  utter  so  powerfully,  so  overwhelm- 
ingly. It  is  wonderful  that  the  artist  whose 
material  wants  are  satisfied  is  the  more  intoler- 
ably tortured  by  moral  afflictions ;  but  it  is 
fortunate  for  the  public,  which  owes  its  most 
ideal  joys  to  the  artist's  sufferings.  The  artist 
is  that  child  of  whom  the  fairy  tale  relates  that 
all  his  tears  are  pearls.  But  oh  !  the  cruel  step- 
mother, the  world,  beats  the  poor  child  the  more 
unmercifully  to  make  it  weep  as  many  tears  as 
possible. 

It  is  generally  declared  that  there  are  fewer 
melodies  in  the  Huguenots  than  in  Robert  le 
Diable.  This  accusation  is  based  on  an  error. 
"  We  do  not  see  the  forest  for  the  leaves." 
Melody  is  here  subordinate  to  harmony,  and  I 
have  already  intimated  by  a  comparison  with  the 
purely  human  individual  music  of  Rossini,  in 
which  the  reverse  is  the  case,  that  it  is  this  pre- 
dominance of  harmony  which  characterises  the 
music  of  Meyerbeer  as  a  humanly  inspired  socially 
modem  music.  Melodies  are  not  really  wanting 
in  it,  but  they  do  not  obtrude  themselves  dis- 
turbingly prominent  like  rocks,  or,  as  I  may  say, 
egoistically ;  they  serve  for  the  whole,  and  are 
disciplined,  while  with  the  Italians  the  melodies 
are  isolated,  I  might  almost  say  outlawed,  and 
come  out  and  show  themselves  like  their  famoas 
bandits.      One    does    not    notice    it.      Many  a 


'Aimniitt.^^ 


262 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 


common  soldier  fights  as  bravely  as  (a  Fra  Dia- 
volo)  the  single  Calabrian  robber  and  hero  whose 
personal  bravery  would  less  surprise  us  if  he 
fought  in  rank  and  file  among  regular  troops. 
I  will  not  on  my  life  deny  the  rights  of  pre- 
dominance to  melody,  but  I  must  remark  that 
in  Italy  we  see  the  result  of  it  in  that  indiflFer- 
ence  to  the  ensemble  of  an  opera,  or  to  the  opera 
as  a  finished  whole,  and  which  expresses  itself  so 
naively  that  people  in  the  boxes  receive  visits, 
talk  without  restraint,  and  perhaps  play  cards 
while  no  hravuras  are  being  sung. 

The  predominance  of  harmony  in  the  creations 
of  Meyerbeer  is  perhaps  a  necessary  consequence 
of  his  vast  education  or  culture,  which  embraces 
the  realm  of  thought  and  of  things  (der  JSrscJiein- 
ungen).  Treasures  were  spent  on  that  educa- 
tion, and  his  intellect  was  receptive ;  he  was  at 
early  age  initiated  into  all  branches  of  learning, 
and  herein  he  differs  from  most  musicians,  whose 
brilliant  ignorance  is  to  a  degree  pardonable, 
because  they  generally  lack  means  and  time  to 
acquire  much   knowledge   out  of  their   calling.* 


^  "Kindly  said  and  often  pled."  But  bow  was  it  that  the 
artists  of  all  kinds,  masicians  included,  of  the  Renaissance,  who 
were  quite  as  poor  as  those  of  the  present  day,  or,  in  fact,  all 
things  considered,  much  poorer,  contrived  to  educate  tbemgelves 
as  they  did  t  It  certainly  was  not  money  alone  which  made  » 
Lionardo  da  Vinci  or  Michael  Angelo,  a  Benvenuto  Cellini  or 


.-  >-  •  '*•♦-..■-"•>•►, ,  .„ 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE,  263 

Erudition  was  to  him  nature,  and  the  school  of 
the  world  gave  him  the  highest  development ;  he 
belongs  to  that  very  limited  class  of  Germans 
whom  even  France  must  recognise  as  a  pattern 
of  refinement  and  politeness  {Urhanitat).  Such 
a  height  of  culture  was  perhaps  necessary  to 
collect  and  put  into  shape  with  perfect  confi- 
dence such  a  creation  as  the  Huguenots.  But 
did  he  not  lose  in  other  respects  that  which  he 
gained  in  breadth  of  comprehension  and  clearness 
of  perception  ?  Culture  destroys  in  the  artist 
that  accentuation,  that  vividness  and  sharpness 
of  colour  (Schrqffe  Farbwng),  that  originality  of 
thought,  that  directness  of  feeling  which  we 
admire  so  much  in  rudely  limited,  uncultivated 
natures. 

Culture  is  always  expensive,  and  little  Blanks 
is  in  the  right.  She  is  about  eight  years  old, 
and  a  daughter  of  Meyerbeer.  One  day  she 
envied  the  idle  leisure  of  the  small  boys  and 
girls  whom  she  saw  playing  in  the  street,  and 
said,  "What  a  pity  that  I   have  well-edncated 


Diirer  or  Salvator  Rosa  or  Stradella.  In  fact,  the  majority  of 
all  the  great  earlier  artists  were  men  of  vast  and  varied  culture 
It  is  said  that  all  the  genius  of  the  present  day  is  directed  to 
engineering  and  finance.  Non  pottum  hac  eedere.  It  requires 
a  very  different  kind  of  genios  from  that  of  a  Stephenson  to 
form  a  Raphael  But  I  leave  this  thorny  question  to  others. — 
Trandator. 


'y'lim  liliii-'' 


a64 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 


parents !  I  most  learn  all  kinds  of  things  from 
morning  to  night  by  heart,  and  sit  still  and  be 
good,  while  the  ignorant  children  down  there 
run  round  all  day  as  happy  as  can  be,  amusing 
themselves ! "  ^ 


^  Of  this  letter  it  may  be  truly  said  that  Heine  in  it,  as  in 
many  other  papers,  greatly  overdoes  the  true  mission  or  scope 
of  art.  Lessing  in  his  Laoeoon  defined  its  limits,  but  although 
Heine  praises  the  book,  he  never  observed  its  precepts.  The 
operas  of  Hobert  le  Diable  and  Le$  Huguenots  were  great  operas, 
but  they  did  not  carry  the  deepest  conviction  to  mankind  at 
large  as  to  politics,  religion,  and  all  the  most  vital  interests  of 
humanity.  Instrumentation  of  fiddles  and  bass-drums  is  not 
the  solution  of  social  problems,  nor  a  brilliant  duo  a  discus- 
sion of  moral  principles.  According  to  our  author,  Meyerbeer 
preaches  sentiments  "to  the  whole  world  and  all  mankind." 
When  humanity  has  sunk  so  low  that  Lydian  airs  cause  it 
to  forget  all  else,  it  is  degraded  in  strength  or  manliness- 
Music  after  all  is  but  wind,  and  it  would  seem  that  no  one  can 
write  a  great  deal  about  it,  outside  its  true  sphere,  without 
becoming,  as  Heine  does,  extremely  windy. — Translator. 


TENTH  LETTER. 

With  the  exception  of  Meyerbeer,  the  Acad^mie 
Royale  de  Musiqne  has  very  few  poets  of  sweet 
sounds  (Tondichter)  who  are  worth  discussing  in 
detail  And  notwithstanding  this,  the  French 
opera  flourishes  amazingly,  or,  to  express  myself 
more  accurately,  rejoices  daily  in  large  receipts. 
This  condition  of  prosperity  began  six  years  ago, 
under  the  management  of  the  famous  Monsieur 
Veron,  whose  principles  have  since  been  applied 
by  the  new  director,  M.  Duponchel,  with  the  same 
result.  I  say  principles,  because,  in  fact,  Veron 
had  principles,  the  results  of  his  researches  in 
art  and  science;  and  just  as  he,  while  an  apo- 
thecary, discovered  an  admirable  remedy  for 
coughs,  so  he  as  opera  manager  found  an  in- 
fallible cure  for  musia  For  he  having  discovered 
of  himself  that  a  melodramatic  horse-play  at 
Franconi's  delighted  him  more  than  the  best 
opera,  he  drew  the  conclusion  that  the  public, 
for  the  greater  part,  had  the  same  feelings,  that 
most    of   them   only  went  to  the   grand   opera 

because  other  people  did  so  (axes  Konvenienz),  and 

265 


266  THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 

only  enjoyed  themselves  there  when  beautiful 
scenery,  costumes,  and  dancing  attracted  their 
attention  to  such  a  degree  that  the  bothered 
(fatale)  music  was  not  heard  at  all.  So  there 
occurred  to  the  great  Veron  the  genial  idea  to 
gratify  the  public  taste  for  shows  to  such  a 
degree  that  the  music  could  no  longer  trouble 
them  in  the  least,  and  that  they  should  find  as 
much  amusement  as  at  Franconi's.  The  great 
Veron  and  the  great  public  understood  one 
another.  He  knew  how  to  make  music  harmless, 
and  gave  under  the  name  of  "  opera "  nothing 
but  show-and-splendour  pieces;  while  It — the 
public — could  go  with  its  wives  and  daughters  as 
became  genteelly  cultured  people,  without  being 
bored  to  death.  America  was  discovered,  the  egg 
stood  on  end ;  the  opera-house  was  crowded  every 
night ;  Franconi  was  outbid  and  became  bankrupt, 
while  M.  Veron  became  a  wealthy  man.  The 
name  of  Veron  will  live  for  ever  in  the  annals 
of  music ;  he  greatly  adorned  the  temple  of  the 
goddess,  while  he  turned  her  out  of  doors. 
Nothing  can  surpass  the  luxury  which  has  got 
the  upper  hand  {iiberhand  genommen)  in  the  grand 
opera — it  is  now  the  paradise  of  the  deaf. 

The  present  director  follows  the  principles  of 
his  predecessor,  though  he  presents  personally  the 
most  amusingly  sharp  contrast  to  the  former. 
Did  you   ever  see  M.  Veron?      It  must  have 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  967 

often  happened  that  you  met  on  the  Boulevard 
Coblence  or  in  the  Caf^  de  Paris  this  bulky 
caricature-like  form,  with  a  hat  drawn  deeply 
down  on  the  head,  which  was  entirely  buried 
below  in  an  immense  white  cravat,  while  the 
shirt-collars  ^  rose  above  his  ears  so  as  to  conceal 
a  great  scar,  while  very  little  of  the  red  jolly 
face  with  its  small  blinking  eyes  is  visible.  In 
the  full  consciousness  of  his  superior  knowledge 
of  mankind  and  of  his  success,  he  rolls  about 
insolently  at  his  ease,  surrounded  with  a  cortege 
of  young,  and  here  and  there  of  older,  dandies  of 
literature,  whom  he  usually  treats  to  champagne, 
or  beautiful  dancing-girls.  He  is  the  god  of 
sheer  sensuous  materialism,  and  his  glance,  sneer- 
ing at  all  spirit  or  soul,  cut  to  my  heart  painfully 
when  I  met  him.  It  often  seemed  to  me  as  if 
there  crept  from  his  eyes  swarms  of  little  sticky 
shining  worms. 

M.  Duponchel  is  a  lean,  yellowish,  pale  man, 
who,  if  he  has  not  a  noble  mien,  is  at  least  dis- 
tinguS,  always  sad,  with  a  corpsely-bitter  mien, 
so  that  somebody  once  called  him  correctly  un 


'  Vatermorder,  literally  "  parricides ; "  so  called  because  a 
Grerman  student  in  the  days  when  snch  collars  were  made  very 
high,  projecting,  and  sharply  pointed,  had  his  so  fashionably  cut 
and  highly  starched,  that  when,  after  a  long  absence,  he  ran  to 
embrace  his  father,  one  of  the  ends  of  the  "  dicky  "  ran  through 
the  parent's  neck  and  killed  him. — 'I'rafulator. 


268  THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 

deuil  perpetuel.  From  his  personal  appearance 
he  might  sooner  be  taken  for  the  superin- 
tendent of  P^re  la  Chaise  than  the  manager  of 
the  Grand  Opera.  He  always  reminds  me  of 
the  melancholy  court-fool  of  Louis  XIII.  This 
Knight  of  the  Raeful  Countenance  is  now  the 
maitre  de  plaisir  of  the  Parisians,  and  I  would 
like  many  a  time  to  overhear  him  or  read  his 
soul  when  he,  alone  and  at  home,  meditates 
new  jests  wherewith  to  delight  his  sovereign, 
the  French  people,  when  he  with  melancholy 
jester  air  shakes  his  sad  head  till  the  bells  on  his 
black  cap  ring  as  if  sighing,  while  he  colours 
for  Mademoiselle  Falcon  the  design  of  a  new 
costume,  or  looks  over  the  Red  Book  to  see  if 
Taglioni  .  .  }  This  book,  which  characterises 
the  spirit  of  invention,  and  especially  the 
mind  itself,  of  the  former  manager,  M.  Veron, 
is  certainly  of  practical  utility.  .  .  . 

From  the  preceding  remarks  you  will  have 
comprehended  the  present  value  and  significance 
of  the  French  Grand  Opera.  It  has  made  friends 
with  the  enemies  of  music,  and  as  they  have  got 
into  the  Tuileries,  so  the  prosperous  citizens  have 
forced  their  way  into   the   Academy  of  Music, 

^  I  here  omit  two  pages  of  stupid  nastiness,  the  perusal  of 
which  in  the  original  I,  however,  earnestly  commend  to  ladies 
who  are  of  the  opinion  that  "  Heine  is  never  vulgar." — Tram- 
laior. 


tJfmrrmiM^.:,f*^»i 


^  uiAV  -*,V-^ 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  369 

while  the  better  class  of  society  has  left  the  field 
The  refined  aristocracy,  or  the  dite  which  dis- 
tinguishes itself  by  rank,  culture,  birth,  fashion, 
and  leisure,  fled  to  the  Italian  opera,  to  that 
musical  oasis  where  the  great  nightingales  of 
art  still  warble,  where  the  fountains  of  melody 
ever  ripple  with  magic  murmurs,  and  the  palm 
trees  of  beauty  waft  applause  as  with  proudly- 
waving  fans,  while  all  around  there  is  a  wan 
sandy  wilderness,  a  Sahara  of  music.  Only  here 
and  there  in  this  wilderness  rise  a  few  good  con- 
certs, which  are  a  marvellous  refreshment  to  the 
friends  of  the  art  of  sweet  sounds.  To  these 
belonged  this  winter  the  Sundays  of  the  Con- 
servatory, a  few  private  soir^s  in  the  Rue  de 
Bondy,  and  especially  the  concerts  of  Berlioz  and 
Liszt.  The  two  latter  were  indeed  the  most 
remarkable  musical  phenomena  in  the  musical 
world ;  I  say  the  most  remarkable,  not  the  most 
beautiful  or  delightful.  From  Berlioz  we  are 
soon  to  have  an  opera,  the  subject  of  which  will 
be  an  episode  from  the  life  of  Benvenuto  Cel- 
lini, or  the  casting  of  the  Perseus.^     Something 

^  Within  an  hour,  and  while  correcting  this  proof,  I  passed 
and  paused  before  the  Perseus  itself  in  Florence,  and  recalled 
the  marvellous  tale  of  its  casting.  By  odd  coincidence  Heine 
tells  us  in  the  Seitebilder  (chap,  vi  Ideas,  vol.  i.  p.  299)  that 
the  same  difficulty  occurred  in  casting  the  bronze  statue  of  the 
Elector  Jan  Wilhelm  in  Dusseldorf  which  happened  in  making 
the  Perseus. 


470  THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 

extraordinary  is  anticipated,  because  this  composer 
has  already  given  us  extraordinary  work.  The 
direction  of  his  mind  is  to  the  fantastic,  not  allied, 
however,  to  genial  feeling  (Gemuth),  but  to  senti- 
mentality. He  greatly  resembles  Callot,  Gozzi, 
and  Hofifmann.  His  external  appearance  indi- 
cates this.  It  is  a  pity  that  he  has  had  his  hair 
cut,  and  so  lost  that  stupendous,  antediluvian 
/risur  or  bristling  mane  which  fell  over  his  brow 
like  a  forest  over  steep  rocks.  Thus  he  appeared 
when  I  saw  him  six  years  ago  for  the  first  time, 
and  so  will  he  ever  remain  fixed  in  my  memory. 
It  was  in  the  Conservatoire  de  Musique,  and  there 
was  given  a  great  symphony  by  him,  a  bizarre 
nocturne,  which  was  only  lighted  up  now  and 
then  by  a  sentimental  white  feminine  skirt  which 
fluttered  here  and  there,  or  by  a  brimstone  yellow 
light  of  irony.  The  best  thing  in  it  is  a  Witches' 
Sabbath,  in  which  the  devil  reads  a  mass,  and 
the  Catholic  Church  music  is  parodied  with  the 
most  terrible  and  excruciating  mockery.  It  is  a 
farce  in  which  all  the  mysterious,  subtle  serpents 
which  we  bear  in  our  bosoms  leap  up  hissing  in 
rapture. 

A  young  gentleman  who  sat  by  me  in  the  box, 
who  was  talkative  and  lively,  pointed  out  to  me 
the  composer,  who  sat  at  the  extreme  end  of  the 
hall,  in  a  corner  of  the  orchestra,  and  played  on 
the  kettledrum,  for  this  is  his  instrument.     "  Do 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  271 

you  see  in  the  front  scene,"  asked  my  neighbour, 
"  that  plump  young  English  lady  ?  That  is  Miss 
Smithson,  with  whom  Berlioz  has  been  for  three 
years  dead  in  love,  and  we  may  thank  this  pas- 
sion for  the  wild  symphony  which  you  now  hear." 
And,  truly  enough,  there  in  the  front  scene  or 
proscenium-box  sat  the  celebrated  actress  of 
Covent  Garden  Theatre,  while  Berlioz  stared 
steadily  at  her  alone,  and  when  her  glance  met 
his,  then  he  pounded  away  on  his  drum  like 
mad.  .  .  . 

Since  then  Miss  Smithson  has  become  Madame 
Berlioz,  and  her  husband  has  had  his  hair  cut. 
When  I  this  winter  again  heard  his  symphony, 
he  again  sat  drumming  in  the  backgroand  of  the 
orchestra  ;  the  plump  English  lady  was,  as  before, 
in  the  proscenium-boz.  Their  glances  met  as 
before,  but  this  time  he  did  not  at  once  attack 
so  furiously  the  drum,  nor  bang  thereon  as  he 
had  done  of  yore. 

Liszt  is  next  by  affinity  to  Berlioz,  and  he  best 
knows  how  to  execute  his  music.  I  need  tell 
you  nothing  of  his  talent ;  his  fame  is  European. 
He  is  beyond  all  question  the  artist  who  attracts 
in  Paris  the  most  boundless  enthusiasm,  and  also 
the  most  zealous  opposition,  which  is  a  significant 
sign  that  no  one  regards  him  with  indifference. 
Without  positive  intrinsic  merit  or  a  something 
in  him  firm  (GehcUt),  no  one  can  awaken  in  this 


272 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 


world  either  favourable  passion  nor  its  contrary. 
Fire  is  needed  to  inflame  men,  be  it  to  hatred  or 
love.  What  testifies  best  for  Liszt  is  the  full 
respect  with  which  even  his  enemies  regard  his 
personal  merita  He  is  a  man  of  perverse  and 
eccentric  (verschrobene)  but  of  noble  character, 
unselfish,  and  without  deceit.  His  intellectual 
tendencies  are  very  remarkable;  he  has  a  great 
disposition  for  speculation,  and  the  researches  of 
the  different  schools  which  busy  themselves  with 
the  solution  of  the  great  questions  which  embrace 
heaven  and  earth  interest  him  even  more  than 
his  art.  He  was  for  a  long  time  an  enthusiast 
for  the  beautiful  Saint-Simonian  view  of  the 
world;  then  he  was  lost  in  the  mist  of  the  spiritual, 
or  rather  the  vapoury,  views  of  Ballanche ;  now 
he  is  carried  away  by  the  Republican  Catholic 
doctrines  of  Lamennais,  who  has  placed  the 
Jacobin  cap  on  the  cross !  Heaven  only  knows 
in  what  stable  he  will  find  his  next  hobby !  Yet 
this  insatiable  yearning  for  light  and  divine 
truth  (Gottheit)  is  always  laudable,  for  it  shows 
his  longing  for  that  which  is  holy  and  religious.^ 
That  such  a  restless  head,  which  is  irresistibly 
impelled  into  the  whirl  of  all  the  needs  and  doc- 
trines of  the  age,  which  feels   the  necessity  of 


^  Liszt  ended  by  becoming  a  Roman  Catholic  abhi, — TraiM- 
UOor. 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  273 

concerning  itself  with  all  the  wants  of  mankind, 
and  mnst  needs  stick  its  nose  into  every  pot  in 
which  God  is  cooking  the  future — that  Franz 
Liszt  can  be  no  docile  piano-player  for  peaceable 
state  citizens  and  good-natured  dullards  {Schlaf- 
mutzen)  is  quite  intelligible — that  is  evident 
enough.  When  he  sits  down  to  the  piano,  after 
he  has  stroked  the  hair  from  his  forehead,  and 
begins  to  improvise,  then  he  often  storms  well- 
nigh  too  wildly  over  the  ivory  keys;  then  he 
rings  out  a  wilderness  of  thoughts  as  high  as 
heaven,  in  which  here  and  there  the  sweetest 
flowers  spread  all  around  their  rich  perfume,  so 
that  one  is  at  once  tormented  and  enraptured, 
but  chiefly  tormented. 

For  I  must  confess  to  you,  that  much  as  I 
love  Liszt,  his  music  does  not  produce  on  my 
soul  pleasant  impressions,  the  more  so  because  I 
also  am  a  Sunday  child,  and  see  ghosts  which 
others  only  hear;  and,  as  you  know,  that  at 
every  chord  which  the  hand  strikes  from  the 
piano,  the  corresponding  figure  of  sound  {Klang- 
figur)  leaps  up  in  my  spirit— in  short,  the  music 
becomes  visible  to  my  inner  sight.  My  very 
sense  still  seems  to  stagger  when  I  recall  a  concert 
in  which  I  heard  Liszt  play.  It  was  given  for  the 
unfortunate  Italians  in  the  hotel  of  that  beautiful, 
noble,  and  sufiering  princess  who  so  nobly  repre- 
sents her  bodily  and  spiritual  native  lands,  Italy 

S 


974  THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 

and  Heaven.  You  have  doubtless  seen  her  in 
Paris,  that  ideal  form,  which  is,  however,  only 
the  prison  in  which  the  holiest  angel's  soul  is  con- 
fined, but  this  prison  is  so  beautiful  that  every 
one  stands  amazed,  and  as  if  enchanted  before  it 
Well,  it  was  in  a  concert  for  the  benefit  of  the 
Italian  sufferers  that  I  last  heard  Liszt  play 
during  the  past  winter.  I  know  not  what,  but 
I  could  have  sworn  that  it  was  variations  on 
themes  from  the  Apocalypse.  At  first  I  could 
not  distinctly  see  the  four  mystical  beasts  ;  I  only 
heard  their  voices,  especially  the  roar  of  the  lion 
and  the  croak  (Krachzen)  of  the  eagle.  But  I 
saw  very  plainly  the  ox  with  the  book  in  his 
hand.  He  played  the  Vale  of  Jehoshaphat  best. 
There  were  barriers  as  at  a  tournament,  and 
as  spectators  the  races  of  the  world,  deadly  pale 
and  trembling,  just  risen  from  their  graves,  filled 
the  stupendous  space.  First  Satan  galloped  into 
the  lists  in  black  harness  on  a  milk-white  steed. 
Death  rode  slowly  behind  on  the  pale  horse,  and 
finally  Christ  appeared  in  golden  armour  on  his 
black  charger,  and  he  with  his  lance  bore  Satan 
to  earth,  and  then  Death,  and  the  audience 
applauded.  A  stormy  roar  of  approbation  re- 
warded the  brave  Liszt,  who,  wearied, left  the  piano 
and  bowed  to  the  ladies,  while  over  the  lips  of  the 
Fairest  flitted  that  melancholy  sweet  smile  which 
recalls  Italy  and  makes  one  dream  of  heaven. 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  275 

This  concert  had  a  very  peculiar  interest  for 
the  public.  You  know  to  satiety  from  the  news- 
papers what  a  melancholy  misunderstanding 
exists  between  Liszt  and  the  Viennese  pianist 
Thalberg,  caused  by  an  article  written  in  the 
Musical  World  by  the  former  against  the  latter, 
also  what  a  part  lurking  enmity  and  greed  for 
gossip  played  therein,  as  much  to  the  disadvantage 
of  the  critic  as  of  the  criticised.  While  this  scan- 
dalous quarrel  was  at  its  height,  the  two  heroes  of 
the  day  resolved  to  play  one  after  the  other  in  the 
same  concert.  Both  laid  aside  their  private  feelings 
to  aid  in  a  benevolent  object,  and  the  public  to  whom 
they  gave  the  opportunity  to  judge  of  and  esteem 
their  peculiar  difference  by  actual  comparison, 
repaid  them  amply  by  well-deserved  applause. 

In  truth,  one  has  only  to  compare  the  musical 
character  of  both  to  convince  himself  that  it  indi- 
cates as  much  mean  malignity  as  narrow-minded- 
ness to  praise  one  at  the  expense  of  the  other. 
As  regards  technical  development  or  skill,  they 
balance  one  the  other,  while  as  regards  spiritual 
or  mental  character,  no  greater  contrast  can  be 
imagined  than  that  of  the  noble,  full  of  soul, 
intelligent,  calm,  genially  agreeable  German — 
yes,  Austrian  Thalberg,  and  the  wild,  lightning- 
flashing,  volcanic,  heaven-storming  Liszt.^ 

*  I  never  met  Liszt,  which  I  have  always  regretted,  for  we 
bad  both  written  books  on  the  Gypsies  at  a  time  when  there 


«»• 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 


The  comparison  of  the  two  virtuosi  is  based 
on  an  error  which  once  flonrished  in  poetry — that 
is,  in  the  so-called  principle  of  difficulties  over- 
come. But  as  it  has  since  been  discovered  that 
the  metrical  form  means  something  very  differ- 
ent from  merely  exhibiting  the  artist's  skill  in 
language  {SprcLchhilristlichheit),  and  that  beautiful 
verses  are  not  merely  to  be  admired  because  the 
making  them  cost  a  great  deal  of  labour,  so  it 
may  be  understood  that  when  a  musician  can 
impart  by  his  instrument  all  that  which  he  or 
others  may  have  felt  and  thought,  it  is  all- 
sufficient,  and  that  all  the  virtuoso  tours  de  force, 
which  only  indicate  difficulties  mastered,  shall 
be  regarded   as  mere  rubbish,  and  banished  to 


were  very  few  Romany  rye».  But  I  knew  Tbalberg  very  well, 
and  was  once  for  a  long  time  at  the  same  hotel  with  him.  He 
impressed  me  as  a  very  remarkable  man,  whom  it  would  be  dif- 
ficult to  really  understand.  He  had  unmistakably  the  manner 
peculiar  to  many  great  Germans,  which,  as  I  have  elsewhere 
observed,  is  perceptible  in  the  maintien  and  features  of  Goethe, 
Bismarck,  and  others.  He  gave  the  impression,  which  grew  on 
me,  of  a  man  who  well  knew  many  things  as  well  as  piano-play- 
ing.  He  was  dignified  but  affable.  I  remember  that  one  day 
when  he  or  some  one  remarked  that  his  name  was  not  a 
common  one,  I  made  him  laugh  by  saying  that  it  occurred  in 
two  pieces  in  an  old  German  ballad — 


"  Ich  that  am  Berge  stehen  i 

Und  schaute  in  das  Thai',  ' 

Da  hab'  ich  sie  gesehen 
Zum  allerletzten  mal." — TramltUor. 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  *n 

the  realm  of  jugglery,  acrobatic  tricks,  swallowing 
of  swords,  balancing,  and  egg-dancing.  It  is 
enough  that  the  masician  have  a  perfect  control 
of  his  instrument,  that  the  merely  material  means 
shall  be  entirely  lost  sight  of,  and  only  the  soul 
of  music  be  felt.  And  since  Kalkbrenner  car- 
ried the  art  of  playing  to  its  highest  perfection, 
pianists  should  not  depend  much  on  their  tech- 
nical dexterity.  Only  folly  and  malice  could 
speak  pedantically  of  the  revolution  which  Thal- 
berg  has  produced  on  his  instrument.  It  was 
playing  him  an  evil  trick  when,  instead  of 
praising  the  youthful  beauty,  tenderness,  and 
fascination  of  his  play,  people  represented  him 
as  a  Columbus  who  had  discovered  an  America 
on  the  piano,  while  others  had  with  weary  effort 
only  played  round  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  when 
they  would  refresh  the  public  with  musical  spices. 
How  Kalkbrenner  must  have  laughed  when  he 
heard  of  the  new  discovery. 

It  would  be  unjust  if  I  did  not  here  mention 
a  pianist  who  is  most  celebrated,  next  to  Liszt. 
It  is  Chopin,  who  is  not  only  brilliantly  distin- 
guished as  a  virtuoso  by  technical  perfection,  but 
who  is  equally  as  eminent  as  a  composer.^     He 

^  The  following  sentence,  which  was  given  in  the  first  edition, 
and  dropped  from  those  succeeding,  was  restored  in  a  note 
in  that  of  1876.  I  have  placed  it  again,  as  I  have  others  of  the 
kind,  in  the  text — TrantleUor. 


278  THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 

can  indeed  be  shown  as  an  example  that  it  does 
not  content  an  extraordinary  man  to  rival  the 
first  in  his  calling  (seines  Faches)  in  mere  mannal 
skill.  Chopin  is  not  satisfied  that  his  hands,  on 
account  of  their  dexterity,  shall  be  clapped  by 
other  hands ;  he  strives  for  higher  laurels ;  his 
fingers  are  but  the  servants  of  his  soul,  and  that 
is  applauded  by  people  who  hear  not  only  with 
their  ears,  but  also  with  their  own  souls.  Chopin 
is  the  favourite  of  that  Slite  who  seek  in  music 
the  most  exquisite  enjoyment  of  the  soul.  His 
fame  is  of  aristocratic  kind ;  he  is  perfumed  with 
the  praise  of  good  society,  and  is  himself  as 
aristocratic  as  his  person. 

Chopin  was  bom  of  French  parents  in  Poland, 
and  was  partially  educated  in  Germany.  The 
influences  of  these  three  nationalities  developed 
a  very  remarkable  personality,  since  he  has  thus 
appropriated  the  best  which  is  peculiar  to  the 
three  nationalities.  Poland  gave  him  a  chival- 
ric  soul  and  its  historical  suffering.  France 
bestowed  amiability  and  grace  ;  Germany,  a 
romantic  depth  of  feeling.  He  received  from 
Nature  an  elegant,  tall,  and  spare  form,  with  the 
noblest  heart  and  genius.  Yes,  we  must  grant 
Chopin  genius  in  the  fullest  sense  of  the  word ; 
he  is  not  merely  a  virtuoso,  he  is  also  a  poet ; 
he  can  bring  the  poetry  which  lives  in  his 
soul  to  perception ;  he  is  a  poet  and  creator  of 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  an 

tone/  and  nothing  can  equal  the  pleasure  which 
he  causes  us  when  he  sits  and  improvises  at  the 
piano.  Then  he  is  neither  Pole  nor  Frenchman 
nor  German — he  betrays  a  far  higher,  nobler 
origin  ;  we  then  recognise  that  he  comes  from  the 
land  of  Mozart,  Kaphael,  and  of  Goethe — his  true 
native  land  is  the  dream -realm  of  poetry.  When 
he  sits  at  the  piano  and  improvises,  I  feel  as  if 
some  fellow-countryman  (Zandsmann)  from   my 


^  Tondiekter.  Ton,  signifying  tone,  sound,  accent,  tune, 
melody,  &c.,  occasionally  assumes  in  German  a  more  musical  and 
poetical  meaning  or  association  (as  in  Tonkunat  or  Tonmei$ter) 
than  in  English.  There  is  absolutely  no  reason  why  we  should 
not  use  it,  or  any  other  word,  so  as  to  express  as  much  as  its 
equivalent  in  German,  &c.,  and  we  would  probably  do  so  but  for 
the  timidity  of  the  great  and  semi-vulgar  majority,  and  the 
undue  respect  accorded  to  petty  tyrants  of  words  and  style,  who, 
unable  to  write  themselves,  devote  their  small  talents  to  teaching 
the  world  how  to  write  and  what  to  avoid,  or  how  not  to  be 
original.  In  all  of  the  works  of  such  of  these  writers  as 
are  now  great  authorities,  there  is  nowhere  a  recognition  of 
the  truth  that  language  is  only  a  material  in  the  hands  of 
man  with  which  he  can  do  just  what  he  pleases,  that  the 
Nibdungerdied  could  have  been  written  in  Italian  had  there 
been  the  man  to  do  it,  and  that  Shakespeare  would  have  been 
Shakespeare  in  any  tongue.  Language  was  made  for  man,  not 
man  for  language,  and  it  is  wonderful  that  men,  with  innumer- 
able hindrances  and  defects  in  their  vehicle  for  expression, 
continue  to  persevere  in  ancient  error.  The  genius  of  language 
is  always  presented  to  us  as  an  eternal,  inexorable,  and  utterly 
nncbangeable  Jehovah,  when  it  is  or  should  be  only  a  minister- 
ing spirit,  created,  like  those  of  the  Cabalists,  by  the  magicians 
whom  they  serve. — Trantlaior. 


•> 


28o 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 


loved  home  were  relating  to  me  the  most  singalar 
things  which  had  occurred  during  my  absence. 
Many  a  time  do  I  feel  tempted  to  interrupt 
him  with  the  questions :  "  And  how  is  the  beau- 
tiful water-fairy  who  used  to  bind  her  silver 
veil  so  coquettishly  round  her  green  locks  ? 
Does  the  white-bearded  sea-god  still  persecute 
her  with  his  foolish,  faded  love  ?  Are  our  roses 
still  as  flamingly  proud  as  ever  ?  Do  the  trees 
sing  as  sweetly  in  the  moonshine  as  in  days 
of  yore  ?  " 

Ah !  I  have  lived  for  a  long  time  now  in 
foreign  lands,  and  it  often  seems  to  me  that  with 
my  fable-fancied  home-sickness,  I  am  like  the 
Flying  Dutchman  and  his  shipmates,  who  were 
long  rocked  on  the  cold  waves,  and  yearned,  and 
all  in  vain,  for  the  quiet  quays,  tulips,  myfrows, 
clay  pipes,  and  porcelain  cups  of  Holland. 
"  Amsterdam,  Amsterdam !  when  shall  we  reach 
Amsterdam  again  ? "  they  sighed  in  the  storm, 
while  the  howling  winds  hurled  them  incessantly 
here  and  there  on  the  accursed  waves  of  their 
watery  hell.  I  can  well  understand  the  sufifering 
at  heart  with  which  the  captain  of  the  enchanted 
ship  once  said,  "  If  I  ever  should  arrive  in 
Amsterdam,  I  would  rather  be  there  as  a  stone 
at  a  street  comer  than  ever  leave  the  city." 
Poor  Vanderdecken !  ,. 

I  hope,  my  dearest  friend,  that  these  letters 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE,  281 

will  find  you  gay  and  happy  in  the  rosy  light  of 
life,  and  that  it  will  not  happen  to  me  as  it  did 
to  the  Flying  Dutchman,  whose  letters  are  gene- 
rally addressed  to  persons  who  died  long  ago, 
during  his  absence. 

Ah  !  how  many  of  my  loved  ones  have  departed 
while  my  ship  of  life  has  been  driven  hither  and 
thither  by  the  evillest  storms !  I  feel  giddy  and 
dim  of  sight,  and  it  seems  to  me  as  if  the  stars  in 
heaven  no  longer  stood  still,  and  were  flying  here 
and  there  in  wild,  bewildering  rings.  I  close  my 
eyes,  and  then  the  maddest  dreams  seize  me  with 
their  long  arms,  and  draw  me  into  undreamed-of 
places  and  terrible  fears.  .  .  .  You  have  no  idea, 
dear  friend,  how  strange,  and,  as  if  in  wild  adven- 
ture, how  marvellous  are  the  landscapes  which  I 
see  in  vision,  and  withal  what  cruel  sorrows  pain 
me  even  in  sleep.  ... 

Last  night  I  found  myself  in  a  vast  cathedral. 
Over  all  was  a  dim  twilight,  save  in  the  upper 
space,  where,  through  the  galleries  which  rose  over 
the  first  row  of  colamns,  passed  the  flickering 
lights  of  a  procession — the  red-frocked  choir-boys, 
bearers  of  immense  wax-candles  and  standards, 
with  crosses,  brown  monks  and  priests  in  many- 
coloured  mass  garments  following  behind.  Then 
the  procession  went  on  marvellously  and  uncan- 
nily, as  in  a  fairy  tale,  on  and  upwards  into 
the  height,  climbing  and  winding  round  into  the 


282 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE. 


dome ;  while  I  down  below  flew  here  and  there 
in  the  nave,  an  unhappy  wife  on  my  arm.  I  do 
not  know  what  it  was  which  terrified  us,  but  we 
fled  in  heart-beating  fear,  seeking  to  hide  our- 
selves behind  the  giant  pillars ;  but  in  vain,  and 
we  fled  ever  in  greater  dread,  because  the  pro- 
cession coming  down  the  winding  stairs  drew 
nearer  and  nearer  to  us.   .   .   .  1 

.  .  .  There  was  an  incomprehensible,  melan- 
choly dirge,  and  what  was  stranger  still,  there 
walked  before  all  a  tall,  pale,  somewhat  elderly 
woman,  in  whose  face  were  the  traces  of  great 
beauty,  and  who  advanced  to  us  with  measured 
steps,  almost  like  an  opera-dancer.  She  bore  in 
her  hands  a  wreath  of  black  flowers,  which  she 
extended  to  us  with  theatrical  gestures,  while  a 
sincere  and  terrible  suffering  was  apparent  in  her 
great,  gleaming,  and  weeping  eyes.   ... 

.  .  .  When  all  at  once  the  scene  changed,  and 
instead  of  a  gloomy  cathedral,  we  found  ourselves 
in  a  landscape  where  mountains  were  moving,  and 
took  every  form  and  position  like  human  beings ; 
where  the  trees  seemed  to  bum  with  leaves  of 
red  flame,  and  burned  indeed.  For  when  the 
mountains,  after  the  maddest  caprices,  all  at  once 
fell  flat  as  the  plain,  then  the  trees  flamed  up 
and  fell  into  dead  ashes.  .  .  .  And  at  last  I 
found  myself  all  alone  on  a  wide,  waste  plain — 
under  my  feet  was  nought  save  yellow  sand,  over 


THE  FRENCH  STAGE.  283 

my  head  only  a  sad  wan  sky.  I  was  all  alone. 
My  companion  had  vanished  from  my  side,  and 
while  I  anxiously  sought  her,  I  found  in  the  sand 
the  statue  of  a  woman,  wondrous  fair,  but  with 
one  arm  broken  away,  as  in  the  Venus  of  Milo, 
and  the  marble  was  in  many  places  sadly  weather- 
worn. I  stood  some  time  before  it  in  sorrowful 
reflection,  until  at  length  some  one  came  riding 
by.  And  the  rider  was  a  great  bird,  an  ostrich, 
and  he,  riding  on  a  camel,  was  a  droll  sight,  and 
we  had  a  long  conversation  together,  all  on  art. 

"  What  is  art  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Ask  the  great  stone  Sphynx,  which  is  in  the 
first  hall  of  the  Museum  of  Paris,"  he  replied. 

My  dear  friend,  do  not  laugh  at  my  night's 
adventures.  Or  have  you  a  work-day,  week-day 
prejudice  against  dreams  ? 

To-morrow  I  leave  for  Paris.    Fare  you  well !  ^ 


*  The  conclusion  of  this  letter  is  a  wild  yet  graceful  grotesque, 
"  one-half  meaning  and  two-thirds  mystery,"  suggested  to  our 
poet  firstly  by  Chopin  and  Poland,  which  led  his  mind  back  to 
his  own  Schnabelenopski,  and  thence  to  the  dream  in  it — an 
unrivalled  fantatiestUck — which  he  here  reproduces  in  spirit, 
though  not  at  all  by  the  letter.  And  "as  centuries  speak  to 
centuries  far  apart,  visioned  in  the  mind  of  the  Eternal  One," 
60  dream  calls  to  dream  and  renews  itself  therein  across  the 
wide  fields  of  our  waking  hours.  That  art  is  an  inexhaustible 
mystery  has  been  marvellously  set  forth  by  Albert  Diirer,  quite 
in  the  spirit  of  this  dream,  in  bis  etching  of  Malineholia. — 
Trantlator. 


GEORGE    SAND: 


A   SUPPLEMENT. 


Pabis,  April  30,  1840, 

Yesterday  evening,  after  long  waiting,  or  almost 
two  months  of  delay,  by  which  not  only  the  curi- 
osity, but  also  the  patience,  of  the  public  were 
over-excited,  the  drama  of  Costma,  by  George 
Sand,  was  brought  out  at  the  Th^S,tre  Fran^ais. 
The  heat  and  crowd  were  intolerable,  as  may  be 
supposed,  since  for  several  weeks  all  the  nota- 
bilities of  the  capital,  or  everybody  who  is  dis- 
tinguished by  rank,  birth,  talent,  vice,  wealth, 
in  short,  by  distinction  of  any  kind,  took  pains 
to  attend  this  play.  The  fame  of  the  author  is 
so  great  that  the  desire  to  see  or  curiosity  was 
wound  up  to  the  highest  pitch ;  but  there  were 
also  other  interests  and  passions  involved  as  well 
as  this  desire.  We  knew  beforehand  the  cabals, 
the  intrigues,  the  spiteful  malice  which  had  con- 
spired against  the  play  and  made  common  cause 

with  the  lowest  professional  envy  and  jealousy. 

384 


^'^■■'^'^■^^■' 


GEORGE   SAND 
From  a  Mei^oHvi,  iSfX 


f 


it 


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««• 


H 


GEORGE  SAND.  287 

For  you  the  intoxication  of  poetry,  for  us  the 
foam  of  champagne,  which  we  swig  (schlurfen) 
joyfully  in  the  company  of  clie/s  de  la  dague  and 
the  most  respectable  ladies.  We  eat,  drink,  are 
applauded,  hissed,  and  forgotten,  while  you  are 
praised  in  the  Review  of  Two  Worlds  and  are 
starved  up  to  the  sublimest  immortality."  ^ 

In  truth,  the  theatre  supplies  to  such  writers 
a  brilliant  prosperity ;  most  of  them  become  rich 
and  live  in  pleasant  plenty,  while  the  great  authors 
of  France,  ruined  by  Belgian  reprints  or  piracies, 
as  well  as  the  wretched  condition  of  the  book- 
trade,  starve  in  comfortless  poverty.  What  is  more 
natural  than  that  they  should  often  long  for  the 
golden  fruits  which  ripen  behind  the  lamps 
of  the  stage  world,  and  sometimes  stretch  out 
their  hands  to  seize  them,  as  lately  happened  to 
Balzac,^  who  atoned  so  sadly  for  his  wish.  As 
there  exists  in  Germany  a  secret  alliance,  offen- 
sive and  defensive,  between  the  men  of  mediocre 
talent  who  supply  the  theatres  with  their  works, 
so  we  find  the  same  in  an  even  more  repulsive 
form  in  Paris,  where  all  this  evil  is  concentrated. 
And  here,  too,  these  petty  people  are  so  active, 
so  clever,  so  unwearied  in  their  strife  against  the 


^  The  reference  to  the  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes  is  omitted  ia 
the  French  version. — Translator. 

*  French  version — "  Comme  le  fit  demierement  mon  pauvre 
ami  Balzac  II  qui  cette  tentative  co&ta  si  cber  1 " 


Ma 


288  GEORGE  SAND. 

great,  and  especially  in  that  against  genius,  which 
is  always  alone  in  life,  and  also  somewhat  unskil- 
ful or  inapt — and  between  us,  in  confidence,  a 
little  too  much  given  to  idle  dreaming.^ 

Well,  then,  what  was  the  reception  given  to 
the  drama  of  George  Sand,  the  greatest  writer 
whom  France  has  produced  since  the  Revolution 
of  July — that  strange  and  solitary  genius  who  has 
been  appreciated  and  honoured  even  by  us  in 
Germany  ?  Was  it  definitely  bad  or  doubtfully 
good  ?  Honourably  confessed,  .1  cannot  answer 
the  question.  The  respect  for  a  great  name  per- 
haps neutralised  many  an  evil  intent.  I  expected 
the  worst.  All  the  enemies  of  the  author  met 
in  rendezvous  in  the  immense  hall  of  the  Th^tre 
Franks,  which  will  contain  more  than  two 
thousand  people.  The  administration  had  given 
the  author  about  one  hundred  and  forty  tickets 
to  distribute  among  his  friends,  but  I  believe 
that  owing  to  feminine  fancies  very  few  of  these 
fell  into  applauding  hands.  There  was  actually 
no  organised  claque  whatever  ;  the  ordinary  chief 
of  this  association  had  offered  his  service,  but 
was  not  listened  to  by  the  proud  author  of  Leila. 
The  so-called  Eomans,^  who  are  accustomed  to 
applaud  so  valiantly  when  anything  by  Scribe  or 


*  TravmitriteK  trdge — dreamily  lazy,  or  inefficient. 
^  French  version — "  Les  nobles  chevaliers  du  lustre." 


GEORGE  SAND.  289 

Ancelot  is  given,  were  invisible  yesterday  evening 
in  the  Theatre  Fran^ais.^ 

The  testimonials  of  applause,  which  were  fre- 
quent and  sufficiently  enthusiastic,  were  therefore 
the  more  honourable.  During  the  fifth  act  a 
few  murmurs  were  heard,  and  yet  this  act  con- 
tains far  more  dramatic  and  poetic  beauties  than 
those  preceding  it,  in  which  the  effort  to  avoid 
all  that  is  repulsive  almost  results  in  an  uncom- 
fortable timidity. 

I  will  here  pass  no  judgment  on  the  merit  of 
the  play.  It  is  enough  that  the  author  is  George 
Sand,  and  that  the  work  will,  in  a  printed  form, 
be  submitted  to  the  criticism  of  all  Europe. 
That  is  an  advantage  which  great  reputations 
enjoy;  they  are  judged  by  a  jury  which  is  not 
led  astray  by  a  few  literary  eunuchs,  who  let 
their  piping  voices  be  heard  from  the  corner  of 
a  theatrical  pit  or  a  newspaper. 

As  regards  the  acting,  I  regret  to  say  that 
it  was  all  of  the  worst.  With  the  exception  of 
the  celebrated  Madame  Dorval,  who  played  yester- 
day no  worse,  but  certainly  not  the  least  better 
than  usual,  all  the  actors  displayed  a  monotonous 
mediocrity.  The  hero  of  the  piece,  a  Monsieur 
Beauvallet,  played,  to  use  a  Biblical  expression, 
"  like  a  pig  with  a  gold  ring  in  his  nose." 

^  The  two  following  paragraphs  are  omitted  in  the  French 
version. 


290  GEOROB  SAND. 

George  Sand  seemed  to  have  foreseen  how 
little  his  drama,  despite  all  the  concessions 
which  were  made  to  the  caprices  of  the  actors, 
had  to  hope  from  their  mimetic  aid  (mimiscTien 
Leistungen),  and  in  conversation  with  a  German 
friend  he  said  in  jest,  "  Voyez-vous,  the  French 
are  all  born  comedians,  and  every  one  plays  in 
the  world  his  part,  more  or  less  brilliantly ;  but 
those  among  my  compatriots  who  have  the  least 
talent  for  the  noble  dramatic  art  devote  them- 
selves to  the  theatre  and  become  actors." 

I  have  ere  this  remarked  that  public  life  in 
France,  or  the  representative  system  and  political 
life,  absorb  the  best  dramatic  talents  of  the 
French,  and  that  therefore  only  mediocre  talent 
is  to  be  found  in  the  real  theatres.  But  this 
is  only  applicable  to  men,  not  to  the  women,  for 
the  French  stage  is  rich  in  actresses  of  the 
highest  merit,  and  the  present  generation  sur- 
passes in  this  perhaps  the  last.  We  admire 
among  them  very  great  or  extraordinary  talents 
which  have  developed  themselves  so  much  the 
more  in  this  field  since  women,  by  most  unjust 
legislation  and  by  the  usurpation  of  men,  are 
excluded  from  all  political  offices  and  dignities, 
and  cannot  make  their  capacities  available  on 
the  boards  of  the  Palais  Bourbon  or  of  the 
Luxembourg.  It  is  only  in  the  public-houses 
of  art  and  gallantry  that  they  can  indulge  their 


GEOROB  SAND.  291 

passion  for  public  manifestation ;  *  therefore  they 
become  actresses  or  lorettes,  or  perhaps  both 
together,  for  here  in  France  the  two  callings  are 
not  so  distinct  one  from  the  other  as  with  us 
in  Germany,  where  actors  are  often  people  of 
the  best  reputation,  and  not  infrequently  distin- 
guish themselves  by  excellent  citizen-like  con- 
duct Nor  are  they  driven  by  public  opinion, 
like  pariahs,  out  of  society,  and  they  often  find 
a  welcome  in  the  homes  of  the  nobility,  in  the 
soirees  of  tolerant  Jewish  bankers,  and  even  in 
some  honest  irreputable  bourgeois  families.  Yet 
here  in  France,  where  so  many  prejudices  have 
been  extirpated,  the  anathema  of  the  Church  is 
still  in  force  as  regards  actors;  they  are  still 
regarded  as  outcasts ;  and  as  human  beings  always 
become  worse  the  worse  they  are  treated,  actors 
here,  with  a  few  exceptions,  are  still  in  their 
ancient  condition  of  a  brilliantly  and  beautifully 
dirty  gypsydom  or  Bohemianism.  Thalia  and 
Virtue  seldom  sleep  here  in  the  same  bed,  and 
even  our  most  famed  Melpomene  sometimes  de- 
scends from  the  buskin  to  exchange  it  for  the 
merrily  disreputable  little  slipper  of  a  Philene.^ 


^  Offentlichkeit.  French  version — "Oil  elles  puissent  donner 
carri^e  a  I'exub^rance  de  leura  talents  mimiques." 

'  French  version — "Pour  I'exchanger  contre  lea  provoquantes 
mules  dont  Goethe  chaussait  la  gentille  coquine  de  Philine  dani 
«on  reman  Wil?ielm  Meister." 


292 


GEORGE  SAND. 


All  pretty  actresses  here  have  their  fixed  price, 
and  those  who  are  not  A  prix  jbci  are  indubit- 
ably the  dearest.  Nearly  all  the  young  ones  are 
kept  by  spendthrifts  or  rich  parvenus.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  real/em7/i«s  entreteniies  have  the 
greatest  longing  to  appear  on  the  stage,  a  desire 
in  which  vanity  and  pecuniary  interest  com- 
bine, since  they  can  there  best  exhibit  their  cor- 
poreal attractions,  be  observed  by  distinguished 
debauchees,  and  also  be  admired  by  the  mass 
of  the  public.  These  persons,  who  are  specially 
seen  playing  in  the  smaller  theatres,  generally 
receive  no  salaries ;  on  the  contrary,  they  pay  the 
manager  monthly  a  certain  sum  for  the  privilege 
of  appearing  on  his  stage.  I 

Therefore  no  one  knows  exactly  here  where 
the  actress  and  the  courtesan*  change  their  parts, 
or  where  comedy  ceases  and  sweet  nature  begins, 
and  where  the  five-footed  iambus  passes  into  four- 
footed  debauchery.^  These  amphibia  of  art  and 
vice,  these  Melusinas  of  the  banks  of  the  Seine, 
form  beyond  all  doubt  the  most  dangerous  body 


^  French  version — "Et  on  la  path^tique  alexandrine  de  six 
pieds  se  perd  dans  la  d^bauche  quadrupMe,"  There  are  really 
two  Mercurial  serpents  in  this  sentence,  one  of  the  alexandrine, 
"  which  like  a  wounded  snake  drags  its  slow  length  along,"  and 
another  wily  little  anguia  in  herha  in  the  quadrupedal  allusion, 
for  which  Heine  was  indebted  to  a  work  which  I  cannot  re- 
member to  have  ever  heard  quoted  in  any  pulpit. — Trantlator. 


GEORGE  SAND.  293 

of  la  gcdante  Zutice,  in  which  so  many  charming 
monsters  have  their  being. 

Woe  to  the  inexperienced  youth  who  falls  into 
their  nets !  Woe  also  to  the  man  of  experience, 
who  well  knows  that  the  dear  beautiful  beast 
ends  in  a  terrible  fish-tail,  and  yet  cannot  resist 
her  fascinating  sorcery.  It  may  be  that  it  is  by 
the  voluptuous  stimulus  of  a  secret  inner  fear, 
by  the  fearful  fascination  of  the  delightful  dam- 
nation, the  rapturous  abyss,  that  he  is  the  more 
certainly  ruined. 

The  women  here  spoken  of  are  not  wicked  or 
treacherous  ;  they  have  indeed  usually  extraordi- 
narily kind  hearts ;  nor  are  they  so  deceitful  or 
avaricious  as  is  generally  supposed  ;  they  are  often 
the  most  true-hearted  and  generous  creatures; 
all  of  their  impure  acts  are  caused  by  actual 
pressing  want,  dire  need,  and  vanity ;  they  are 
not  really  any  worse  than  the  other  daughters 
of  Eve,  who  from  childhood  upwards  have  been 
protected  by  prosperity,  the  careful  watch  of 
relations — la  surveillance  de  lew  famille — or  by 
good  fortune,  from  the  first  fall,  and  after  deeper 
falls. 

What  is  characteristic  in  the  lorette  is  a 
certain  mania  for  destruction  by  which  they  are 
possessed,  not  merely  to  the  detriment  of  a 
chance  gallant,  but  to  the  ruin  of  the  man  whom 
they  really  love,  and  most  of  all  to  their  own. 


■%■■■..«.  -H**-* 


294  GEORGE  SAND. 

This  rage  for  ruining  is  deeply  entwined  with  a 
passion,  a  rage,  a  madness  for  rapturous  enjoy- 
ment, the  pleasure  of  the  moment,  which  leaves 
no  day  of  rest,  thinks  of  no  to-morrow,  which 
ridicules  all  reflection  and  scorns  every  scruple. 
They  tear  from  their  lover  his  last  sou,  they 
inveigle  him  into  pledging  and  compromising  all 
his  future  life,  merely  that  they  may  enjoy  the 
fleeting  hour ;  they  drive  him  into  wasting  those 
resources  by  which  they  themselves  might  subse- 
quently have  profited ;  they  are  often  guilty  in 
causing  him  to  be  dishonoured;  in  short,  they 
ruin  their  lovers  in  the  most  horrible  hurry,  and 
with  fearful  thoroughness.  Montesquieu  has 
somewhere  in  his  Esprit  des  Lois  sought  to  char- 
acterise despotism  by  comparing  despots  to  those 
savages  who,  when  they  would  enjoy  the  fruit 
of  a  tree,  grasp  the  axe,  fell  the  tree,  and  then 
sitting  down  by  the  trunk,  devour  their  booty  in 
headlong  haste.  I  would  make  application  of 
this  to  these  ladies.  After  Shakespeare,  who  in 
Cleopatra — whom  I  once  called  a  reine  entretenue 
or  "  kept  queen  " — has  given  us  a  profoundly  deep 
example  of  such  women,  our  Mend  Honor^  de 
Balzac  is  the  one  who  has  sketched  them  with 
the  greatest  skill.  He  describes  them  as  a 
natural  historian  describes  any  kind  of  animal, 
or  as  a  pathologist  would  a  disease,  without  any 
moralising    aim,    without  prepossession  or   pre- 


.^  .  »  ♦  — !■. 


GEORGE  SAND.  295 

judice.  It  certainly  never  occurred  to  him  to 
either  embellish  or  to  rehabilitate,  for  either  would 
have  been  as  contrary  to  art  as  to  morals. 

I  was  about  to  say  that  George  Sand's  method 
of  proceeding  is  quite  diflferent,  since  this  writer 
has  ever  before  his  eyes  a  determined  direction 
which  he  (er)  pursues  in  all  his  works,  and  I 
was  about  to  say  that  I  do  not  approve  of  this 
tendency ;  but  it  just  occurs  to  me,  and  season- 
ably, that  such  remarks  would  be  very  inappro- 
priate at  a  time  when  all  the  enemies  of  the 
author  of  Leila  are  making  chorus  against  her 
{wider  sie).  Mais  que  didble  allait-elle  faire  dans 
cette  galere?  Does  she  not  know  that  any  one 
can  buy  a  penny-whistle  for  a  sou,  and  that  the 
poorest  simpleton  is  a  virtuoso  on  this  instru- 
ment ?  We  have  seen  people  many  a  time  and 
oft  who  whistled  with  a  Paganini's  skill.   .   .   } 


^  What  ia  as  contrary  to  art  as  to  morals  in  Heine,  Balzac, 
and,  since  their  time,  in  perhaps  a  thousand  other  literary  pandera 
to  prurient  tastes,  is  the  writing  about  such  women  at  all,  and 
the  constant  effort  to  depict  them  as  something  "so  very 
peculiar,"  the  result  having  been  to  make  them,  so  to  speak, 
exaggerate  themselves  after  literary  models.  The  lorette  is  just 
what  any  woman  is  anywhere  who  is  very  familiar  with  many 
very  dissipated,  selfish,  and  worldly-minded  men,  and  as  such 
men  with  much  money  are  more  abundant  in  Paris,  the  great 
brothel  of  Europe,  than  elsewhere,  the  lorette  naturally  con- 
forms to  them.  As  these  courtesans  are  mostly  very  slightly 
educated,  and  have  nearly  all  sprung  from  the  hatse  bourgeoisie, 
who  are  the  most  money-loving,  griping  Christians  in  the  world. 


[\0Jimt-te^U»i\^,.-4K.-l,y*'l,'^'--'^'i-.'k-->i-'»'^-^-''^^  ,     »     .-  ,     ,  ^    -  »    "•   »;.'^".«k.  ><'-»,«i,«  »- 


•_  37  •  »f   V      -ir*- »  ."HC* 


296  OEOROE  SAND. 

their  avarice  is  early  nature,  while  everything  in  what  they  see 
of  "  society "  prompts  them  to  ostentation  and  extravagance. 
In  all  of  which  they  are  quite  like  ordinary  women  anywhere. 
Neither  the  comments  of  Heine  nor  of  Balzac  are  free  from 
niaiterie ;  they  do  not  seem  to  have  come  from  cosmopolites, 
or  rather  they  seem  to  be  piiees  de  manufacture,  made  for  coarse 
verdant  provincials.  Why  all  this  disquisition  on  social  evils 
is  associated  with  George  Sand  will  appear  plain  to  any  one  who 
will  read  what  is  said  of  this  lady  in  The  Engli$hman  in  Paru 
(Leipzig :  Heinemann  8l  Balestier),  a  work  which  contains  much 
that  is  very  interesting  relative  to  many  persons  or  topics  which 
are  mentioned  in  this  series  by  Heine.  The  remarks  in  thii 
chapter  suggest  indeed  a  very  interesting  subject  which  requires 
a  paper  by  some  critic.  It  is  the  fact  that  a  vast  number  of 
such  writers  as  Heine  and  Balzac,  in  order  to  obtain  characters, 
to  a  great  degree  really  manufacture  them  by  describing 
personal  traits  much  too  vividly  and  with  too  much  colour.  In 
short,  they,  by  cutting  in  too  deeply,  bring  out  into  alto  rdievo 
that  which  is  by  nature  only  an  outline.  It  is  a  p>eculiar  trait 
of  provincials  or  outsiders  to  be  extremely  inquisitive  as  to  the 
manner  of  living  and  thinking  of  all  classes  not  directly  known 
to  them,  and  to  surmise  in  them  marvellous  mysteries.  Some- 
times the  class  in  question  follows  instead  of  preceding  the 
description.  Thus  Messrs.  Du  Maurier  and  Sir  A.  Sullivan  may 
be  said  to  have  really  depicted  and  simg  the  aesthetes  of  tb« 
Cimabue  Brown  set  into  existence. — TraniltUor, 


II. 

A  LATER  NOTICE  (1854). 

Newspapeb  articles  on  the  first  representation 
of  a  drama,  especially  where  much  curiosity  or 
interest  is  excited  by  the  name  of  a  celebrated 
author,  should  be  written  and  published  as  rapidly 
as  possible,  lest  malicious  false  judgments  or  slan- 
derous gossip  should  gain  precedence.  There 
was  wanting  in  the  preceding  pages  that  more 
intimate  or  personal  description  of  the  poet,  or 
rather  poetess,  who  here  made  her  first  ven- 
ture on  the  stage — a  venture  which  completely 
failed,  so  that  the  brow  so  accustomed  to  laurels 
was  this  time  crowned  with  very  painful  thorns. 
What  was  wanting  in  the  former  letter  will  now 
be  supplied  in  this  by  certain  remarks  as  to  the 
person,  or  rather  the  personal  appearance,  of 
George  Sand,  extracted  from  a  monograph  writ- 
ten some  years  ago.^     They  are  as  follows : — 


^  Prench    version — "  Je  communiqueriu  id  quelques  remar- 
ques  sur  la  persoune  de  George  Sand,  remarqaee  fugitives  et 

»97 


i-«  ••,  •  ^  f,  ,    . 


298  GEORGE  SAND. 

"  As  is  very  generally  known,  George  Sand  is 
a  pseudonym,  the  nom  de  guerre  of  a  beautiful 
amazon.  What  induced  her  to  take  this  name 
was  by  no  means  a  memory  of  the  unfortunate 
Sand,  the  murderer  of  Kotzebue — the  only  Ger- 
man writer  of  (good)  comedies.^  Our  heroine 
chose  this  name  because  it  is  the  first  syllable  of 
Sandeau,  who  was  her  lover  or  premier  cavalidre 
servente.  He  was  an  excellent  writer,  but  ho 
could  never  make  himself  as  distinguished  with 
all  his  name  as  she  did  with  the  half  of  it,  which 
she  seized  ere  she  fled  laughing  away  from  him. 

The  real  name  of  George  Sand  is  Aurora 
Dudevant,  as  her  legitimate  husband  was  called, 
who,  by  the  way,  is  not  a  myth,  but  a  noble- 
man in  the  body  from  the  province  Berry,'  and 
whom  I  once  had  the  pleasure  of  beholding  with 
my  own  eyes.  I  even  saw  him  by  his  lately  de 
facto  divorced  wife  in  her  small  lodging  on  the 


peris^B,  au  basard  dans  une  monographie  que  j'ai  ^rite  il  y  a 
plusieurs  ann^a." 

^  I  once  knew  an  old  Gkrman  itinerant  musician,  who  with 
bis  daughter  was  to  be  heard  every  day  for  years  performing 
on  a  certain  steamboat  between  New  York  and  Philadelphia. 
He  was  from  the  same  town  as  Sand,  and  had  known  him  very 
welL  He  described  him  as  a  quiet,  respectable  youth,  and  the 
last  pterson  on  earth  whom  any  one  would  suppose  would  become 
a  heroic  murderer. — Translator. 

'  French  version — "  Un  gentilhomme  en  chair  et  os  de  la  pro- 
vince du  Berry." 


>  ■>•>  ^''►'■* 


GEORGE  SAND.  299 

Quai  Voltaire,  and  that  I  really  did  behold  him 
then  and  there  was  such  a  remarkable  occurrence, 
that,  as  Chamisso  says,  for  it  I  might  have  let 
myself  be  shown  for  money.  He  had  an  inexpres- 
sive Philistine  face,  and  seemed  to  be  neither 
bad-hearted  nor  rude,  but  I  readily  understood 
that  this  damp-cold  every-dailiness,  this  porcelain 
glance,  these  monotonous  Chinese-pagoda  move- 
ments,* might  be  amusing  enough  for  a  common- 
place woman,  yet  become  in  time  insupportable 
(sehr  unheimlich)  to  a  woman  of  deeper  soul,  and 
that  at  last  she  would  be  inspired  with  a  terror 
and  horror  which  could  not  fail  to  make  her  flee 
from  him.' 

The  family  name  of  George  Sand  is  Dupin. 
She  is  the  daughter  of  a  man  of  inferior  con- 
dition,' whose  mother  was  the  famous  but  now 


^  This  is  not  the  only  place  in  which  Heine  confounds  a 
pagoda  with  an  image  of  Joss  or  Buddha,  an  image  with  a 
nodding  head. — Translator, 

'  French  version — "  Et  ne  pouvaient  manquer  de  la  remplir 
k  la  fin  d'horreur  et  d'^pouvante,  au  point  de  la  faire  se  sanver 
ii  tout  prix  de  cet  enfer  matrimoniale."  This  is  pitched  an  octave 
higher  than  the  Grerman.  But  to  judge  by  all  accounts,  Aurora 
would  have  gaily  broke  at  dawn,  or  ran  away  early  some  fine 
morning  from  any  husband,  "  or  any  other  man,"  who  ever  lived, 
"  after  the  gloss  of  novelty  had  vanished,"  or  he  had  ceased  to 
be  useful  to  her. — Trwndator. 

*  "  EUe  est  la  fille  d'un  militaire,  dont  la  m^re  etait  la  fille 
naturelle  d'une  danseuse  jadis  c^^bre  .  .  .  lui-mdme  fut  an  des 
quarte  cents  batards  qu'avait  laisses  le  Prince  Electeor."     To 


'  #*,  *• 


300  GEORGE  SAND. 

forgotten  danseuse  Dupin.  This  Mademoiselle 
Dupin  was  a  natural  daughter  of  Marshal  Mau- 
rice of  Saxony,  who  himself  was  one  of  the 
many  hundred  bastards  left  by  the  Prince  Elec- 
tor August  the  Strong.  The  mother  of  Maurice 
of  Saxony  was  Aurora  von  Konigsmark,  and 
Aurora  Dudevant,  who  was  named  after  her 
grandmother,  also  gave  the  name  Maurice  to  her 
son.  This  son  and  a  daughter  named  Solange, 
married  to  the  sculptor  Clessinger,  are  the  two 
only  children  of  George  Sand.  She  was  always 
an  admirable  mother.  I  have  often  been  present 
for  hours  at  the  lessons  in  French  which  she 
gave  her  children,  and  it  is  a  pity  that  the 
whole  French  Academy  could  not  also  have  been 
there,  for  they  would  certainly  have  profited 
much  by  it. 

George  Sand,  the  great  writer,*  is  also  a  beau- 
tiful woman — she  is  even  a  very  distinguished 
beauty.  Her  face,  like  the  genius  manifested  in 
her  works,  is  more  beautiful  than  interesting, 
that  which  is  most  interesting  is  always  a 
graceful  or  spirituelle  departure  from  the  type 
of  the    beautiful,  and    the    features    of    George 

which  illustrious  pedigree  may  be  added  the  words,  "  Bon  sang 
ne  peut  mentir," — •'  Blood  will  tell," — and  George  Sand  was 
full-blooded  and  a  thoroughbred. — Translator. 

^  French  version — "  La  plus  grand  ^crivain  de  France."     An 
extravagantly  undeserved  compliment. — Trandator. 


~'.\*A  *«:■•• 


*  .»^*t*  ?'*-,*'^ 


GEORGE  SAND.  301 

Sand  have  a  Greek  regularity.  Their  cut,  how- 
ever, is  not  of  classic  severity  (nieht  schroff), 
and  it  is  softened  by  a  sentimentalism  which 
is  spread  over  them  like  a  veil  of  sorrow.  Her 
forehead  is  not  high,  and  her  beautiful  chestnut- 
brown  hair,  parted  in  the  centre,  flows  down  over 
it  to  her  shoulders.  Her  eyes  are  somewhat  dull, 
and  their  fire  has  perhaps  been  drowned  in  many 
tears,  or  else  passed  into  her  works,  which  have 
thrown  firebrands  over  the  world  and  lighted 
many  a  dreary  prison-house,  but  perhaps  also 
inflamed  many  a  quiet  temple  of  innocence  to 
its  destruction.^  The  author  of  Leila  has  calm 
soft  eyes,  which  remind  us  neither  of  Sodom  nor 
Gomorrah.  She  has  neither  an  emancipated 
eagle  nose  nor  a  witty  snubbed  one  ;  it  is  sim- 
ply an  ordinary  straight  nose.  A  good-natured 
smile  usually  plays  about  her  mouth,  yet  it  is 
not  very  attractive ;  her  lower  lip,  which  hangs 
somewhat,  indicates  exhausted  sensuality.  Her 
chin  is  full,  yet  beautifully  formed,  her  shoulders 
beautiful,  even  magnificent,  as  are  the  arms,  and 
also  the  hands,  which  are,  like  her  feet,  extremely 
small.  As  for  the  charms  of  her  bosom,  other 
contemporaries  may  describe  them  ;  I  here  con- 


^  French  version — "Repandu  leur  flammes  brulantes  par 
to  ut  I'univers  et  embras^  tant  de  tStes  de  femmes :  on  lea 
accuse  d'avoir  caiis^  de  terribles  incendies." 


3oa  GEORGE  SAND.  { 

fess  my  incompetence  to  do  so.  The  general 
form  of  her  person  seems  to  be  too  heavy,  or  at 
least  too  short.  Only  her  head  bears  the  stamp 
of  ideality — le  cachet  de  Vid6al — it  reminds  us  of 
the  noblest  remains  of  Greek  art ;  and  as  regards 
it,  one  of  my  friends  is  right  in  comparing  this 
beautiful  woman  to  the  marble  statue  of  the 
Venus  of  Milo,  which  is  placed  in  the  lower  hall  of 
the  Louvre,  but  she  surpasses  it  in  many  respects, 
as,  for  example,  in  being  much  younger.  The 
physiognomists  who  declare  that  the  character 
of  a  man  is  most  infallibly  expressed  by  his 
voice  would  be  puzzled  to  detect  the  extraor- 
dinary depth  of  feeling  in  George  Sand  from 
hers.  For  it  is  flat  and  dull  {welk),  without  ring 
or  chime,  and  yet  soft  and  agreeable.  Yet  the 
natural  expression  of  her  conversation  gives  it  a 
great  charm.  She  has  no  gift  for  song  ;  not  a 
trace  of  it  shows  itself.  George  Sand  sings  at 
best  with  the  bravura  of  a  pretty  grisette  who 
has  not  as  yet  had  her  breakfast,  or  who  is  other- 
wise out  of  tune. 

George  Sand  shines  also  as  little  in  conversa- 
tion as  by  her  voice.  She  has  nothing  of  the 
sparkling  wit — esprit  petillant — of  her  French 
fellow-countrywomen,  but  also  nothing  of  their 
chattering.  But  this  taciturnity  is  caused  neither 
by  modesty  nor  by  sympathetic  interest  in  the 
speech  of  another.      That  she  speaks  in  mono- 


GEORGE  SAND.  303 

syllables  is  due  either  to  pride,  because  she  does 
not  think  it  worth  while  to  waste  words  on  you, 
or  out  of  selfish  interest  in  trying  to  note  your 
ideas,  so  that  she  may  work  them  up  some  time 
in  her  writings.  Alfred  de  Musset  once  called 
my  attention  to  the  fact  that  George  Sand  under- 
stands perfectly,  out  of  sheer  greed,  how  to  give 
nothing  in  conversation  and  get  as  much  as 
possible.  "  And  in  that  she  has  a  great  ad- 
vantage over  all  the  rest  of  us,"  said  Musset, 
who,  in  his  capacity  of  several  years'  service  as 
cavaliire  servente  of  the  lady,  had  had  the  best 
opportunities  to  learn  her  thoroughly. 

George  Sand  never  says  anything  witty,  and 
is  indeed  one  of  the  unwittiest  Frenchwomen.^ 
When  others  speak,  she  listens  with  an  amiable, 
and  often  a  strange  smile,  but  the  thoughts 
which  she  has  taken  in  and  worked  over  go 
forth  from  the  alembic  of  her  soul  in  a  far  more 
precious  form.  She  is  a  very  highly  finished  and 
refined  listener,  and  she  willingly  takes  advice 
from  her  friends. 


^  Our  author  might  here  have  applied,  with  some  truth  and 
more  grace,  that  which  Voltaire  said  of  Gabrielle  de  Breteuil, 
Marquise  du  Chatelet,  "  De  toutes  les  femmes  qui  out  illustr^ 
la  France,  c'est  celle  qui  a  eu  le  plus  de  veritable  esprit,  et  qui 
a  moins  affects  le  bel  esprit."  Greorge  Sand  at  least  did  not 
affect  brilliancy ;  she  had  other  people  to  do  such  work  for  her. 
— Trcmtlator, 


I 


304  OBORGE  SAND. 

Owing  to  the  very  uncauonical  or  freethinking 
direction  of  her  mind,  she  has,  as  may  be  sup- 
posed, no  father-confessor ;  bat  as  even  the  most 
emancipated  of  women  must  always  have  a  male 
guide,  a  masculine  authority,  so  George  Sand  has 
also  a  literary  directeur  de  conscience,  the  philo- 
sophical Capucin,  Pierre  Leroux.  This  has  an 
evil  influence  on  her  talent,  for  he  leads  her  into 
obscure  drivelling  and  half-fledged  ideas,  instead 
of  yielding  to  the  serene  delight  of  creating 
brightly-coloured  and  accurately-designed  forms, 
and  to  practise  art  for  the  sake  of  art.  George 
Sand  had,  however,  invested  our  dearly  beloved 
Frederic  Chopin  with  much  more  secular  func- 
tions. This  great  musician  and  pianist  was  for 
a  long  time  her  cavalUre  sei'vente.  Some  time 
before  his  death  she  dismissed  him ;  it  is  true 
that  of  late  his  office  had  become  a  sinecure/ 

I  do  not  know  how  it  came  to  pass  that  my 
friend  Heinrich  Laube  once  attributed  to  me  in 
the  Allgemeine  Zeitung  an  assertion  to  the  effect 
that  the  great  and  genial  Franz  Liszt  had,  during 
his  residence  in  Paris,  been  the  lover  of  George 


^  French  version — "  George  Sand  avait  investi  d'une  dignity 
plus  mondaine  aupr^a  de  ea  personne  notre  bien-aim^  ami 
Fr^d^ric  Chopin.  Ce  grand  compositeur  et  pianiste  fut  pendant 
quinze  ans  son  cavalikre  tervenU  le  plus  f^  et  le  plus  cheval- 
resque ;  quelque  temps  avant  sa  mort,  il  fut  remerci^  pour 
raisoDS  qui  me  sont  inconnues." 


(.•- 


or  freethinking 
ks  may  be  sup- 
3  even  the  most 
iys  have  a  male 
eorge  Sand  has 
',nce,  the  philo- 
This  has  an 
)  leads  her  into 
3  ideas,  instead 
tit   of  creating 
designed  forms, 

art.      George 
dearly  beloved 

secular  func- 

pianist  was  for 

Some  time 

m;  it  is  true 

sinecure/  ■  ^^^^^^H&R''><tl: 

pass  that  my 
ted  to  me  in 

to  the  effect 
5t  had,  during 
er  of  George 

Jti  d'une  dignity 
>  bien-aimd  ami 
liste  fut  pendant 

le  plus  cheval-  ■  ' 

remerci^  pour 


304 


GEORGE  SAND. 


Owing  to  the  very  uncanotiical  or  freethinkinj^ 
direction  of  her  mind,  she  haj?,  as  may  be  sup- 
posed, no  father-confessor ;  but  as  even  tb»*  ruost 
emancipated  of  wou:  >n  must  always  have  a  n;ale 
guide,  a  masculine  aaTJi*>rity,  so  (George  Sand  hus 
also  a  literary  diredeur  lU  co?iscic.'u;e,  the  philo- 
Bophical  Gapucin.  Pierre  Leroux.  This  has  an 
evil  influence  on  her  talent,  for  he  leads  her  into 
obscure  drivelling  and  half-tledged  ideas,  inste:%d 
of  yielding  to  the  serene  delight  of  creating 
brightly-coloured  and  accurately -designed  forms, 
and  to  practise  art  for  the  sake  of  art.  George 
Sand  had.  iiowever,  invested  our  dearly  beloved 
.Frederic  (  hopin  with  much  more  secular  func- 
tions.     This  <>?reat  rrLa!?ician  vnd  pianist  was  lor 


■•'-.'/ 


t-w 


Some  time 


>.ir-u  :.>-.«>  i  iiUii ;   it  la   true 


IL:^"     i  h'N*  Jvr-  ijiliG-'  Lad  become  a  sinecure,' 

I  (io.  not  know  Low  it  cani»?  t».)  pass  that  my 
friend  HeinT-idi  laubtj  oiicv  attributed  to  me  in 
the  Ailijcm^vhe  Zeitung  an  assertion  to  the  effect 
that  the  great  and  geulal  Franz  Liszt  had,  during 
his  residence  in  Paris,  been   the  lover  <;»f  George 


^  French  ver-siun — "Georgt'  Sand  avait  inv<'..»i  <1'une  dignity 
plus  mondaine  auprcs  tie  ■  i  j>er8(.u!!f.  -><  i,---  iien-aiine  ami 
Frederic  Chopin.  Ce  grand  cjinpositeur  -tt  ?  uMii  ste  fut  pendant 
quin7''  ans  fon  cavuliire  s'rr'.'xt--:  !t-  plv;  14-1  t  !<;  phis  chijval- 
resqiu- ;  quehjue  tempw  avant  8»  m/ri,  U  tut  remerci^  pour 
rait<>>a8  qui  u>e  sout  inconuues." 


\  .\     ,1 


,'1  ■^■^•j 


•.,-•»■, 


GEORGE  SAND.  307 

in  him  more  hardness  than  strength,  an  impudent 
brow  of  iron,  and,  with  all  the  wealth  of  imagina- 
tion and  of  wit,  there  is  still  the  clumsiness  of  a 
parvenu,  or  of  a  savage  who  makes  himself  ridi- 
culous by  excessive  and  inappropriate  application 
of  gold  and  jewels ;  in  short,  baroque  barbarism, 
screeching  dissonance,  and  horrible  deformity. 
Some  one  has  said  of  the  genius  of  Victor  Hugo, 
"  C'est  un  beau  bossu ! "  The  expression  is  more 
deeply  significant  than  those  imagine  who  praise 
Hugo's  excellence. 

In  saying  this,  I  do  not  merely  allude  to  the 
fact  that  in  his  romances  and  dramas  his  heroes 
are  humpbacked,  but  that  he  himself  is  thus 
intellectually  afflicted  and  burdened.  According 
to  our  modern  German  doctrine,  called  that  of 
the  Identity,  it  is  a  law  of  nature  that  the  inner 
spiritual  signature  or  character  of  a  man  corre- 
sponds to  his  external  or  bodily  form.  I  had  this 
idea  in  my  head  when  I  came  to  France,  and 
I  one  day  declared  to  my  publisher,  Eugene 
Eenduel,  who  was  also  publisher  for  Hugo,  that 
I,  according  to  my  preconceived  idea,  had  not 
found  in  the  latter  a  man  with  a  hump.  "  Oh, 
his  deformity  is  not  visible,"  remarked  M.  Renduel 
unreflectingly.  "What!"  I  cried,  "is  he  not 
then  free  from  it  ?  "  "  Well,  not  quite,"  was  the 
hesitating  reply ;  and  then,  after  much  urging, 
friend  Renduel  confessed  that  he  one  morning 


y'i.j-T^. 


308  GEORGE  SAND. 

surprised  Victor  Hugo  just  at  the  instant  when 
the  latter  was  changing  his  shirt,  and  observed 
that  one  of  his  hips — I  believe  it  was  the 
right — grew  out  or  protruded  owing  to  malfor- 
mation (misswuchsig  hervortretend  sei),  as  among 
people  of  whom  the  vulgar  say  they  have  a 
bump  or  hump  they  know  not  where.^  The 
multitude,  in  their  shrewd  and  natural  manner 
of  speaking,  call  such  men  half-humpbacks,  or 
cripples  who  have  just  missed  it,^  just  as  they 
call  albinos  white  negroes.  It  is  remarkable 
that  it  was  the  publisher  of  the  poet  from  whom 
that  deformity  was  not  concealed.  "  No  one  is 
a  hero  to  his  valet,"  says  the  proverb,  and  even 
the  greatest  poet  will  not  always  seem  one  to 
his  publisher,  the  lurking  chamberlain  of  his 
intellect ;  they  see  us  too  often  in  our  most 
human  negligi.     At  any  rate,  I  was  much  de- 


1  Buckd.  Such  a  man,  short  and  compact,  is  in  America  a 
hucket.  There  is  a  German  popular  song,  the  refrain  of  which 
is  "  Mit  dem  Buckel. "  The  word  Buckd  (and  bucken,  to  bend, 
bow,  emboss),  allied  to  buckle  in  English,  is  used  to  signify 
curving  out  or  bossing,  as  in  sheet-metal  work,  the  filling  of  a 
sail  by  the  wind,  or  the  bending  of  a  stick,  e.g, — 

*'  And  every  yard  did  buckle  up 

Like  to  a  bending  bow."  ' 

— Slaver's  Song. 

*  Verfchlte  BuckiichU,fahche  Buckdmenachen.  French — "Des 
boesus  mauqu^  de  faux  bossus." — Translator. 


■  ■ 


GEORGE  SAND.  309 

lighted  and  amused  (ergotzte  ich  mich  sehr)  with 
Renduel's  discovery,  for  it  confirmed  the  principle 
of  my  German  philosophy  that  the  body  is  the 
visible  spirit,  and  that  our  mental  flefects  reveal 
themselves  in  our  corporal  conformation.  I  must, 
however,  distinctly  defend  myself  against  the 
erroneous  assumption  that  the  contrary  must  also 
be  the  case,  that  is,  that  the  body  of  man  is 
always  his  visible  soul,  and  that  every  external 
defect  argues  an  inward  vice.  No  ;  we  have 
often  found  in  crippled  outward  forms  the  most 
beautiful  and  erect  souls,  which  is  the  more  intel- 
ligible because  bodily  deformities  are  generally 
the  result  of  a  physical  cause,  and  not  infre- 
quently that  of  some  neglect  or  illness  after  birth. 
But  the  deformity  of  the  soul  comes  with  us  into 
the  world,  and  so  it  happens  that  the  French 
poet,  with  and  in  whom  all  is  false,  has  also  a 
false  hump. 

We  can  make  the  judgment  of  the  works  of 
George  Sand  easy  and  intelligible  by  saying  that 
they  form  the  most  decided  contrast  to  those  of 
Victor  Hugo.  George  Sand  has  all  that  is  want- 
ing in  him  ;  she  has  truth,  nature,  taste,  beauty, 
and  enthusiasm,  and  all  these  qualities  are  bound 
together  by  the  strictest  harmony.  Her  genius 
has  the  most  beautifully  rounded  hips,  and  all 
that  she  feels  and  thinks  breathes  deep  feeling 
and  tenderness  (Tiefdnn  und  Anmvih).      Hei 


310  GEORGE  SAND.  ' 

style  is  a  revelation  of  melody  and  purity  of 
form.  As  for  the  material  of  her  descriptions  or 
their  subjects,  which  may  not  unfrequently  be 
called  bad  subjects  (mauvais  sujits),  I  here  abstain 
from  all  comment,  and  leave  the  subject  to  her 
enemies — "  k  la  discussion  de  ses  enemies  vertueux 
et  quelque  pen  jaloux  de  ses  succ^s  immoraux." 


These  letters  on  Gfeorge  Sand  are  of  very  great  interest, 
not  to  say  value,  from  a  twofold  point  of  view.  The 
personal  description  of  the  lady  is  so  accurate  and  vivid 
as  to  suggest  a  perfect  written  photograph,  while  the  many 
scattered  remarks  as  to  her  intellectual  capacities  and 
associates,  family,  and  habits,  supply  admirable  colour  to 
the  picture.  That  Heine,  in  these  papers,  shows  himself 
at  his  best  and  his  worst,  brilliant  as  a  writer,  and  naively 
vulgar  and  vindictive  in  attacking  an  enemy,  is  also 
worthy  of  consideration ;  for  it  must  never  be  forgotten 
that  it  is  as  a  union  of  startling  incongi-uities  that  our 
author  is,  if  not  great,  at  least  peculiar,  and  far  beyond 
any  other  of  his  kind. 

But  that  in  which  these  remarks  on  George  Sand  are 
very  valuable  is  the  light  which  they  cast  on  the  strange 
and  mysterious  problem  as  to  the  degree  in  which  she 
was  an  original  writer.  In  this  Heine  is  quite  unconscious, 
and  reminds  us  of  the  eagles  in  Sinbad's  tale,  who  carried, 
as  they  thought,  pieces  of  meat  over  the  mountains,  never 
observing  the  diamonds  which  stuck  to  them.  In  the 
first  place,  I  would  observe  that  there  is  no  writer  known 
to  me  in  any  literature  in  whose  works  there  are  such 
marked  and  absolutely  incomprehensible  diflferences  as  in 
those  of  Madame  Dudevant,  both  as  regards  subject  and 


-•>».--»^.  ^     ..-,.. .  :.,^r  .-.,.«     .  *^-*  " 


GEORGE  SAND.  31 1 

style.  Some  years  ago  I  saw  an  exhibition  of  pictures  by 
a  very  well-known  actress  and  artist  of  all  kinds,  and  the 
conclusion  which  I  drew  from  it  was,  that  if  she  had  really 
painted  all  which  bore  her  name,  she  had  as  many  finished 
styles  as  pictures,  and  surpassed  in  versatility,  I  will  not 
say  Horace  Vemet,  but  any  other  hero  of  the  brush  who 
ever  lived.  And  this  exhibition  reminded  me  also  of 
George  Sand's  works.  There  are  in  ConsvAo  not  merely 
passages  and  pages,  but  incidents  and  small  or  great 
peculiarities,  which  unmistakably  betray  not  merely  the 
aid,  but  the  direct  work  of  some  Slavonian  German,  and 
as  decidedly  of  a  Ttuin  at  that.  It  was  in  1848-49  that 
I  discovered  in  one  of  the  most  forgotten  of  old  German 
novels, Der  letzte  Taborit  ("The  Last  of  the  Taborites"),  by 
Herlossohn,  the  author  of  "When  the  Swallows  Home- 
wards Fly,"  the  outlines  of  the  plot  of  Consiielo,  with  the 
names  of  the  principal  characters,  &c.  This  is,  however, 
a  trifle  compared  to  what  is  infinitely  deeper  and  more 
incomprehensible  in  it,  and  that  is  the  intimate  knowledge 
of  old  forgotten  Bohemian  or  Czech  heresies,  obscure 
superstitions,  literature,  and  the  like.  I  was  at  the  time 
deeply  absorbed  in  studying  Bohemian,  and  I  soon  found 
that  there  had  been  two  authors  at  work  in  the  book,  and 
that  the  master-mind  was  certainly  not  that  of  a  French 
woman.  But  how  much  was  I  confirmed  in  this  when  I 
turned  to  Indiana  and  other  works  in  which  there  are  no 
indications  whatever  of  the  deeply  mystical,  uncanny,  pan- 
theistic heretical  spirit  nurtured  on  German  metaphysics 
and  occulta,  which  lurks  like  an  awful  spirit  in  Consuelo 
alone.  There  is  perhaps  no  instance  in  literature  of  a 
mind  of  this  peculiar  kind  throwing  aside  its  every  charac- 
teristic, and  subsequently  writing  very  shallow  sentimental 
works  such  as  those  which  are  known  to  be  by  its  soi-disant 
author ;  and  Heine  tells  us  that  Madame  Dudevant  was 
always  on  the  watch  to  appropriate  every  stray  idea  from 


3W  GEORGE  SAND. 

other  people,  and  was  never  without  a  man  of  intellect  to  ,5. . 

aid  her — i.e.,  to  give  her  ideas,  revise  her  MSS.,  probably  / 

to  do  everything  for  her,  including  writing.     It  was  said  •  '',' 

of  a  very  distinguished  artist  for  a  comic  weekly  in  Paris 
that  he  had  one  man  to  draw  his  pictures  for  him  and  >    . 

another  to  invent  the  subjects  and  write  the  "legends"  or 
accompanying  lines.  When  we  study  the  vast  differences 
of  style  and  manner  of  thought  in  George  Sand's  different 
works,  and  add  to  it  what  Heine  tells  us,  and  that  her 
lover,  Musset,  declared  effectively  that  she  surpassed  all 
contemporaries  in  appropriating  the  ideas  of  others,  we 
get  certainly  a  correct  idea  of  her  peculiar  genius.  Tliere 
are  people  who,  like  Heine,  will  only  admire  the  clever- 
ness which  enabled  her  to  use  men  as  mere  tools  and 
material,  and  it  is  certainly  a  great  art  for  "  success  "  and 
notoriety.  But  it  never  honestly  made  a  loriter  or  a  genius, 
and  in  these  letters  Henry  Heine,  himself  an  eminent  man 
of  letters,  declares  distinctly  that  George  Sand  was  at  the 
head  of  all  the  French  writers  of  prose  of  later  times.  I 
would  say,  in  brief,  that  the  very  great  difference  in  mere 
manner  of  writing,  or  of  literary  style,  and  of  mental 
capacity  evident  in  the  works  of  Madame  Dudevant, 
coupled  with  what  we  are  told  of  her  habits  of  appropriat- 
ing the  ideas  of  others,  and  of  using  her  lovers,  or  almost  any 
clever  men,  as  literary  sources  and  aids,  renders  it  almost 
certain  that  her  true  literary  position,  far  from  being  among 
eminent  writers,  is  simply  one  of  an  editor,  as  was,  in  fact, 
Dumas  the  elder,  though  he  really  possessed  great  original 
talent,  which  is  very  doubtful  as  regards  George  Sand. 

That  George  Sand  employed  her  friends  to  work  for  her 
occurred  to  others  besides  Heine.  Thus  Ernest  Renan  tells 
us  in  his  "  Studies  in  Religious  History  "  (London :  Heine- 
mann),  that  "  we  must  not,  however,  forget  the  beautiful 
romance  of  Spiridion,  in  which  the  figure  of  Joachim  de 
Flor  was  skilfully  drawn  and  brought  into  the  picture 


GEORGE  SAND.  313 

■with  marvellous  art.  On  this  point  Madame  Sand  owed 
much  to  M,  Pierre  Leroux."  To  which  it  might  be  added 
that  this  book  also,  as  regards  style  and  individual  char- 
acter, differs  so  much  from  the  author's  other  works,  that 
one  might  well  believe  that  it  was  by  another  person. 

Heine  has  in  many  places  in  his  works  advocated  the 
theory  that  genius  can  commit  no  theft,  and  has  a  right  to 
make  any  appropriations  it  pleases,  which  is  the  same  as 
declaring  that  any  one  who  can  is  justified  in  stealing  an 
invention.  When  such  a  concession  is  once  made,  it  is 
found  that  all  who  use  it  abuse  it.  I  once  knew  a  "  Bohe- 
mian" in  New  York  who  could  not  read  the  simplest 
French,  yet  who  was  employed  by  a  publisher  to  translate 
a  very  large  and  important  French  book.  He  employed  a 
younger  man  to  do  the  work,  published  it  with  his  own 
name  as  sole  translator,  and  never  paid  his  assistant  a 
penny  of  the  price  promised  to  him.  This  was  the  George 
Sand-Heine  principle  logically  carried  out.  The  superior 
"genius"  made  it  all  his  own — even  to  the  money. — 
Translator. 


LETTERS  ON  MUSIC  FROM 
PARIS.  I 

1 840-1 847. 
SPONTINI  AND  MEYERBEER.  '■ 

Pabis,  June  12,  1840. 
The  Chevalier  Spontini  is  at  present  bombarding 
the  poor  Parisians  with  lithographed  letters  in 
order  to  make  them  recall  at  any  cost  his  long- 
vanished  personality.  I  have,  as  I  write,  before 
me  a  circular  which  he  has  sent  to  the  editors 
of  all  the  newspapers,  and  which  none  will 
publish  out  of  respect  to  human  common-sense 
and  Spontini's  earlier  reputation.  In  it  the  ridi- 
culous borders  on  the  sublime.^  This  wretched 
folly,  which  expresses,  or  rather  vents,  vexation 
in  the  wretchedest  worn-out  style,  is  as  interest- 
ing for  a  physician  as  for  a  philologist  The 
former  would  here  observe  the  sad  phenomenon. 


^  Omitted  in  the  French  version. 
314 


SPONTINI  AND  MEYERBEER.  315 

of  vanity  blazing  and  burning  in  the  heart  the 
more  furiously,  the  more  the  nobler  mental  powers 
are  extinguished;  the  latter,  or  the  student  of 
languages,  may  see  what  a  delightful  jargon  re- 
sults when  a  thorough  and  unchangeable  Italian, 
who  had  been  compelled  to  learn  a  little  French 
in  France,  has  developed  this  Italian  -  French 
by  twenty-five  years'  residence  in  Berlin,  so  that 
the  old  "  canting  "  ^  is  marvellously  mixed  with 
Sarmatian  barbarisms. 

This  circular  begins  with  the  words : — 
"  C'est  tr^s  probablement  une  b^n^vole  supposi- 
tion on  un  souhait  amical  jet^  4  loisir  dans  le 
camp  des  nouvellistes  de  Paris,  que  I'annonce  que 
je  viens  de  lire  dans  la  '  Gazette  d'Etat  de  Berlin,* 
et  dans  les  '  D^bats '  du  1 6  courant,  que  I'admini- 
stration  de  I'Acad^mie  royale  de  musique  a  arrets 
de  remettre  en  sc6ne  la  Vestale  !  ce  dont  aucuns 
d^sirs  ni  soucis  ne  m'ont  un  seul  instant  occup^ 
apres  mon  dernier  depart  de  Paris  ! "  * 

As  if  any  one  had  spoken  voluntarily  of  M. 
Spontini  in  the  Staatszeitung  or  in  the  D^ats, 

^  "Canting,"  not  in  the  sense  of  affected  pious  language,  but 
of  the  peculiar  jargon  spoken  by  thieves  and  vagabonds.  The 
German  word  is  Kauderwdsch,  i.e.,  "gibberish  Italian."  I  had 
an  opportunity  only  a  week  ago,  as  I  write,  of  somewhat  talking 
it  with  a  tinker  near  Homburg.  It  is  about  one  half  Hebrew. 
— l^rantlator. 

^  This  extract  from  Spontini's  circular  is  omitted  in  the  French 
version. — Translator. 


3i6  SPONTINI  AND  MEYERBEER. 

and  as  if  he  had  not  wearied  the  whole  worid 
with  letters  to  remind  them  of  his  opera !  The 
circular  is  dated  in  the  month  of  February,  but 
it  has  been  recently  sent  here  again,  because 
Signer  Spontini  has  heard  that  his  famous  work 
is  to  be  reproduced  here,  which  is  nothing  but 
a  trick — a  trick  of  which  he  will  avail  himself 
to  be  called  here.^  For  after  he  has  declaimed 
pathetically  against  his  enemies  he  adds  : — 

"  Et  voila  justement  le  nouveau  pi^ge  que  je 
crois  avoir  devin^,  et  ce  qui  me  fait  un  imp^rieux 
devoir  de  m'opposer,  me  trouvant  absent,  k  la 
remise  en  scene  de  mes  operas  sur  le  th^&tre  de 
rAcad^mie  royale  de  Musique,  k  moins  que  je 
ne  sois  ofl&cialement  engag^  moi  -  meme  par 
I'Administration,  sous  la  garantie  du  Ministdre 
de  rint^rieur  k  une  rendre  k  Paris,  pour  aider 
de  mes  conseils  cr^ateurs  les  artistes  (la  tradition 
de  mes  op^ra  ^tant  perdue),  pour  assister  aux 
repetitions  et  contribuer  au  succ^s  de  la  VestcUej 
puisque  c'est  d'elle  qu'il  s'agit." 

This  is  the  only  place  in  these  Spontinian 
marshes  ^  where  there  is  firm  ground ;  craft  or 
cunning  here  sticks  out  its  longish  ears — qui  ne 
sont  pas  pricisefnent  celles  du  renard.      The  man 


^  French  version — "  H  ne  voit  qu'un  pifege  dans  cette  intention 
— pi^ge  dont  il  veut  profiter  pour  etre  appel^  ici." 

'  An  allusion  probably  to  the  Pontine  marshes. — Translator. 


SPONTINI  AND  MEYERBEER.  317 

is  absolutely  determined  to  leave  Berlin,  which 
he  can  really  endure  no  longer  since  the  operas 
of  Meyerbeer  have  been  given ;  therefore,  about 
a  year  ago,  he  came  here  for  a  few  weeks, 
and  ran  about  from  morning  to  midnight  among 
all  people  of  any  influence,  to  manage  to  be  re- 
called to  Paris.  As  most  people  here  believed 
that  he  was  dead  long  ago,  they  were  not  a 
little  frightened  at  his  sudden  apparition.  The 
slippery  intriguing  agility  and  craft  of  this  dead 
skeleton  had  in  it  something  fearful  and  fore- 
boding. M.  Duponchel,  the  director  of  the  Grand 
Opera,  would  not  receive  him  at  all,  and  cried 
in  terror,  "  Dieu  me  preserve  de  cette  morte 
intrigante ;  j'ai  ddj^  assez  k  soufi&ir  des  intrigues 
des  vivants  ! " 

And  yet  M.  Moritz  Schlesinger,  the  pub- 
lisher of  Meyerbeer's  operas  (for  it  was  through 
this  good  honourable  soul  that  the  Chevalier 
Spontini  announced  his  visit  to  M.  Duponchel), 
had  employed  all  his  most  trustworthy  and 
persuasive  eloquence  to  put  his  prot^g^  in 
the  best  light.  And  in  choosing  this  person 
as  his  intermediary.  Signer  Spontini  mani- 
fested all  his  shrewdness.  He  also  showed  it 
on  other  occasions;  as,  for  instance,  when  he 
discussed  or  spoke  ill  of  any  one,  he  generally 
did  this  among  the  most  intimate  friends  of 
the  latter.     He  told  the  French  writers  that  at 


3x8  SPONTINI  AND  MEYERBEER. 

Berlin  he  had  caused  a  German  who  had  written 
against  him  to  be  imprisoned  for  six  months. 
Among  the  French  lady-singers  he  complained  of 
the  German  cantatrices,  who  would  not  engage 
themselves  at  the  Berlin  opera  unless  it  was 
expressly  stipulated  that  they  need  not  sing  in 
any  opera  by  him  ! 

But  he  will  positively  come  here ;  he  can  no 
longer  endure  a  residence  in  Berlin,  whither, 
as  he  declares,  he  was  exiled  by  the  hatred  of 
his  enemies,  yet  where  he  is  allowed  no  peace. 
He  recently  wrote  to  the  editor  of  La  France 
Musiccde  that  his  enemies  were  not  content  with 
having  driven  him  over  the  Rhine,  over  the 
Weser,  over  the  Elbe ;  they  would  fain  hunt  him 
farther — over  the  Weichsel,  over  the  Niemen  ! 
He  finds  great  resemblance  between  his  own  fate 
and  that  of  Napoleon.  He  believes  himself  to 
be  a  genius  against  whom  all  the  musical  powers 
have  conspired.  Berlin  is  his  St.  Helena,  and 
the  critic  Rellstab  his  Hudson  Lowe.  But  now 
his  mortal  remains  should  be  borne  to  Paris 
and  solemnly  placed  in  that  musical  Dome  des 
Invalides — the  Acad^mie  Royal  de  Musique. 

The  alpha  and  omega  of  all  the  Spontinian  com- 
plaints is  Meyerbeer.  When  the  Chevalier  paid 
me  the  honour  of  a  visit  here  in  Paris,  he  was  inex- 
haustible in  stories  bursting  with  gall  and  poison. 
He  cannot  deny  the  fact  that  the  King  of  Prussia 


SPONTINI  AND  MEYERBEER.  3»9 

has  loaded  with  honours,  even  to  excess,  our 
great  Giacomo,  and  proposes  to  further  bestow  on 
him  high  oflBce  and  dignities  j  but  he  knows  how 
to  attribute  all  this  royal  favour  to  the  meanest 
motives.  And  he  really  seems  to  have  ended  by 
believing  in  his  own  inventions,  for  it  was  with 
a  countenance  expressive  of  the  deepest  conviction 
that  he  assured  me  that  once  when  dining  with 
His  Majesty  the  King,  His  Highest  Mightiness 
confessed  to  him  after  the  meal,  with  gay  and 
festive  frankness,  that  he  would  like  to  keep 
Meyerbeer  at  any  price  in  Berlin,  so  as  to  prevent 
the  millionaire  musician  from  spending  his  money 
in  other  countries !  As  music,  or  the  desire  to 
shine  as  a  composer  of  operas,  is  a  noted  weak- 
ness of  this  wealthy  man,  he,  the  King,  would 
profit  from  this  weakness  by  baiting  Meyerbeer, 
the  ambitious,  with  distinctions  and  dignities. 
"  It  is  sad,"  added  the  King,  "that  a  native  talent 
which  possesses  such  great  and  almost  genial 
resources  {Vermogen)  should  squander  his  good 
hard  Prussian  dollars  in  Italy  and  Paris,  merely 
to  be  celebrated  as  a  composer.  What  he  gets 
for  his  money  may  also  be  had  here  ;  there  are 
laurels  growing  also  in  our  hot-houses  for  the 
fools  who  will  pay  for  them ;  our  journalists  also 
are  intelligent,  and  like  a  good  breakfast,  and  espe- 
cially a  good  dinner,  and  our  street-comer  com- 
missionaires and  sellers  of  pickled  cucumbers  have 


320  SPONTINI  AND  MEYERBEER. 

as  hard  hands  for  applauding  as  the  Parisian 
claque;  and  if  our  idlers,  instead  of  lounging 
in  smoking-rooms,  would  pass  their  evenings  in 
the  opera-house  applauding  the  Huguenots,  they 
would  be  more  cultured ;  the  lower  orders  must 
be  morally  and  aesthetically  elevated,  and  the 
great  thing  is  to  make  money  come  among  the 
people,  especially  in  the  capital" 

It  was  in  such  terms  as  these,  according 
to  Spontini,  that  His  Majesty  expressed  himself 
in  order  to  excuse  himself  to  the  composer  of 
the  Vestal  for  the  sacrifices  which  he  had  made 
to  Meyerbeer.  When  I  remarked  that  it  was 
really  very  praiseworthy  in  the  King  to  make 
such  sacrifices  to  advance  the  prosperity  of  his 
capital  city,  Spontini  suddenly  interrupted  me 
with, "  Oh,  you  are  mistaken  ;  the  King  of  Prussia 
does  not  protect  that  wretched  music  from  poli- 
tico-economical grounds,  but  because  he  hates  all 
music,  and  knows  very  well  that  it  must  perish 
under  the  example  and  lead  of  a  man  who  is 
without  any  feeling  for  what  is  true  and  noble, 
and  only  cares  to  flatter  the  rude  multitude." 

Here  I  could  not  refrain  from  plainly  saying 
to  the  spiteful  Italian  that  it  was  not  wise  of  him 
to  deny  all  merit  whatever  to  his  rival.  "  Bivall" 
he  cried  in  a  rage,  and  changed  colour  ten  times, 
till  finally  the  yellow  reappeared,  when  all  at 
once,  subduing  himself,  he  asked  with  scornful 


■f'/.-.vr^^.yv- 


SPONTINI  AND  MEYERBEER.  sn 

gnashing  of  the  teeth,  "  And  are  you  really  sure 
that  Meyerbeer  is  actually  the  composer  of  all 
the  music  which  is  brought  out  in  his  name  ?"  I 
was  not  a  little  startled  at  this  lunatic  question, 
and  then  I  heard  with  astonishment  that  Meyer- 
beer had  bought  in  Italy  the  compositions  of 
several  poor  musicians,  and  manufactured  from 
them  operas  which  failed  because  the  stuff  which 
they  sold  him  was  worthless.  Afterwards  he 
purchased  from  a  talented  abbe  in  Venice  some- 
thing better,  which  he  incorporated  into  his 
Crociato.  He  also  possesses  Weber's  unpub- 
lished manuscripts,  which  he  had  gammoned 
(ahgeschwcUzt)  the  composer's  widow  into  giving 
him,  and  which  he  will  probably  use  at  some 
future  time.  Robert  le  Diable  and  the  Httguenots 
are  chiefly  the  work  of  a  Frenchman  named 
Gouin,  who  is  only  too  willing  to  have  them 
brought  out  as  Meyerbeer's  for  fear  lest  he  should 
lose  his  place  as  chef  de  bureau  in  the  post-office, 
because  his  superiors  in  the  administration  would 
certainly  mistrust  his  zeal  if  they  knew  that  he 
is  a  visionary  composer,  since  such  Philistines 
consider  that  practical  functions  are  irreconcil- 
able with  artistic  gifts  ;  therefore,  the  post-official 
Gouin  is  shrewd  enough  to  conceal  his  author- 
ship, and  to  leave  all  worldly  renown  to  his 
ambitious  friend  Meyerbeer. 

This  is  the  cause  of  the  great  intimacy  between 

X 


322  SPONTINI  AND  MEYERBEER.        \ 

the  two  men,  whose  interests  are  so  intimately 
allied.  But  a  father  is  always  a  father,  and  the 
fate  of  his  intellectual  children  is  always  near  to 
the  heart  of  Gouin ;  therefore  the  details  of  the 
execution  and  the  results  of  the  performance  of 
Robert  le  Diable  and  of  the  Huguenots  absorb  all 
his  activity.  He  is  present  at  every  rehearsal ; 
he  is  always  conferring  with  the  manager  of  the 
opera,  with  the  singers,  the  dancers,  the  chef  de 
claque,  the  journalists ;  he  runs  with  his  oiled  and 
strapless  boots  {Thranstiefeln  ohne  Zederstrippen) 
from  morning  to  evening  to  every  newspaper 
editor  to  beg  for  a  puff  in  favour  of  the  so-called 
operas  of  Meyerbeer,  and  his  unweariedness  in 
this  amazes  everybody. 

When  Spontini  imparted  to  me  this  hypo- 
thesis, I  confessed  that  it  was  not  devoid  of  pro- 
bability, and  that,  notwithstanding  the  angular 
and  clumsy  exterior,  the  tile-red  face,  the  low 
forehead,  the  greasy  black  hair  of  M.  Gouin,  sug- 
gesting a  grazier  or  drover  more  than  a  musical 
composer,  there  was  still  much  in  his  conduct 
which  was  very  suspicious  indeed,  which  rendered 
it  probable  that  he  was  really  the  author  of 
the  operas  of  Meyerbeer.  He  has  often  spoken 
of  Bobert  le  Diahle  and  of  the  Hu^guenots  as  "  our 
operas,"  and  such  expressions  have  escaped  him 
as  "  We  have  a  rehearsal  to-day,"  "  We  must  cut 
short  an  air."     And  it  is  very  singular  too  that 


SPONTINI  AND  MEYERBEER.  J«3 

M.  Goain  never  misses  an  opera,  and  when  a 
bravura  is  applauded,  he  quite  forgets  himself, 
and  bows  to  every  side  as  if  to  thank  the 
public.  I  admitted  all  this  to  the  raging  Italian, 
yet  added,  that  though  I  had  seen  all  this 
with  my  own  eyes,  I  could  not  believe  that 
M.  Gouin  had  really  written  the  Huguenots 
and  Robert  le  Didble;  but  that  if  such  were  the 
case,  artistic  vanity  would  be  sure  in  the  end  to 
get  the  upper  hand,  and  that  M.  Gouin  would 
finally  vindicate  his  right  to  the  authorship  of 
those  operas. 

"  No,"  replied  the  Italian,  with  a  gloomy  sinis- 
ter glance  as  piercing  as  the  point  of  a  stiletto,^ 
—  No  ;  this  Gouin  knows  too  well  his  Meyerbeer 
not  to  be  aware  that  his  friend  is  possessed  of 
terrible  means  to  put  aside  any  one  who  is 
dangerous  to  him.  Aye,  he  would  be  capable 
of  immuring  him  for  ever  in  Charenton  under 
the  pretence  that  poor  Gouin  is  insane.  He 
would  pay  the  price  of  first-class  board  for  such 
patients,  and  would  go  twice  a  week  to  Charen- 
ton to  be  sure  that  his  poor  friend  was  care- 
fully watched ;  and  he  would  give  the  guardian 
liberal  tips  to  take  good  care  of  his  mad  Orestes, 


^  What  a  pity  that  Heine  did  not  know  that  Spontone  (dialect 
Spontini)  means  in  Italian  the  sting  of  a  wasp  or  the  point  of 
a  pike,  or,  in  a  way,  even  a  dagger.  The  nomen  was  indeed  an 
mnen  of  the  man  as  described  by  oar  anthor. — TranilcUor. 


3^4  SPONTINI  AND  MEYERBEER.         1 

t»  whom  he  would  act  as  another  Pylades,  to 
the  great  edification  of  all  the  gaping  idiots, 
who  would  not  fail  to  praise  his  generosity. 
Poor  Gouin  !  should  he  speak  of  his  fine  choruses 
in  Edbert  le  Didble,  they  would  put  on  him  a 
strait-jacket,  and  if  he  mentioned  his  mag- 
nificent duet  in  the  Hugu&mts,  he  would  get  a 
shower-bath.  And  the  poor  devil  might  be  glad 
to  have  got  off  with  his  life.  All  who  have  ever 
stood  in  the  way  of  that  ambitious  wretch  have 
perished  {miissen  weichen).  Where  is  Weber? 
Where  is  Bellini  ?     Hum  !  hum  !  "  * 

This  hum  /  hum  !  was,  despite  the  shameless 
malignity  which  it  implied,  so  droll  that  I  roared 
with  laughter,  and  remarked — 

"  But  you,  Maestro,  have  not  yet  been  cleared 
out  of  the  way,  nor  Donizetti,  nor  Rossini,  nor 
Halevy." 

"  Hum  !  hum !  "  was  the  reply.  "  Hum  ! 
hum  !  Halevy  does  not  trouble  his  confrbre,,  and 
Meyerbeer  would  willingly  pay  him    something 

'  French  version — "  Et  il  pouva  encore  se  f^liciter  d'avoir 
conserve  la  vie  et  de  n'Stre  pas  disparu  de  ce  monde,  comme 
toaa  ceux  qui  embarrassaient  dans  son  chemin  le  fameux 
jettatore  Meyerbeer."  A  jettatore  is  one  who  kills  or  wounds 
with  the  evil-eye,  and  it  is  a  pity  that  Ehrgeiding  has  been 
substituted  for  it  in  the  German  text,  as  it  gives  a  very  strong 
reason,  in  the  mouth  of  a  superstitious  Italian,  for  the  myste- 
rious manner  in  which  he  speaks  of  the  deaths  of  Weber  and  of 
BellinL — Trandator.  .1 


-Tjyjf; 


SPONTINI  AND  MEYERBEER.  3»5 

to  exist  as  a  harmless  apparent  rival;  and  he 
knows  as  regards  Rossini,  through  his  spies, 
that  he  no  longer  composes  a  note ;  and  then 
Eossini's  stomach  has  already  suffered  enough  as 
it  is.  Therefore  he  never  touches  a  piano  for 
fear  of  exciting  Meyerbeer's  suspicions.  Hum  ! 
hum !  But  thank  God,  only  our  bodies  can  be 
killed,  not  the  work  of  our  souls  ;  that  will  bloom 
for  ever  in  immortal  freshness,  while  with  the 
death  of  that  Cartouche  of  music  his  immor- 
tality will  also  end,  and  his  operas  follow  him 
into  the  silent  realm  of  oblivion." 

Truly  it  was  with  great  pains  that  I  restrained 
my  indignation  at  hearing  the  insolent  disdain 
with  which  this  bitterly  envious  Italian  spoke 
of  our  great  and  celebrated  master,  who  is  the 
glory  of  Germany  and  the  pride  of  the  East,  and 
who  unquestionably  should  be  considered  and  ad- 
mired as  the  true  composer  ofJRobert  U  Didble  and 
of  the  Huguenots.  No,  a  Gouin  certainly  never 
composed  anything  so  magnificent.^  With  all 
my  reverence  for  this  vast  genius,  I  feel  serious 
doubts  now  and  then  rise  in  me  as  to  the 
immortality    of   these    master-works    after    the 


^  The  French  version  adds — "  Quelque  brave  homme  qu'il 
■oit."  There  are  many  such  trifling  additions  or  variations  in 
this  letter  in  the  French  copy,  which  give  the  latter  the  air  of 
having  been  the  originaL — Trandator. 


3*6  SPONTINI  AND  MEYERBEER. 

death  of  their  author,  but  in  my  interview  with 
Spontini  I  assumed  the  air  of  being  convinced 
that  they  would  endure  for  ever ;  and,  to  vex  the 
jealous  Italian,  I  informed  him  in  confidence  of 
something  by  which  he  could  perceive  what 
wondrous  foresight  Meyerbeer  has  shown  as 
regards  the  success  of  his  spiritual  children, 
even  beyond  the  grave.  "  This  prevision,"  I 
said,  "  is  a  psychological  proof  that  it  is  not 
M.  Gouin,  but  the  great  Giacomo  who  is  the  real 
father.  For  he  has  established  by  his  will  an 
entail  (Fideikommis)  or  trust  in  favour  of  his 
musical  spirit-children,  by  which  he  leaves  a 
capital,  the  interest  of  which  is  devoted  to 
ensure  the  future  of  the  poor  orphans,  so  that 
even  after  the  death  of  their  father  all  the  neces- 
sary expenses  for  popularity,  such  as  decoration, 
claque,  newspaper  puffs,  and  the  like  shall  be 
defrayed.  Even  for  the  as  yet  unborn  little 
Prophet  the  tender  parent  has  appropriated  the 
sum  of  150,000  Prussian  thalers.  Never  yet 
did  a  prophet  come  into  this  world  with  so  much 
money — the  carpenter's  son  of  Bethlehem  and 
the  camel-driver  of  Mecca  had  nothing  like  it. 
Robert  le  Didble  and  the  Hv^uenots  are  less  richly 
endowed ;  they  can  perhaps  live  for  a  long  time 
to  come  on  their  own  fat,  so  long  as  good  scenery 
and  well-shaped  ballet-legs  are  provided  ;  in  the 
remote  future  they  may  require  some  further  aid. 


SPONTINI  AND  MEYERBEER.  327 

The  Crociato  also  receives  much  less,  and  his 
father,  who  shows  himself  here  a  little  stingy, 
complains  that  this  gay  young  scamp  cost  him 
too  much  money  in  Italy,  and  that  if  not  a 
prodigy,  he  is  at  least  a  prodigal.^  But  Meyer- 
beer shows  himself  more  nobly  generous  to  his 
unfortunate  fallen  and  failed  daughter  Emma 
de  Bosburgo,  who  is  to  be  every  year  again 
announced  in  the  Presse,  and  have  a  new  en- 
dowment, and  appear  in  an  Mition  de  Itixe  of 
satin  velvet ;  for  parents'  loving  hearts  always 
beat  most  truly  for  wretched  crippled  changelings 
of  children.  And  in  this  manner  all  of  Meyer- 
beer's spiritual  children  are  well  provided  for ; 
their  future  is  assured  unto  all  time." 

Hate  blinds  even  the  insect,  and  it  is  not 
to  be  wondered  at  that  a  passionate  fool  like 
Spontini  never  doubted  my  words.  He  cried 
aloud,  "  Oh !  he  is  capable  of  any — everything ! 
Wretched  age  !  unfortunate  world  !  " 

I  here  close  my  letter,  for  I  am  to-day  in 
very  tragic  mood,  and  gloomy  thoughts  of  death 
cast  their  shadows  over  my  soul.  To-day  my 
poor  Sakoski  was  buried — Sakoski,  the  great 
artist  in  leather,  for  the  term  shoemaker  is  too 
trifling  for   such    a   man.      All   the   marchands 


^  "  Et  que  si  ce  n'est  un  prodige,  c'est  dtt  moins  on  prodigne." 
This  is  limited  to  ein  Vertchwender  in  the  German  text 


ii»-.-"?^;.--:v«r;S- 


328  SPONTINI  AND  MEYERBEER. 

hottiers  and  fahricants  de  chattssures  in  Paris 
attended  his  funeral  He  was  eighty-eight  years 
of  age,  and  died  of  an  indigestion.  He  lived 
wisely  and  happily.  He  troubled  himself  very 
little  as  to  the  heads  of  his  contemporaries,  but 
all  the  more  for  that  as  to  their  feet.  May  the 
earth  be  as  light  and  easy  on  thee  as  thy  boots 
have  been  to  me,  0  Sakoski !  ^ 


^  Heine  alludes  to  this  man  in  "  The  Bomantio  School "  {vide 
"Germany,"  voL  i.  p.  359),  where  he  declares  his  conviction  that 
"Jacob  Bohme  did  not  make  such  good  boots  as  M.  Sakoski 
.  .  .  nor  Sakoski  make  such  excellent  verse  as  Hans  Sachs." 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1841. 

Pabis,  AprU  20,  1841. 

The  Exhibition  of  this  year  only  revealed  an 
incapacity  of  many  colours.  One  might  almost 
think  that  the  renaissance  or  blooming  anewof 
the  fine  arts  had  by  us  come  to  an  end,  and  that 
it  was  not  a  new  spring,  but  a  pitiful  Old  Wives' 
Summer.^  Painting,  Sculpture,  and  even  Archi- 
tecture took  a  joyous  flight  on  high  immediately 
after  the  Revolution  of  July  ;  but  their  wings 
were  only  tied  on,  and  the  artificial  flight  was 
followed  by  a  heavy  fall  Only  the  youngest 
out  of  all  the  sisters,  Music,  soared  with  original 
and  vigorous  strength.  Has  she  now  attained 
the  zenith  of  her  career  of  light  ?  (Zichtgipfel). 
Will  she  maintain  it,  or  will  she,  too,  soon  sink 
to  earth  ?     These  are  questions  to  which  perhaps 


^  AUeweibersommer.  In  America,  the  Indian  gnmmer,  in 
French,  I'itd  de  Saint-Martin,  the  brief  period  of  fine  weather 
in  autumn,  about  the  time  of  the  first  frosts. — Trandator. 

V9 


330  THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1841. 

only  a  future  generation  can  reply.  But  it 
seems  probable  that  our  epoch  will  be  specially 
inscribed  in  the  annals  of  art  as  the  musical  age. 
The  arts  keep  even  pace  with  the  continual, 
gradual  spiritualisation  of  humanity.  In  the 
earliest  times,  architecture  must  necessarily  come 
forth  alone,  tremendously  expressing  and  glorify- 
ing the  unconscious  and  rude  sense  of  immensity, 
as  we  see  it  among  the  Egyptians.  We  behold 
later  with  the  Greeks  the  full  development 
of  sculpture,  which  already  indicates  a  further 
mastery  of  matter;  the  spirit  carving  in  the 
stone  a  presentiment  of  the  perceptive  soul  {eine 
dhnende  Sinnigkeit).  But  the  spirit  found  the 
stone  much  too  hard  for  its  rapidly  rising  need 
of  a  revelation  of  itself  {Offenharung^edilrfnisse), 
so  it  chose  colour  blended  with  varied  shadow 
to  set  forth  a  transfigured  and  twilight  world 
of  love  and  pain.  Then  arose  the  great  period 
of  painting,  which  burst  forth  so  gloriously  at  the 
end  of  the  Middle  Age.  With  the  development 
of  life  in  self-consciousness,  all  plastic  gifts  dis- 
appear from  man,  till  finally  even  the  sense  of 
colour  vanishes,  and  the  sublimed  spirituality  or 
abstract  thought  in  action  {Gedankenthum)  grasps 
at  sounds  and  chords  to  stammer  or  babble  a 
visionary  sublimity  (lallende  Ueberschwanglichkeit), 
which  is  perhaps  nothing  but  the  dissolution  of 
the   whole    corporeal  world ;    so    that   music  is 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1S41.  331 

perhaps  the  last  utterance  of  art,  as  death  is  the 
final  word  of  life.* 

I  have  begun  with  this  brief  observation  to 
explain  why  the  musical  season  is  to  me  rather 
a  torment  than  a  delight ;  that  one  is  here  almost 
drowned  in  mere  music;  that  there  is  in  Paris 
almost  no  house  in  which  one  can  save  himself 
from  this  resounding  Sinner's  Flood.     That  the 


^  These  views  of  Heine,  drawn  from  the  Natur  PhUosopkie, 
while  they  are  admirably  and  clearly  expressed,  give  us  only 
one  side  of  a  vast  question.  If  the  spiritualisation  of  man — 
that  is,  the  development  of  thought,  intellect,  or  mind — is  the 
cause  of  the  decay  of  art,  why  is  it  that  intellect  at  present, 
instead  of  developing  gp-ander  motives  or  themes  as  it  progresses, 
always  falls  back  on  the  past  for  them  ?  Setting  aside  sculpture 
and  painting,  which  now  simply  exist  on  reproduction,  why  is  the 
music  of  the  future  founded  on  the  Nibelungen,  the  Tannhauser, 
and  similar  topics  of  the  olden  time,  which  are  actually  incom- 
prehensible as  regards  their  ancient  meaning  and  reality,  and 
which  have  no  relation  whatever  to  music  ?  If  music  is  advanc- 
ing beyond  the  merely  emotional  stage  to  thought,  or  becoming 
one  with  it,  as  so  many  claim,  why  does  it  not  create  thought 
or  new  motives?  The  truth  probably  is,  that  science  is  pro- 
gressing to  a  new  phase  of  material  life,  entirely  free  from  the 
old  spiritual  influences,  and  that  when  this  shall  be  independent, 
there  will  be  a  new  art  and  new  music  based  on  its  results. 
And  as  Fichte  declares  that  no  bird,  however  rapidly  it  flies, 
can  go  beyond  itself,  so  is  it  impossible  that  any  art  can 
advance  beyond  the  limits  of  this  present  age  of  confused 
transition.  It  is  very  remarkable  that  Heine,  who  had  been 
formed  in  spiritual  ideas,  often  bad  these  marvellous  intuitions 
as  to  the  disappearance  of  ancient  art,  although  he  nowhere 
anticipates  that  after  the  twilight  of  the  gods  there  is  to  be 
a  new  world. — Trcmtlator. 


«_,  ♦*--  . 


332  THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1841.        ! 

noble  art  of  sweet  sound  inundates  all  our  life,  is 
for  me  a  serious  sign,  and  it  often  awakens  in  me 
a  displeasure  which  deteriorates  into  the  most  ill- 
natured  injustice  against  our  great  maestri  and 
virtibosi.  Under  such  circumstances  no  one 
can  expect  from  me  any  too  enthusiastic  hymn  of 
praise  for  the  man  round  whom  just  at  present 
the  historical  heau  monde,  and  especially  the 
hysterical  lady-world,  is  rejoicing  with  delirious 
enthusiasm,  I  speak  of  Franz  Liszt,  the  genial 
pianist,  whose  playing  often  impresses  me  like  a 
musical  agony  in  the  world  of  things  apparent.* 
Yes,  the  genial  one,  or  the  genius,  is  again  here, 
and  gives  concerts  which  exercise  a  magic  which 
is  well-nigh  marvellous.  Beside  him  all  pianists 
vanish — excepting  Chopin,  the  Raphael  of  the 
forte-piano.  And  in  truth,  with  the  exception 
of  the  latter,  all  others  of  the  craft,  whom  we 
have  heard  this  year  in  concerts  without  number, 
are  only  piano-players  ;  they  shine  in  the  dexterity 
with  which  they  manipulate  the  stringed  wood ; 
but  when  Liszt  plays,  one  no  longer  thinks  of 
mere  difficulties  subdued,  the  piano  disappears, 
and  music  reveals  itself.  In  this  respect  Liszt 
has  made  wonderful  progress  since  I  last  heard 
him  play.     And  to  this  advantage  he  adds  a  calm 


^  This  referenoe  to  agony  is  omitted  in  the  French  renion. 
— TramUUor. 


■ita 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OP  1841^  333 

or  self-poBsession  which  was  formerly  awanting. 
When  he,  for  example,  played  a  storm  on  the 
piano,  or  saw  lightnings  flit  in  his  own  face,  his 
limbs  seemed  as  if  shaken  by  a  tempest,  and  his 
long  locks  seemed  dripping  with  rain.  But  now, 
when  he  gives  us  even  the  most  terrible  thunder, 
he  rises  far  above  it,  like  the  traveller  who  stands 
on  the  summit  of  an  Alp  while  a  tempest  rages 
in  the  valley  far  below ;  the  clouds  gather  and  lie 
deeply  under  him,  lightnings  curl  like  serpents 
at  his  feet,  while  he  raises  his  head  smiling  in 
the  pure  ether.  ^ 

Despite  his  geniality,  Liszt  encounters  opposi- 
tion here  in  Paris,  which  is  perhaps  the  result  of 
it  or  of  genius.  This  quality  is  in  certain  eyes 
a  tremendous  transgression,  which  can  never  be 
BuflBciently  punished.  "  Talent  may  be  in  time 
forgiven,  but  genius  never,"  as  was  once  said  by 
the  late  Lord  Byron,  between  whom  and  Liszt 
there  is  a  great  similarity.  This  opposition  con- 
sists mostly  of  serious  musicians,  who  give  the 
laurel  to  his  rival,  Thalberg  the  imperial.  Liszt 
has  already  given  two  concerts,  in  which  he, 
contrary  to  all  precedent,  played  without  the 
co-operation  of  other  artists.       He  is  now  pre- 


^  "  Eternal  sunshine  settles  on  its  head."  Seven  lines  of  the 
beginning  of  the  next  sentence  were  omitted  in  the  earlier 
editions  and  are  given  in  a  note  in  the  latest. — TrandaXor. 


334  THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1841. 

paring  a  third  for  the  benefit  of  the  monument 
to  Beethoven.  This  composer  must  indeed  cor- 
respond most  closely  to  the  taste  of  a  Liszt ;  for 
Beethoven  carries  spiritual  art  to  that  melodious 
agony  of  all  which  is  perceptible  {Erscheinungs- 
wdt),  or  unto  that  annihilation  of  nature  which 
fills  me  with  an  awe  which  I  cannot  conceal, 
although  my  friends  shake  their  heads  at  me. 
It  is  to  me  a  deeply,  marvellously  significant 
thing  that  Beethoven  became  deaf  towards  the 
end  of  his  days,  so  that  even  the  invisible  world 
of  sounds  had  no  longer  a  ringing  reality.  The 
sounds  which  still  existed  in  his  soul  were  only 
memories  of  music  long  dead  and  gone,  the 
ghosts  of  vanished  airs,  and  his  last  works  bear 
on  their  brows  a  strange  stamp  of  death. 

I  was  impressed  less  terribly  than  by  this 
music  of  Beethoven  by  his  friend,  "  L'ami  de 
Beethoven,"  as  he  shows  himself  to  all  Paris — I 
believe  even  on  his  visiting  cards.  He  is  a  long 
hop-pole  with  a  terribly  white  cravat  and  a  dread- 
fully bitter  undertaker's-assistant's  face.  Was 
this  "  friend  of  Beethoven  "  really  his  Pylades,  or 
did  he  merely  belong  to  the  throng  of  those  indif- 
ferent acquaintances  with  whom  a  man  of  genius 
often  keeps  company,  all  the  more  willingly  the 
more  insignificant  they  are  and  the  more  stupid 
their  twaddle,  because  it  affords  him  relief  after 
wearisome  poetic  flighta     At  any  rate,  we  saw  in 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1841.  33S 

this  a  new  way  to  turn  genius  to  acconnt,  and 
the  small  newspapers  were  not  a  little  merry 
over  "  I'ami  de  Beethoven."  "  Comment  I'^minent 
artiste  a-t-il  pa  supporter  un  ami  si  pen  amusant 
et  si  pauvre  d'esprit  ?  " — ("  How  the  devil  could 
such  a  man  put  up  with  such  a  bore  ? ") — cried 
the  French,  who  lost  all  patience  listening  to 
the  monotonous  humdrum  of  the  tiresome  guest. 
They  forgot  that  Beethoven  was  deaf.^ 

The  number  of  artists  who  have  given  concerts 
during  this  year's  season  has  been  legion,  and 
there  was  no  want  of  mediocre  pianists  who  were 
praised  as  if  they  had  been  miracles  in  the  news- 
papers. They  are  mostly  young  people,  who, 
either  in  their  own  modest  persons  or  in  that 
of  modest  brothers,  solicit  such  laudation  and 
elevation  in  the  press.  The  self-deifications  of 
this  kind,  and  the  so-called  puffs  (Beklame)  form 
delightful  reading.  Such  a  reclame  which  appeared 
lately  in  the  Musical  Gaaette  announced  from 
Marseilles  that  the  celebrated  DShler  *  had  there 
enchanted  all  hearts,  especially  by  his  interesting 
paleness,  which — the  result  of  a  recent  illness — 

^  The  reader  will  find  anon  that  this  was  all  untme,  and  th»t 
the  man  referred  to  did  not  have  "  the  friend  of  Beethoven  " 
inscribed  on  his  cards,  as  Heine  was  compelled  to  admit. — 
Trandator. 

*  DohU  or  Biihle  means  in  German  a  jackdaw.  I  believe  that 
this  is  the  only  instance  in  Heine's  works  of  hia  omitting  t« 
make  a  joke,  good  or  bad,  when  it  came  in  his  way. 


336  THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OP  1841, 

had  attracted  the  attention  of  the  "beau  monde. 
"  The  celebrated  DOhler  "  has  since  then  returned 
to  Paris  and  given  several  concerts,^  including 
playing  at  that  of  the  Gazette  Mudccde  of  M. 
Schlesinger,  who  rewarded  him  therefor  with 
wreaths  of  laurel  in  the  most  liberal  manner. 
La  FraivM  Musicale  also  praises  him,  and  with 
equal  impartiality,  for  this  journal  has  a  blind 
hatred  of  Liszt,  and  so  in  order  to  sting  the  lion 
it  praises  the  puppy.  But  what  does  the  merit 
of  the  celebrated  Dohler  amount  to  ?  Some  say 
that  he  is  the  last  among  the  second-rate  pianists, 
while  others  declare  him  to  be  the  first  of  the 
third-rate  !  He  really  plays  prettily,  nicely,  and 
neatly,  and  his  execution  is  most  charming,  in- 
dicating an  astonishing  facility  of  fingering,  but 
not  a  trace  of  vigour  or  intellect.  He  is  summed 
up  in  graceful  weakness,  elegant  impotence,  in- 
teresting paleness.' 

Among  the  concerts  of  this  year  which  still 
resound  in  the  memories  of  all  lovers  of  art  were 


^  Twelve  lines  are  here  omitted  in  the  French  version. — 
Trwmiator. 

*  It  is  worth  observing  that  Heine  subsequently,  in  "The 
Musical  Season  of  1844,"  spoke  of  Dohler  as  the  greatest  among 
the  lesser  or  second-class  artists,  and  altogether  indicates  that  he 
has  a  higher  opinion  of  him  than  is  here  expressed.  But  our 
author's  deepest  convictions,  whether  in  religion  or  art,  but 
especially  as  to  human  beings,  depended  entirely,  as  he  several 
times  naively  admits,  on  the  mood  or  state  of  health  in  which  he 


lu  monde. 
1  returned 
including 
Ue  of  M. 
efor  with 
[  manner, 
and  with 
5  a  blind 
g  the  lion 
the  merit 
Some  say 
)  pianists, 
fit  of  the 
icely,  and 
•ming,  in- 
ering,  but 
3  summed 
tence,  in- 

hich  still 
art  were 

|i  version. — 

in  "The 
utest  among 
ates  that  he 
But  onr 
or  art,  but 
le  several 
n  which  he 


u 


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•.:  ■••  ::,    ■  ■■(■:'_   ■:■   h-r  •■'■J 

,..■  ...  .  ■    .•i;;iv;;'v- 

':  •        1.     •.i'-'r     Atiii 

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::.,  •  i  •    ■     ,    .i    '•;dj 

t 

.'  ■     _^  ,;  I        ■          -      ;■  •  r)-i 


:i  ,1 


,  I 


ii" 


«.  '' ! 


,1  'i 


cy^La^/<u^//^ 


338  THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OP  1841. 

Vienxtemps  is  much  nearer  to  M.  Sina  than  he 
is  to  Nicolo  Paganini. 

Vieuxtemps  is  a  son  of  Belgium,  and  in  fact 
the  most  remarkable  violinists  seem  to  come  from 
the  Low  Countries.  For  the  violin  is  there  the 
national  instrument,  which  has  been  cultivated  by 
great  and  small,  by  women  as  well  as  men,  from 
all  time,  as  we  may  see  by  the  Dutch  pictures. 
The  most  distinguished  violinist  of  this  national 
paternity  {Laridsmannschaft)  is  beyond  question 
Beriot,  husband  of  the  late  Malibran,  and  many 
a  time  I  cannot  but  believe  as  if  the  soul  of  his 
departed  wife  sang  in  the  sweet  notes  of  his 
violin.^  It  is  only  Ernst  the  Bohemian,  so  rich 
in  poetry,  who  can  draw  from  his  instrument  sad 
sounds  so  sweet  while  bleeding. 

Art6t  is  a  fellow-countryman  of  Beriot;  he  is 
also  as  distinguished  a  violinist,  but  one  whose 
play  never  suggests  a  soul  j  a  well-dressed,  neatly- 
turned  fellow — un  garqon  fait  a  tour  et  tiri  d 
guatre  Spingles — whose  execution  is  as  smooth 
and  brilliant  as  a  j  apanned  table-cover.  Haumann, 

^  An  idea  taken  from  the  story  told  of  Paganini  {vide  Heine's 
"Florentine  Nights,"  p.  29,  1891),  but  it  is  here  greatly  refined 
and  beautified.  It  is  probably  an  old  Italian  conception.  I 
have  a  beautiful  poem  which  I  heard  sang  by  a  Komagnola 
fortune-teller  on  the  subject  of  a  witch  whose  soul  passed  into 
a  guitar,  and  which,  when  played  on  a  hundred  years  later  by 
her  sorcerer-lover,  gave  with  terrible  effect  the  tarantella  or 
dance  of  the  witches,  Slc — Trantlator. 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1841.  339 

the  brother  of  the  Brussels  pirate-printer/  carries 
on  with  the  violin  the  business  of  his  brother; 
what  he  plays  are  clearly  counterfeits  of  the 
most  distinguished  fiddlers,  the  texts  being  mar- 
gined here  and  there  with  superfluous  original 
notes,  and  enlarged  with  brilliant  typographical 
errors. 

The  brothers  Franco-Mendez,  who  also  gave 
this  year  concerts  in  which  they  showed  their 
skill  as  violinists,  also  came  from  the  land  of  the 
treckschuit  and  Quispeldorchen.  This  is  also  the 
case  with  Batta  the  violoncellist,  who  is  a  native 
Hollander,  but  who  came  while  young  to  Paris, 
where  he  greatly  delighted  many — especially 
ladies — by  his  boylike  youthfulness.  He  was  a 
dear  little  boy,  and  made  his  instrument  *  weep 
like  a  child.  And  though  he  in  the  interim  has 
become  a  lusty  young  fellow,  he  cannot  leave  off 
this  habit  of  weeping  and  whimpering,  and  lately, 
when  he  could  not  appear  in  public  owing  to 
illness,    it   was    generally   reported   that    owing 

^  Naehdrucker,  a  reprinter,  here  especially  applied  to  Belgian 
publishers,  who  carried  on  to  an  immense  extent  the  infamous 
business  of  reproducing  foreign  works  without  remunerating  the 
authors. — Translator. 

'  "Bratsche,  bass-viol,  from  the  Italian  braccio,  an  arm,  Latin 
brachivm, "  (Whitney).  More  probably  from  a  provincial  word, 
bratsch  or  brat-pfanne,  a  frying-pan,  from  the  resemblance  in 
form.  In  one  of  Breughel's  pictures  a  devil  is  thus  represented 
as  fiddling  on  a  frying-pan. — Trantlator. 


•  -•/-?•<>■.•» 


340  THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OP  1841,      ' 

to  his  childlike  wailing  on  the  violoncello  he 
had  bronght  a  real  baby's  malady  on  himself — 
that  is,  the  measles.^  But  he  seems  to  be  quite 
recovered,  and  the  newspapers  announce  that  the 
distinguished  Batta  is  preparing  for  next  Thursday 
a  musical  matin/e  which  will  fully  recompense 
the  public  for  having  been  so  long  deprived  of 
its  favourite. 

The  last  concert  which  M.  Moritz  Schlesinger 
gave  to  the  subscribers  of  his  Musical  Gazette^ 
and  which,  as  I  have  said,  was  regarded  as  one 
of  the  most  brilliant  incidents  of  the  season,  was 
for  us  Germans  of  special  interest.  Therefore 
the  whole  Landsmannschaft  or  National  Associa- 
tion was  present,  anxious  to  hear  Miss  LSwe,  the 
celebrated  singer,  who  gave  in  German  the  beau- 
tiful Adelaide  of  Beethoven.  The  Italians  and 
M.  Vieuxtemps,  who  had  promised  their  co-opera- 
tion at  this  performance,  announced,  afler  it  had 
begun,  that  they  would  take  no  part  in  it,  to  the 
utter  consternation  of  the  giver  of  the  fUe,  who, 
with  his  usual  dignity,  came  before  the  audience 
and  explained  that  M.  Vieuxtemps  would  not 
play  because  he  considered  the  building  and  the 
audience  as  beneath  him  !     The  insolence  of  this 


1  Supposed  to  be  eansed  or  aggraTated  hj  excessive  weeping 
and  crying.  Mater,  a  speck  or  spot,  snggestive  of  a  tear,  also 
measles.  Mcuev'lnrhe  is  the  weeping  birch ;  mater-hoU,  a  speckled 
or  spotted  wood  ;  whence  ttuutry  bowl,  old  English. — Trandator, 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1S41.  341 

fiddler  merits  the  severest  censnre.  The  place  in 
question  was  the  Salle  de  Mnsard,  where  only 
daring  the  Carnival  a  mere  bit  of  cancan  is  danced, 
yet  in  which,  during  the  rest  of  the  year,  the 
best  music  of  Mozart,  Giacomo  Meyerbeer,  and 
Beethoven  is  given.  In  case  of  need,  one  may 
pardon  the  Italian  singers,  Rubini  and  Lablache, 
their  whims,  and  suffer  nightingales  to  declare 
that  they  will  only  sing  before  a  public  of  golden 
pheasants  and  eagles ;  but  Mynheer  Vieuxtemps, 
the  Flemish  stork,  should  not  be  so  particularly 
delicate  in  his  choice,  and  despise  a  society  in 
which  were  the  most  respectable  of  poultry,  such 
as  peacocks  and  guinea-fowls,^  in  great  numbers, 
and  among  them  some  of  the  most  distinguished 
German  jail-birds  and  dunghill-cocks.'  But  what 
kind  of  a  success  had  Mademoiselle  Lowe  ?  I 
will  tell  the  whole  briefly.  She  sang  admirably, 
pleased  all  the  Germans,  and  completely  failed 
with  the  French. 

As  for  this  last  misfortnne,  I  would  assure 
this  admirable  singer,  for  her  consolation,  that 
it  was  her  merits  or  excellences  which  stood  in 

^  Called  in  German,  rather  prettily,  pearl-hena — PerlhOhner, 
from  the  white  spots  on  them. — TrandtOor. 

'  Sehnt^pph&hne  und  Mutfinken.  A  tehnapphakji,  literally 
tnap-eock,  is  a  highwayman,  thief,  thief-catoher,  or  rogne,  and 
tniaffink,  or  donghill-fineh,  refer*  also  to  mittd-drond,  the 
mistel-thnuh.  In  tiiis  last  word  the  dflrivation  may  be  from 
mittd,  the  mistletoe. — Trandator. 


342  THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1S41. 

the  way  of  a  French  success.^  The  Adelaide  of 
Beethoven  does  not  suit  this  publia  There  is  in 
the  voice  of  Mademoiselle  Lowe  a  German  soul, 
a  silent  being  which  has  as  yet  revealed  itself  to 
very  few  Frenchmen,  and  which  only  finds  its 
way  very  gradually  into  France.  Had  Made- 
moiselle Lowe  come  a  few  tens  of  years  later, 
she  would  perhaps  have  met  with  a  more  cordial 
reception.  But  to  the  present  time  the  mass  of 
the  people  are  the  same  as  ever.  The  French 
have  "  spirit,"  or  wit,  and  passion,  and  they  enjoy 
both  in  a  restless,  stormy,  fragmentary,  excit- 
ing form.  This  they  found  altogether  wanting 
in  the  German  singer  who  gave  them  Ade~ 
laide.  This  calm  sighing  forth  of  a  soul,  these 
blue-eyed,  yearning  tones  of  forest  solitude,  these 
warbled  lime-tree  blossoms  with  added  moon- 
light, this  dying  away  in  more  than  earthly 
desire,  this  arch-German  song,  found  no  echo  in 
the  French  heart,  and  was,  moreover,  ridiculed 
as  sentimentalism  from  over  the  Rhine.  In  any 
case.  Mademoiselle  Levy  was  badly  advised  in  the 
choice  of  what  she  sang.  And,  strangely  enough, 
an  unlucky  star  shed  its  influence  over  all  the 


^  With  the  exception  of  the  single  sentence  beginning  with 
"  These  tranquil  sighs,"  all  is  here  omitted  in  the  French  ver* 
sion  to  the  words  "Although  Mademoiselle  Lowe."  "  L' Adelaide 
de  Beethoven  ne  va  pas  k  ce  public,"  is  however  only  in  the 
French  edition. — Trandator.  \ 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1841.  343 

d£bvJts  in  the  Schlesinger  concerta  Many  young 
artists  can  sing  a  sad  song,  as  to  that.  This  was 
most  unfortunately  the  case  with  poor  Ignaz 
Moscheles,  who  came  to  Paris  a  year  ago  to 
renew  his  reputation,  which  had  become  some- 
what faded  by  mercantile  mismangement.  He 
played  in  one  of  the  Schlesinger  concerts  and 
failed  lamentably. 

Although  Mademoiselle  Lowe  did  not  succeed 
here,  everything  possible  was  done  to  secure  for 
her  an  engagement  at  the  Acad^mie  Royale  de 
Mnsique.  The  name  of  Meyerbeer  was  on  this 
occasion  brought  before  the  public  more  per- 
sistently than  was  probably  agreeable  to  the 
honoured  master.  Is  it  true  that  Meyerbeer 
would  not  allow  his  new  opera  to  be  brought 
out  unless  Mademoiselle  Lowe  should  be  en- 
gaged ?  Did  he  really  subject  the  fulfilment  of 
the  wishes  of  the  public  to  such  a  petty  condi- 
tion ?  Is  he  actually  so  over-modest  as  to  sup- 
pose that  the  success  of  his  new  work  depends  on 
the  more  or  less  supple  organ  of  a  -prima,  donna  ?  ^ 

1  It  will  be  remembered  that  Heine  in  the  previoos  letter 
declared  very  decidedly  that  Meyerbeer  did  consider  the  merest 
trifles  as  matters  of  life  and  death  to  his  operas.  What  follows 
from  this  period  to  the  words  "  The  namerons  worshippers," 
&c,  formed  the  condnsion  to  this  letter  in  the  original  in  th« 
AUgemeine  Zeitung.  It  was  omitted  from  the  earlier  editions, 
and  is  restored  in  the  later  in  a  footnote.  It  is,  of  coarse,  not 
in  the  French  versions. — Translator. 


N, 


■•**-*^^-,,^.-;:    ,..,.;;.    '-.v/>^-  ^    ■.,.;,.  ;.      .    .^'../.,.    ■■■:'.       „.■,■'  , 


.■iy>?    •• 


344  THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1841. 

Well-informed  people,  however,  assure  me  that 
Meyerbeer  is  quite  innocent  as  regards  the  delay 
of  his  new  opera,  and  the  authority  of  his  name 
is  sometimes  turned  to  account  to  advance  the 
interests  of  others.  He  has  placed  his  finished 
work  at  the  disposal  of  the  Acad^mie  Boyale  de 
Musique  without  making  any  selected  conditions. 
Although,  as  I  have  above  remarked,  the  deepest 
virtue  of  German  songs,  its  sweet  secretness,  is  as 
yet  utterly  hidden  from  the  French,  it  still  cannot 
be  questioned  that  German  music  is  beginning  to 
be  very  well  received,  if  it  does  not  indeed  take  the 
upper-hand.  Is  this  the  yearning  of  Undine  for 
a  soul  ?  Will  the  beautiful  child  be  the  happier 
for  having  one  ?  As  to  that  we  will  not  decide  ; 
we  will  only  cite  a  fact,  which  perhaps  affords  an 
explanation  of  the  extraordinary  popularity  of  the 
great  master  who  created  Mdbert  le  Diable  and  the 
Hugiienots,  and  whose  third  opera,  Ze  PropMie, 
is  awaited  with  a  feverish  impatience,  with  a 
beating  of  the  heart  of  which  one  can  form 
no  idea.  Let  no  one  smile  when  I  declare  that 
also  in  music,  and  not  in  literature  alone,  there 
is  something  which  unites  and  harmonises  (ver- 
mittelt)  nations ;  and  music  by  its  universal 
speech  is  better  adapted  than  any  other  art  to 
form  a  universal  republic. 

A  Frenchman  said  to  me  of  late  that  it  was 
by  Meyerbeer's  operas  that  he  was  initiated  to 


'■.•••*<.'" 


t.^-^'rc-J^f^- 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OP  1841.  345 

Goethe's  poetry,  and  that  it  had  opened  to  him  the 
gates  of  our  great  poet's  song.  There  is  deep 
meaning  in  this  declaration,  and  it  suggests  to  me 
the  thought  that  German  music  may  indeed  have 
the  mission  to  serve  as  a  prelude  or  <mv€rtv/re  to 
the  comprehension  of  our  German  literature. 

The  numerous  worshippers  and  admirers  of 
the  truly  admirable  master  see  with  sorrow  how 
the  illustrious  man  wearies  himself  beyond  belief 
with  every  new  production  of  his  genius  as  to 
the  certainty  of  its  success,  wasting  all  his  best 
powers  on  the  pettiest  details.  His  delicate  and 
weakly  constitution  naturally  suffers  from  this, 
and,  with  his  chronic  malady  of  the  abdomen, 
he  is  often  also  a  sufferer  from  the  prevalent 
cholera-morbus  {Cholerine).  The  musical  honey 
which  trickles  from  his  musical  masterpieces 
and  refreshes  us,  costs  the  master  himself  the 
most  terrible  bodily  suffering.  When  I  last  saw 
him,  I  was  terrified  at  his  wretched  appearance. 
At  the  sight,  I  thought  of  the  god  or  demon  of 
the  diarrhoea  of  Tartar  legends,  in  which  it  is 
told  with  horrible  drollness  that  this  tormentor 
of  the  bowels  and  literal  caca-dannon  once  bought 
at  the  fair  of  Kasan  siz  thousand  pots  for  his  own 
use,  so  that  the  potter  became  rich.  May  heaven 
grant  our  highly  honoured  master  better  health, 
and  may  he  never  forget  that  his  thread  of  life 
is  very  much  relaxed  {schlapp,  i.e,  scTUaf),  and 


,   •^.^  .  *.«a   .-•/■•._.-  ^**  «■«■  ■      . 


346  THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1841. 

that  the  shears  of  fate  are  quick  and  keen.  Maj 
he  never  forget  what  high  interests  are  closely 
connected  with  his  self-preservation.  What  would 
come  of  his  fame  should  he  himself,  the  great, 
celebrated  master — which  may  heaven  long  avert ! 
— be  suddenly  torn  away  by  death  from  the  scene 
of  his  triumphs  ?  Would  the  family  continue  to 
maintain  this  fame,  of  which  all  Germany  is  so 
proud  ?  ^  Certainly  material  means  or  money 
would  not  be  wanting  to  the  family,  but  intel- 
lectual resources  probably  would.  Only  the  great 
Giacomo  himself,  who  is  not  only  the  general 
musical  director  of  all  royal  Prussian  musical 
institutes,  but  also  the  choir-leader  of  the  Meyer- 
beerian  glory,  can  direct  its  immense  orchestra. 
He  nods,  and  all  the  trombones  of  the  great 
journals  sound  unisono ;  he  winks,  and  all  the 
violins  of  praise  begin  to  fiddle  as  if  for  a  wager ; 
he  lays  his  finger  on  the  left  side  of  his  nose, 
and  all  the  feuilleton  flageolets  flute  their  sweetest 
flatteries ;  and  there  are  also  unheard-of  ante- 
diluvian wind  instruments,  trumpets  of  Jericho, 
and  aeolian  harps  not  yet  invented,  stringed  in- 
struments of  the  future,  the  application  of  which 
indicates  the  most  extraordinary  and  tremendous 
talent  for  instrumentation.  ... 


^  French  version — "  Dont  s'enei^eillit  le  people  allemande 
en  g&i6ral  et  M.  Maurice  Scblednger  en  particnlier  T  " 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1841.  347 

Yes ;  no  composer  ever  understood  to  so  high 
a  degree  as  our  Meyerbeer  instromentation — ^that 
is,  the  art  of  using  all  kinds  of  men  as  instru- 
ments, the  small  as  well  as  the  great,  and  to 
enchant  forth  by  their  simultaneous  action  an 
agreement  in  public  opinion  which  borders  on 
the  incredible.  No  other  musician  ever  knew 
how  to  do  this  before  him.  While  the  best 
operas  of  Mozart  and  of  Kossini  fell  dead  at 
their  first  representation,  and  years  passed  before 
they  were  really  appreciated,  the  masterpieces  of 
our  noble  Meyerbeer  enjoy  at  their  first  perform- 
ance a  stupendous  success,  and  on  the  morrow 
all  the  newspapers  in  chorus  publish  panegyrics 
and  prize  articlea  But  this  is  all  the  result  of 
harmonious  instrumentation.  In  melody  Meyer- 
beer is  inferior  to  both  the  masters  before  men- 
tioned, but  he  soars  above  them  in  instrumenta- 
tion. Heaven  knows  that  he  often  uses  for  this 
the  most  contemptible  instruments;*  but  perhaps 
it  is  just  the  reason  why  he  produces  such  great 
effects  on  the  great  multitude,  which  admires, 
worships,  honours,  and  even  respects  him.  Who 
can  prove  the  contrary  ?  Laurel  crowns  fly  to- 
wards him  from  every  side ;  he  wears  a  forest  of 
them  on  his  head ;  he  knows  not  where  to  lay 

^  In  the  French  Tenion  this  is  rather  more  strongly  ex- 
pressed : — "  n  se  sert  sonyent  des  instmments  les  plus  abjects, 
lea  plus  ignobles,  lee  pins  pnants." 


'  ""T  1  •  -  ■•    .■•^-.-*-*'~*  ">•'•■— ' — •^»-»     r  ■•*- 


348  THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  X84X. 

them,  and  pants  under  the  green  burden.  He 
ought  to  get  a  little  donkey,  who  could,  trotting 
after  him,  bear  the  heavy  burden.  But  Gouin 
is  jealous,  and  will  not  endure  that  he  should  be 
accompanied  by  another. 

I  cannot  here  refrain  from  relating  a  bon-mot 
which  is  attributed  to  the  musician  Ferdinand 
Hiller.  When  some  one  asked  him  recently  what 
he  thought  of  Meyerbeer's  operas,  Hiller  evaded 
the  question  by  saying,  as  if  vexed,  "  Ah !  do 
not  let  us  talk  politics  I  "  *       . 

1  Heine  should  here  have  explained  the  point  of  this  rather 
heavy  geittreiehea  Wort.  It  appears  from  a  passage  in  "  France, " 
or  in  the  letter  of  March  25,  1832,  that,  as  Heine  declares,  more 
people  were  attracted  to  hear  Robert  U  JHaiU  by  the  political 
meaning  which  was  popularly  attached  to  the  plot  than  by  the 
music.  This  was  even  discussed  in  the  Chamber  of  Deputies. 
It  may  be  noted  that  Heine  informs  us  that  Meyerbeer  was  a 
millionaire,  that  he  spared  no  expense  or  pains  to  convert  to  his 
interests  even  the  smallest  hangers-on  of  newspapers,  and  finally, 
that  "  nothing  was  too  abject,  ignoble,  or  filthy  for  him  to  use." 
If  there  was  the  least  truth  in  this,  it  would  fully  account  for 
the  success  of  his  "first  nights"  and  fame  in  the  newspapers 
of  the  next  day. — Trandator. 


^^..,..A 


THE  CARNIVAL  IN  PARIS. 

Pabis,  Fdmiary  7,  1842. 

"  We  are  dancing  here  on  a  volc5ano  " — but  we 
dance.  What  ferments,  boils,  and  roars  in  it,  we 
will  not  inquire  into  to-day,  and  the  dancing 
over  it  all  shall  be  the  only  subject  of  our  reflec- 
tions. Therefore  we  must  speak  of  the  Aca- 
d^mie  Royale  de  Musique,  where  there  still  exists 
that  honourable  ccrrps  de  hcUlet  which  has  faith- 
fully preserved  the  choreographic  traditions,  and 
which  may  be  regarded  as  the  peerage  of  the 
dance.  Like  that  other  which  dwells  in  the 
Luxembourg,  this  one  has  also  among  its  mem- 
bers many  old  wigs  and  mummies,  of  which  I, 
from  reasonable  fear,  will  say  nothing.  The  ill 
fate  of  M.  Perr^,  the  manager  of  the  Siicle,  who 
has  lately  been  condemned  to  six  months'  im- 
prisonment and  a  fine  of  10,000  francs,  has 
sharpened  my  wits.  I  will  only  speak  of  Car- 
lotta  Grisi,  who  shines  marvellously  lovely  in  the 
respectable  assembly  of  the  Rue  Lepelletier  like  an 
orange  among  potatoes.     Next  after  (ndchst  dem) 

the  admirable  subject  which  was  taken  from  the 

349 


3SO  THE  CARNIVAL  IN  PARIS. 

works  of  a  German  author,  it  was  principally 
Carlotta  Grisi  who  gave  an  unparalleled  success 
to  the  ballet  the  WUlV-  But  how  delightfully 
she  dances !  Seeing  her,  one  forgets  that  Tag- 
lioni  is  in  Bussia  and  Elsler  in  America.  Yes,  one 
forgets  America,  Bussia,  and  the  whole  world,  and 
soars  with  her  on  high  to  the  enchanted  hanging 
gardens  of  that  fairyland  where  she  rules  as  queen. 
Yes,  she  has  all  the  character  of  those  elementary 
spirits  whom  we  always  imagine  as  dancing,  and 
of  whose  dancing  measures  and  airs  the  people 
have  such  marvellous  histories.  In  the  legend 
of  the  Willis,  that  mysterious,  maddening,  and 
often  mortal  mania  for  dancing,  which  is  pecu- 
liar to  the  elementary  spirits,  is  attributed  to  dead 
brides,  and  so  to  the  antique  heathen,  wild,  and 
wanton  delirium  of  the  nixies  and  elves  there 
was  joined  the  melancholy  voluptuous  terrors  and 
the  strange  sweet  horror  of  the  mediaBval  faith 
in  human  spectres.  ; 

^  It  was  given  in  Paris  as  Let  WilZit,  and  so  Heine  spells  it  in 
"  The  Florentine  Nights  "  {vide  F.  N.,  p.  70),  where  he  claims  it 
as  German.  The  vila  is,  however,  purely  Slavonian.  In  the 
French  version  we  find  that  "  c'est  turtout  Carlotta  Grisi  qui 
causa  le  succ^  inoui  da  ballet."  The  order  is  changed  to  suit 
the  French  or  German  reader  I  This  mania,  madness,  or 
delirium  of  dancing  was  not  at  all  regarded  as  "peculiar  to 
elementary  spirits "  by  such  old  writers  as  especially  discussed 
it  {Le.,  Delamere  and  Johannes  Prsetorlus),  but  rather  to  witches. 
The  reader  will  find  the  subject  fully  discussed  in  my  "Etruscan 
Roman  Remains,"  p.  154. — TraniUUor. 


THE  CARNIVAL  IN  PARIS.  JSP 

Does  the  music  correspond  to  the  oddly-won- 
derful subject  of  the  ballet?  Was  M.  Adam, 
who  supplied  the  music,  capable  of  composing 
dancing  airs,  which,  as  the  popular  legend  nar- 
rated, could  compel  the  trees  of  the  forest  to  leap 
and  the  waterfall  to  stand  still  ?  M.  Adam  was, 
I  believe,  in  Norway,  but  I  doubt  whether  any 
sorcerer  learned  in  runes  ever  taught  him  that 
Str'&nikarl  melody  on  which  only  ten  variations 
could  be  played,  for  there  was  an  eleventh  which 
could  cause  tremendous  disaster,  since,  if  it  were 
once  heard,  all  Nature  would  be  in  an  uproar ; 
the  hills  and  rocks  would  begin  to  dance,  and 
the  houses  with  them,  while  within  tables  and 
chairs  whirled  round  together,  the  grandsire 
waltzed  wildly  with  the  grandmother,  the  dog 
with  the  cat,  even  the  babe  leaped  from  the 
cradle  and  danced.  No ;  M.  Adam  did  not  bring 
such  wondrous  melodies  from  his  northern  tour ; 
yet  what  he  gives  is  worthy  of  renown,  and 
he  maintains  a  distinguished  place  among  the 
musical  composers  of  the  French  school. 

I  cannot  refrain  from  mentioning  here  that 
the  Christian  Church,  which  took  to  her  bosom 
and  profited  by  all  the  arts,  could  do  nothing 
with  dancing,  and  so  repudiated  and  condemned 
it.  It  recalled  too  vividly  the  ancient  heathen 
rites  in  the  temples,  whether  Roman,  Germanic, 
or  Celtic,  whose  deities   all    passed   into  those 


352  THE  CARNIVAL  IN  PARIS. 

elyisb  beings  to  whom  popnlar  tradition,  as  I 
have  said,  attributed  a  wonderful  loye  of  dancing. 
Moreover,  the  Evil  One  was  eventually  believed 
to  be  the  true  patron  of  this  pleasure,  and  it  was 
in  his  iniquitous  society  that  the  witches  and 
sorcerers  danced  their  nightly  rounds.^ 

"Dancing  is  accursed,"  says  a  pious  Breton 
song,  "since  the  daughter  of  Herodias  danced 
before  the  cruel  king  who  had  John  the  Baptist 
beheaded  to  please  her.  When  thou  seest  danc- 
ing," adds  the  singer,  "  think  of  the  bloody  head 
of  the  Baptist  on  the  charger,  and  then  the 
hellish  desire  will  have  no  power  on  thy  soul." 
When  we  reflect  more  deeply  on  the  dance  in 
the  Acaddmie  Royale  de  Musique,  it  appears  as  an 


^  It  ia  curioTis  to  observe  how  this  purely  Roman  Catholic 
idea,  based  entirely  on  a  belief  in  witchcraft  and  goblins,  passed 
over,  with  several  worse  superstitions,  to  the  Protestants,  espe- 
cially to  the  most  strictly  pious  among  the  latter.  Thus  there 
has  ever  been  in  Switzerland,  Scotland,  and  in  Puritanical  New 
England  a  persuasion  that  dancing  is  tn  ittdf,  and  not  merely 
by  association,  wicked ;  to  which  may  be  added  the  belief  that 
instrumental  music,  especially  in  churches,  was  wrong.  It  is 
narrated  that  not  long  before  the  civil  war,  a  rustic,  who  hftd 
never  before  quitted  his  orthodox  rural  home,  found  himself 
by  chance  one  morning  in  St.  Louis  before  the  open  door  of  a 
church,  while  all  at  once  from  within  pealed  forth  the  sound 
of  the  organ.  "  Walk  in  and  take  a  seat,"  said  the  sexton  to 
the  stranger.  But  the  latter,  backing  out  suspiciously,  replied, 
"  No  you  don't,  Mister  1  I'm  opposed  to  all  such  goins-on  of  a 
Sunday,  and  I'd  have  you  to  know  that,  as  a  Christian,  /  don't 
donee," — Trantlator.  .    [ 


THE  CARNIVAL  IN  PARIS.  353 

attempt  to  christianise  to  a  certain  degree  this 
arch -heathen  art,  and  the  French  ballet  has 
an  odour  as  of  the  Gallican  Church,  if  not  of 
Jansenism,  as  have  all  the  artistic  productions 
of  the  great  age  of  Louis  XIV.  The  French 
ballet  is,  in  this  respect,  naturally  allied  to  the 
tragedies  of  Racine  and  the  gardens  of  Le  Notre. 
There  prevails  in  all  the  same  regular  cut,  the 
same  measure  of  etiquette,  the  same  court-like 
coldness,  the  same  ornamental  prudishness,  the 
same  chastity.  In  reality,  its  outer  form  and 
inner  life  is  chaste,  but  the  eyes  of  the  dancing 
girls  form  a  very  lascivious  commentary  on  the 
most  moral  pas  or  figures,  and  their  indecent 
smiles  are  in  sad  contrast  with  their  feet.  We 
find  the  contrary  in  national  dances,^  which  I 
prefer  a  thousand  times  to  the  ballets  of  the  great 
opera.  These  national  dances  are  often  too  sen- 
sual in  form — as,  for  example,  the  Indian — but 
the  holy  gravity  on  the  faces  of  the  dancers 
vnorcUises  the  dance  and  raises  it  to  religion 
(zum  Kvltus).  The  great  Vestris  once  uttered 
a  saying  which  caused  much  laughter  in  its 
time.  Once  he  said  in  his  pathetic  tone  to  one 
of  his  disciples,  "  Un  grand  danseur  doit  Stre 
vertuetix," — a  great  dancer  should  be  virtuous. 


^  "  Bei  den  sogennanten  NationaltaDzen/' — "  bj  the  to-called 
national  dances."— TroTwiotor. 

Z 


3S4  THE  CARNIVAL  IN  PARIS. 

Strangely  enough,  the  great  Vestris  has  now 
lain  forty  years  in  his  grave  (he  could  not  sur- 
vive the  misfortunes  of  the  House  of  Bourbon, 
with  which  the  family  of  Vestris  had  ever  been 
intimately  allied),  and  it  was  only  in  the  last 
December,  when  I  was  present  at  the  opening  of 
the  Chamber  of  Deputies,  and  dreamily  aban- 
doning myself  to  my  thoughts,  that  all  at  once 
the  late  Vestris  came  into  my  mind,  and  as  if 
by  inspiration  I  suddenly  grasped  the  profound 
meaning  of  his  words,  "  A  great  dancer  should 
be  virtuous."  ^ 

I  can  write  but  little  of  the  balls  in  society 
for  this  season,  having  thus  far  honoured  very 
few  soirees  with  my  presence.  The  everlasting 
sameness  has  for  some  time  bored  me,  and  I 
really  cannot  understand  how  a  man  can  long 
endure  it.  As  for  women,  it  is  intelligible 
enough.  For  them,  such  dress  and  decoration 
as  they  can  display  is  the  most  important  thing. 
The  preparations  for  the  ball,  the  choosing  dresses, 
dressing  itself,  the  preparation  of  the  hair,  the 
practising  of  smiles  and  graces  before  the  look- 
ing-glass— in  short,  tinsel  finery  and  coquetry 
are  the  chief  business  and  contribute  most  of  the 


^  There  appears  to  be  something  omitted  here  io  both  the 
German  and  French  texts. — Tranilator. 


THE  CARNIVAL  IN  PARIS.  355 

pleasure.^  But  for  us  men,  who  only  don  de- 
mocratic black  evening-coats  and  shoes — those 
dreadful  shoes ! — for  us  a  soiree  is  only  an  ex- 
haustless  source  of  ennui,  intermingled  with  a 
few  glasses  of  orgeat  (Mdnddmilch)  and  raspberry 
syrup.  Of  the  charming  music  I  will  say  nothing.^ 
What  makes  the  balls  of  the  fashionable  world 
more  wearisome  than  they  havB  any  right  to  be, 
according  to  the  laws  of  God  and  man,  is  the  pre- 
valent mode  of  only  seeming  to  dance,  that  the 
figures  are  only  executed  while  walking,  and  that 
the  feet  are  only  moved  in  an  indifferent  and  almost 
dull  or  sulky  manner.  No  one  cares  to  amuse  the 
other,  and  this  egoism  shows  itself  even  in  the 
dances  of  the  society  of  to-day.  The  lower  classes, 
despite  whatever  pleasure  they  find  in  aping  the 
fashionable  world,  have  not  as  yet  been  able  to 


^  Our  author  here  touches  on  a  subject  to  which  an  interest- 
ing essay  might  be  devoted,  on  the  remarkable  degree  to  which 
most  of  the  amusements  of  society  have  gradually  come  to  be 
chiefly  opportunities  for  women  to  display  themselves  and  to 
criticise  one  another.  In  the  ball-room,  opera,  concert,  or 
church,  men  have  little  by  little  effaced  themselves  into  subor- 
dinate creatures,  all  dressed  alike,  not  even  noticed  by  the 
reporters  for  the  press  of  the  "festivity." — Trandator. 

*  In  the  first  letter  to  the  AUgemeine  ZeUung  our  author, 
however,  said,  "The  music  here  consists  of  old  played-out 
motives  from  Rossini  and  Meyerbeer,  the  two  silent  masters, 
who  are  more  in  demand  in  Paris  this  winter  than  ever — not 
in  the  interests  of  art,  but  in  those  of  Messrs.  Troupenas  and 
Schlesinger." — Trandator, 


35«  THE  CARNIVAL  IN  PARIS. 

take  up  with  this  selfish,  sham  dancing;  theirs 
has  still  life  and  reality  in  it,  though,  unfor- 
tunately, of  a  very  lamentable  kind.^  I  hardly 
know  how  I  can  express  the  peculiar  misery  and 
melancholy  which  seizes  me  when  I  see  the 
dancing  multitude  in  pubUc  places  of  amuse- 
ment, especially  during  the  Carnival.  Their 
screeching,  shrill,  and  extravagant  music  accom- 
panies a  dance  which  touches  on  the  caTican. 
Here  I  am  asked,  "What  is  the  cancan f* 
Holy  heaven !  I  am  to  give  a  definition  of  the 
cancan  for  the  Allgemeine  ZeUun^g !  Well,  the 
cancan  is  a  dance  which  is  never  danced  in  re- 
spectable society,  but  in  common  dance-houses, 
where  he  or  she  who  dances  it  is  promptly  seized 
by  a  policeman  and  led  out  of  doors.  I  do  not 
know  whether  this  definition  is  sufficiently  ex- 
planatory, but  it  is  not  at  all  necessary  that  any 
one  in  Germany  should  know  what  the  French 
cancan  is.*      This  much  may  be  inferred  from 


^  French  version — "  Une  reality  trop  d^collet^"  Which  i* 
mnch  better  than  the  German  text. — Trantlator. 

'  This  ia  simply  no  definition  at  all.  The  cancan  is  a  quadrille 
with  any  obligato  variations  or  improvisations  which  any  dancer 
may  see  fit  to  introduce.  It  is  not,  and  never  was,  as  Heine 
hints,  and  as  the  foreign  world  was  led  to  believe,  a  special  or 
peculiar  set  of  indecent,  volnptaous,  or  immoral  figures,  though 
the  latter  were  often  introduced  ad  libitum,  according  to  the  char- 
acter of  the  performers  and  the  company  assembled.  There  was, 
naturally  enough,  a  disposition  among  wild  and  reckless  youth 


/$?^?Y5'-K*s?f  fT.v^y^yp' : 


THE  CARNIVAL  IN  PARIS.  357 

that  definition,  which  is,  that  the  virtue  recom- 
mended by  the  late  Vestris  is  not  here  a  need- 
ful requisite,  and  that  the  French  people  are 
very  much  incommoded  by  the  police  even  while 
dancing.  Yes,  this  last  is  a  singular  abuse,  and 
every  reflecting  stranger  must  wonder  that  in 
public  dancing-halls  by  every  quadrille  there  are 
several  agents  of  police  or  municipal  guards,  who 
watch  the  morality  of  the  performers  with  dark 
and  Cato-like  countenances.  It  is  hardly  intelli- 
gible how  the  people,  under  such  shameful  control, 
preserve  their  laughing  cheerfulness  and  love  of 
dancing.  But  Gallic  frivolity  or  la  UglreU  fran- 
qaise  cuts  its  most  joyous  capers  when  in  a  strait- 
jacket  ;  and  although  the  stem  eye  of  the  police 
hinders  the  cancan  from  being  capered  in  all  its 
cynic  accuracy,  the  dancers  still  know  perfectly  well 
how  to  express  by  all  kinds  of  ironical  entrechMs 
and  exaggerated  gestures  of  modesty  their  for- 
bidden thoughts,  and  the  sensuality  thus  veiled 
appears  more  indecent  than  nudity  itself.      In 


to  whoop  and  gossip  (eancamner)  while  dancing  quadrilles,  and 
to  this  was  added  extravagant  imitations  of  the  pas  teul  opera- 
dancers,  lifting  the  feet  even  to  the  kicking  off  of  men's  hats,  rock- 
ing the  body  in  different  ways  while  advancing,  the  whole  combined 
with  certain  gestures  and  signs  which  had  an  occult  mocking 
or  indecent  signification.  The  cancan  always  implied  wild  and 
humorous  dancing,  such  as  one  sees  among  peasants  and  sailors, 
but  it  was  not  at  all  neeetsarily  what  our  author  declares  it  to  be^ 
Le.,  indecerU.    I  have  seen  it  often  enough  to  know. — Trandator, 


,v     .  "   *.    *»-  %*^-' 


358  THE  CARNIVAL  IN  PARIS. 

my  opinion,  morality  does  not  gain  much  by  the 
Government  intervening  with  such  a  display  of 
arms,  since  forbidden  fruit  is  the  most  sweetly 
tempting,  and  the  refined  and  frequently  witty 
evasion  of  the  censorship  has  here  a  more  ruinous 
effect  than  permitted  brutality.  This  overseeing 
popular  pleasures,  however,  characterises  the  pre- 
sent condition  of  things,  and  shows  how  far  the 
French  have  advanced  in  freedom.       1 

But  it  is  not  only  the  relations  between  the 
sexes  which  form  the  subject  of  obscene  dances 
in  the  suburbs  of  Paris.  It  seems  to  me  some- 
times as  if  there  was  danced  a  mockery  of  all 
that  is  noblest  and  holiest  in  life,  yet  which 
has  been  so  often  used  by  crafty  knaves  for 
profit,  and  so  often  rendered  ridiculous  by  fools, 
that  the  people  no  longer  believe  in  it,  as  they 
once  did.  Yes,  they  have  lost  all  faith  in  the 
lofty  thoughts  of  which  our  political  and  literary 
Tartuffes  sing  and  say  so  much,^  and  even  the 
extravagant  rhodomontades  of  weak  minds  ren- 
dered all  ideal  things  to  it   so  ridiculous,  that 

^  Heine  has  himself  been  very  usually  classed  with  these 
merely  mocking  and  insincere  writers,  but  unjustly.  There  are 
those  who  confine  themselves  to  ridicule  and  sneers,  and  others 
who,  while  ridiculing  errors,  still  search  with  hope  for  ideals, 
and  our  author  was,  despite  his  many  contradictions,  really 
of  the  latter  class.  He  was  an  inquirer  or  seeker  for  truth, 
in  which  he  believed,  though  be  continually  went  astray. — 
Trandator. 


y'-H  ■ 


THE  CARNIVAL  IN  PARIS.  359 

it  found  therein  only  hollow  phrases  or  the  so- 
called  blague.  And  as  this  desolate  manner  of  see- 
ing all  things  is  represented  by  Robert  Macaire/ 
so  it  shows  itself  in  the  dance  of  the  people, 
which  may  be  regarded  as  an  actual  pantomime 
of  Robert  Macairism.  He  who  has  any  idea  of 
the  latter  can  understand  that  unspeakable  dance, 
which  is  a  danced  mockery,  sneering  not  only 
at  the  relations  of  the  sexes,  but  also  those  of 
domestic  life,  and  at  all  which  is  good  and 
beautiful,  and  of  every  kind  of  enthusiasm,  of 
patriotism,  truth,  faith,  family  feelings,  heroism, 
and  divinity.  I  repeat  it,  I  always  feel  an  in- 
describable misery  at  the  sight  of  the  people 
dancing  in  the  places  of  public  amusement  in 
Paris,  and  this  is  especially  the  case  in  the  days 
of  the  Carnival,  when  the  mad  masquerade  carries 
the  demoniac  enjoyment  to  the  monstrous  and 
horrible.  I  was  almost  seized  with  terror  when 
I  was  lately  in  one  of  those  wild  fStes  de  nuit 
which  are  now  given  in  the  Opera  Comique,  and 
where,  by  the  way,  the  reeling  spectral  show  is 
far  more  splendidly  carried  out  than  in  the  balls 
of  the   Grand  Opera.      Here  Beelzebub   makes 

^  Our  author  might  here  have  said  as  truly,  Victor  Hugo, 
who  carried  eloquent  and  elegant  emptiness  to  a  pitch  beyond 
all  precedent.  I  once  heard  this  great  man  make  a  speech  of 
half -an -hour's  duration  in  1878  before  the  International  Lite- 
rary Congress,  which  was  simply  the  perfection  of  vox  etpraterea 
nihU,  or  sotmds  without  sense. — TrantUUor. 


?;. 


36o  THE  CARNIVAL  IN  PARIS. 

music  with  a  complete  orchestra — a  deafening 
music,  which  splits  our  ears,  while  the  piercing 
light  of  the  gas  dazzles  and  tortures  the  eyes 
like  hell-fire.  This  is  the  lost  valley  of  which 
nurses  tell ;  here  are  dancing  unearthly  awful 
beings,  as  with  us  in  the  Walpurgis  night,  and 
many  a  one  among  them  is  very  pretty,  and 
cannot  quite  cast  aside,  despite  all  degradation, 
that  grace  which  is  inborn  in  these  diaboli- 
cal Frenchwomen.  But  when  the  blare  of  the 
trumpets  announces  the  last  galop — the  terrible 
galop  ronde — then  the  Satanic  spectacle  reaches 
the  height  of  madness ;  it  seems  as  if  the  ceil- 
ing would  split  asunder,  and  the  whole  infernal 
company  come  swarming  out  on  broomsticks, 
pitchforks,  great  wooden  spoons,  roaring  the 
sacramental  words,  "  Oben  hinaits,  nirgends  an  !  " 
("Up  and  out,  never  touch  !  ").  Then  it  would  be 
a  terrible  moment  for  one  of  our  countrymen 
newly  arrived  from  over  the  Rhine,  and  who 
knowing  nothing  of  magic,  cannot  pronounce  the 
spell  which  must  be  uttered  in  order  not  to  be 
whirled  away  with  the  Wild  Hunt,  unless  he 
can  recall  the  old  German  prayer  of  his  grand- 
mother, which  ought  to  be  recited  in  low  tones 
when  pretty  French  sorceresses  threaten  to  draw 
you  into  eternal  damnation.^  t 

^  There  are  several  trifling  additions  in  the  French  text  of 
this  description  of  the  ball,  which  I  have  incorporated  into  the 


THE  CARNIVAL  IN  PARIS. 


361 


translation  without  specification.    The  reader  cannot  have  failed 
to  observe  that  the  author  is  somewhat  contradictory,  when, 
after  describing  the  prevalence  of  oatrageous  conduct  at  popular 
balls  (and  such  conduct  was  really  far  more  common  then  than 
he  gives  us  to  suppose),  he  proceeds  to  blame  the  Government 
for  placing  policemen  to  prevent  such  disorder.      Yet,  after 
making  every  deduction  from  merit,  this  article  must  be  re- 
garded  as   admirably  conceived   and   written,   inspired   with 
truthful    sentiment,   and    extremely  sagacious    as   describing, 
with  great  succinctness,  the  great  defect  of  the  French  mind — 
the  disposition  to  accept  words  for  ideas,  style  for  thought,  and 
theatrical  noise  for  ornament.    From  such  a  devoted  and  sincere 
admirer  of  France  as  Heine  was,  these  remarks  have  a  deep 
significance.     And  marvellously  deep  and  moving  to  those  who 
can  understand  them  are  his  observations  on  the  shallowness, 
soullessness,  and  despair  evinced  by  the  mockery  of  all  that  is 
great,  noble,  or  refined  in  the  popular  dances  or  Macaire  types 
of  the  lower  orders  of  Paris.     Every  year  sees  this  want  of 
faith,  ideals,  or  hope  spreading  upward  into  the  highest  classes, 
even  as  an  Irish  bog  spreads  from  the  valley  or  plain  up  the 
mountain-side,  destro3ring  all  fertility  as  it  climbs.     It  is  a 
terrible  subject,  and  one  which  perhaps  involves  the  most  terrible 
social  problem  of  the  future. — Trcmalahtr. 


.♦>.<«**-,-^  i*\^.,. 


\     _.-«*•  C.J 


ROSSINI   AND   MENDELSSOHN. 

Pabis,  AprS  15,  1842. 

Last  year,  just  as  I  came  into  Cette  on  a  fine 
summer  afternoon,  I  saw  passing  along  the  qtiaij 
which  lies  by  the  Mediterranean,  a  procession 
which  I  shall  never  forget.  First  of  all  in  it 
marched  the  priestly  brotherhoods  or  confrdries,  in 
their  red,  white,  or  black  garments,  and  the  peni- 
tents, whose  heads  were  covered  by  capucins,  in 
which  were  two  holes,  from  which  the  eyes  glared 
out  ghost-like,  bearing  in  their  hands  burning 
wax  candles  or  banners  of  the  cross.  Then 
came  the  different  orders  of  monks,  and  following 
them  a  multitude  of  the  laity,  women  and  men, 
pale,  broken  forms,  who  tottered  piously  along 
with  an  affecting  and  sad  sing-song.  I  had  often 
seen  the  like  in  my  infancy  on  the  Rhine,  and  I 
cannot  deny  that  those  sounds  awoke  in  me  a 
certain  sorrow  and  a  kind  of  home-sickness.  But 
what  I  had  never  seen  before,  and  which  seemed 
to  be  of  neighbouring  Spanish  origin,  was  the 
troop  of  children  who  played  the  Passion.    There 

was  a  little  boy  (Biibchen),  dressed  as  the  Saviour 

363 


vv'-! 


▼«i»- 


ROSSINI  AND  MENDELSSOHN.  363 

is  usually  represented,  the  crown  of  thorns  on  his 
head,  his  long  golden  locks  flowing  and  waving 
sorrowfully  down,  creeping  along  bending  under 
the  weight  of  an  enormous  wooden  cross.  On  his 
brow  were  coarsely-painted  wounds,  as  also  on 
his  hands  and  bare  feet.  By  his  side  walked  a 
little  girl  dressed  entirely  in  black,  who,  as  the 
Mater  Dolorosa,  bore  in  her  breast  several  swords 
with  gilt  hilts,  and  she  indeed  seemed  to  be 
almost  melting  in  tears,  an  image  of  the  deepest 
woe.  Other  little  boys  who  came  next  repre- 
sented the  Apostles,  and  among  them  was  a  little 
Judas  with  red  hair  and  a  purse  in  his  hand. 
Two  urchins,  helmeted  and  weaponed  as  Roman 
soldiers,  brandished  sabres.  Other  juvenile  actors 
wore  monkish  dresses  and  ecclesiastical  ornaments; 
there  were  little  Capucins,  little  Jesuits,  little 
bishops,  with  mitres  and  crosiers,  and  darling 
little  nuns,  none  certainly  more  than  six  years  of 
age.  Strangest  of  all,  there  were  some  children 
dressed  as  cupids,  with  silken  wings  and  golden 
quivers,  and  immediately  close  to  Christ  were  two 
little  creatures,  smaller  than  himself,  and  hardly 
four  years  old,  in  old-fashioned  shepherds'  dresses, 
with  diminutive  hats  well  ribboned.  They  were 
pretty  creatures,  as  nice  to  kiss  as  dolls  of  march- 
pane. They  were  probably  intended  for  the 
shepherds  who  stand  about  the  manger  and  the 
infant  Jesus. 


364  ROSSINI  AND  MENDELSSOHN. 

Would  any  one  believe  it  ?  This  sight  awoke 
in  my  soul  the  most  seriously  pious  feelings,  and 
that  those  were  little  innocent  children  who  acted 
the  greatest  and  most  colossal  martyrdom  made  it 
more  touching !  This  was  not  a  mere  mockery  in 
the  historical  grand  style ;  no  pious  hypocriti- 
cal grimacing,  no  Berlin  falsehoods  of  faith.^  It 
was  the  most  naive  expression  of  the  most  pro- 
found thought,  and  it  was  the  simple  descent  to 
(herablassend)  childish  forma  which  prevented  the 
subject  from  weighing  destructively  on  our  soul  or 


'  This  manifestation  of  "  the  tnott  seriously  pious  feelings," 
of  which  he  was  at  least  capable,  by  Heinrioh  Heine,  is  indeed 
touching.  It  was  probably  truly  evoked  by  the  cupids,  aided 
by  the  rooooo  shepherds  and  shepherdesses  d  la  Watteau.  It 
may  be  here  remarked,  that  but  for  this  short-sighted  persever- 
ance in  attempting  to  impress  only  the  lower  orders  or  the  igno- 
rant by  childish  theatrical  display,  the  Roman  Church  might 
have  retained,  or  at  least  regained,  most  of  its  power.  The 
Salvation  Army  is  committing  a  similar  mistake,  and  thereby 
doing  more  to  practically  injure  Christianity  than  all  the  agnostic 
philosophers  and  infidel  writers  put  together.  For  the  great  body 
of  the  Christian  Protestant  current  religion  consists  of  since- 
rity, common-sense,  and  respectability,  and  all  who  hold  to  it 
are  offended  by  shallow  theatrical  show,  and  braying,  "  blood- 
and-fire,"  rampant  vulgarity.  But  the  only  things  which  the 
Catholic  Church  has  thus  far  borrowed  from  the  Protestants 
are  priestly  morality  and  mediaeval  art.  Perhaps  simplicity  in 
worship  may  come  in  time ;  but  the  Church  must  hurry — she  is 
going  fast.  As  there  are  many  people  who  cannot  distinguish 
between  the  funny  and  foolish,  so  uur  author  here  confounds 
nalveU  or  simplicity  with  sheer  silliness  in  a  manner  which 
indicates  an  almost  total  ignorance  of  the  former. — Trandator. 


ROSSINI  AND  MENDELSSOHN.  f6$ 

from  destroying  itself.  This  snbject  is  of  such  a 
tremendous  power  of  pain  and  sublimity,  that  it 
rises  above  the  most  heroically  grand  or  most  pathe- 
tically extensive  means  of  representation.  For 
this  reason  the  greatest  artists  have  in  painting, 
as  well  as  in  music,  always  made  charming,  with  as 
many  flowers  as  possible,  the  transcendent  terrors 
of  the  Passion,  and  softened  its  bloody  earnestness 
by  playful  tenderness,  as  Rossini  did  when  he 
composed  his  StaJbat  Mater. 

This  last  musical  composition,  the  Stdbai  of 
Rossini,  was  the  great  remarkable  event  of  the 
past  season ;  it  is  still  being  discussed  among 
the  events  of  the  day,  and  even  the  severe 
criticisms  which  have,  from  a  North  German 
point  of  view,  been  raised  against  the  great 
master,  indicate  most  strikingly  the  originality 
and  depth  of  his  genius.  "  The  execution  is  too 
worldly,  too  sensuous,  too  playful  for  its  spiritual 
subject;  it  is  too  light,  too  agreeable,  too  en- 
tertaining," are  the  groans  and  plaints  of  certain 
heavy,  tiresome,  criti-captious  men  {KritHcaster), 
who,  if  they  do  not  deliberately  sham  extravagant 
spirituality,  have  certainly  tortured  themselves 
into  very  limited  and  erroneous  ideas  regarding 
sacred  music.  As  among  painters,  so  there  pre- 
vails among  musicians  entirely  false  views  as  to 
the  treatment  of  religious  subjects.  The  former 
think  that  the  truly  Christian  must  be   repre- 


..;.ii-  fTfv 


366  ROSSINI  AND  MENDELSSOHN. 

sented  in  delicately  meagre  outlines,  as  if  in  grief 
or  careworn,  and  colourless  as  possible,  and  the 
designs  of  Overbeck  are  in  this  respect  their 
ideal.  To  contradict  this  argument  by  a  fact,  I 
would  only  call  attention  to  the  religious  pictures 
of  the  Spanish  school,  in  which  fulness  of  outline 
and  of  colour  prevails,  yet  no  one  will  deny  that 
these  Spanish  pictures  breathe  the  most  vigorous 
Christianity,^  and  that  their  creators  were  cer- 
tainly not  less  inspired  with  faith  than  the  cele- 
brated masters  who  have  gone  over  to  Catholicism 
in  Rome  in  order  to  paint  with  more  unmitigated 
fervour.  It  is  not  the  external  haggardness  and 
paleness  which  is  a  sign  of  the  deepest  Christianity 
in  art,  but  a  certain  internal  transcendentalism 
{UeberschwdnglichkeU),  which  cannot  be  acquired 
by  baptism  or  study  in  music  or  in  painting,  for 
which  reason  I  find  the  Stdbat  of  Rossini  more 
truly  Christian  than  the  Faidits  of  Felix  Mendel- 
ssohn, which  is  praised  by  the  adversaries  of 
Rossini  as  a  model  of  Christian  style.^ 

Heaven  forbid  that  I  should  utter  a  reproach 
against  so  meritorious  a  master  as  the  composer 
of  Pavlus,  and  least  of  all  would  it  ever  occur 
to  the  writer  of  these  pages  to  detract  from  the 

^  The  French  version  here  gives  ungeschwdehtette  Chriaten- 
thum  as  "  le  christianisme  le  plus  spiritualist  et  le  plus  id^  ! " 

'  ChrittenthUmlic?ikeit,  a  fearfully  rococo  word,  which  can 
only  be  truly  translated  as  Chrutiwudomlineu, — Translator. 


ROSSINI  AND  MENDELSSOHN.  367 

Christianity  of  the  oratorio  in  question  because 
Felix  Mendelssohn  Bartholdy  is  by  birth  a  Jew. 
But  I  cannot  refrain  from  pointing  out  the  fact 
that  in  the  year  when  M.  Mendelssohn  began  on 
Christianity  in  Beriin — he  was  baptized  in  his 
thirteenth  year — Rossini  had  fallen  off  from  it, 
and  had  thrown  himself  altogether  into  the 
worldliness  of  opera-music.  Now  that  he  has  in 
turn  abandoned  these  and  dreamed  himself  back 
into  the  Roman  Catholic  memories  of  his  youth, 
or  into  the  times  when  he  sang  in  the  Cathedral 
of  Pesaro  as  a  choir-boy  or  acted  as  acolyte  at 
the  mass ;  now  when  the  old  sounds  of  the  organ 
again  resounded  in  his  memory,  and  he  grasped 
the  pen  to  write  a  StdbcU,  he  had  indeed  little 
need  to  first  scientifically  construe  the  GSnie  du 
Christianisme,  and  then  much  less  to  slavishly 
copy  Handel  or  Sebastian  Bach.  He  had  only 
to  again  call  up  the  earliest  sounds  of  childhood 
from  his  soul,  and  it  is  a  wondrous  thing, 
however  solemnly  and  profoundly  or  in  the  depth 
of  pain  these  chords  rang,  however  powerfully 
they  sighed  forth  the  most  powerful  ^  and  bled, 
they  still  kept  through  it  all  something  childlike, 
and  reminded  me  of  the  Passion  by  the  children 
which  I  had  seen  in  Cette.  Yes,  I  involuntarily 
recalled  that  pious  little  masquerade  when  I  was 


1  •< 


So  gewaltig  sie  auch  das  Grewaltigste  aasaeufzen.' 


368  ROSSINI  AND  MENDELSSOHN. 

first  present  at  the  execution  of  the  Stcibai  bj 
Eossini.  The  vast  and  sublime  martyrdom  was 
here  presented,  but  in  the  naive  accents  of  youth  ; 
the  agonising  plaint  of  the  Mater  Dolorosa  rose 
but  from  the  throats  of  innocent  little  girls,  and 
the  black  crape  of  deepest  mourning  rustled  the 
wings  of  all  the  cupids  of  grace  and  sweetness. 
The  terrors  of  the  Crucifixion  were  softened  as 
with  pleasant  pastoral  play,  and  the  feeling  of 
the  infinite  swept  round  and  enclosed  the  whole, 
like  the  blue  heaven  which  shone  down  on  the 
procession  of  Cette— like  the  blue  sea  by  whose 
borders  it  passed  along  with  music  and  with 
song.  That  is  the  eternal  grace  and  charm  of 
Rossini,  his  imperturbable  serenity,  which  no 
impresario  and  no  music-dealer  could  destroy  or 
even  disturb.  With  whatever  vile  injustice  or 
refined  treachery  he  has  been  treated,  I  fear  full 
often,  in  life,  we  still  never  find  in  his  musical 
works  a  drop  of  gall.  Like  the  ancient  spring 
of  Arethusa,  which  kept  its  original  sweetness 
though  it  ran  through  the  bitter  water  of  the  sea, 
so  the  heart  of  Rossini  would  retain  its  melodious 
loveliness  and  sweetness  although  it  had  drained 
to  th'j  dregs  all  the  wormwood  of  this  world. 

As  I  have  said,  the  Stabai  of  the  great  maestro 
was  the  prominent  musical  event  of  this  year.  As 
regards  the  first  performance,  which  determines 
the  fashion  (tonangebeTide),  I  need  say  nothing 


ROSSINI  AND  MENDELSSOHN,  369 

save  that  Italians  sang.  The  hall  of  the  Italian 
Opera  seemed  to  be  the  fore-conrt  of  heaven,  in 
which  sainted  nightingales  were  sobbing,  and 
the  most  fashionable  tears  flowing  freely.  Za 
France  MusiccUe  also  gave  in  its  concerts  the 
greater  portion  of  the  Stahat,  and — comme  il  va 
sans  dire — with  immense  applause.  In  these 
concerts  we  also  heard  the  Pavius  of  Felix  Men- 
delssohn Bartholdy,  who  by  this  vicinity  attracted 
our  attention  and  provoked  comparison  with 
Rossini  With  the  mass  of  the  public  this  com- 
parison was  by  no  means  to  the  advantage  of 
our  young  fellow-countryman;  it  was  as  if  one 
should  compare  the  Apennines  of  Italy  with 
the  Templower  Hill  near  Berlin.  Still  the  Tem- 
plower  Hill  has  its  merits,  and  it  attracts  the 
respect  of  many  because  it  has  a  cross  on  its 
summit :  "  In  this  sign  thou  shalt  conquer."  Of 
course  not  in  France,  the  country  of  infidelity, 
where  M.  Mendelssohn  has  always  failed.  He  was 
the  sacrificial  lamb  of  the  season,  while  Rossini 
was  the  musical  lion,  whose  delightful  roar  is 
still  ringing.  It  is  here  reported  that  M.  Felix 
Mendelssohn  will  within  a  few  days  be  here  in 
Paris.  This  much  is  certain,  that,  through  high 
influence  and  diplomatic  effort,^  M.  Leon  Fillet 

^  French  version— "C'est  que  par  I'intercession  de  piitistetet 
de  diplomates  d'un  grand  pouvoir."  Which  was  unfair,  if  not 
altogether  untrue. — Translator. 

2  A 


^yt^- 


370  ROSSINI  AND  MENDELSSOHN. 

has  been  induced  to  have  a  libretto  written  by 
M.  Scribe,  for  which  M.  Mendelssohn  is  to  com- 
pose a  great  opera.  Will  our  young  fellow- 
countryman  accomplish  this  with  success  ?  I  do 
not  know.  His  artistic  gifts  are  great,  but  they 
have  very  serious  limits  and  lackinga  I  find,  as 
regards  talent,  a  great  likeness  between  M.  Felix 
Mendelssohn  and  Mademoiselle  Rachel  Felix,  the 
tragic  artist.  What  is  peculiar  to  both  is  a  great, 
severe,  very  serious  seriousness,  a  decided,  almost 
urgent,  disposition  to  classic  models,  the  most 
refined  and  intelligent  penetration,  and  finally, 
a  total  want  of  naiveU,  or  sincere  naturalness. 
But  was  there  ever  in  art  really  original  genius 
or  genial  originality  without  naivete?  To  this 
day  such  a  thing  has  never  been  known. 


The  criticism  of  Rossini  by  Heine  is  characterised  by 
remarkable  sagacity  or  insight,  allied  to  enthusiastic  ad- 
miration, the  whole  being  sketched  with  a  bold  hand 
in  a  few  strokes  with  the  vigour  and  ability  of  a  true 
artist.  The  illustration  by  a  description  of  the  children's 
procession  at  Cette  is  perfect  of  its  kind.  It  may  indeed 
be  questioned  whether,  as  a  specimen  of  argument  by  mere 
illustration  or  poetic  reasoning,  it  has  ever  been  surpassed. 
But  even  more  remarkable  and  quite  as  truthful  is  his 
comment  on  Mademoiselle  Rachel,  which  is  the  more 
entitled  to  admiration  because  when  it  appeared  there  was 
probably  not  a  soul  living  who  would  admit  its  justice. 
Rachel  had,  indeed,  an  absolutely  practical,  worldly -keen 


j^?w^*T  ■ 


ROSSINI  AND  MENDELSSOHN.  371 

perception  of  what  there  was  in  the  old  French  classical 
drama  which  moved  or  excited  people,  and  great  readiness 
in  profiting  by  lessons,  criticisms,  and  the  publia  She  had 
a  deep  and  strange,  rather  than  a  beautiful  voice  ;  but  she 
had  learned  how  to  produce  with  it  eflfects  which  astonished 
the  multitude,  simply  because  they  implied  difficulties 
overcome.  Of  all  her  tours  de  force,  the  one  which  always 
"  brought  down  the  house  "  with  its  most  tremendous 
applause  was,  when  she  had  thrown  herself  into  a  terrible 
spasm  of  excitement,  to  at  once  recover  in  a  second,  and 
proceed  with  calmest  voice  and  countenance.  This,  which 
displeased  me  as  a  mere  trick,  was,  I  soon  found,  the  key 
to  all  of  Rachel's  best  play.  There  was,  as  Heine  says,  or 
fully  implies,  a  want  of  the  "  genial "  or  "  natural "  depth 
of  feeling  and  of  naivete,  although  there  were  such  clever 
approaches  to  it  all,  that  a  blas^  old  theatre-goer  could  not 
be  made  to  understand  her  deficiencies.  Rachel  had  no 
interest  in  what  she  played  ;  the  subject  was  to  her  simply 
nothing.  It  is  said  that  once  when  she  was  playing  in  a 
tragedy  of  five  acts,  it  was  in  her  rdle  to  die  at  the  end  of 
the  fourth.  As  it  appeared  one  day  in  conversation,  after 
the  play  had  had  a  long  run,  that  Mademoiselle  Rachel  did 
not  know  how  it  ended,  she  confessed  she  had  never  read 
the  fifth  act.  Rachel,  in  a  word,  had  talent,  but  no  heart 
and  no  great  genius.  Her  art  meant  for  her  simply  the 
effect  which  she  could  produce  on  others  ;  she  did  not  enjoy 
acting  in  itself,  as  did  Kean,  or  Mrs.  Siddons,  or  Frederick 
Lem&itre,  and  Mademoiselle  Dejazet. — Translator. 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1843. 


FIRST  PAPER 

Pabis,  March  20,  1843. 

The  wearisomeness  or  ennui  which  the  classical 
tragedy  of  the  French  exhales,  like  a  benumbing 
vapour,  was  never  better  felt  than  by  that  good 
citizen's  wife  of  the  time  of  Louis  XIV.,  who 
said  to  her  children,  "  Do  not  envy  the  nobility, 
and  forgive  them  their  pride ;  for,  as  the  punish- 
ment of  Heaven,  they  must  be  bored  to  death 
every  night  in  the  Theatre  Fran9ais."  The  old 
regime  has  departed,  and  the  sceptre  has  passed 
into  the  hands  of  the  citizens ;  but  it  must  be 
that  these  new  rulers  also  have  many  sins  to 
atone  for,  and  the  anger  of  the  gods  afflicts  them 
more  intolerably  than  it  did  their  predecessors 
in  the  realm,  for  they  must  not  only  drain  the 
mouldy  dregs  of  the  ancient  opiate  poured  forth 
for  them  every  night  by  Mademoiselle  Eachel, 
but  must  now   even  devour  that  refuse  of  our 

German  Romantic  kitchen,  the    versified  saiier- 

37a 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1843.  373 

hraut  known  as  the  Burgraves  of  Victor  Hugo. 
I  will  not  waste  a  word  in  discussing  the  value 
of  this  indigestible  piece  of  shop-work,  which  is 
presented  with  all  possible  pretensions,  especially 
with  the  historical,  since  all  the  knowledge  of 
Victor  Hugo  as  to  the  time  and  place  of  his  play- 
are  drawn  entirely  from  the  French  translation 
of  Schreiber's  "  Handbook  for  Travellers  on  the 
Rhine."  ^  Has  this  man,  who  only  one  year  ago 
dared  to  say  in  the  public  Academy  that  German 
genius  has  come  to  an  end — "  La  pens^  allemande 
est  rentrie  dans  Vombre  " — has  this  great  eagle 
of  poetry  really  soared  this  time  so  far  above  all 
his  contemporaries?  Truly,  by  no  means.  His 
work  indicates  neither  poetic  breadth  nor  har- 
mony, neither  inspiration  nor  free  thought ;  it 
has  not  a  spark  of  genius ;  nothing,  in  fact,  but 
bombastic  unnaturalness  '  and  showy  declamation. 
We  find  in  it  angular  wooden  forms,  overloaded 
with  tasteless  frippery  and  tinsel,  moved  by  visible 

^  This  is  fearfully  severe,  but  probably  quite  true.  I  believe 
that  in  all  the  history  of  literature  there  is  no  instance  of  any 
writer  or  poet  who  had  raised  himself  to  such  a  height  as  Victor 
Hugo  achieved  with  such  a  very  slender  store  of  knowledge  or 
reading,  and  who  yet  made  such  arrogant  pretence  of  erudition. 
All  of  his  works  bear  the  impress  of  having  been  "coached 
up," — Translator. 

*  Gespreizte  Unnatur.  Spreizen,  to  spread  one's  self,  which, 
in  this  sense,  \a  accurately  conveyed  by  the  American  slang 
term,  the  whole  expression  here  being  equivalent  to  "high 
falutin." — Trandator. 


374  THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1843. 

wires,  an  uncanny,  mournful  puppet-show,  a  gross 
and  cramped  aping  of  life,  animated  through 
and  through  with  sham  passion.  Nothing  is  so 
repugnant  to  me  as  this  Hugoistic  passion,  which 
behaves  so  like  glowing  fire,  and  flames  up  so 
wildly  without,  and  is  so  wretchedly  sober  and 
frosty  within.  This  cold  passion,  which  is  served 
up  to  us  in  such  blazing  figures  of  speech,  always 
reminds  me  of  the  roasted  ice  which  the  Chinese 
prepare  so  artistically  by  holding  a  lump  of  some- 
thing frozen,  wrapped  in  a  thin  coat  of  dough, 
for  a  minute  over  the  fire.  It  is  an  antithetic 
dainty,  which  must  be  swallowed  at  once,  and 
which,  with  its  hot  rind,  burns  the  lips  and 
tongue  while  it  cools  the  stomach.^ 

But  the  ruling  bourgeoisie  has  to  endure  for 
its  sins  not  only  old  Classic  tragedies,  which  are 
710^  Classic,  and  trilogies  of  Burgraves  of  triple 
tiresomeness, '^  but  the  heavenly  powers  have  be- 
stowed or  inflicted  on  them  a  far  more  terrible 
artistic  pleasure,  namely,  the  pianoforte,  from 
which  there  is  now  no  escape  anywhere,  and 
which  is  heard  ringing  in  every  house  and  in  all 

^  I  may  be  excused  for  indicating  this  as  a  chef-d'oeuvre  of 
simile,  which  shows  the  poet  when  disguised  in  prose.  And 
it  may  be  said  truly  that  Heine  was  never  prosaic  in  his  poetry, 
but  was  often,  though  seldom  in  excess,  poetic  in  his  prose. — 
Translator. 

^  This  reference  to  the  trilogies  is  only  given  in  the  French 
version. 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1843-  375 

society  by  night  as  well  as  by  day.  Yes,  piano- 
forte is  the  name  of  the  instrument  of  martyrdom 
wherewith  fashionable  life  is  specially  tortured 
and  punished  for  all  its  usurpations.  If  only  the 
innocent  had  not  to  suffer  with  the  guilty  !  This 
eternal  carillon  of  pianoing  is  really  intolerable. 
(Woe  is  me !  just  at  this  instant  my  two  lady 
neighbours  in  the  next  apartment,  two  youthful 
daughters  of  Albion,  are  playing  a  brilliant  mor- 
ceau  de  piano  it  devx  mains  gauches — a  brilliant 
duo  with  their  two  left  hands  !).  These  jingling 
sounds  without  natural  cadence,  this  heartless 
whizzing,  this  arch-prosaic  sudden  tumbling  and 
pecking  {Schollern  und  Fickern),  this  forte-pian/), 
kills  all  our  thoughts  and  feelings,  and  we  be- 
come stupid,  apathetic,  idiotic.  This  taking  the 
upper  hand  by  piano-playing,  and  also  the  great 
triumphal  tours  and  tournaments  of  the  piano 
mrtzLOsi,  are  characteristic  of  our  time,  and  dis- 
tinctly declare  the  victory  of  machinery  over  mind. 
Technical  facility,  the  precision  of  an  automaton, 
the  identification  of  self  with  the  stringed  wood, 
the  transition  of  humanity  into  a  tuned  instru- 
ment of  sound  (die  tonende  Instrunfientwerdung 
des  Menschen)^  is  now  praised  and  exalted  as  the 


^  The  instru-mcntoZ-ising  of  man  appears,  with  the  help  of 
a  pun,  to  give  this  remarkable  word  a  little  more  closely. — 
Tnmdator. 


376  THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1843. 

highest  attainable.  Therefore  like  unto  swarms 
of  locusts  do  the  piano-fortuosi  come  flying  every 
year  to  Paris,  not  so  much  to  make  money  as 
a  name,  which  shall  give  them  in  other  lands  an 
all  the  greater  pecuniary  harvest.  Paris  is  for 
them  a  kind  of  bulletin-board,  or  hoarding  for 
advertisements,  on  which  their  names  may  be 
read  in  tremendous  letters.  I  say  that  their 
name  and  fame  are  to  be  read,  for  it  is  the 
Parisian  press  which  announces  them  to  a  be- 
lieving world,  and  these  virtitosi  show  their 
virtuosity  with  a  vengeance  in  the  grand  art 
of  working  the  press  and  the  editors.  They 
know  how  to  get  round  the  most  recalcitrant, 
and  to  make  themselves  heard  by  the  deafest; 
for  men  are  always  men,  susceptible  to  flattery, 
and  liking  to  play  the  part  of  a  protector — and 
one  hand  washes  another;  the  dirtier  hand  is 
not,  however,  generally  that  of  the  editor,  and 
even  the  venal  flatterer  is  at  the  same  time  a 
befooled  innocent  who  is  half  paid  with  futile 
praise.  There  is  much  said  of  the  venality  of 
the  press,  but  here  the  world  is  mistaken.  On 
the  contrary,  it  is  the  press  which  is  generally 
cheated,  and  this  is  especially  true  as  regards 
celebrated  virtuosi.  Celebrated  they  are  indeed, 
one  and  all,  in  the  pufia  which  they  work  into 
print,  either  in  their  own  distinguished  persons 
or  by  aid  of  a  brother  or  mother.     It  is  hardly 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1843-  377 

credible  how  humbly  they  beg  in  newspaper 
offices  for  the  least  crumb  of  praise,  or  how  they 
will  twist  and  turn  to  get  it.  While  I  was  as 
yet  in  the  good  graces  of  the  director  of  the 
Gazette  Musicode  (which  I  unfortunately  lost  by 
youthful  folly),  I  could  see  with  my  own  eyes 
how  those  great  celebrities  lay  at  his  feet,  and 
crawled  and  wagged  their  tails,  all  to  be  a  little 
praised  in  his  journal,  and  we  may  say  of  our 
highly  celebrated  viritiosi  who  receive  such 
homage  in  all  the  capitals  of  Europe,  that,  in 
the  words  of  Beranger,  the  dust  from  the  boots 
of  Moritz  Schlesinger  is  still  visible  on  their 
laurels. 

No  one  has  an  idea  of  the  extent  to  which 
these  persons  speculate  on  our  credulity,  unless 
he  can  witness  their  indefatigable  perseverance 
in  its  time  and  place.  I  once  encountered,  in 
the  bureau  of  the  Gazette  referred  to,  a  ragged 
old  man  who  announced  himself  as  the  father 
of  a  distinguished  virtuoso,  and  who  begged  the 
editor  to  insert  a  puflf  (reclame)  in  which  certcdn 
noble  traits  from  the  artistic  life  of  his  son  were 
described  for  the  benefit  of  the  public.  The 
Celebrated  One  had,  for  example,  given,  with 
extraordinary  success,  a  concert  in  the  South  of 
France,  and  devoted  the  proceeds  to  the  restora- 
tion of  a  much-ruined  Gothic  church.  At  another 
time  he  had  in  like  manner  benefited  an  inun- 


378  THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1843. 

dated  widow,  and  made  up  to  an  aged  school- 
master the  loss  of  his  only  cow.  During  my 
conversation  with  the  father  of  this  friend  of 
humanity,  the  old  man  innocently  confessed  that 
Monsieur  son  fils  really  did  not  do  as  much  for 
him  as  he  might,  and  sometimes  left  him  quite 
destitute.  I  would  hereby  advise  this  distin- 
guished performer  to  give  for  once  a  concert 
for  the  benefit  of  the  ragged  trousers  of  his  old 
father. 

When  we  see  so  much  of  this  pitiful  business, 
one  cannot  really  find  fault  with  the  Swedish 
students,  who  expressed  themselves  somewhat  too 
strongly  against  the  evil  of  the  apotheosising  vir- 
ttum,  and  who  gave  to  the  celebrated  Ole  Bull 
the  well-known  ovation  on  his  axrival  in  Upsala. 
The  celebrated  guest,  expecting  that  the  students 
would  unharness  his  horses  and  draw  him 
themselves,  and  awaiting  crowns  of  flowers  and 
torchlight  processions,  received  all  at  once  a 
tremendous  shower  of  blows  with  sticks  in  his 
honour,  or  a  truly  Northern  surprise.^ 

The    matadores    of    this    year's    season   were 

^  When  I  was  at  the  same  place,  Upsala,  in  1889,  as  a 
member  of  the  Oriental  Congress,  the  conduct  of  the  students, 
though  they  did  not  receive  us  with  blows,  struck  me  as 
singularly  rude  and  insolent,  and  it  was  roundly  rated  as  such 
in  the  newspapers.  It  was  in  bad  taste  in  Heine,  to  say  the 
least,  to  speak  so  lightly  of  the  brutal  and  stupid  reception 
given  to  Ole  Bull,  who  was  a  remarkably  kind-hearted  and 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1843-  375 

Sivori  and  Dreyschock.  The  first  is  a  fiddler, 
and  I  place  him  as  such  before  the  latter,  the 
terrible  piano-thumper.  Among  violinists,  skill 
is  not  entirely  the  result  of  mechanical  fingering 
and  mere  technicality,  as  with  the  pianists.  The 
violin  is  an  instrument  which  has  almost  human 
caprices,  and  which  is,  so  to  speak,  in  sympathetic 
relation  to  the  disposition  of  the  artist.  The 
least  discomfort,  the  slightest  mental  trouble,  a 
breath  of  feeling,  manifests  itself  in  a  prompt 
and  direct  echo,  which  may  well  come  from  this, 
that  the  violin  is  pressed  so  closely  to  the  breast, 


benevolent  man.  I  hardly  think  he  would  have  done  so  could 
he  have  heard  the  eulogies  which  the  great  violinist  lavished 
on  him  in  conversation  with  me.  They  were  to  the  effect 
that  Heine  was  in  society  by  far  the  most  agreeable  man  whom 
he  had  ever  met,  and  that  among  the  most  brilliant  wits  of 
Paris,  he  outdid  all,  invariably  sparkling — sprvddnd — like  a 
fountain,  and  talking  well  on  all  subjects.  I  regret  having 
been  inadvertently  and  innocently  the  cause  of  great  trouble 
to  Ole  BulL  I  had  made  casually  in  London  the  mere 
acquaintance  of  a  man  to  whom  I  promptly  gave  the  cold 
shoulder  when  he  called  on  me  afterwards  in  America.  This 
man,  as  the  artist  assured  me,  subsequently,  by  using  my  name, 
and  representing  me  as  one  who  would  guarantee  his  honesty, 
obtained  a  situation  as  agent  for  his  troupe,  and  absconded,  not 
only  with  money,  but  also  injured  his  employer  seriously  in 
other  respects.  Ole  Bull,  like  many  artists,  was  a  man  of  easy 
faith;  had  he  at  first  referred  to  me,  this  would  not  have 
happened.  It  is  evidently  a  gratuitous  assumption  by  Heine 
that  Ole  Bull  expected  the  students  to  play  horse  for  him. 
That  they  indulged  in  "hone-play"  appears  by  the  text.— 
Trandator. 


38o  THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1843. 

and  catches  the  beating  of  our  hearts.  This  is, 
however,  only  the  case  with  artists  who  really 
have  hearts  which  beat  in  their  bosoms,  and 
above  all,  souls.  The  more  sober  and  heartless 
the  violinist,  the  more  uniform  will  his  execu- 
tion be,  and  he  can  count  upon  the  obedience 
of  his  fiddle  at  any  hour  in  any  place.  But  this 
valued  certainty  is  only  the  result  of  a  limited 
mind,  and  it  is  just  the  greatest  masters  whose 
play  is  often  dependent  on  external  and  internal 
influences.  I  have  never  heard  any  one  play 
better,  or  at  times  worse,  than  Paganini,  and 
I  can  say  the  same  thing  in  favour  of  Ernst. 
This  latter,  Ernst,  who  is  perhaps  the  greatest 
violinist  of  our  time,  was  like  Paganini  in  his 
faults  as  in  his  genius.  His  absence  this  winter 
caused  many  regrets  among  all  friends  of  music 
who  know  how  to  value  high  art.^  Signer  Sivori 
was  a  very  flat  compensation,  but  yet  we  heard 
him  with  great  pleasure.  Since  he  was  born 
in  Genoa,  and  perhaps  as  a  child  in  running 
about  in  the  narrow  streets  of  his  native  city, 
where  no  one  can  be  avoided,  sometimes  met 
Paganini,  he  has  been  proclaimed  here  as  his 
pupil.  No,  Paganini  never  had  a  pupil,  and 
he  could  not  have  one,  because  the  best  which 


^  The  last  half  of  this  sentence  is  wanting  in  the  French 
version. 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1843.  381 

he  knew,  or  that  which  is  highest   in   art,  can 
never  be  taught  nor  learned.^ 

What  is  the  highest  art  ?  That  which  is  the 
highest  in  all  other  manifestations  of  life — the 
self-conscious  freedom  of  genius.  Not  only  a 
piece  of  music  which  has  been  composed  in  the 
fulness  of  that  self-consciousness,  but  also  the 
mere  execution  of  it  may  be  regarded  as  the 
artistic  highest  when  there  is  breathed  on  us 
from  it  that  marvellous  air  of  the  infinite  which 
causes  us  to  feel  directly  that  the  performer  stands 
with  the  composer  on  the  same  free  spiritual 
height,  and  that  he  is  also  as  free.  Yes,  this 
self-consciousness  of  freedom  in  art  reveals  itself 
especially  in  treatment  or  in  form,  never  in  the 
subject  itself.  We  may  indeed  assert  to  the  con- 
trary, that  those  artists  who  have  chosen  liberty 
itself,  or  the  setting  mankind  free  for  a  theme, 
are  generally  limited,  fettered  souls,  really  in 
themselves  confined.  This  remark  holds  specially 
good  to-day  in  German  poetry,  where  we  see  that 
the  unbridled  defiant  singers  of  freedom,  when 


^  A  very  empty  and  unsatisfactory  reason  for  proving  that 
Sivori  never  had  lessons  from  the  great  violinist.  It  would 
establish  the  absurdity  that  no  genius  ever  taught  anybody 
anjrthing.  I  have  often  heard  Sivori ;  his  playing  was  what 
might  be  called  anmuthig,  pleasing,  graceful,  and  fascinating. 
He  had  decided  genius,  but  it  did  not  assume  powerful  m 
much  as  agreeable  forms. — Trandator. 


38a 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1843. 


looked  at  by  daylight,  are  mostly  very  narrow 
natures,  Philistines  whose  pig-tails  or  qaeues 
peep  out  from  under  their  red  caps — ephemeral 
one-day  flies,  of  whom  Goethe  would  say — 

"  Hear  the  paltry  angry  fly  rant  1 
Buzzing  with  a  hope  to  hurt, 
How  it  drops  its  speck  of  dirt 
On  the  nose  of  a  grim  tyrant ! " 

Eeally  great  poets  have  always  treated  the  great 
interests  of  their  time  in  another  form  than  that 
of  newspaper  leaders  in  rhyme,  and  have  troubled 
themselves  very  little  when  the  servile  mob,  whose 
coarseness  revolts  them,  reproaches  them  with 
aristocracy.'^  i 


^  To  which  the  French  version  adds — "Et  de  marque  de 
charactfere." 


SECOND  PAPER. 

Pabi8,  March  26,  1843. 

I  HAVE  mentioned  Messieurs  Sivori  and  Drey- 
schock  as  most  remarkable  phenomena  of  the 
musical  season  of  this  year.  The  latter  has 
reaped  an  immense  harvest  of  praise,  and  I 
report  truly  that  public  opinion  has  proclaimed 
him  as  one  of  the  greatest  of  pianists  and  ranked 
him  with  the  most  famous  of  them.  He  makes 
an  infernal  row  {Er  macht  einen  hollischen  Spek- 
takel).  You  would  not  think  you  were  listening 
to  a  Dreyschock,  but  receiving  a  dry-shock  of 
electricity.^  As  the  wind  on  the  evening  of  the 
concert  was  south-west,^  you  possibly  heard  in 
Augsburg  the  tremendous   sounds.     At  such  a 

1  "  Man  glaubt  nicht  einen  pianisten  Dreyschock,  sondem 
drei  Schock  Fianisten  zu  horen."  "  Yon  do  not  think  that  yoa 
are  listening  to  one,  but  to  nine-score  pianists."  It  is  hardly 
necessary  to  state  that  the  French  version  passes  over  this  con- 
vulsion of  musical  scores  in  silent  scorn.  Schock,  threescore,  has 
retained  a  trace  of  its  old  meaning  in  English,  when  we  speak 
of  a  shock  of  wheat,  which  means,  I  believe,  from  fifteen  to  twenty 
sheaves.     It  also  means  in  German  a  heap  or  pile. 

*  French  version^^u  nord-ouett. 

383 


384  THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1843. 

distance  the  eflFect  may  have  been  agreeable; 
but  here,  in  the  department  of  the  Seine,  our 
tympanums  or  ear-drums  threaten  to  burst 
when  this  piano-banger  storms  away.  Hang 
thyself,  0  Franz  Liszt!  verily  thou  art  but  a 
paltry  graven  image  of  a  wind-idol  compared 
to  this  thunder-god  who  bindeth  the  storms 
together  like  birch -twigs  and  therewith  lashes 
the  ocean. 

There  1  was  a  Dane  named  Villmers,  who 
was  listened  to  with  good  results,  and  who  will 
doubtless  in  time  drum  and  thrum  his  way  up 
to  the  summit  of  his  art.  The  older  pianists 
are  falling  away  little  by  little  into  the  shadows 
of  oblivion,  and  now  these  poor  played-out  in- 
valids of  fame  must  pay  penance  for  having 
been  over-praised  in  their  youth.  Only  Kalk- 
brenner  holds  his  own  a  little.  He  reappeared 
this  winter  in  the  concert  of  a  pupil;  there 
still  plays  on  his  lips  that  embalmed  and  balmy 
smile  which  we  lately  noted  in  an  Egyptian 
Pharaoh  when  his  mummy  was  unrolled  in  the 
museum  here.  After  an  absence  of  more  than 
twenty-five  years,  M.  Kalkbrenner  lately  revisited 
London,  the  scene  of  his  earliest  success,  and 
harvested  a  great  crop  of  fame.     The  best  is 


^  The  following  sentence  is  omitted  in  the  French  version. — 
Translator.  r 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1843-  385 

that  he  returned  with  his  neck  unbroken,  and 
we  now  need  no  longer  put  faith  in  the  mys- 
terious report  that  M.  Kalkbrenner  avoided  Eng- 
land so  long  on  account  of  the  unhealthy  law 
which  there  prevails  of  punishing  the  gallant 
crime   of  bigamy   with   the   halter.^     We   may 


^  The  French  version  here  gives  the  following  original  pas- 
sages : — "  II  est  revenu  sain  et  sauf,  les  pocbes  pleines  de 
guinea  et  la  tSte  plus  vide  que  jamais.  II  revient  en  triumpha- 
tenr,  et  il  nous  raconte  combien  sa  majesty  la  reine  d'Angle- 
terre  a  ^t^  enchant^e  de  le  voir  si  bien  portant,  et  combien  elle 
s'est  sentie  flattie  de  sa  visite  k  Windsor,  ou  dans  quelqne 
autre  ch&teau  dont  j'ai  oubli^  le  nom.  Oui,  le  grand  Kalk- 
brenner est  revenu  sain  et  sauf  k  sa  residence  de  Paris,  oti  il  a 
retrouv^  ^galement  en  bonne  sant^  tous  ses  admirateurs,  sea 
magnifiques  pianoforte  qu'il  fabrique  de  compagnie  avec  M. 
Pleyel,  ses  nombreux  ^l^ves  qui  se  cumposent  de  tous  les  artistes 
auxquels  il  a  parl^  seulement  une  fois  dans  sa  vie,  et  enfin  sa 
collection  de  tableaux  dont  il  pretend  qu'aucun  prince  ne  pour- 
rait  la  payer.  II  va  sans  dire  qu'il  a  aussi  retrouv^  ici  ce  petit 
garfon  de  huit  ans,  qu'il  appele  monsieur  son  fils,  et  k  qui  il 
accorde  encore  plus  de  talent  musical  qu'a  lui-mSme,  le  declarant 
sup^rieur  k  Mozart.  Ce  petit  bonhomme  lymphatique  et  mala- 
divemeut  boursouflu^,  qui  dans  tous  les  cas  d^passe  d^jk  mon- 
sieur son  p^re  sous  le  rapport  de  la  modestie,  ^coute  son  propro 
floge  avec  le  plus  imperturbable  sangfroid;  et  de  I'air  d'un 
viellard  ennuy^  et  fatigud  des  honneurs  et  des  ovations  du 
monde,  il  raconte  lui-m^me  ses  succ^  k  la  cour,  oil  les  belles 
princesses  lui  auraient  bais^  sa  petite  main  blanche.  L'outre- 
ouidance  de  ce  petit,  de  ce  foetus  blas^  est  aussi  rebutante  que 
comique.  Je  ne  sais  pas  si  M.  Kalkbrenner  k  egalement  re- 
trouv^  k  Paris  la  brave  marchande  de  poissons,"  &c.,  &c. 

^  Public  performers  seem  to  be  public  property,  and  this 
scandal  reminds  me  that  many  years  ago,  when  an  Italian  opera 
company  was  in  New  York,  there  appeared  in  a  local  Italian 

2  £ 


'■"'•?  •.° 


386  THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OP  1843. 

therefore  assume  that  the  story  was  a  fable,  for 
it  is  a  fact  that  M.  Kalkbrenner  has  returned  to 
his  admirers  here,  to  the  beautiful  pianos  which 
he  manufactures  in  company  with  M.  Pleyel,  and 
to  his  fair  pupils,  who  all  develop  themselves  into 
his  mistresses — in  the  French  sense  of  the  word  ; 
to  his  gallery  of  pictures,  which,  as  he  declares, 
no  prince  can  afford  to  buy ;  to  his  hopeful  son, 
who  already  surpasses  his  father  in  modesty ;  and 
to  the  noble-hearted  fishwoinan  who  yielded  to 
him  the  famous  turbot  which  the  head-cook  of 
the  Prince  of  Benevento,  Talleyrand-Perigord, 
former  Bishop  of  Autun,  had  already  ordered  for 
his  master.  The  jyoissarde  refused  for  a  long 
time  to  yield  the  turbot  in  question  to  the  famous 
pianist,  who  had  gone  incognito  to  the  fish-market; 
but  when  he  put  down  his  card,  and  the  poor  soul 
read  on  it  the  name  of  "  Kalkbrenner,"  she  at 
once  ordered  the  fish  to  be  carried  to  his  house ; 
nay,  it  was  long  before  she  could  be  induced  to 
take  payment  for  it,  as  she  had  been,  as  she 
declared,  suflSciently  remunerated  by  so  great  an 
honour.  German  codfish  aristocrats  (Stockfische) 
are  vexed  at  such  a  "  fish  story,"  ^  because  they 

newspaper  a  list  of  its  members,  with  the  names  or  mention  of 
the  wives  which  every  man  had  left  behind  him  in  Italj  or  else- 
where. I  was  informed  on  good  authority  that  they  all  treated 
it  as  a  joke. — Trandator. 

'  The  French  version,  for  once,  boldly  grapples  this  lion  in 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1843.  38? 

are  not  able  to  spread  themselves  so  grandly  in 
this  wise  like  M.  Kalkbrenner,  and  because,  over 
and  beyond  this,  they  envy  his  elegant  mien,  his 
admirably  attired  form,  his  polish  and  sweetness, 
his  whole  candied  sugar-cake  exterior,  which  is, 
however,  disagreeably  jarred  to  the  calm  observer 
by  many  involuntary  Berlinisms  of  the  lowest 
class,  so  that  KoreflF  said  as  wittily  as  neatly  of 
him  that  he  looked  like  a  bon-bon  which  had 
fallen  into  the  mud. 

Monsieur  Pixis  is  a  contemporary  of  M.  Kalk- 
brenner, and  though  of  an  even  inferior  order, 
we  will  mention  him  as  a  curiosity.  But  is  M. 
Pixis  really  living  ?  He  himself  declares  that 
he  is,  and  appeals  to  the  testimony  of  M.  Sina, 
the  celebrated  bather  of  Boulogne,  who  must  not 
be  confused  with  Mount  Sinai.  We  will  there- 
fore believe  this  brave  master  of  the  waves, 
though  many  evil  tongues  declare  that  M.  Pixis 
never  existed  at  all.  No,  the  latter  is  a  man  who 
really  lives ;  I  say  a  man,  though  a  zoologist 
would  give  him  a  longer  name,  whereby  hangs  a 
tale.  M.  Pixis  came  to  Paris  at  the  time  of  the 
Invasion,  when  the  Apollo  Belvedere  was  restored 
to  the   Romans,  and  had  to  leave  Paris.     The 


the  path,  and  conquers  it  bravely  with  the  help  of  italics  as 
follows : — "  Un  tel  canard  cause  du  d^pit  k  plus  d'un  dindon 
aHemand." — Trtmdator. 


jli  THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1843. 

acquisition  of  M.  Pixis  must  therefore  be  regarded 
as  an  equivalent  for  the  loss  of  Apollo.  He 
played  the  piano,  composed  nicely  and  prettily, 
and  his  musical  pieces  were  in  great  demand  by 
dealers  in  canary-birds,  who  teach  the  latter 
tunes  on  bird-organs.  These  yellow  beings  only 
required  to  have  a  composition  by  M.  Pixis  played 
to  them  once,  when  they  immediately  caught 
and  repeated  it,  to  the  delight  of  all  hearers, 
who  cried  aloud,  "  Pixissime  !  "  Since  the  elder 
Bourbons  left  the  scene,  Pixissime  !  is  no  longer 
shouted ;  the  new  birds  require  new  tunes.^ 

M.  Pixis  is  also  somewhat  remarkable  by  his 
external  appearance,  for  he  has  the  greatest  nose 
in  the  musical  world  ;  and,  to  make  this  as  striking 
as  possible,  he  often  shows  himself  in  company 
with  a  composer  of  romances  who  has  no  nose  at 
all,  for  which  he  lately  received  the  cross  of  the 
Legion  of  Honour  ;  for  it  certainly  could  not  have 

^  Here  the  French  version,  fired  perhaps  with  its  late  success, 
ventures  on  an  entirely  original,  although  quite  unavoidable,  pun 
of  its  own  :  "  Depuis  que  les  Bourbons  de  la  branche  ain^e  ont 
quitt^  la  sc^ne,  on  ne  crie  plus  Pixissime !  les  nouveaux 
serins  demandent  de  nouvelles  melodies."  Serin  or  serein  is 
equivalent  to  "goose"  in  slaug.  In  the  original  MS.  the  conclu- 
sion of  this  sentence  ran  thus :  "  And  M.  Pixis  is,  like  Kalk- 
brenner,  a  poor  mummy  ;  in  fact,  the  mummy  of  an  ibis.  The 
long  bill  of  an  ibis  has  a  striking  resemblance  to  the  fabulously 
long  nose  of  Pixis,  which  belongs  to  the  wonders  of  the  musical 
world,  and  which  has  become  the  butt  of  so  many  bad  jokes," 
&C. — Translator, 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1843-  389 

been  for  his  music  that  M.  Passeron  has  been 
decorated.  It  is  also  said  that  he  will  be 
appointed  Director  of  the  Grand  Opera,  becanse 
he  is  the  only  man  of  whom  there  is  no  danger 
that  Maestro  Giacomo  Meyerbeer  will  ever  lead 
him  by  the  nose.^ 

M.  Herz  belongs,  like  Kalkbrenner  and  Pixis, 
to  the  mummies ;  he  is  only  distinguished  by  his 
beautiful  concert-hall;  he  has  long  been  dead, 
and  was  recently  married.^  Among  the  pianists 
here  who  are  at  present  most  in  vogue  are  Halle 
and  Edward  Wolf ;  but  we  will  specially  notice 
only  the  latter,  because  he  is  also  a  composer. 
He  is  fertile  and  full  of  verve  and  originality. 
His  studies  for  the  pianoforte  are  the  most  cele- 
brated of  his  works,  wherefore  he  is  quite  popular, 
Stephen  Heller  is  more  of  a  composer  than  a 
performer,  though  he  is  greatly  admired  for  his 
playing.     His  musical  productions  all  bear  the 


^  There  is  an  extraordinary  similarity  in  this  passage  on 
Messrs.  Pixis  and  Passeron  to  a  tale  by  Edgar  Allan  Poe,  in 
which  a  man  showed  himself  in  society,  and  became  a  lion  of  the 
season  on  account  of  his  immensely  long  nose,  but  was  ere  long 
dethroned  or  supplanted  by  a  man  with  no  nose  at  all.  I  be- 
lieve, however,  that  Poe's  tale  has  precedence  in  point  of  time, 
and  that  it  was  suggested  to  him  by  the  nose  described  by 
Slawkenbergius  in  Sterne's  "Sentimental  Journey." — TraiU' 
later. 

'  This  passage  is  omitted  in  the  Frenob  veruoo,  also  a  few 
lines  in  the  next  sentence. — Trandaior.    ' 


390  THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1843. 

stamp  of  distingaished  talent,  and  he  belongs 
already  to  the  great  masters.  He  is  a  true  artist, 
without  affectation  and  without  exaggeration  ;  a 
Romantic  spirit  in  a  Classic  form. 

Thalberg  has  now  been  two  months  in  Paris, 
but  will  give  no  concerts  himself,  and  only  play 
once  this  week  in  one  given  by  a  friend.  This 
artist  distinguishes  himself,  to  his  great  advan- 
tage, from  his  colleagues  of  the  piano,  I  may 
almost  say,  by  his  musical  manners.^  As  in 
his  life,  so  in  his  art,  Thalberg  manifests  inborn 
tact ;  his  style  ( Vortrag)  is  so  gentlemanlike,  so 
well-off,  so  respectable,  so  free  from  grimace,  so 
utterly  devoid  of  forced  or  affected  genius  or 
geniality,  so  clear  from  that  arrogant  clownishness 
(renommierende  Bengelei)  which  often  covers  real 
cowardice,  which  we  so  often  find  among  our 
musical  mushrooms.^  Healthy  women  love  him  ; 
the  sickly  are  not  less  attracted,  although  he 
does  not  excite  their  pity  by  epileptic  attacks 
on  the  piano,  although  he  does  not  specu- 
late   on  over-delicate   nerves,  and   although  he 


^  In  the  Augthurger  Zeitung  there  was  in  place  of  this  sentence 
the  following  : — "  Despite  my  antipathy  to  the  piano,  I  would 
make  an  effort  to  hear  him  ;  but  there  is  something  peculiar  as 
regards  the  tolerance  with  which  I  regard  him.  He  enchants 
me,  I  may  say,  by  his  musical  manners  ;  his  play  is  all  steeped 
in  harmony." — Translator. 

>  This  conclusion  is  wanting  in  the  French  version. 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1843-  39» 

neitter  electrifies  nor  galvanises,  which  are  all 
negative  but  very  beautiful  characteristics.  He 
enchants  only  by  a  balsam-like  melody,  by 
moderate  measure  and  mildness.^  There  is  but 
one  pianist  whom  I  prefer  to  him.  That  is 
Chopin,  who  is,  however,  much  more  of  a  com- 
poser than  a  performer.  When  he  plays,  I  for- 
get all  masters  of  the  instrument  or  mere  skill, 
and  sink  into  the  sweet  abyss  of  his  music, 
into  the  melancholy  rapture  of  his  exquisite  and 
profound  creations,  Chopin  is  the  great  and 
genial  poet  of  sweet  sound,  who  should  only  be 
named  with  Mozart,  or  Beethoven,  or  Rossini. 

There  has  been  no  want  of  novelties  this  winter 
in  the  so-called  lyrical  theatres.  The  Bouffes 
gave  us  Don  Pasquale,  a  new  work  by  Signor 
Donizetti,  the  musical  Raupach.*  This  Italian  is 
not  wanting  in  success ;  his  talent  is  great,  but  far 
greater  is  his  fertility,  in  which  he  is  unequalled, 
save  by  rabbits.  In  the  Opera  Comique  we  have 
had  La  Part  du  Dialled  the  text  by  Scribe,  the 
music  by  Auber — a  poet  and  composer  who  are 
perfectly  paired,  being  as  marvellously  matched  in 
their  merits  as  in  their  mischances.      Both  have 


1  In  the  AUgemeint  Zeitwng  this  sentence  is  given  in  pljK^e  of 
the  four  preceding  words. 

"  Omitted  in  the  French  version. 

*  Known  in  English  as  "  The  Little  Devil's  Share." 


.  ...#--•"  \. -  ^__. 


392 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1843- 


much  wit,  grace,  invention,  even  passion— only 
the  former  lacks  poetry  and  the  latter  music.  The 
work  finds  its  public  and  fills  the  house. 

In  the  Acaddmie  Royale  de  Musique  there  is 
being  played  "  Charles  VI.,"  the  text  by  Oassimir 
Delavigne,  the  music  by  Halevy.^  Here  too  we 
observe  an  elective  similarity  between  the  poet 
and  composer.  They  have  both  augmented  their 
natural  gifts  by  noble  effort,  and  they  have  been 
formed  more  by  the  outward  discipline  of  school 
than  by  inborn  originality.  For  this  reason, 
neither  have  ever  fallen  into  fault  or  error,  as 
sometimes  happens  to  original  genius,  and  they 
always  give  us  something  agreeable,  beautiful, 
respectable,  academic,  and  classic.  Both  are 
noble  natures,  equally  dignified,  and  in  an  age 
when  gold  hides  itself  so  miserly,  we  will  not 
haggle  over  current  silver.  The  "  Flying  Dutch- 
man "  of  Dietz  has  been  wretchedly  wrecked.  I 
have  not  heard  the  opera,  but  the  libretto  came 
in  my  way,  and  I  saw  with  regret  that  the  beau- 
tiful story  which  a  well-known  German  author 
(Heinrich  Heine)  had  imagined  in  a  manner  per- 


*  In  the  French  text  we  have  "  Charles  VI.,  textede Delavigne, 
mnsiqae  de  Halevy.  Je  ne  saig  pas  si  le  premier  est  le  grande 
poete  de  ce  nom.  Dans  ce  cas  ici,  &c."  As  the  correction  has 
here  been  made  only  in  the  German  text,  it  might  be  inferred 
that  the  French  was  the  original.  The  German  editor  makes 
no  remark  on  this  curious  incident. — Trandator. 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1843-  393 

fectly  true  to  tradition,  for  the  stage,  had  been 
bungled  in  the  French  text.^ 

The  "  Prophet "  of  Meyerbeer  is  expected,  and 
that  with  an  impatience  so  intolerable  that  it 
may  pass  into  irritation.  There  is  being  deve- 
loped here  a  singular  reaction  against  Meyerbeer, 
because  people  in  Paris  cannot  forgive  him  th« 
popularity  which  was  graciously  accorded  to  him 
in  Berlin.  They  are  so  unjust  as  to  make  him 
atone  for  many  political  annoyances.  Needy 
talents,  who  depend  on  the  highest  favour  for 
their  subsistence,  have  their  services  much  more 
readily  pardoned  than  is  a  great  maestro  who 
has  come  into  the  world  with  a  great  property 
almost  amounting  to  genius.^  In  fact,  he  has 
exposed  himself  to  very  serious  misunderstand- 
ings, to  which  we  will  return  anon. 

The  absence  of  Berlioz  is  perceptible.  It  is 
to  be  hoped  that  he  will  bring  us  much  that  is 
beautiful  when  he  returns,  and  Germany  will  cer- 
tainly inspire  him,  even  as  he  must  have  inspired 
the  souls  beyond  the  Rhine.      He  is  unquestion- 

^  Vide  "Florentine  Nights,"  the  first  yolmne  of  this  series,  p. 
130.  Heine  here  declares  or  intimates  that  he  was  the  first 
person  to  conceive  giving  a  dramatic  form  to  this  legend  ;  bat  if 
this  were  really  the  case — which  I  very  mnch  doubt — there 
wotild  have  been  some  indication  of  it  in  "  SchnabelewopskL" — 
Trandator. 

*  The  intimation  here  is  that  wealth  inherited  is  a  great  gift 
like  that  of  genius — "  genialet  VermOgen." 


3M  THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OP  1843. 

sbly  the  greatest  and  moBt  original  musician  whom 
France  has  of  late  years  brought  forth ;  he  is  far 
above  all  French-speaking  contemporaries/ 

As  a  conscientious  correspondent,  I  must  men- 
tion that  among  the  Germans  in  Paris  is  the 
excellent  Master  Conradin  Kreutzer.  He  has  ac- 
quired here  a  great  reputation  by  the  Nachtldger 
in  Granada  ("  The  Night-quarters  in  Granada ") 
performed  by  a  German  company  which  almost 
died  of  hunger.  This  honoured  master  has  been 
well  known  to  me  from  earliest  youth,  when  his 
compositions  of  songs  enraptured  me ;  to  this  day 
they  ring  in  my  soul  like  singing  woods  with 
sobbing  nightingales  and  spring  breezes  per- 
fumed with  blossoms.  Herr  Kreutzer  has  told 
me  that  he  will  soon  set  a  comic  opera  to  music. 
May  he  not  stumble  on  this  slippery  path,  nor  be 
mystified  and  cheated  by  the  arrant  knaves  of 
the  French  comedian-world,  as  has  happened  to 
BO  many  Germans  before  him,  who  even  possessed 
the  advantage  of  having  less  talent  than  Herr 
Kreutzer,  and  who  certainly  knew  how  to  move 
more  lightly  on  the  polished  floor  of  Paris ! 
What  sad  experiences  must  Richard  Wagner 
have  had,  who  finally,  in  obedience  to  the  voice 
of  reason  and  of  his  belly,  wisely  renounced  the 


*  All  of  the  foregoing,  from  the  words  "The  Prophet,"  U 
omitted  in  the  French  versioo. 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OP  1843.  395 

dangerous  project  of  endeavouring  to  get  a  foot- 
hold on  the  French  stage,  and  so  flew  back  to 
the  potato-land  beyond  the  Rhine !  More  ad- 
vantageously equipped  in  a'  material  and  indus- 
trious sense  is  the  old  Dessauer,^  who,  as  he 
declares,  is  composing  an  opera  to  order,  from 
the  Direction  of  the  Opera  Comique.  The  text 
will  be  supplied  to  him  by  M.  Scribe,  who  has, 
however,  received  security  from  a  banking-house 
here  that  in  case  M.  Dessauer  should  fall  through 
(hei  Durchfcdl)  a  certain  sum  shall  be  paid  to  the 
distinguished  manufacturer  of  librettos  as  deduc- 
tion (Abtritisgeld)  and  damages.  He  is  quite  in 
the  right  to  take  such  precautions,  seeing  that 
the  old  Dessauer  is  not  strong  on  his  legs,  and 
suffers  from  an  internal  malady  of  which  he 
continually  complains,  and  which  he  calls  his 
"  melancholy."  ^  But  who  is  the  old  Dessauer  ? 
It  cannot  be  the  old  Dessauer  who  won  so  manv 
laurels  in  the  Seven  Years'  War,  whose  march 
became  so  famous,  and  whose  statue  once  stood 
in  the  garden  of  the  royal  castle  in  Berlin,  and 
which  has  since  fallen.  No,  dear  reader ;  the 
Dessauer  of  whom  we  speak  has  never  won 
laurels,  nor  written  a  celebrated  march,  nor  had 


^  In  the  French,  M.  de  Saner,  the  tme  name.    Dessan,  a  di*> 
trict  in  Germany. 
>  This  sentence  is  chiefly  from  the  French  version. 


396  THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1843. 

a  statue — which  has  fallen  down — raised  to  hia 
memory.  He  is  not  the  Prussian  old  Dessauer, 
and  this  name  is  only  a  nom  de  guerre,  or  perhaps 
a  nickname  (Spitznahme),  given  to  him  on  account 
of  his  old,  cat-backed-up,  awkward  ^  appearance. 
He  is  an  old  young  man,  badly  preserved.  He 
is  not  from  Dessau,  but  from  Prague,  where  he 
possesses  in  the  Hebrew  quarter  two  great  clean 
houses,  also  one  in  Vienna,  and  is  reported  to 
be  otherwise  very  well-to-do.  He  is,  therefore, 
"not  obliged  to  compose,"  as  old  Masson,  the 
mother-in-law  of  the  great  Giacomo  Meyerbeer, 
would  say.  But  out  of  love  for  art  he  gave  up 
business,  applied  himself  to  music,  and  composed 
while  young  an  opera  called  "  The  Visit  to  San 
Cyr,"  which  by  dint  of  noble  perseverance  was 
brought  out  and  had  a  run  of  a  night  and  a  half. 
As  in  Prague,  so  the  old  Dessauer  tried  to  make 
his  talent  known  in  Vienna,  but  the  clique  which 
is  devoted  to  Mozart,  Beethoven,  and  Schubert 
suppressed  him  ;  "  he  was  not  understood,"  which 
is  intelligible  enough  on  account  of  his  slang 
dialect^    and    a    certain  nasal    pronunciation  of 


^  Benauten.  "Benaut  is  a  slang  expression  used  in  the  north 
of  Germany,  and  is  hard  to  translate.  The  English  '  awkward ' 
is  nearest  to  its  meaning." — Dr.  Adolf  Meyer. 

^  Kauderwelaeh,  as  explained  in  another  note,  the  common 
word  for  slang  or  jargon,  but  really  a  lingo  spoken  by  all  vaga- 
bonds in  Giermany.    It  is  about  one-half  Yiddish  or  Hebrew, 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1843.  397 

German  which  recalled  rotten  eggs.  And  yet  it 
may  be  that  they  did  understand  him,  and  for 
that  reason  would  not  hear  him  speak.  Then 
he  suffered  from  hemorrhoids  and  strangury, 
so  that  he  got,  as  he  called  it,  "the  melan- 
choly." To  recover  his  spirits  he  went  to  Paris, 
where  he  won  the  favour  of  the  celebrated  M. 
Maurice  Schlesinger,  who  published  his  composi- 
tions, and  as  recompense  for  these  he  received 
a  gold  watch.  After  a  while,  the  old  Dessauer 
went  to  his  patron  and  informed  him  that  the 
watch  would  not  go.  To  which  Schlesinger  re- 
plied, "  Go !  did  I  ever  say  it  would  ?  Does 
your  music  go  ?  It  is  with  me  and  your  com- 
positions just  as  it  is  with  you  and  my  watch — 
neither  of  them  go."  So  spoke  the  master  of 
the  musicians,  M.  Maurice  Schlesinger,  as  he 
twitched  the  end  of  his  shirt-collar  upward,  and 
twisted  his  neck  to  one  side  and  the  other  as  if 
the  tie  had  become  of  a  sudden  much  too  tight, 
as  he  is  accustomed  to  do  when  in  a  passion,  for. 


very  much  corrupted.  In  the  French  version  this  is  translated 
as  baragouin  boMmien,  which  is  quite  difEerent,  whether  as 
referring  to  the  Czech -Slavonian  of  Prague,  or  Bohemian  as 
Gypsy  or  Romany.  The  great  difference  in  the  three  tongues 
may  be  thus  illustrated :  In  the  first,  or  KauderweUch,  bread 
is  lechem,  in  Bohemian  it  is  chleba,  in  Gypsy  mauro.  But  it 
is  very  doubtful  whether  Heine  knew  anything  about  these 
tongues. — Trandaior. 


jgl  THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  T843. 

like  all  great  men,  he  is  very  passionate.  This 
uncanny  twitching  and  wriggling  of  the  neck 
often  precedes  the  most  terrible  outburets  of 
rage,  and  the  poor  Dessauer  was  thereby  so  dis- 
ordered that  he  had  "  the  melancholy  "  that  day 
worse  than  ever.  His  noble  patron  did  him 
great  injustice.  It  was  not  his  fault  that  things 
which  he  composed  would  never  go,  since  he  did 
all  that  any  mortal  might  to  set  them  going  or 
to  make  them  spin.  For  he  was  on  his  legs 
from  morn  to  eve,  running  about  town  to  beg 
from  any  man  who  had  the  power  to  let  him 
have  a  puff  of  his  poor  songs  in  any  newspaper. 
For  he  is  like  a  burr  upon  the  coat  of  every 
journalist,  and  unto  us  he  waileth  all  day  long  of 
his  great  melancholy,  and  how  we,  with  a  few 
crumbs  of  praise,  might  cheer  his  soul.  To  win  the 
poorer  journalists  who  work  on  lesser  newspapers, 
he  has  a  different  kind  of  bait,  telling,  for  example, 
how  he  lately  gave  a  breakfast  to  an  editor  in 
the  Caf(^  de  Paris,  which  meal  cost  him  forty-five 
francs  and  ten  sous — in  fact,  he  always  carries  the 
bill — the  carte  payante — in  his  trousers-pocket, 
and  produces  it  on  all  occasions  to  prove  the 
truth  of  his  assertion.  Yes,  the  wrathful  Schle- 
singer  did  the  old  Dessauer  injustice  when  he 
thought  that  the  musician  did  not  do  all  in  his 
power  to  make  the  music  "  go."  For  the  poor 
Boul  to  this  intent  does  all  he  can  to  set  not  only 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  fS4J-  399 

mascnline,  but  also  feminine  goose-quills  into 
motion.  And  he  has  really  found  an  old  goose 
from  his  native  land  who,  moved  by  pity,  wrote 
for  him  a  few  puffs  in  flabbiest  sentimental 
German-French,  seeking  to  assuage  his  melan- 
choly by  printed  {gedruckten)  balm.  We  must 
praise  this  good  lady  all  the  more,  because 
only  pure  humanity  or  philanthropy  was  here  in 
question,  for  the  old  Dessauer  would  hardly  im- 
press women  by  the  charm  of  his  face.  As  re- 
gards this  face,  opinions  differ,  some  calling  it  an 
emetic,  and  others  a  purge.  It  is  certain  that  I 
am  always  in  a  dilemma  when  I  behold  him,  and 
know  not  for  which  I  must  decide.^  The  old 
Dessauer,  wishing  to  show  the  public  that  his  is 
not,  as  was  reported,  the  worst  face  in  the  world, 
had  a  younger  brother  imported  hither  from 
Prague,  and  this  beautiful  youth,  who  really 
looks  like  an  Adonis  of  scurviness,  now  accom- 
panies him  everywhere  about  Paris. 

Excuse  me,  dear  reader,  if  I  entertain  you  with 
such  muck-flies,  but  their  importunate  buzzing 
can  at  last  compel  the  most  patient  of  men  to 
grasp  the  fly-brush.  And  I  would  show,  too, 
what   dunghill   beetles   are   commended  by  our 


^  The  remarks  on  the  Deasaaer  here  oease  in  the  French 
▼eraion,  which  is  also  abridged  aa  regards  a  few  trifling  details 
here  and  there.— rrafuZofor. 


400  THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1843. 

honest  mnsical  publishers  as  German  nightingales 
and  as  followers,  even  as  rivals,  of  Schubert. 
Schubert  is  extremely  popular  in  Paris,  and  his 
name  is  used  in  the  most  shameless  manner. 
The  most  execrable  rubbish  (Schund)  appears 
here  under  the  feigned  name  of  Camille  Schubert, 
and  the  French,  who  certainly  do  not  know  that 
the  first  name  of  the  composer  is  Franz,  are 
thereby  deceived.  Poor  Schubert !  And  what 
texts  are  put  to  his  music !  I  speak  of  the 
songs  by  Heinrich  Heine,  which  are  here  most 
esteemed,  but  the  text  is  so  vilely  translated 
that  the  poet  was  cordially  delighted  to  learn 
how  few  the  musical  publishers  are  who  hesi- 
tate to  suppress  the  name  of  the  real  author, 
and  place  on  the  title-page  of  those  songs  that 
of  an  obscure  French  parolier}  This  was  per- 
haps done  out  of  shrewdness,  so  as  not  to  recall 
the  droits  d'auteur.  Here  in  France  the  author 
of  the  words  of  a  song  set  to  music  is  always 
entitled  to  half  the  price  paid.  Were  this  the 
fashion  in  Germany,  a  certain  poet  whose  "  Book 
of  Songs"  has  been  plundered  (ausgebeutet)  by 
all  German  dealers  in  music  for  twenty  years, 
would  at  least  have  received  from  these  people 


^  Parolier,  a  word-hasher,  scribbler.  From  this  word  to  the 
sentence  beginning  with  "I  will  end  this  article,"  all  is 
omitted  from  the  French  version. — Trcmdator. 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  i843'  40i 

a  word  of  thanks.  Bat  of  the  many  hundreds 
of  musical  compositions  set  to  his  songs,  not  one 
presentation  copy  has  ever  been  sent  to  him. 
May  the  hour  strike  also  at  some  time  for 
Germany  when  the  intellectual  property  of  the 
author  shall  be  as  seriously  recognised  as  the 
cotton  property  of  a  night-cap  manufacturer. 
But  poets  are  regarded  by  us  as  nightingales, 
whose  only  right  is  to  the  air ;  they  are  without 
rights — in  fact,  free  as  birds  or  outlaws.* 

I  will  end  this  article  with  a  good  deed.  I 
hear  that  Herr  Schindler,  the  musical  director  in 
Cologne,  is  greatly  vexed  that  I,  in  my  report 
of  the  musical  season  (of  1841),  spoke  very  con- 
temptuously of  his  white-shirt  collars,  and  as- 
serted that  on  his  visiting-cards  and  under  his 
name  was  to  be  read  the  inscription,  "  Ami  de 
Beethoven."  This  last  he  denies ;  but  as  for  the 
collar,  what  I  asserted  is  perfectly  true,  and  I 
never  saw  such  a  terribly  white  and  stiff  monster 
of  the  kind.  But  as  regards  the  card,  I  must 
confess,  out  of  humanity,  that  I  myself  really 
doubt  whether  any  such  words  were  on  it.  I  did 
not  invent  the  tale,  but  I  perhaps  believed  in 
it  too  readily,  just  as  it  happens  that,  with  all 


^  Vogd-fnx,  "  bird-free,"  or  otitlawed ;  an  old  German  legal 
term  applied  to  outlawing,  like  that  of  "  wolfa-head  "  m  Anglo' 
Saxon. — Tran«{ator. 

2  C 


■I'^p,  ".•.••.'"•.> 


402  THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1843. 

men,  that  which  is  probable  is  more  promptly 
accepted  than  that  which  is  true.  The  first 
proves  that  people  consider  the  man  as  capable 
of  such  a  folly,  and  gives  us  his  real  measure, 
while  a  real  fact  may  be  in  and  for  itself  a  mere 
accident  without  characteristic  meaning.  I  did 
not  see  the  card  in  question,  but  I  did  behold 
to-day  with  my  own  eyes  the  visiting-card  of 
an  inferior  Italian  singer  which  bore  the  words 
under  his  name  of  "  Neveu  de  M.  Ruhini."  * 


^  In  the  French  version — "  Oti  ^tait  graves  les  mots  suivants  : 
A.  OaUvnari,  Neveu  du  cdibre  Rubvni."  Tbia  paper  is  interesting 
in  several  respects.  In  it  the  author  sketches  with  vigorous 
skill,  and  as  great  petty  malignity,  the  characters  and  persons 
of  one  well-known  and  of  another  extremely  obscure  musician. 
It  is  evident  to  any  reader  that  Heinrich  Heine  was  never  so 
vivacious  or  happy  in  writing  as  when  raking  out  all  the  vile 
gossip  and  slander  which  he  could  find  regarding  an  enemy, 
generally  with  very  little  regard  to  truth,  and  then  giving  to  it 
■uch  a  form  as  would  most  torment  its  object,  or  gratify  the 
vast  number  of  vulgar  minds  who  love  to  witness  torture,  how- 
ever despicable  it  may  be,  when  applied  in  print,  especially  if 
it  be  accompanied  by  wit.  That  this  was  very  deep  in  Heine's 
nature,  and  not  mere  superficial  thoughtlessness,  is  shown  by 
his  whole  life,  and  the  great  pride  which  he  took  in  being 
regarded  as  the  Pietro  Aretino  of  his  time.  This  conscious- 
ness that  he  was  admired  as  "a  great  tormentor,  dreadful  to 
his  foes,"  induced  him  to  very  often  "  show  up  "  very  obscure 
and  harmless  individuals,  especially  those  who  had  no  means  of 
retaliation,  and  that  not  from  any  personal  ill-feeling,  but,  like 
Paulus  Grillandus,  the  great  practical  organiser  of  the  Inqui- 
sition, who  directed  the  torturing  of  two  women  to  death 


»^*?R"iSy 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OP  1843.  403 

before  the  Pope,  merely  to  show  his  skill  in  the  art  of  inflict- 
ing pain. 

It  is  very  remarkable  that  this  skill  in  hitting  off  and  de- 
■cribing  characters,  and  especially  in  giving  evil  traits  or  follies 
with  artistic  skill — ^that  is  to  say,  of  making  the  man  more 
interesting  than  bis  work — in  which  both  Heine  and  Carlyle 
excelled,  led  in  both  cases  to  terrible  retribution.     Heine  has 
in  one  place  cried  out  against  judging  genius  by  anything 
personal,  and  then  shown  us  by  his  own  example  that  the  vilest 
kitchen-gossip  or  some  personal  peculiarity  in  a  poet  influenced 
his  own  judgment  far  more  than  all  that  poet's  song.     So  with 
Carlyle,  whose  sight  was  both  telescopic  and  microscopic,  and 
who  showed  us  the  great  in  a  character,  but  also  the  little  to 
perfection.    Now,  most  readers  can  appreciate  the  latter  keenly, 
but  not  the  former.    The  result  has  been  a  vast  increase  of  late 
years  of  so-called  biography — in  reality,  mean  gossip.    Not  long 
ago,  as  I  have  mentioned,  I  found  in  one  of  the  largest  circu- 
lating libraries  in  Europe  two  lAvti  of  a  great  poet,  but  not  a 
line  of  his  works.     So  it  came  to  pass  that  in  due  time  the  con- 
temptibly petty  gossip  about  Thomas  and  Jane  Carlyle,  and 
Heine's  "evil  deeds,"  as  set  forth  by  himself  in  his  writings, 
i.e.,  his  attacks  on  other  men,  and  himself  as  continually  re- 
flected by  himself — vduti  in  specula — took  precedence  in  the 
popular  mind  of  all  their  great  work.     A  good  and  true  bio- 
graphy is  a  noble  piece  of  history,  but,  in  inverse  ratio,  that  of 
the  mean  kind  leads  to  eviL     The  manner  in  which  the  mania 
for  stinging  and  "showing  up"  what  was  petty  or  mean  in 
characters  was  developed  in  these  two  great  writers,  and  the 
punishment  which  it  entailed,  is  one  of  the  most  remarkable 
events  in  the  history  of  literature. 

It  may  be  observed  that  I  have  more  than  once  in  these  notes 
associated  Carlyle  with  Heine,  the  reason  being  the  remarkable 
likeness  between  the  two.  Heine  was  the  great  apostle  to  the 
French,  in  the  last  generation,  of  German  literature,  as  Carlyle 
was  to  the  Anglo-American  world  ;  both  were  precisely  in  the 
same  state  as  advocating  a  kind  of  mad  and  confused  radicalism 
mingled  with  hero-worship,  and  both  snarled  and  sneered  at 
everybody  and  everything  by  turns,  especially  the  Sage  of 


.^ 


404  THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1843. 

Chelsea,  vrho  was,  however,  by  far  the  most  illogical,  beoaoM 
he  exalted  Goethe  and  hated  Hellenism  and  the  flesh  as  he  did 
the  devil,  and  having  preached  Pantheism,  denied  it  most  con- 
temptibly, in  which  things  Heine  was  far  more  honest.  Both 
were  devoured  by  excessive  petty  feminine  love  of  gossip  and 
of  hearing  and  retailing  slander,  the  difference  being  that 
Carlyle  sneered  at  almost  everybody,  while  Heine  liked  the 
majority  of  his  friends  very  mnch  indeed,  and  only  now  and 
then,  when  "in  the  dumps,"  let  out  his  wrath,  generally  on 
some  wretched  "  insect."  Both,  too,  were  markedly  original  aa 
regards  style,  and  were  in  themselves,  in  almost  every  way, 
originals.  The  charms  of  art  and  nature,  so  deeply  blended  in 
Heine's  soul,  were  almost  unknown  to  Carlyle,  who  felt  them 
as  shams,  even  though  shams  of  God,  while  against  this  the 
latter  impresses  ns  as  a  man  of  more  strength  and  courage  than 
his  German  correlative.  Of  the  latter,  one  is  especially  tempted 
as  regards  mischief-making  to  compare  him  with  Voltaire,  of 
whom  Frederick  of  Prussia  said  to  Darget,  "II  est  le  plus 
m^chant  fou  que  j'aie  connue  de  ma  vie — il  n'est  bon  qu'a  lire;  " 
or  with  Sainte-Beuve  as  "  a  devil  of  grace  and  wit,  and  very  often 
of  good  sense  and  reason,  an  element  blind  and  brilliant,  often 
luminous,  and  a  meteor  which  does  not  behave  itself,  rather 
than  a  moral  and  human  person.  Such  people  may  be  compared 
to  trees  whose  fruit  you  select  and  relish,  but  you  will  never 
care  to  rest  in  their  shade." 

The  mention  of  Sainte-Beuve  recalls  the  fact  that,  while  he 
has  given  us  the  sketch  of  one  writer  who  was  remarkable,  like 
Heine,  for  marvellous  political  prophecies,  he  has  in  the  Abb^ 
Galiani  described  another  who  resembled  the  German  in  every- 
thing else — his  wit,  his  pathos,  frivolity,  gift  for  and  love  of 
slander,  indifference  in  religion,  incunsibtency — in  short,  the 
Heine  of  a  preceding  century.  Being  an  abb^  Galiani  was,  of 
course,  rather  the  most  sincerely  or  thoroughly  irreligious  of  the 
two — in  other  details  they  are  areadet  amho.  It  has  been  said 
in  defence  of  these  and  sundry  other  of  Heine's  letters,  that 
the  former  were  only  written  for  fleeting  newspaper  gossip, 
while  the  latter  were  not  intended  for  publication  at  all.  This 
will  not  hold  water.    Heine  revised  the  former  to  make  of  them 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OP  fS4j.  40$ 

books,  and  bad  an  extravagant  idea  of  their  literaiy  valae  ; 
while,  as  regards  the  latter,  he  anticipated  with  complacency 
that  the  time  would  come  when  every  scrap  of  his  writing,  even 
his  letters  to  his  family,  would  all  be  printed.  This  is  a  weak- 
ness almost  peculiar  to  passionate — who  are  generally  also  vain 
— men,  who  seldom,  as  in  Byron's  case,  can  be  brought  to 
believe  that  a  deduction  of  thirty  per  cent,  from  the  quantity 
would  enhance  the  valoe  of  the  remainder  immeasurably  as 
regards  the  popular  estimate  of  quality.  Gray  and  Foe,  who 
both  considered  details  coolly,  were  fully  aware  of  this.  It 
may  be  said  that  the  want  of  money  compelled  Heine  to  turn 
a  penny  as  he  could  by  re-selling  all  kinds  of  "  old  copy,"  but  as 
this  copy  was  all  carefully  revised,  translated  into  French,  and 
certainly  believed  by  the  author  to  be  very  admirably  written, 
its  faults  cannot  be  excused  on  this  score.  I  have  extended 
this  note  perhaps  a  little  too  much  in  the  face  of  this  principle, 
because  this  Second  Paper  of  the  Musical  Season  of  1843  seems 
to  me  to  contain  more  that  should  have  been  wisely  omitted 
than  anything  elae  in  the  whole  work. — Tranalator. 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1844. 


FIKST  PAPER 

Paris,  AprU  25,  1844. 

A  tovi  seigntu/r  tout  honneur.  We  will  begin 
to-day  with  Berlioz,  whose  first  concert  opened 
the  musical  season,  and  so  conld  be  considered 
as  its  ouverture.  The  more  or  less  familiar  pieces 
which  he  executed  received  their  due  applause, 
and  even  the  most  unimpressive  souls  were  carried 
away  by  the  might  of  genius  which  is  manifested 
in  every  creation  by  this  great  master.  There 
is  in  his  work  a  flapping  of  wings  which  does 
not  indicate  an  ordinary  bird  of  song;  it  is  a 
colossal  nightingale,  a  lark  of  eagle-size,  such 
as  we  are  told  existed  in  the  primeval  world. 
Yes,  the  music  of  Berlioz  has  indeed  for  me 
something  of  the  early,  or  even  antediluvian 
world,  suggesting  gigantic  races  of  animals  long 
passed  away,  fabled  empires,  and  great  myste- 
rious crimes,  vast  high-towering  impossibilities 

of  building — Babylon — ^the  hanging  gardens  of 

406 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OP  1844.  407 

Semiramis ;  the  marvels  of  Nineveh ;  the  terribly 
audacious  temples  of  Mizraim,  such  as  we  see 
in  the  pictures  of  the  Englishman  Martin.  In 
fact,  if  we  seek  for  an  analogy  in  painting,  we 
find  elective  aflBnity  allied  to  the  most  perfect 
resemblance  between  Berlioz  and  the  wild  Briton, 
the  same  daring  desire  for  the  tremendous,  the 
giant-like,  for  material  immensity.  In  the  one 
are  startling  effects  of  light  and  shade — in  the 
other,  a  crash  and  clang  of  instruments ;  the 
latter  with  little  melody,  and  the  former  almost 
without  colour;  in  either,  little  beauty  and  no 
tender  natural  feeling  whatever.  Their  works  are 
neither  Classic  nor  Romantic,  they  recall  neither 
Greece  nor  the  Catholic  Middle  Age,  but  carry 
us  far  back  to  the  Assyrian-Babylonian-Egyptian, 
architecture-ages,  and  to  the  massive  and  stupen- 
dous passion  which  they  express. 

And  what  a  common-sense,  everyday,  modem 
man  beside  those  two  lunatics  of  genius^  is 
Felix  Mendelssohn  Bartholdy,  our  greatly  cele- 
brated countryman,  whom  we  especially  signalise 
to-day  on  account  of  the  symphony  given  by 
him  in  the  concert-hall  of  the  Conservatoire  de 
Musique.     We  owe  this  pleasure  to  the  active  zeal 


^  "  A  <Ai&  de  oes  deux  foua  de  g^nie."  Only  in  the  French 
Tersion,  from  which,  however,  the  next  aentence  is  omitted.— 
Tranda/Uir. 


408  THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1844. 

of  his  friends  and  admirers  in  Paris.  Although 
this  symphony  was  very  frostily  received  in  the 
Conservatoire,  it  still  deserves  a  recognition  of 
merit  from  all  trae  critics  in  art.  It  is  of  real 
beanty,  and  belongs  to  Mendelssohn's  best  works, 
especially  the  second  theme  {scherzo  in  F-dwr\ 
and  the  third  adagio  in  A-dvXy  fall  of  character, 
and  also  of  true  beauty.  The  instrumentation 
is  admirable.^  But  how  is  it  that  this  artist, 
with  so  much  merit  and  so  highly  gifted,  has 
still  gained  no  laurels  on  French  ground  since 
the  production  here  of  his  FavXus  f  Why  is  it 
that  all  efforts  for  him  fail,  and  that  the  last 
desperate  endeavour  of  the  Thd^tre  de  I'Od^on — 
the  execution  of  the  chorus  of  AiUigone — only  had 
a  deplorable  result  ?  Mendelssohn  always  gives 
us  occasion  to  reflect  on  the  highest  problems  in 
SBsthetics.  He  constantly  recalls,  for  example,  the 
great  question.  What  is  the  difference  between 
Art  and  Falsehood  ?  *  We  admire  in  this  master, 
most  of  all,  his  great  talent  for  form,  for  style, 
his  gift  for  appropriating  whatever  is  most  re- 
markable, his  delightfully  beautiful  summary  or 
plan  {FaMur),  his  fine  lisard-like  ear,  his  deli- 


^  This  sentence  was  given  in  the  AUgemeine  Zeiiung  as  a 
rabatitute  for  the  preceding. — Trcmilator. 

*  Etmst  und  LOge.  In  the  original  letter  to  the  Avgnburger 
Zeitung  there  is  this  very  material  difference  of  idea,  "  Zwiteken 
Kvnst  und  Arbeit " — "  between  art  and  vnrk  t " — TrandcUor. 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1844.  409 

cate  antennsB  or  snaO-homs  of  peixjeption,  and 
his  serious  or  earnest — I  may  say  passionate — 
indifference.  Should  we  seek  in  a  sister  art  for 
a  similar  instance,  we  may  find  it  in  poetry,  and 
it  is  called  Ludwig  Tieck.  This  master  also 
knew  well  how  to  reproduce  that  which  was  most 
excellent,  be  it  in  writing  or  by  declamation. 
He  could  even  affect  the  natural  and  unaffected, 
and  yet  never  created  anything  which  conquered 
the  masses  and  remained  alive  in  their  hearts.^ 
It  is  peculiar  to  both  that  they  have  a  burning 
longing  for  dramatic  representation,  and  Men- 
delssohn may  perhaps  grow  old  and  grumbling 
without  having  once  placed  anything  really  great 
on  the  boards,  for  neither  has  he  ever  gone  to 
the  hearts  of  the  people.  The  more  gifted  Men- 
delssohn may  sooner  succeed  in  creating  something 
which  may  endure,  but  not  on  the  ground  where, 
above  all  things,  truth  and  passion  are  required — 
that  is,  on  the  stage ;  for  Ludwig  Tieck,  notwith- 
standing his  most  ardent  yearning,  never  achieved 
a  theatrical  success.' 

^  The  following  sentence  wm  only  in  the  original  letter. — 
Trandator. 

*  These  remarks,  like  much  which  is  advanced  aziomatically, 
enolose  a  mere  paradox,  if  not  an  untrath.  Apart  from  the 
stage,  Heine  first  declares  that  neither  Tieck  nor  Mendelssohn 
aver  effected  anything  which  lived  among  the  people.  Deducting 
from  Heine's  own  songs  the  music,  on  which  a  certain  number 
of  them  have  been  held  up  as  by  bladders  on  the  stormy  sea  of 


.-»_  _     .  e 


sT  "j''?  ■^•■' 


410  THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1844. 

In  addition  to  the  symphony  of  Mendelssohn, 
we  heard  with  great  interest  in  the  Conservatoire 
a  symphony  of  the  late  Mozart,  and  a  not  less 
talented  composition  by  a  certain  Handel.^  They 
were  received  with  great  approbation.  The  two, 
Mozart  and  Handel,  have  at  last  brought  it  so 
far  as  to  have  attracted  the  attention  of  the 
French,  to  do  which  a  long  time  was  naturally 
needed,  since  there  was  no  propaganda  or  syndi- 
cate of  diplomatists,  pietists,  and  bankers  at  work 
for  them. 

popular  appreciation,  both  Mendelssohn  and  Tieck  are  to-day 
quite  as  popular  as  nur  author.  The  melodies  of  the  former  are 
beard  on  every  piano,  and  the  tales  of  the  latter  are  in  every 
circulating  library — I  might  say  in  every  family  bookshelf,  or  to  a 
degree  in  every  nursery.  Nor  is  it  any  proof  whatever  of  genius 
to  merely  live  among  the  multitude.  There  are  almost  worthless 
rhymes  and  jingles  which  have  for  centuries  been  known  to 
scores  of  millions,  while  real  works  of  genius  have  had  so  few 
admirers,  that  Emerson,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  said  there  are 
never  more  than  ten  serious  readers  of  Plato  at  any  one  time  in 
the  world.  The  error  which  lies  at  the  bottom  of  all  this  is, 
that  whatever  has  a  popular  life,  because  "  it  must  needs  have 
something  in  it,"  has  necessarily  a  great  deal  of  merit ;  which 
is  by  no  means  true.  The  second  error  as  regards  Heine  is, 
that  he  enormously  and  very  vulgarly  yearned  for  and  exag- 
gerated  the  value  of  mere  popularity. — Tramlator. 

^  "  D'un  certain  Haendel "  is  only  in  the  French  version,  but 
the  context  indicates  that  it  forms  an  integral  part  of  the  text 
"as  companion  to  the  late  Mozart."  It  may  here  be  observed 
that  in  this  French  version  the  satirical  "  great  approbation  "  is 
changed  to  "aveo  de  chaleureux  applaudissements,"  and  that  the 
concluding  sneer  at  the  ParisiMi  public  for  its  ignorance  k 
omitted. — Trandaior,  I 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1844^  4" 

Our  admirable  local  compatriot  {LanAsfmnnn) 
Ferdinand  Hiller  is  too  highly  esteemed  among 
true  artistic  connoisseurs  not  to  be  included,  great 
as  the  other  names  may  be  which  we  have  men- 
tioned, among  the  composers  whose  works  received 
in  the  Conservatoire  deserved  recognition.  Hiller 
is  more  a  musician  of  intellect  than  of  feeling, 
and  he  is  also  reproached  with  too  great  erudition. 
Intellect,  intelligence,  and  knowledge  may,  it  is 
true,  often  exert  a  cooling  influence  on  the  com- 
positions of  this  doctrinaire,  but  in  any  case 
they  are  always  graceful,  charming,  and  beau- 
tiful. There  is  in  them  no  trace  of  grimacing 
eccentricity.  Hiller  has  an  elective  affinity 
with  his  compatriot  Wolfgang  Goethe.  Hiller 
was  also  bom  in  Frankfort,  where  I,  when  last 
travelling  thither,  saw  his  paternal  home.  It 
bears  the  name  Zum  griinen  Froschj  "  the  Green- 
Frog  House,"  and  there  is  the  image  of  a  frog 
over  the  door.  Hiller's  compositions  do  not 
remind  us,  however,  of  any  such  unmusical 
creature,  but  of  nightingales,  larks,  and  other 
birds  of  spring.^ 


*  Very  strangely,  indeed,  the  frog  was  above  all  other 
creatures,  even  nightingales  or  larks,  the  chosen  symbol  of 
spring  in  early  times.  "There  is  a  beantifnl  emblem,"  says 
Schwenk  {Sinnbilder  der  alien  VdUeer,  p.  132),  "associated  with 
the  frog.  For  as  he  lies  all  winter  frozen  np  as  in  death  until 
rcTived  by  the  warm  sun  of  the  returning  spring,  so  he  became 


412  THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1844. 

There  has  indeed  been  this  year  no  scarcity  of 
concert-giving  pianists,  and  the  ides  of  March 
were  in  this  respect  as  memorable  as  miserable. 
Then  everything  that  can,  bangs  and  clangs, 
tinkles  and  jingles,  tapote  et  cariUone,  without 
restraint,  and  toill  be  heard,  and  behaves  like  a 
great  celebrity,  even  though  it  be  all  for  show, 
and  outside  the  harrUre  of  Paris.  These  dis- 
ciples of  art  (Kunstjiinger)  know  how  to  work  up 
to  advantage  the  rags  and  tatters  of  praise  which 
they  have  got  out  of  the  newspapers  here  by 
begging  or  intriguing,  and  so  in  their  puffs  in 
the  provinces  or  in  foreign  countries,  one  may 
read  that  the  far-famed  genius,  the  great  Ru- 
dolph W has  arrived,  he  who  is  the  rival 

of  Liszt  and  Thalberg,  the  hero  of  the  piano,  who 
has  caused  such  a  sensation  in  Paris,  and  even 


the  symbol  of  spring,  and  wm  recognised  as  sucb  in  Egypt  and 
Lydia.  The  frog  was  also  a  Christian  type  of  the  future  life, 
and  was  oommonly  accompanied  with  such  mottoes  as  Spe$  altera 
vita,  and  Vere  novo  remeat  $ub  brumam  rana  upvUa ;  Mortuua 
in  vitam  tic  redit  alter  homo.  But  the  most  carious  of  all  is  the 
meaning  given  by  Nicolaus  Reusner  in  his  EmbUmatwn  Liber 
SingtUari$  CLyooM,  1591),  from  which  we  learn  that  frogs,  dumb 
at  home,  gave  voice  when  removed  to  other  places ;  therefore, 
the  frog  on  Hitler's  hooie  was  an  omen  that  he  would  revive  the 
family  name,  become  immortal,  and  be  heard  in  foreign  countries, 
which  all  came  to  pass ;  and  all  of  which  Heine  would  doubt- 
less  have  said  in  much  better  language  had  he  only  known  it. 
It  may  be  added  to  the  above  that  the  frog  was  also  a  type  of 
lechery  and  shameless  impudence. — Trandator, 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1844.  4«S 

been  praised  by  Jules  Janin.^  Hosannah !  He 
who  has  seen  by  chance  here  in  Paris  such  a 
poor  fly  ov,  pareU  inseete,  and  who  knows  how 
little  attention  is  paid  here  to  far  more  famous 
persons,  finds  the  stupid  credulity  of  the  public 
very  amusing,  and  the  bold  impudence  of  the 
virtuosi  very  disgusting.  The  evil,  however,  lies 
deeper,  and  it  is  in  the  deplorable  condition  of 
our  daily  press,  and  this  is  in  turn  only  the  re- 
sult of  more  deplorable  circumstances.  I  must 
always  repeat  it,  that  there  are  only  three  pianists 
who  deserve  serious  attention,  namely,  Chopin, 
the  charming  poet  of  sweet  sounds,  but  who 
unfortunately  was  all  this  winter  very  ill  and 
little  visible ;  then  Thalberg,  the  musical  gentle- 
man, who  has  no  need  to  touch  the  piano  to  be 
everywhere  welcomed,  and  who  really  seems  to 


^  The  name  of  Jules  Janin  is  omitted  in  the  French  version. 
It  substitutes  therefor — "  qui  &  mfime  6t6  \ou6  de  tel  ou  tel  roi 
de  la  critique."  Heine  rarely  if  ever  "buckled  to"  with  a 
strong  man  who  could  bit  back.  That  in  which  he  excelled 
was  in  killing  flies  or  "insects,"  as  may  be  seen  in  the  next 
sentence ;  and  he  applies  the  name  so  frequently  in  his  works  to 
these  his  paltry  victims,  that  we  are  reminded  of  the  I^end  of 
the  Irish,  and  German,  tailor  or  weaver,  who  considered  himself 
a  hero  because  he  had  slain  "  sixty  at  a  blow,"  i,e.,  flies.  AquHa 
non  capiat  muteat  was  certainly  not  the  motto  of  our  author. 
It  may  be  observed  that  "  our  daily  press,"  which,  if  it  means 
anything  at  all,  here  means  the  French  press  which  gives  puffs, 
is  adroitly  changed  in  the  French  version  to  la  pretae  gmotidi- 
enne  de  I'AUemagne! — Translator. 


Y.. 


414  THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OP  1844. 

regard  his  talent  as  a  simple  attribute ;  and  then 
our  dear  Liszt,  who,  in  spite  of  all  perversities 
and  asperities,  always  remains  our  dear  Liszt, 
and  at  this  moment  ^  has  again  agitated  the  heau- 
monde  of  Paris.  Yes,  he  is  here,  oar  Franz  Liszt, 
the  wandering  knight  of  all  possible  orders 
(excepting  that  of  the  French  cross  of  the 
Legion  d'honneur,  which  Louis  Philippe  will  not 
give  to  any  virtuoso) ;  he  is  here,  the  Hohen- 
zoUern  Hechingen  Court-Councillor,  the  Doctor 
of  Philosophy  and  of  double  quavers,  or  of  all 
imaginable  crotchets,  the  miraculous  Doctor  of 
Music,  the  again  arisen  rat-catcher  of  Hameln,' 
the  new  Faust,  who  is  always  followed  by  a 
poodle  in  the  form  of  Belloni,'  the  ennobled  and 
yet  noble  Franz  Liszt !  He  is  here,  the  modern 
Amphion,  who  by  the  sound  of  his  chords  set  the 
stones  for  building  the  Cathedral  of  Cologne  in 
motion  so  that  they  came  together,  as  did  those 
of  the  walls  of  Thebes  !  He  is  here,  the  modem 
Homer,  whom  all  Germany,  Hungary,  and  France, 
the  three  greatest  countries,  claim  as  their  native 


^  The  sentence  in  the  AUgemeine  Zeitung  ended  with  these 
words,  "  at  this  moment  has  caused  a  disturbance  which  has 
afflicted  not  only  all  Paris,  bat  also  the  peaceable  author  of 
these  papers." — Translator. 

*  The  French  version  here  adds — "et  seducteur  d'enfants." 
'  "Toujours  suivi  d'un   canicbe  tnuuform^  eo  Itallen  aux 
cheveaz  noirs."  I 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1844.  4^5 

child,  while  only  seven  small  provincial  towns 
contended  for  the  singer  of  the  Iliad !  ^  He  is 
here— the  Attila,  the  Scourge  of  God  for  all 
the  pianos  of  Erard,  which  tremble  already  at  the 
news  of  his  coming,  and  which  now  once  more 
are  convulsed,  bleed,  and  wail  under  his  hands, 
so  that  the  Society  for  the  Protection  of  Animals 
really  ought  to  look  after  them !  He  is  here, 
the  mad,  handsome,  ugly,  enigmatic,  terrible, 
and  often  very  childish,  child  of  his  time,  the 
gigantic  dwarf,  the  Bolando  Furioso  with  the 
Hungarian  sahre  d'honneur,  the  soundly  well-to- 
day and  ill- to-morrow  Franz  Liszt,  whose  magic 
power  compels  us,  whose  genius  enchants  us,  the 
genial  Jack  Fool  {Hans  Nair),  whose  nonsense 

^  There  is  something  very  like  this  in  Wyntoun's  Chronicle, 
cited  in  the  Denham  Tracts  (Folk  Lore  Society  publicationH, 
1892):  — 

"  Braid- walit  Berwick, 

Taedis  toune,  famosit  befoir, 

Through  many  a  scoir 
Off  mortal-myndit  men ; 

But  now  we'll  ken 

His  death  has  gained  mair  gloire 

Than  ever  befoir, 
Thocht  thousandis  in  thee  slain. 
Gife  cities  stroave  quha  brocht  to  Homer  breath. 
Then  boldly,  Berwick,  brag  of  sic  a  death  : 
Gif  cities  seven  for  Paganis  birth  contend. 
Then  much  mair  Berwick,  famous  be  his  end. " 

It  ia  applied  to  death  here,  but  the  idea  is  similar.— 2'rant{ator. 


."■-A::"'V,.r"7 


416  THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1844. 

bewilders  our  own  senses,  and  to  whom  we  will 
in  any  case  show  the  loyal  service  of  making 
known  the  great /wr(wr  which  he  is  here  excit- 
ing.* We  confirm  candidly  the  fact  of  his  im- 
mense success,  but  in  what  manner  we  interpret 
this  fact  according  to  our  own  private  opinion, 
or  whether  we  accord  to,  or  withhold  our  private 
approbation  from  the  distinguished  virtitoso,  will 
probably  be  to  him  a  matter  of  the  utmost  indif- 
ference, seeing  that  our  voice  is  only  the  voice 
of  a  single  individual,  and  our  authority  in  the 
art  of  music  is  of  no  remarkable  importance. 

When  I  heard  some  time  ago  of  the  vertigo 
which  broke  out  in  Germany,  and  chiefly  in  Berlin, 
when  Liszt  showed  himself  there,  I  shrugged 
my  shoulders  pityingly,  and  said  to  myself,  "  Our 
Germany  of  Sabbath-like  stillness,  placid  in  its 
calm  repose,  will  not  miss  the  opportunity  to 
take  a  little  lawful  exercise;  it  will  shake  its 
limbs,  somewhat  benumbed  by  sleep,  and  my 
Abderites  on  the  Spree  will  tickle  one  another 


'  The  French  version  is  here  quaint  and  amusing :  "  II  est 
ici,  le  beau,  laid,  extravagant,  mirobolant  et  parfois  tr^  imper- 
tinent enfant  de  son  temps,  I'enfant  terrible  de  la  musique,  le 
nain  gigantesque,  le  Goliath  de  la  petitesse,  le  Roland  furienz, 
brandissant  son  sabre  d'bonneur,  sa  Durandal  hongroise,  I'ing^- 
nieux  fou  dont  !a  demeure  plus  ou  moins  factice  nous  trouble 
k  nou8-m£me  le  cerveau,  et  k  qui  nous  rendona  en  tout  cas  le 
loyal  service  de  porter  &  la  connaissance  de  tout  le  monde  I'in- 
croyable  furore  qu'il  fait  ici  k  Paris." 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OP  1844,  417 

into   a  given   enthusiasm,   and  all  will  declaim 
unto  their  iriends — 

* 0  Love,  thou  ruler  of  the  gods  and  men  ! '" ^ 

They  only  make  a  riot,  as  I  thought,  for 
rioting's  sake,  and  for  a  row  "per  se,  no  matter 
what  the  cause  of  it  may  be  called — George 
Herwegh,  Saphir,  Franz  Liszt,  or  Fanny  Elsler ; 
if  Herwegh  is  forbidden,  then  they  take  the 
unobjectionable  and  non-compromising  Liszt.  So 
I  thought,  and  so  I  explained  Lisztomania  to 
myself,  and  took  it  for  a  sign  of  the  want  of 
political  liberty  beyond  the  Ehine.  And  yet  I 
erred,  and  that  I  perceived  last  week  in  the 
Italian  Opera-House,  where  Liszt  gave  his  first 
concert,  and  that  before  an  assembly  which  might 
well  be  called  the  flower  of  Parisian  society. 
Certainly  they  were  Farisiens  SveilUs,  wide-awake 
people,  men  familiar  with  the  greatest  events  of 
our  time,  who  had  more  or  less  acted  long  in  its 
great  drama ;  among  them  many  superannuated 
invalids  of  all  artistic  pleasures,  the  most  wearied 
men  of  action,  and  women  much  more  tired  out, 
for  they  had  been  dancing  the  polka  through  all 
the  winter — a  multitude  of  busy  and  hlas^  souls. 
Truly  it  was  not  a  German-sentimental,  aflectedly- 

*  For  a  very  amuEdng  and  Steme-Iike  accotint  bow  a  whole 
population  went  wild  over  this  song,  conault  Die  Abderiten,  by 
Wieland. — TrarulcUor. 

2D 


4i8  THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1844. 

sensitive  Berlin  public  before  which  Liszt  played 
all  alone,  or  rather  accompanied  only  by  his 
genius.  And  yet  how  powerful,  how  startling 
was  the  effect  of  his  mere  appearance  !  How 
vehement  was  the  applause  which  greeted  him ! 
Bouquets  were  thrown  at  his  feet.  It  was  a 
grand  sight  to  see  how  calmly  he  in  his  triumph 
let  the  bouquets  of  flowers  fall  on  him,  and  then 
placed,  while  gracefully  smiling,  a  red  camelia, 
which  he  had  plucked  from  one  of  the  bouquets, 
in  his  button-hole.  This  he  did  in  the  presence 
of  some  young  soldiers  just  returned  from  Africa, 
where  they  had  seen,  not  flowers,  but  leaden 
bullets  rain  on  them,  and  their  breasts  had  been 
decorated  with  the  red  camelias  of  their  own 
heart's  blood,  without  the  world  here  taking  any 
special  note  thereof.  "  How  strange  it  is !  "  I 
thought,  "  that  these  Parisians,  who  have  seen 
Napoleon,  who  had  to  make  war  on  war  to  secure 
their  attention,  are  now  applauding  our  Franz 
Liszt !  "  And  what  tremendous  rejoicing  and 
applause ! — a  delirium  unparalleled  in  the  annals 
o^  furore !  And  what  is  the  real  cause  of  this 
phenomenon  ?  The  solution  of  the  question 
belongs  rather  to  the  province  of  pathology  than 
to  that  of  aesthetics.^  The  electric  action  of  a 
daemoniac  nature  on  a  closely  pressed  multitude, 

^  The  following  sentence  in  the  Av^gburger  Zeitung  was 
■ubsequentlj  omitted  in  the  early  editions. — Trantlator. 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1844.  4^9 

the  contagions  power  of  the  txtoM,  and  perhaps 
a  magnetism  in  mnsic  itself,  which  is  a  spiritual 
malady  which  vibrates  in  most  of  us, — all  these 
phenomena  never  struck  me  so  significantly  or 
so  painfully  as  in  this  concert  of  Liszt.  A 
physician  whose  speciality  is  the  disorders  of 
women,  and  with  whom  I  conversed  as  to  the 
magic  which  oar  Liszt  exercises  on  his  public, 
smiled  mysteriously,  and  told  many  things  of 
magnetism,  galvanism,  electricity,  of  contagion  in 
an  over-heated  hall,  in  which  are  a  vast  number 
of  wax-candles,  and  as  many  perfumed,  perspiring 
mortals,  of  histrionic  epilepsies  or  stage-fever,  of 
the  phenomena  of  tickling,  of  musical  cantharides,^ 
and  other  ticklish  subjects,  which  have,  I  believe, 
relation  to  the  mysteries  of  the  Borua  Dea.  Yet 
perhaps  the  real  solution  of  the  question  does 
not  lie  in  such  deep  and  strange  mysteries,  but 
on  a  very  prosaic  superficial  surface,  which  is, 
that  the  whole  enchantment,  as  it  seems  to  me, 
is  that  nobody  in  the  world  knows  how  to 
organise  "successes,"  or  rather  their  mise  en 
seine,  so  well  as  our  Franz  Liszt.  In  this  art  he 
is  a  genius,  a  Philadelphia,  a  Bosco,  a  Houdin,^ 


^  This  is  probably  an  allusion  to  the  extraordinary  erotic  effects 
of  music  on  certain  persons,  especially  women. — Trandator. 

^  Celebrated  jugglers.     I  saw  Robert  Houdin  perform  hi* 

famous  trick  of  second- sight  in  Paris  in  the  winter  of  1847-48. 

Trandator. 


430  THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF /S44. 

— yes,  a  Meyerbeer.  The  most  aristocratic  or 
eminent  people  are  his  accomplices  or  compdres, 
and  his  hired  applauders  and  enthusiasts  are 
admirably  trained.  Marvellous  tales  of  popping 
and  flowing  champagne,  and  of  the  most  prodigal 
generosity,  trumpeted  tremendously  in  the  most 
truthful  newspapers,  attract  recruits  in  every 
town.  Yet,  notwithstanding  this,  it  may  well 
be  that  our  Franz  Liszt  is  really  very  generous 
by  nature  (spendcLbeT),  and  free  from  avarice,  a 
shabby  vice  which  infects  so  many  virtiLOsi,  espe- 
cially the  Italians,  and  which  we  find  even  in  the 
sweetly  melodious  Rubini,  of  whose  miserly  mind 
there  is  told  a  droll  anecdote.  Once  it  befell 
that  the  famous  singer  had  undertaken  an  artistic 
tour  with  Liszt,  in  which  profits  and  expenses  were 
to  be  equally  divided.  The  great  pianist,  who 
always  takes  with  him  wherever  he  goes  the 
general  superintendent  of  his  celebrity,  or  the 
before-mentioned  Signor  Belloni,  also  on  this 
occasion  left  all  the  business  details  to  the  latter.^ 
But  when  Signor  Belloni,  after  business  was 
completed,  handed  in  his  account,  Rubini  re- 
marked with  terror  that  among  the  common 
expenses   there  was  set  down  a  large  sum  for 


^  French  ▼eraion — "  Le  Signor  Belloni,  homme  tr^-d^von^, 
et  oomme  on  dit  d'une  probity  tr^-rare  chez  les  eomae$  dea 
Tirtuoses  "  {comae,  a  groom  for  elephants). — TrantLtUor. 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1844.  421 

bouquets,  poems  in  their  praise,  and  similar  costs 
of  ovations.  The  innocent  singer  had  always 
supposed  that  such  marks  of  approbation  had 
been  flung  at  him  as  tokens  of  admiration  of  his 
beautiful  voice,  and  falling  into  a  great  rage, 
refused  to  pay  for  the  bouquets,  in  which  there 
were  perhaps  the  most  precious  camelias.  Were 
I  a  musician,  this  dispute  would  give  me  the  best 
of  subjects  for  a  comic  opera.^ 

But  ah !  let  us  not  look  too  closely  into  the 
homage  paid  to  great  virtuosi.  For  the  day  of 
their  vain  celebrity  is  very  short,  and  ere  long  the 
hour  must  strike  when  the  Titan  of  the  hea- 
venly tones  will  shrivel  up  into  a  town-musician  of 
trifling  stature,  who  in  some  cofiee-house  will  tell 


^  The  story  cannot  be  true,  for  no  man,  however  innocent, 
who  ever  sung  on  the  stage,  could  have  been  ignorant  that  ■noh 
marks  of  applause  are  very  often  paid  for  by  the  management. 
I  can  very  well  remember  inquiring,  when  I  was  editor  of  a 
newspaper,  of  the  impresario  of  a  very  great  cantatrice  whether 
there  would  be  bouquets  (in  order  that  the  report  might  note 
it,  should  there  be  anything  special — as,  for  instance,  a  wreath 
of  Marshal  Niels  or  a  great  bouquet  of  Dijons).  But  he  replied 
"  No,  for  there  were  full  houses  every  night,  and  the  audience 
would  throw  a  few,  or  enough."  There  was  a  certain  large 
wreath  among  the  properties  of  the  Philadelphia  Opera-House, 
which  was  thrown  so  regularly  that  the  whole  town  knew  it. 
One  night,  when  it  had  been  furbished  up  with  new  ribbons.  Sec, 
there  were  three  cheers  given  when  it  was  projected  at  the 
prima  donna.  In  fact,  the  Fbiladelphians,  who  are  gens  d'ordre, 
or  people  of  steady  habits,  would  not  have  considered  the  per- 
formance as  complete  without  that  wreath. — Trantlator. 


"TT 


^wii»jiw»-— ». 


422  THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1844. 

the  TuibituSs,  over  his  beer,  tales  of  his  vanished 
greatness,  and  declare  on  his  honour  there  were 
thrown  at  his  feet  the  most  magnificent  bouquets 
of  camelias,  and  how  once  two  Hungarian  Coun- 
tesses, to  get  his  handkerchief,  which  had  fallen 
to  the  ground,  fought  and  tore  one  another  till 
they  were  bleeding  I  And  so  the  brief  ephemeral 
fame  of  the  virtuoso  evaporates  or  vanishes  like  a 
dying  sound,  without  trace  or  echo — like  the  cry 
of  a  camel  in  the  desert.  I 

The  transition  from  the  camel  to  the  coney  is 
"  rather  steep "  {etvxis  schroff),  or  coming  down 
with  a  jump.  Yet  I  must  not  pass  by  those 
tamer  minor  pianists  who  distinguished  them- 
selves during  the  present  season.  We  cannot 
all  be  great  prophets ;  there  must  also  be  some 
of  the  smaller  kind  who  count  twelve  to  the 
dozen.  As  greatest  among  the  less  I  here  men- 
tion Theodore  Dohler.  His  playing  is  neat, 
pretty,  nice,  and  sensitive,  and  he  has  a  fashion 
of  his  own  to  only  touch  the  keys  with  the  bent 
ends  of  his  fingers,  while  his  arms  are  extended 
horizontally.  After  DShler,  Halle  deserves  spe- 
cial mention  as  a  minor  prophet ;  he  is  a  Ha- 
bakkuk  of  as  modest  as  true  merits.  I  must 
speak  too  of  M.  Schad,  who  has  about  the  same 
rank  among  pianists  as  that  which  we  assign  to 
JonEis  among  the  prophets.     May  he  never  be 

swallowed  by  a  whale!     An  admirable  concert 

i 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1844.  423' 

was  given  by  M,  Antoine  de  Kontski,  a  young 
Pole  of  talent,  deserving  honour,  who  has  also 
gained  a  celebrity.  And  among  the  marked 
events  of  the  season  belong  the  first  appearance 
of  young  Matthias,  whose  talent  is  of  a  high 
order.  So  the  older  Pharaohs  are  day  by  day 
surpassed  and  sink  into  despondent  darknesa 

As  a  conscientious  narrator,  who  reports  not 
only  the  new  operas  and  concerts,  but  also  all 
the  other  catastrophes  of  the  musical  world,  I 
must  also  speak  of  many  marriages  which  have 
broken  out,  or  which  threaten  to  do  so.  And  I 
speak  here  of  real,  legitimate,  highly  respectable 
marriages,  not  of  the  wild-wedded  dilettanteism,^ 
which  dispenses  with  mayors  wearing  the  coloured 
scarfs  and  the  blessing  of  the  Church.  Chaeum 
cherehe  maintenant  sa  chacune.  The  gentlemen 
artists  now  caper  on  wooers'  feet  and  trill  hymeneal 
songs.  The  violin  becomes  brother-in-law  to  the 
flute,  nor  will  the  horns  fail  in  due  time  to  take  their 
part  in  the  performance.^  One  of  three  most  famed 
pianists  lately  wedded  the  now  in  every  respect 
greatest  basso  singer  of  the  Italian  Opera,  and 


^  WUdt  Ehe,  a  wild  marriage,  is  in  German  concubinage. — 
TrantUUor. 

^  French  version — "Le  violon  devient  le  beau-fr^  de  la 
fliite,  la  tnunpette  et  la  timbale  s'allient  au  piano  ;  ils  forment 
une  marche  triumphale,  et  noua  lea  verrons  bi£ntdt  d^filer  lea 
cora  en  tSte." 


'^<*-»';*fV;f-'^...w;;v.;;;v;:.:::,'.„-;,  ,..^^^.^^^^v■.:-.^:.■^  .-i •-,.;». ,;;-i..';,-. ^ 


424  THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OP  1844. 

the  lady  is  beautiful,  agreeable,  and  intelligent. 
Very  recently,  too,  we  have  heard  that  another 
distinguished  artist  from  Warsaw  will  enter  the 
holy  state  of  wedlock,  and  will  dare  to  venture 
on  that  high  sea  for  which  no  compass  has  aa  yet 
been  found.^  Go  ahead,  0  daring  sailor !  push 
from  land,  and  may  no  storm  harm  thy  ship  or 
break  thy  rudder.  And  it  is  said  that  Panofka, 
the  greatest  violinist  whom  Breslau  ever  sent 
to  Paris,  will  soon  be  married  here,  and  that  this 
master  of  the  bow  is  weary  of  his  peaceful  single 

^  The  beginning  of  tbia  passage  was  as  follows  in  the  first 
publication  : — 

"  As  a  conscientious  narrator,  I  must  here  mention  the  con- 
certs  with  which  the  two  musical  journals,  La  Gazette  Muiicale 
of  M.  Maurice  Schlesinger  and  La  Prance  Mutieale  of  M. 
Escudier,  delighted  their  subscribers.  We  there  heard  several 
remarkably  beautiful  and  yet  good  lady-singers  —  Madame 
Sabatier,  Mademoiselle  Lia  Duport,  and  Madame  Castellan. 
As  these  concerts  were  given  gratis,  the  demands  of  the  public 
were  all  the  greater ;  they  were,  however,  amply  satisfied.  I 
mention  here  with  pleasure  the  important  news  that  the  Seven 
Years'  War  between  the  two  musical  journals  and  theif  editors 
is — thank  God  ! — at  an  end.  The  noble  champions  have  shaken 
hands  in  token  of  peace,  and  are  now  good  friends.  This 
friendship  will  be  the  more  lasting  because  it  is  based  on  mutual 
esteem.  The  project  of  a  union  by  marriage  between  the  two 
houses  was  only  the  idle  invention  of  petty  newspapers.  Mar- 
riage, and  that  for  life,  is  now  the  subject  of  the  day  in  the 
art  world.  Tbalberg  recently  wedded  the  daughter  of  Lablache, 
a  distinguished,  amiable,  and  intelligent  lady.  A  few  days 
ago,  too,  we  heard  that  our  excellent  Edward  Wolf  married, 
and  has  ventured  on  that  high  sea  for  which  no  compass  has  as 
yet  been  found." 


.";.V 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1844.  425 

life,  and  will  also  risk  the  dark  unknown  beyond. 
We  live  in  a  heroic  age.  And  recently,  again,  an 
equally  famous  virtuoso  bass-violator  {beruhmter 
Bratschist)  has  betrothed  himself.  He  has,  like 
Theseus,  found  a  fair  Ariadne,  who  will  lead  him 
through  the  labyrinth  of  life  ;  nor  will  a  thread  be 
wanting,  for  she  is  a  needlewoman  or  seamstress  ! 
The  violinists  are  in  America,  and  we  have 
received  the  most  delightful  intelligence  as  to  the 
triumphal  procession  of  Ole  Bull,  the  Lafayette 
of  pufs,  the  advertising  hero  of  two  worlds.  His 
agent,  who  arranged  the  "  successes,"  had  him 
arrested  in  Philadelphia  to  compel  him  to  pay  the 
bills  for  his  ovation.  The  celebrated  or  ovated 
one  paid,  and  now  it  can  no  longer  be  said  that 
the  blonde  Norman,  the  genial  fiddler,  owes 
aught  to  any  one  for  his  fame.  Ad  interim,  we 
have  here  in  Paris  been  listening  to  Signer 
Sivori,  of  whom  Portia  would  say,  "  God  made 
him,  and  therefore  let  him  pass  for  a  man."  ^  At 
some  other  time  I  may  overcome  my  repugnance 
to  speak  of  this  fiddling  emetic.  Alexander 
Batta  has  also  given  a  fine  concert  this  year ;  he 
still  weeps,  as  of  old,  his  little  child's  tears  on 
the  great  violoncello.  On  this  occasion  I  could 
also  praise  Herr  Semmelmann — he  needs  it !  * 

^  "  Merchant  of  Venice,"  act  i.,  scene  2. 
^  This  name  is  given  as  S^lighaosen  in  the  French  version, 
and  as  Seligmann  in  the  Augiburger  Zeitung. 


;  oH  ■♦'"•''♦.»  vT'»">»/'*-:'-t-^v#'*i.l4.*j,  »«•<*■*  *..rt»*-vMi- **»»:>. 


*  :V!*«.  •  "  »  -  > >.  -  ,  -  >*-«  wVVijOi:  t 


426  THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1844. 

Ernst  has  been  here,  but,  from  caprice,  he 
would  give  no  concert ;  he  prefers  to  play  only 
among  friends  and  to  true  connoisseurs.  Few 
artists  are  so  loved  and  esteemed  here  as  Ernst. 
He  deserves  it.  He  is  the  true  successor  of 
Paganini ;  he  inherited  the  enchanted  violin  with 
which  the  Genoese  could  move  rocks,  yea,  even 
logs  and  clods  ^  of  men.  Paganini,  who  now  leads 
us  up  to  sunny  heights,  and  anon  with  a  touch  of 
his  bow  shows  us  the  terrible  abyss,  had,  of  course, 
a  far  more  daBmonic  power,  but  his  lights  and 
shadows  were  sometimes  too  striking,  his  con- 
trasts too  cutting,  and  his  grandest  sounds  of 
nature  must  often  be  regarded  as  artistic  mis- 
takes.^ Ernst  is  more  harmonious,  the  softer 
tiats  are  more  predominant  in  his  playing ;  and 
yet  he  has  a  fondness  for  the  fantastic,  even 
for  the  baroque  and  the  odd,  if  not  even  for 
the   scurrilous ;   and   many  of   his   compositions 


'  KlStz,  a  clod,  a  stnpid  fellow. 

'  The  French  version  is  here  much  more  detailed  and  Intel* 
ligible  than  the  German  : — "  Paganini,  qui  avec  le  plus  l^er 
coup  d'archet,  nous  conduisait  tantdt  sur  lea  hauteurs  les  plus 
inond^es  du  soleil,  et  tantdt  faisait  plonger  nos  regards  dans  les 
plus  noires  abimes,  poss^dait,  il  est  vrai,  une  force  plus  magique  ; 
mais  ses  ombres  et  sea  lumi^res  ^taient  parfois  trop  saccad^es, 
trop  crues,  ses  contrasts  trop  tranches,  et  les  accents  merveilleux, 
oil  il  semblait  ^voquer  les  voix  les  plus  myst^rieuses  de  la  nature, 
^taient  souvent  I'effet  d'un  basard,  et  mdme  d'une  m^prise 
artistiqne."  I 


■•■-^>- 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1844-  427 

remind  me  of  the  fairy-tale  comedies  of  Gozzi, 
or  the  wildest  masques,  or  of  the  "Carnival  of 
Venice."  The  piece  of  music  so  well  known  by 
this  name,  and  which  was  pirated  {gekaperf)  in 
the  most  shameless  manner  by  Sivori,  is  a  charm- 
ing capriccio  by  Emst.^  This  lover  of  the  fan- 
tastic can  be,  when  he  chooses,  purely  poetic,  and 
I  heard  of  late  a  nocturne  by  him  which  seemed 
to  be  dissolved  in  beauty.  One  seemed  in  hear- 
ing to  be  rapt  away  into  a  beautiful  Italian 
night,  the  cypress  trees  standing  in  silent  charm, 
white  statues  shimmering  in  the  moonlight  clear, 
and  bubbling  fountains  lulling  us  to  dream ! 
Ernst,  as  is  well  known,  has  resigned  his  oflSce 
at  Hanover,  and  is  no  longer  Eoyal  Hanoverian 
Concert-Master.  In  fact,  it  was  not  a  suitable 
place  for  him.  He  is  much  better  fitted  to  lead 
the  mtcsiqite  de  chamhre  at  the  court  of  some  fairy 
queen — as,  for  instance,  the  Fair  Morgana;  for 
there  he  would  find  an  audience  which  would 
best  understand  him,  and  among  them  there  would 
be  many  a  form  of  fabled  days  of  yore  of  those 
who  felt  the  deepest  charm  of  art,  such  as  King 
Arthur,  Dietrich  of  Berne,  Ogier  the  Dane,  and 
lords  who  lived  in  song.     And,  oh !  what  ladies 


1  The  "  Carnival  of  Venice  "  is  a  popular  very  old  Venetian 
air  (originally  "  Mamma,  mamma  !  "),  which  was  first  adapted 
and  varied  by  Paganini. — Trantlator. 


428  THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1844. 

I 

would  applaud  him  there  !  The  blonde  Hanover 
ladies  may  be  fair,  but  they  are  only  awkward  pea- 
sant maids  compared  with  the  fairy  Melior,  Lady 
Abunda,  lovely  M^lusine,  Queen  Guinevere,  and 
many  famed  like  them,  who  dwell  with  Queen 
Morgana  at  her  court  in  the  famed  fairy  isle  of 
Avalon !  Yes,  there  I  trust  to  meet  with  Ernst 
again,  for  there  he  promised  me  a  place  at  court.* 


^  Tbia  paper  is  extremely  interesting  as  touching  on  the  fact 
that  all  the  greatest — t.e.,  the  best  known  and  most  popular — 
virtuaii  or  musical  performers  are  invariably  thoee  who  are  the 
best  managed  or  worked  by  impresarios.  However  great  the 
genius  may  be,  he  reqiures  a  good  agent,  and  to  a  certain  extent 
a  good  personal  appearance.  It  is  remarkable  that  even  Heine 
could  never  mention  Thalberg  without  adding  that  he  is  "  so 
gentlemanly."  I  have  known  a  German  violinist  of  the  first 
force,  who  in  his  time  had  ranked  among  the  great,  who  kept  a 
very  humble  lager-beer  shop  in  Philadelphia.  He  could  play 
better  than  ever,  "  but  hia  days  for  the  evening  dress-coat  were 
over."  It  requires  much  more  than  music  to  make  a  popular 
musician. — TransiaUjr, 


■f  M    ,,A    i'.^*;'-   -.'.vvt  ..  i*'*    ♦*     ••♦V  ♦, 


SECOND  PAPER. 

Pasis,  May  i,  1844. 

The  Acad^mie  Royale  de  Musique,  or  the  so- 
called  Grand  Opera,  is  situated,  as  is  well  known, 
in  the  Rue  Lepelletier,  about  the  middle  thereof, 
and  just  opposite  the  restaurant  of  Paolo  BroggL 
Broggi  is  the  name  of  an  Italian  who  was  once 
the  cuisinier  of  Rossini.  When  the  latter  came 
last  year  to  Paris,  he  visited  his  former  servant, 
and  having  dined  in  his  trattoria,  remained  for  a 
long  time  standing  before  the  door,  buried  in 
deep  thought  and  looking  at  the  Opera-House. 
There  was  a  tear  in  his  eye,  and  when  some  one 
asked  him  why  he  seemed  so  sad,  the  great 
maestro  replied  that  Paolo  had  prepared  for  him 
his  favourite  dish  of  ravioli)^  with  Parmesan 
cheese,  cooked  as  of  old,  but  that  he  could 
only  eat  half  his  portion,  and  that  even  that 
lay  heavy  on  him  ;  he  who  had  formerly  had 
the  stomach  of  an  ostrich  could  now  hardly  digest 
the  daily  food  of  an  enamoured  turtle-dove. 


^  Italian,  raviu6li,  forced-meat  balls. — I^andator. 
429 


430  THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OP  1844. 

We  will  pass  over  the  possibility  or  degree  of 
deception  which  the  old  joker  may  have  practised 
on  the  indiscreet  questioner,  and  limit  ourselves 
to  advising  every  friend  of  music  to  eat  a  dish 
of  ravivjoli  at  Broggi's,  and  then  delaying  a  brief 
instant  before  the  door  of  the  restaurant  to  look 
at  the  great  Opera-House.  It  is  not  remarkable 
for  brilliant  luxury ;  it  has  rather  the  appearance 
of  an  extremely  respectable  stable,  and  the  roof  is 
flat.  On  this  roof  stand  eight  great  statues  which 
represent  the  Muses.  A  ninth  is  wanting,  and 
that  one  is,  unfortunately,  the  Muse  of  Music ! 
There  are  current  the  most  extraordinary  ex- 
planations as  to  the  cause  of  the  absence  of  this 
honourable  lady.  Prosaic  people  say  that  she 
was  blown  down  by  a  storm  from  the  roof,  but 
more  poetic  souls  positively  declare  that  poor 
Polyhymnia  threw  herself  ofi"  the  roof  in  despera- 
tion at  the  miserable  singing  of  Monsieur  Duprez 
and  Madame  Stolz.  It  may  be  so  ;  the  broken- 
glass  voice — la  voix  de  verre/d4 — of  Duprez  has 
become  so  discordant  that  no  mortal,  and  much 
more  a  Muse,  can  endure  it  any  longer.  And 
should  this  thing  go  on  much  longer,  the  other 
daughters  of  Mnemosyne  will  also  throw  them- 
selves off,  so  that  it  will  soon  be  dangerous  to 
pass  of  evenings  along  the  Rue  Lepelletier.  As 
for  the  bad  music  which  has  raged  like  a  disease 
for  some  time  past  in  the  Grand  Opera,  I  had 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1844.  431 

really  rather  never  mention  it.  Donizetti  is  at 
present  the  Achilles,  or  best  of  all  there ;  from 
which  one  may  get  some  idea  of  what  the  worst 
must  be.  I  hear  that  even  the  Achilles  has 
retired  into  his  tent  and  sulks — God  only  knows 
why  ! — and  that  he  has  announced  to  the  direc- 
tors that  he  will  not  supply  the  twenty-five 
operas  which  he  promised,  because  he  has  a  mind 
to  rest.  What  gasconading  !  we  could  not  laugh 
more  if  a  windmill  had  said  such  things.  For 
the  mill  turns  when  there  is  wind,  or  is  still 
when  there  is  none.  But  M.  Donizetti  has  here  a 
busy  bustling  cousin,  Signor  Accursi,  who  makes 
wind  for  him  continually,  and  more  than  he  needs 
at  that,  for  Donizetti  is,  as  I  have  said,  the  best 
of  the  composers  of  the  day. 

The  last  artistic  enjoyment  which  the  Academy 
of  Music  offered  us  is  the  Lazearone  of  Halevy.^ 
This  work  had  a  terrible  destiny.      Halevy  here 


^  That  which  follows,  to  the  words  "Every  time  when  an 
opera  fails,"  is  the  original  conclusion  of  this  paragraph  as  given 
in  the  Augtburger  Zeitung.  In  the  latest  German  edition  it 
ends  with  this  remark  :  "  The  work  had  a  sad  fate ;  it  fell  through 
with  drums  and  trumpets.  I  refrain  from  expressing  any 
opinion  as  to  its  value ;  I  only  bear  witness  to  its  terrible  end." 
The  French  version  gives  a  third  and  yet  different  termination 
— "  C'est  I'oeuvre  d'un  grand  artiste,  et  je  ne  sais  pas  pourquoi  elle 
est  tomb^.  M.  Haldvy  est  peut-Stre  trop  insouciant,  et  ne 
cajole  pas  assez  M.  Alexandre,  I'entrepreneur  des  succ^  et  le 
grand  ami  de  Meyerbeer. " — Trandator. 


432  THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1844. 

fonnd  his  Waterloo  witbont  ever  haying  been  a 
Napoleon.  The  greatest  misfortnne  for  him  in  all 
this  affair  is  the  defection  of  Maurice  Schlesinger. 
The  latter  was  always  his  Pylades,  and  when 
Orestes  Halevy  wrote  the  most  absolute  failure  of 
an  opera,  which  broke  down  ever  so  utterly,  his 
friend  still  calmly  followed  him  to  the  death  and 
printed  the  work.  In  an  age  of  selfishness,  the 
sight  of  such  a  display  of  friendly  sacrifice  was 
very  charming  and  consoling.  But  now  Pylades 
declares  that  the  madness  of  his  friend  has  gone 
so  far,  that  he  can  publish  nothing  more  of  his 
without  being  mad  himself. 

Every  time  when  an  opera  fails  in  the  Academy 
of  Music  or  at  the  BouffeSy  or  any  such  lament- 
able Jlasco  occurs,  there  is  seen  an  uncanny  dark 
and  haggard  form  with  a  pale  face  and  coal-black 
eyes,  a  kind  of  masculine  banshee  (Ahnfrau),  whose 
apparition  always  presages  a  musical  disaster. 
The  Italians,  as  soon  as  they  see  him,  hastily 
cast  out  the  fore  and  little  finger,*  and  say,  "  That 


^  A  sign  made  by  holding  in  the  middle  and  ring  finger  with 
the  thumb,  and  extending  the  fore  and  little  finger  like  horns.  Its 
object  is  to  repel  the  influence  of  the  evil  eye  or  all  sorcery.  It  is 
chiefly  used  in  Southern  Italy,  for  though  common  in  the  North, 
the  sign  of  the  Jica  or  ccutagna,  made  by  projecting  the  thumb  be- 
tween the  second  and  third  fingers  of  the  fist,  is  considered  more 
powerfuL  Both  were  well  known  to  the  ancient  Romans.  Orid  de- 
scribes that  of  le  come,  mentioned  by  one  author,  in  these  words  : — 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1844.  433 

is  the  jettatore"  But  the  frivolous  French,  who 
have  no  superstitions,  only  shrug  their  shoul- 
ders, and  call  that  form  "Monsieur  Spontini." 
It  is  indeed  our  former  general  director  of  the 
Berlin  Grand  Opera,  the  composer  of  the  Vestal 
and  of  Ferdinand  Cortez,  two  magnificent  master- 
pieces, which  will  long  bloom  in  men's  memories 
and  be  long  admired,  while  the  man  himself  has 
long  been  lost  to  admiration,  and  is  only  a  faded 
ghost,  who  enviously  spectres  about  and  vexes 
himself  at  the  life  of  the  living.  He  cannot 
console  himself  that  he  has  so  long  been  dead, 
and  his  baton  as  leader  passed  into  the  hands  of 
Meyerbeer.  The  latter,  as  the  deceased  declares, 
drove  him  away  from  his  Berlin,  which  he  so 
greatly  loved,  and  any  one  who  has  pity  on  his 
fallen  greatness  and  patience  may  hear  him  tell, 
in  minutest  detail,  what  innumerable  legal  proofs 
of  conviction  he  has  collected  to  make  mani- 
fest Meyerbeer's  conspiracy  and  intrigues.  As  I 
hear,  German  good-nature  has  lent  its  pen  to  edit 
these  proofs  of  folly.^ 

The  fixed  idea  of  the  poor  man  is  and  ever 
will   be  Meyerbeer,   and  the  drollest    tales    are 


"Signaque  dat  digitis,  medio  cam  pollice  jonctis."  Vide 
"  Etruscan  Bemaiaa  in  Popular  Tradition,"  by  Charles  Grodfrey 
Leland.     London  :  T.  F.  Unwin,  pp.  304-305. — Trandator. 

^  This  sentence  is  omitted  from   the    French  version.  — 
Trcmdator. 

2  E 


434  THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1844. 

told  of  this  animosity,  which  renders  itself  harm- 
less by  an  excessive  intermingling  of  vanity.     If         ■  \    .•;: 
some   author  complains  of  Meyerbeer  that   the  .  ^i   ' 

latter  has  not,  for  example,  set  to  music  the  .  ;  \- 
poems  which  were  sent  him  years  ago,  then  ' '  •.  /  ,\ 
Spontini  grasps  the  hand  of  the   injured  poet,  C: 

and  cries,  *'^ Tai  votre  affaire!  I  know  how  you 
can  revenge  yourself  on  Meyerbeer;  it  is  an  in- 
fallible means,  and  it  is  this  :  write  a  long  article 
on  me — and  the  more  you  praise  my  merit,  the 
more  will  you  vex  him  !  "  Another  time,  should 
a  French  Minister  complain  that  the  composer  of 
the  Hiiguenots,  despite  the  kindness  with  which 
he  was  treated  here,  has  accepted  a  servile  court  ; 
appointment  in  Beriin,  then  our  Spontini  leaps 
joyously  at  the  Minister  and  cries,  "  J^ai  voire  , 

affaire  !  You  can  inflict  the  most  painful  punish- 
ment on  the  ungrateful  wretch — yes,  the  stab  of 
a  poignard — by  appointing  me  an  officer  of  the 
Idgion  d'honneur." 

Not  long  ago,  Spontini  found  poor  L^on  Pillet, 
the  unfortunate  director  of  the  Grand  Opera,  in  a 
rage  at  Meyerbeer,  who  had  notified  him,  through 
M.  Gouin,  that  he  could  not  give  him  the  Prophet 
on  account  of  the  inferior  abilities  of  the  singers 
whom  he  employed.  How  the  eyes  of  the  Italian 
flashed !  "J'ai  votre  affaire,"  he  cried,  enraptured. 
"I  will  give  you  a  divine  counsel  how  you  can  ^.  '  ;. 

humble  the  ambitious  intriguer  to  death.    Let  my 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1844.  435 

statue  be  carved  of  the  size  of  life,  and  place  it 
in  the  foy&r  of  the  Grand  Opera,  and  the  block 
of  marble  will  crush  the  heart  of  Meyerbeer." 
Spontini's  state  of  mind  begins  to  cause  great 
anxiety  to  his  friends,  especially  to  the  family  of 
Erard,  the  wealthy  manufacturer  of  pianos,  to 
whom  Spontini  is  by  his  wife  a  brother-in-law. 
Lately  the  composer  was  found  in  the  upper 
halls  of  the  Louvre,  where  the  Egyptian  anti- 
quities are  placed.  The  Chevalier  Spontini  stood 
with  folded  arms  like  a  statue  for  nearly  an  hour 
before  a  great  mummy,  whose  magnificent  gold 
mask  proclaimed  a  monarch  who  could  be  none 
less  than  that  Amenophes  under  whose  rule  the 
children  of  Israel  left  the  land  of  Egypt.^  But 
Spontini,  at  last  breaking  silence,  spoke  as  fol- 
lows to  his  distinguished  fellow-mummy  : — 

"  Unhappy  Pharaoh  !  thou  art  the  cause  of  my 
misfortunes  !  Hadst  thou  not  suffered  the  chil- 
dren of  Israel  to  depart  from  the  land  of  Egypt,  or 
if  thou  hadst  only  drowned  them  all  in  the  Nile, 
I  should  not  have  been  driven  by  Mendelssohn 
and  Meyerbeer  from  Berlin,  and  I  should  still 
have  been  there,  directing  the  Grand  Opera  and 
the    royal    concerts.      Unhappy  Pharaoh,    weak 

^  The  mummy  of  this  Pharaoh  is,  however,  believed  to  have 
been  discovered  long  after  Heine  wrote  the  above,  and  it  is  now 
in  the  museum  at  Cairo.  Over  it  J.  Addington  Symonds  ia 
marvellously  eloquent  in  bis  book  on  the  Nile, — TranAaior. 


436  THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1844. 

I  -■  ."• 
crocodile-king !  it  came  to  pass,  in  consequence 
of  thy  half-way  measures,  that  I  am  now  a 
ruined  man,  and  Moses  and  Halevy  and  Men- 
delssohn and  Meyerbeer  have  conquered !  "  Such 
was  the  speech  of  the  unhappy  man,  and  we  could 
not  withhold  from  him  our  compassion. 

As  regards  Meyerbeer,  his  Prophet,  as  I  pre- 
dicted, will  not  appear  for  a  long  time ;  nor 
will  he  himself,  as  the  newspapers  announce, 
permanently  establish  himself  in  Berlin.  He  will 
dwell,  alternating  as  usual,  half  the  year  in  Paris, 
and  the  other  half  in  Berlin,  where  he  is  bound 
by  his  engagement.  His  situation  recalls  that 
of  Proserpine,  with  this  difference,  that  the  poor 
maestro  has  hell  in  both  places.  We  expect  him 
here  this  summer  in  our  beautiful  lower  regions, 
where  many  triple  scores  of  musical  devils  and 
devilesses  are  waiting  to  fill  his  ears  with  howls. 
From  morning  to  night  he  must  listen  to  male 
and  female  singers  who  would  fain  make  a  cUhit 
here,  and  during  his  leisure  hours  travelling 
English  ladies  beset  him  with  their  albums. 

As  I  am  informed,  next  winter  the  Crodato 
will  be  given  at  the  Italiens,  and  the  re-casting 
it,  to  which  Meyerbeer  let  himself  be  persuaded, 
will  call  up  some  new  deviltries  for  him.  What- 
ever may  happen,  he  will  not  feel  himseK  in 
heaven  when  he  sees  the  Huguerwts  played  here, 
which,  however,  must  always  be  the  case  so  as  to 


m^ 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1844.  437 

replenish  the  treasury  after  every  mischance.  In 
fact,  it  is  only  the  Hugw/mts  and  Bobert  le  DiabU 
which  actually  live  on  in  the  heart  of  the  public, 
and  these  masterpieces  will  long  endure.* 

There  has  been  no  lack  of  debutants  this 
winter  in  the  Grand  Opera.  A  German  made 
his  first  appearance  as  Marcel  in  the  Huguenots. 
He  was  perhaps  in  Germany  only  a  boor  with  a 
bear-like  growling  bier-basso  voice,  and  so  thought 
he  might  appear  in  Paris  as  a  bass  singer.  The 
fellow  brayed  like  a  donkey  of  the  forest  (Wal- 
desd).  There  was  also  a  lady,  whom  I  suspect 
of  being  German,^  "  produced  herself"  on  the 
boards  of  the  Eue  Lepelletier.  She  is  said  to  be 
remarkably  virtuous,  but  sings  extremely  false. 
According  to  report,  all  of  her  hair,  two-thirds 
of  her  teeth,  her  hips,  and  derridre  are  also  false. 
.  .  .  Onr  prima  donna,  Madame  Stolz,  cannot  hold 
her  ground  much  longer,  and  though  she  has,  as 
a  woman,  at  command  all  the  tricks  of  her  sex,' 
she  will  be  at  last  conquered  by  the  great  Giacomo 


^  The  preceding  paragraph,  or  from  the  words,  "  As  I  am 
informed,"  is  omitted  from  the  French  version. — Tramlator. 

'  French  version  —  "Une  dame  AUemande  aussi,  que  je 
Boup9onne  d'Stre  Berlinoise,  se  montra  sur  les  planches  de,"  &c. 
— Translator. 

*  The  French  version  is  here  far  more  complimentary — "£t 
bien  qu'elle  soit  jolie,  tr^s-gracieuse,  tr^-spirituelle  et  pleine  de 
talents,  et  qu'en  femme  elle  ait  k  sa  disposition  tontes  lea  rosea 
de  son  sexe,  elle  finira  par  sncoomber,"  &;c. 


43^  THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1844. 

Macliiavelli,  who  wishes  to  see  Viardot  Garcia 
engaged  in  her  place,  to  sing  the  leading  part 
in  the  Prophet.  Madame  Stolz  foresees  her  fate, 
she  knows  that  even  the  monkey-love — la  folle 
tendresse — which  the  director  of  the  opera  devotes 
cannot  help  her  when  the  great  master  of  musical 
art  will  play  his  game,  so  she  has  determined  to 
voluntarily  leave  Paris,  never  to  return,  and  pass 
her  life  afar  in  foreign  lands.  " Ingrata pairia" 
she  lately  said,  "ne  ossa  guidem,  mea  Tidbebis!" 
"  Ungrateful  land,  thou  shalt  not  have  my  bones." 
And  in  fact  for  some  time  she  has  been  all  skin 
and  bones. 

At  the  Italiens  in  the  opera  huffa  there  were 
as  brilliant  fiascos  as  in  the  Grand  Opera.  And 
there  was  much  complaint  of  the  singers ;  the 
only  difference  being  that  very  often  the  Italians 
would  not  sing,  while  the  poor  French  vocal 
heroes  could  not.  Only  that  perfect  pair  of 
nightingales,  Signor  Mario  and  Signora  Grisi, 
were  always  punctually  at  their  posts  in  the 
Salle  Ventadour,  and  warbled  for  us  the  most 
blooming  spring,  while  in  the  world  without  were 
snow  and  wind,  piano-concerts,  deputies,  debates, 
and  polka-madness,  spinning  round  and  round ! 
Yes,  they  are  always  charming  nightingales,  and 
the  Italian  Opera,  for  them,  an  ever-blooming, 
singing,  forest  fair,  to  which  I  often  fled  when 
wintry  grief  spread  fogs  around  me,  or  the  frost 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1844.  439 

of  life  became  too  sharp  and  unendurable.  There 
in  the  pleasant  comer  of  a  retired  box  one  can 
be  most  agreeably  warmed  again,  and  certainly 
does  not  lose  his  life  in  the  frost.  The  spell  of 
music  turns  to  poetry  what  even  now  seemed 
harsh  reality,  all  grief  is  gone  in  arabesques  of 
flowers,  and  then,  scarce  knowing  why,  up  laughs 
the  heart.  Oh,  what  a  joy  it  is  when  Mario 
sings,  and  in  the  eyes  of  Grisi  the  sweet  tones 
of  the  beloved  lark  reflect  themselves  as  if  in 
visible  echo  ;  and  what  joy  when  Grisi  sings  again, 
and  in  her  voice  the  tender  glance  and  the  en- 
tranced smile  of  Mario  echo  most  melodiously! 
It  is  a  charming  pair ;  and  the  Persian  bard  who 
called  the  nightingale  the  rose  of  birds,  and  then 
the  rose  the  nightingale  of  flowers,  would  here  be 
in  a  true  imbroglio,  for  Mario  and  Grisi  both  are 
famed  as  much  for  beauty  as  they  are  for  song.^ 
Yet,  despite  the   presence   of  that   charming 


^  They  were  both,  especially  Giulia  Grisi,  extremely  amiable. 
A  MS.  of  French  songs  in  my  possession  contains  one  bitterly 
satirising  all  the  prima  donne  of  Paris  in  1848  except  Grisi,  and 
it  ends  with  an  outburst  in  her  praise,  mentioning  that  she  is 
even  loved  by  all  the  troupe.  I  have  the  autographs  of  both, 
written  for  me.  Mario  had  refused  to  sing  under  plea  of  illness. 
I  do  not  know  whether  he  was  "  indisposed  "  to  agree  with  his 
manager  or  not,  but  be  was  apprehensive  lest  the  public  should 
think  he  was  pretending  illness.  So  for  a  sentiment  he  wrote, 
"Sonoammulatooggi— ("lam  ill  to-day"). — Mabio." — Tran$- 
lator. 


.  ,-_     „«-       .  -.»|.  »  ^    rw^-   ..^  •-»  /■■   ■     *.    ^-..»    *^.m    -*     «**.*- 


.^#  -■  A.  J.^. 


440  THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OP  1844. 

couple,  we  miss  here  at  the  Bouffes  Madame 
Pauline  Viardot,  or,  as  we  prefer  to  call  her, 
(the)  Garcia.  She  is  not  replaced,  and  no  one 
can  replace  her.  She  is  not  a  nightingale  who 
has  only  the  single  talent  of  her  kind,  and  who 
exquisitely  sobs  and  trills  in  the  style  of  spring, 
nor  is  she  a  rose,  for  she  is  ugly,  but  of  a  kind 
of  ugliness  which  is  noble — I  might  almost  say 
beautiful,  and  which  often  enraptured  the  great 
painter  of  lions,  Lacroix,^  almost  to  inspiration. 
In  fact,  Madame  Garcia  reminds  us  much  less  of 
civilised  beauty  and  the  tame  grace  of  our  Euro- 
pean home- land,  than  of  the  strange  splendour 
of  an  exotic  wilderness ;  and  in  many  periods  of 
her  passionate  performance,  as  when  she  opens 
even  too  widely  her  great  mouth  with  its  dazzling 
white  teeth,  and  smiles  with  such  horrible  sweet- 
ness and  such  a  gracefully  charming  grimace, 
one  feels  at  the  instant  as  if  the  most  marvellous 
and  monstrous  growths  and  living  creatures  of 
India  or  Africa  were  before  us  ;  as  if  giant  palms 
enlaced  by  thousand-flowered  lianas  were  shoot- 
ing up  around ;  nor  would  one  be  astonished  if 
suddenly  a  leopard  or  a  giraffe,  or  even  a  herd 
of  young  elephants,  should  run  across  the  scene.' 

^  In  the  French  version — "De  la  Oroix." 

'  The  French  version  is  here  more  extended,  and  much  more 
suggestive  m  to  the  magnetic  influence  of  Madame  Viardot 
Garcia — "  £t  Ton  ne  serait  pas  6toxm6  si  tout  it  coup  un  l^pard 


'  t^..*.  ^...^k.  ut' 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1844.  441 

We  hear  with  great  pleasure  that  this  singer  is 
again  on  her  way  to  Paris. 

While  the  Academy  of  Music  was  dragging 
along  so  wretchedly,  and  the  Italiens  limping 
along  as  miserably  behind  it,  the  third  lyric 
scene,  or  the  Opera  Comiqne,  rose  to  its  most 
joyous  height.  Here  one  success  succeeded 
another,  and  there  was  cheerful  ringing  in  the 
money-chest;  in  fact,  there  was  a  much  larger 
crop  of  money  than  of  laurels,^  which  was,  how- 
ever, no  misfortune  for  the  management.  The 
texts  of  the  new  operas  which  were  given  were 
all  by  Scribe,  the  man  who  once  pronounced  the 
great  decision  that  "gold  is  only  a  chimaera,"* 
and  who  runs  after  it,  all  the  same,  all  the  time. 
He  is  the  man  of  money,  of  singing  realism,  who 
never  once  climbed  into  the  romance  of  a  sterile 
world  of  clouds,  and  who  holds  fast  to  the  earthly 

oa  one  girafe,  on  mdme  une  tronpe  de  jetmes  ^^phants,  arrivaient 
8ur  la  BC^ne,  pour  s'y  livrer  k  des  ^ats  amourenx.  Quels  pi^tine- 
ments  I  quels  coups  de  trompe  !  quel  talent  grandioee  ! "  The 
reader  may  here  re-echo  the  last  two  words  in  application  to  onr 
author.  The  friar's  breeches  described  by  Rabelais  were  as 
nothing  compared  to  this. — Trorwiotor. 

^  Lest  the  author  should  here  be  accused  of  an  "  Irish  simile," 
I  would  state  that  the  term  "  gold  crop  "  has  frequently  been 
applied  very  serionaly  in  newspapers  to  the  annual  production 
of  that  metal  in  California  and  Australia. 
*  "  Gold  is  only  a  chimaera, 

Money  all  a  fleeting  dream." 
This  is  the  beginning  of  a  song  in  Robert  le  DiabU. 


442  THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1844. 

reality  of  sensible  marriage  {mariage  de  raison), 
industrious  citizenship,  and  the  author's  percent- 
age (tantieme).  Tremendous  approbation  has 
been  awtirded  to  Scribe's  new  opera,  the  Siren, 
for  which  Auber  composed  the  music.  The  author 
and  musician  are  perfectly  matched ;  they  have 
the  most  admirable  perception  or  sense  of  the 
interesting;  they  know  how  to  agreeably  enter- 
tain us ;  they  enrapture  and  dazzle  us  by  the 
brilliant  facets  of  their  wit;  they  both  have  a 
certain  filigrane  talent  for  welding  together  all 
kinds  of  charming  trifles,  and  they  make  us 
forget  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  poetry. 
They  are  a  kind  of  Eirt-harlots  or  lorettes,  whose 
smiles  drive  away  from  our  souls  and  memories 
all  the  grim  ghostly  stories  of  the  past,  and  with 
their  coquettish  caresses  and  merry  play  banish 
buzzing  fears  of  the  future — those  invisible  mos- 
quitos — as  if  with  a  peacock  chasse-rrumche.  Adam, 
whose  Cagliostro  lately  obtained  such  light  and 
easily  won  laurels  at  the  Opera  Comique,  also 
belongs  to  this  harmlessly  wanton  tribe.  Adam 
is  a  most  agreeable,  fascinating  character,  endowed 
with  a  talent  which  is  capable  of  far  greater  de- 
velopment. Thomas  also  deserves  an  honourable 
mention,  his  operetta  of  Mina  having  been  very 
successful. 

All  these  triumphs  were,  however,  surpassed 
by  the  popularity  of  the  DeserteVy  an  old  opera 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1844.  443 

by  Monsigny,  which  the  Opera  Comique  has  dis- 
interred from  the  pigeon-holes  of  the  past.  There 
is  in  it  true  French  music,  a  serene  yet  joyous 
grace,  a  charming  innocence,  a  freshness  like 
the  perfume  of  forest  flowers,  natural  truth,  even 
poetry.  Yes,  poetry  is  not  absent,  but  it  is  of 
the  kind  which  is  without  the  awe  of  the  infinite 
or  mysterious  enchantment ;  it  is  without  sorrow, 
or  irony  or  morbidezza — I  might  almost  call  it  an 
elegant  peasant-poetry  of  health.^  The  opera  of 
Monsigny  at  once  recalled  to  me  his  contem- 
porary, the  painter  Greuze.  I  seemed  to  behold 
in  reality  before  me  the  landscapes  which  the 
latter  painted,  and  at  the  same  time  to  hear  the 
musical  accompaniment  belonging  to  them.^  In 
listening  to  that  opera,  I  realised  clearly  how  the 
arts  of  design  and  of  recitation  of  that  period 
breathed  one  and  the  same  spirit,  and  their 
masterpieces  express  the  most  intimately  blent 
elective  affinity.' 


1  The  word  "peasant,"  which  is  the  most  characteristic  of 
all  here  aa  recaUicg  popular  songs,  is  omitted  from  the  French 
Tersion. 

'  French  version — "  Et  Je  ainsi  retrouver  dans  certains  mor- 
ceaux  de  Monsigny  le  pinceau  de  Greuze." 

'  This  idea,  that  music  can  bring  before  us  the  visible,  was, 
however,  developed  far  more  boldly  and  clearly,  even  into  super- 
stitious faith,  by  the  Chinese  more  than  two  thousand  yean 
ago.  Thus  Confucius,  by  deeply  studying  and  frequently  play- 
ing  a  certain  old  musical  piece,  succeeded  in  perfectly  realising 


444 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1844. 


I  cannot  end  this  letter  without  remarking 
that  the  musical  season  is  not  as  yet  at  an  end, 
and  that  it  is  singing  and  resounding  against 
all  precedent  in  the  month  of  May.  The  most 
magnificent  balls  and  concerts  are  now  being 
given,  and  the  polka  rivals  the  piano.  Ears  and 
feet  are  fatigued,  yet  cannot  give  themselves 
unto  repose.  Spring,  which  came  so  early  this 
year,  has  made  fiasco,  for  people  hardly  notice 
the  green  leaves  and  the  sunlight.  Truly,  I 
think  that  physicians,  and  especially  those  for 
lunatics,  will  soon  have  enough  to  do.  In  this 
strangely-varied  wildly-coloured  delirium,  in  this 
madness  of  pleasure,  in  this  singing,  springing, 
ever-ringing  whirlpool,  lurk  death  and  insanity. 
The  hammers  of  the  pianoforte  work  terribly  on 
our  nerves,  and  that  great  whirling  convulsion 
the  polka  gives  us  the  cowp  de  grdce  or  final  blow. 

What  is  the  polka  ?  To  answer  this  question 
of  the  time  I  should  require  six  columns.  How- 
ever, when  more  important  subjects  grant  me 
leisure,  I  will  return  to  it* 


the  personal  appearance  and  dress  of  the  composer,  seeing  him, 
as  it  were,  before  his  eyes.  For  further  details  of  this  legsnd  I 
refer  the  reader  to  "  The  Music  Lesson  of  Confucius,  and  other 
Poems."  London:  Triibner  &  Go.  Even  Heine  never  got 
quite  so  far  as  this. — Trantlator. 

^  This  final  paragraph  is  omitted  in  the  French  original.  Few 
readers  who  cannot  recall  the  Forties  can  have  any  idea  of  the 
extraordinary  sensation  which  was  then  caused  by  the  polka  all 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  i84^  445 

over  the  civilised  world.  It  is  worth  remarking  liat  till  that 
time  such  aesthetic  or  similar  manias,  whether  caused  by  the 
advent  of  a  great  singer  or  dancer,  a  new  dance,  fashion,  or  idea, 
thrilled  strangely  through  all  classes  of  society  in  a  manner 
which  is  now  utterly  unknown,  and  which  will  probably  be  as 
incomprehensible  in  1950  as  the  witch  mania  of  the  olden  time 
is  to  us.  This  recalls  to  me  the  subject  under  dLscussion. 
There  was  quite  a  polka  literature  at  the  time,  but  I  doubt 
whether  Heine  himself  could  have  correctly  answered  his  own 
question  as  to  what  it  was.  I  believe  that  I  was  the  first  to 
establish  from  a  passage  in  Delancre,  a  writer  of  tiie  sixteenth 
century  (referred  to  in  Heine's  "  Germany,"  vol.  u.  p.  278  ;  also 
"Gypsy  Sorcery,"  pp.  158,  159)  that  the  Treteone  alia  Boema,  a 
Bohemian  rigadoon,  which  he  and  others  describe  as  the  witch- 
dance  of  all  others,  was  a  polka,  because  in  it  the  performers 
turned  away  their  heads  from  one  another.  Now  the  polka  is 
unquestionably  Bohemian  despite  its  name,  or  at  least  a  Slavo- 
nian dance  ;  and  one  in  which  the  heads  of  the  performers  are 
often  coquettishly  averted.  The  excitement  which  it  caused 
when  revived  in  1843  was  indeed  suggestive  of  witch  madness 
and  its  early  origin.  Even  thus  in  ashes  glow  their  wonted 
fires.  This  dying  out  of  all  great  sesthetic  or  romantic  excite- 
ments is  a  very  significant  sign  of  our  age,  and  one  that  civi- 
lised society  has  entered  on  a  transition  stage,  which  few  as  yet 
comprehend.  It  is  due  to  our  author  to  remark  that  Heine 
foresaw  and  clearly  predicted  it  at  a  time  when  he  was  utterly 
alone  in  so  doing.  I  may  add  that  the  first  polka  air  which  came 
to  Western  Europe  was  known  as  the  "  Bohemian  "  (although 
"polka"  means  Polish  girl),  and  it  was  to  it  that  the  famed 
polka  macaronic  of  Punch  was  written : — 

"  Qui  vult  dancere  nunc  modo, 
Wants  to  dance  in  the  fashion,  oh  ! 
Debet  discere  ought  to  know 
Kickere  floor  cum  heel  and  toe  ! " — Trantlator. 


-t»- 


A  LATER  NOTICE. 


[Inspired  by  a  melancholy  fancy,  I  add  to  the 
preceding  paper  the  following  pages,  which  I 
wrote  in  the  summer  of  1847,  ^'^^  which  form 
my  last  musical  correspondence.  Since  then,  all 
music  has  ceased  for  me,  and  I  little  thought  at 
the  time  when  I  sketched  the  suffering  picture  of 
Donizetti  that  a  similar  and  far  more  painful 
affliction  would  soon  befall  me.  This  is  the  short 
notice  to  which  I  allude :]  ,    . 

Since  that  of  Gustavus  Adolphus,  of  glorious 
memory,  no  Swedish  reputation  has  made  so 
much  noise  in  the  world  as  Jenny  Lind's.  What 
we  heard  from  England  on  the  subject  bordered 
on  the  incredible.  The  newspapers  seemed  to 
ring  and  roar  with  trumpet-blasts  and  fan/arons 
of  triumph ;  we  heard  from  all  naught  save 
Pindaric  odes  of  praise.  A  friend  told  me  of  an 
English  city  where  all  the  bells  were  rung  as 
the  Swedish  nightingale  entered,  the  bishop  of 
the  place  commemorating  the  event  by  a  remark- 
able sermon.      Clad  in  his   Anglican-Episcopal 

costume,  which    resembles    the    ghastly  corpse- 

446 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1844.  447 

costume  of  a  chef  des  pompes  furiebres,  he  rose  in 
the  pulpit  of  the  principal  church  and  greeted 
the  newly-arrived  artiste  as  a  saviour  in  female 
attire,  as  a  lady-redeemer  who  had  descended 
from  heaven  to  save  our  souls  by  her  song  from  sin, 
while  all  other  cantatrice  were  so  many  she-devils, 
who  would  fain  warble  us  into  the  jaws  of  Satan.^ 
The  Italians,  Grisi  and  Persiani,  must  now  turn 
yellow  as  canary-birds  from  sheer  envy  and  spite, 
while  our  Jenny,  the  Swedish  nightingale,  flies 
from  one  triumph  to  another.  I  say  our  Jenny, 
for  au  fond  the  Swedish  nightingale  does  not 
exclusively  represent  little  Sweden,  but  also  the 
whole  Germanic  confederation  of  allied  Northern 
races,  the  Cimbrian  as  well  as  the  Teutonic — 
yea,  she  is  German  as  much  as  her  naturally 
grown  sisters  drowsy  as  trees  (wie  ihre  natur- 
wilchsigen  urid  pflanzenschldfrigen  Schwestem) 
on  the  banks  of  the  Elbe  and  Neckar.  She 
beloAgs  to  Germany,  just  as,  according  to  the 
assurance  of  Franz  Horn,  Shakespeare  also  belongs 
to  us,  as  does  Spinoza,  who,  according  to  his 
very  deepest  inner  nature,  can  only  be  a  German;* 


^  French  version — "  Les  autres  cantatriees,  disait-il,  n'^taient 
qu'autant  de  diablesses  qui,  par  leurs  fredons,  leurs  trilles  et 
leura  roulades  impies,  nous  entralnent  dans  I'abomination  et  la 
damnation,  dans  la  guele  de  Satan." — Translator. 

*  The  French  version  adds — "  h.  ce  que  disent  nos  philosophes 
patriotea."    Spinoza  in  Italian  («pino«o)  means  a  hedgehog — 


448  THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1844. 

therefore  with  pride  we  proclaim  Jenny  Lind  as 
ours.  Rejoice,  0  Uckermark,  for  thou  too  hast 
thy  part  in  this  renown.  Jump,  O  Massmann, 
leap  thy  most  patriotic  and  joyous  leaps,  for  our 
Jenny  speaks  no  Eoman  Bed-Italian  slang,  but 
Gothic  Scandinavian,  the  most  German  of  Ger- 
man ;^  and  thou  may  est  greet  her  as  compcUriote — 
only  you  should  wash  yourself  well  before  taking 
her  Teutonic  hand  or  offering  thine.  Yes,  Jenny 
Lind  is  German  ;  even  the  name  recalls  the  Lin- 
den, the  green  cousin  of  the  German  oak.  She 
has  not  black  hair,  like  the  prima  donnas  of  Italy. 
Northern  feeling  swims  with  moonlight  in  her 
blue  eyes,  and  in  her  voice  there  rings  the  purest 
virginity !  There  it  is !  "  Maidenhood  is  in 
her  voice,"  as  all  the  old  spinsters  of  London,  all 
the  prudes  of  ladies  and  pious  gentlemen — the 
still  surviving  mauvaise  queue  of  Richardson — 
repeated  it,  turning  up  their  eyes,  and  all  Great 


a  term  aptly  applied  to  his  disciple  Carlyle,  and  which  would 
fit  fairly  well  to  the  ncli  me  tangere  Heine. 

1  The  French  yersion  is  here  the  clearer  of  the  two — "  Jubilez, 
Westphalia  et  Pom^ranie,  vons  aussi  participez  &  cette  gloire  ! 
Saute  de  joie,  Massmann,  grand  sauteur  de  I'art  gymnastique, 
fais  tes  bonds  les  plus  tudesques,  car  notre  Jenny  ne  parle 
pas  un  baragouin  roman,  une  esp^ce  de  latin  bouilli,  mais 
le  pur  gothique,  le  scandinave,  I'allemand  le  plus  allemand." 
It  is  most  remarkable  that  Heine  does  not  allude  to  the 
fact  that  Lind  itself  means  in  German  soft,  mild,  and  gentle. 
— Trandator.  1 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OP  1844.  449 

Britain  celebrated  in  Jenny  Lind  a  warbling 
virginity,  a  singing  maidenhead !  This  is  the 
key  of  the  unintelligible,  enigmatically  great 
enthusiasm  which  Jenny  discovered  in  England, 
and  which  she — ^in  confidence  between  us — knows 
very  well  how  to  turn  to  profit.  She  only  sings, 
it  is  said,  in  order  to  give  up  secular  singing  as 
soon  as  possible,  and  as  soon  as  the  necessary 
dowry  shall  have  been  accumulated,  to  marry  a 
young  Protestant  clergyman,  the  pastor  Svenske, 
who  meantime  waits  for  her  at  home  in  his  idyllic 
parsonage  behind  Upsala,  to  the  left  hand,  round 
the  corner.^  It  has  been  recently  reported  that 
the  young  pastor  Svenske  is  only  a  myth,  and 
that  the  true  beloved  of  the  lofty  maid  {der  hohen 
Jungfrau)  is  an  old  dismissed  comedian  or  cahotin 
of  the  Stockholm  stage ;  but  that  is  certainly  a 
dander.  The  spirit  of  chastity  of  this  prima 
donna  immamlata  is  most  beautifully  shown  in 
her  abomination  of  Paris,  the  modem  Sodom, 
which  repugnance  she  expresses  on  every  occa- 
sion, to  the  greatest  edification  of  all  the  dames 
patronesses  of  virtue   on  the   other  side  of  the 


^  French  version — "  Le  jenne  pastor  Srenslce,  qni  dans  Iln- 
tervalle,  I'attend  avec  nne  fid^it^  tout  pastorale  dans  son  pres- 
byt^re  idylliqne  demi^re  Upsala,  je  erois  k  gaaohe  de  la  grande 
route,  en  toumant  da  cdt^  des  tilleals  qui  oondnisent  k  nn 
mcolin  h.  vent."  Directions  which  lead  to  a  "  windmill  "  tut 
very  suspicions. 

-"         2  F 


450 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1844. 


ChanneL  Jenny  has  vowed  in  the  most  deter- 
mined manner  never  to  give  her  vocal  virginity 
to  the  French  pnblio  on  the  vicions  stage  of  the 
Rue  Lepelletier ;  she  sternly  refused  all  the  offers 
which  M.  L^on  Fillet  has  made  her  by  means  of 
his  ruffiani  of  art.*  Truly,  "  this  too  rude  virtue 
startles  me,"  as  old  Paulet  says  in  the  drama  of 
Maria  Stuart.  Is  there  any  truth  in  the  popular 
legend  that  the  Nightingale  of  to-day  was  during 
her  earlier  years  in  Paris,  and  received  musical 
instruction  in  the  sinful  Conservatoire,  like  other 
singing  birds  who  have  since  then  become  very 
seductive  greenfinches  ?  Or  is  Jenny  afraid  of 
that  frivolous  Parisian  criticism  which  does  not 
criticise  the  morals,  but  only  the  voice,  and 
which  regards  defective  education  as  the  greatest 
vice  ?  Be  that  as  it  may,  our  Jenny  will  not  come 
to  Paris,  nor  raise  the  French  by  her  singing 
from  the  gulf  of  sin.  They  must  remain  fallen 
nnto  damnation  eternal.  I 

Here,  in  the  musical  world  of  Paris,  all  remains 
unchanged ;  in  the  Acad^mie  Eoyale  de  Musique 
there  is  always  a  gloomy,  cold,  and  damp  winter, 
while  without  we  have  May  sunshine  and  per- 
fume of  violets.     The  statue  of  the  divine  Rossini 


^  Ruffiano,  a  pander  (Italian),  hence  our  word  mffian.  "In 
the  drama  of  Maria  Stuart "  is  only  in  the  French  version. — 
Trandator. 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OP  1844.  451 

stands,  as  nsnal,  sadly  monrning  and  still  silent, 
in  the  vestibnle.  It  is  an  honour  to  M.  L^on 
Fillet  that  he  raised  a  statae  to  this  trne  genios 
during  his  lifetime.  Nothing  is  more  ridiculous 
than  to  see  the  grimaces  with  which  envy  and 
jealousy  regard  it.  When  Signore  Spontini  passes 
by,  he  always,  stumbling,  strikes  against  that 
stone.  Our  great  master  Meyerbeer  shows  him- 
self as  regards  it  much  shrewder,  and  when  he 
goes  of  evenings  to  the  opera,  he  always  very 
prudently  avoids  that  marble  of  offence ;  he  even 
takes  care  not  to  see  it,  like  unto  the  Jews  of 
Rome,  who  in  the  same  manner,  however  hurried 
they  may  be  with  their  business,  go  a  long  way 
round  so  as  to  keep  out  of  the  way  of  the  fatal 
triumphal  arch  of  Titus,  which  was  erected  to 
commemorate  the  destruction  of  Jerusalem.  The 
news  as  to  the  state  of  Donizetti's  health  becomes 
sadder  every  day.  While  his  melodies  in  merry 
play  delight  the  world,  while  he  is  sung  and 
carolled  everywhere,  he  sits,  a  terrible  form  of 
lunacy,  in  a  hospital  near  Paris.  For  some 
time  he  kept  a  childish  consciousness  as  to  his 
toilette,  and  had  himself  every  day  dressed  very 
carefully  zn  parfaite  mise  de  gala  de  cout,  his 
dress-coat  adorned  with  all  his  decorations  and 
orders,  and  so  he  sat  motionless,  with  his  hat  in 
his  hand,  from  early  morning  unto  evening  late. 
But  even  that  is  all  over  now,  and  he  no  longer 


4S3  THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OF  1844. 

recognises  any   one.     Snch  is  the  lot  of  poor 
humanity.^ 


^  It  ia  probable  that  the  impreBsioDa  of  all  who  read  these 
remarks  on  Jenny  Lind  will  be  that  Heinrioh  Heine  simply 
ridiculed  with  libertine  instinct,  or  as  a  naturally  rery  free- 
thinking  man  of  the  world,  that  virtue  and  propriety,  with 
which  be  had  so  little  sympathy.  Yet,  on  maturely  consider- 
ing the  "Lindomania"  (of  which  I  saw  a  great  deal)  at  the 
present  day,  I  can  only  sinoerely  say  that  I  consider  every 
word  of  Heine's  comments  as  truthful  and  deserved;  for  to 
such  an  extravagant  degree  were  the  praises  of  her  morality 
carried  in  England  and  America,  that  it  would  really  have 
seemed  as  if  it  were  for  the  first  time  in  history  that  such  an 
object  as  a  virtuous  Swedish  girl  or  opera-singer  had  ever  been 
seen  or  beard  of ;  and  to  fairly  and  honestly  judge  by  the  tone 
of  the  press,  scores  of  thousands  flocked  to  see  such  an  un- 
paralleled curiosity  as  a  virgin  vocalist  As  a  writer  said,  "  Elle 
chantait  plus  avec  sa  virginity  qu'avec  sa  voix."  Indeed,  the 
Black  Swan  would  have  been  a  far  more  appropriate  term  than 
the  Nightingale  ;  for  it  was  more  as  a  moral  rara  avu  than  as  a 
singer  that  she  was  really  made  attractive  to  the  multitude. 
There  was  something  of  a  faux  air  and  of  the  rielame  in  her 
career  from  the  beginning,  and  she  seemed  to  have  fallen  natu- 
rally into  the  right  hands  when  my  late  friend,  Mr.  Phineas 
T.  Bamum,  became  her  impresario. 

That  Jenny  Lind  Goldschmidt  was  an  admirable  and  pleas- 
ing and  even  in  her  way  almost  a  great  singer,  is  not  to  be  denied. 
I  myself  much  preferred  Sontag  and  Grisi,  as  far  more  finished 
and  refined  in  execution.  I  could  never  divest  myself  of  the 
idea  that  there  was  a  marked  remainder  of  the  peasant-girl  or 
of  the  gatiehe  Teuton  in  the  Swedish  artiste.  I  was  particularly 
struck  by  this  in  her  great  rdle  of  Norma,  which  I  saw  in 
Frankfort-on-the-Main,  and  in  which  she  certainly  left  the  im- 
pression on  my  mind  that  her  style  was  not  adapted  to  the 
music  or  the  part,  and  that  her  acting  bad  been  very  much 
over-praised. 


f  >     ■  '• 


THE  MUSICAL  SEASON  OP  1844.  4S3 

B7  odd  coincidence,  I  am  writing  this  in  Homborg,  and  my 
first  visit  to  the  place  was  closely  connected  with  this  hearing 
the  Nightingale  in  Norma.  I  was  then  studying  in  Heidel- 
berg. One  morning  a  student  from  Jena,  named  GrUner, 
came  into  my  room,  and  proposed  that  we  should  go  to  Frank- 
fort and  hear  Jenny  Lind  sing  in  Norma.  I  replied  that  I 
had  only  just  enough  money  to  take  me  to  the  end  of  the 
month.  "Oh,  never  mind  that,"  he  replied.  "We  will  go 
on  to  Homburg  and  win  enough  money  at  roagt  ti  noir  to  pay 
our  expenses."  On  this  extremely  prudent  system  or  chance 
we  departed.  We  heard  Jenny  Lind  in  Norma,  and  as  fortune 
favours  the  bold,  I  actually  did  contrive  to  win  enough  at  rouge 
et  noir  to  not  only  pay  all  expenses,  but  to  have  a  surplus. 

I  had  previously  heard  Jenny  Lind  sing  at  a  concert  in  Heidel- 
berg, where  all  the  world  of  youth  of  course  went  wild  over 
her.  The  instant  that  she  left  the  hotel,  her  room  was  given, 
as  I  heard,  to  an  old  Englishman,  who  turned  in  and  went  to  bed, 
not  knowing  whom  he  had  succeeded.  A  large  party  of  students, 
learning  that  the  lady  had  just  departed,  burst  into  the  chamber, 
tore  all  the  bed-clothes  to  strips  as  souvenirs  of  her  beauty,  and 
departed,  leaving  the  occupant,  who  could  not  understand  what 
it  all  meant,  under  the  impression  that  they  must  be  mad. 

Jenny  Lind  as  a  singer  was  marvellous  in  trilling,  warbling, 
And  Jloriture,  but  even  in  all  this  she  was  surpassed  by  Madame 
Farepa  Rosa,  whom  I  heard  for  the  last  time  the  first  night 
she  sang  in  Atda,  in  Cairo. 

Since  writing  this  note  I  have  read,  in  Qottip  of  the  Century, 
a  criticism  of  Jenny  Lind  which  agrees  remarkably  with  what 
I  have  written. 

I  trust  that  this  and  certain  other  notes  and  reminiscences 
will  not  have  seemed  impertinent  to  the  reader.  Even  graffiti 
or  scrawlings  on  walls  become  sometimes  of  value  in  the  course 
of  time. 


Printed  by  Baixantynx,  Hjlmsok  «.  Oo. 

Edinburgh  &■  London 


7  3^'  •    "•   ^ ' 


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VOLUME 


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HEINRICH   HEINE 


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LUTHER 
From  the  Portrait  by  Holbeiu 


H^ttirkli  mm 

Translated  by  Charles  Godfrey  Leia^nd 


?31  H^t 

L  L  ^  3 
V.I 


TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE. 


The  "  Germany  "  of  Heinrich  Heine  is  a  work  of 
which  no  one  can  be  ignorant  who  seeks  sound,  or 
eyen  superficial,  knowledge  of  modem  literature. 
It  is  from  beginning  to  end  replete  with  deep  and 
original  thoughts  of  the  kind  from  which  entire 
essays  or  books  can  be  made ;  and  these  are,  in 
most  instances,  thrown  off  in  such  brief  and 
brilliant  form,  that  it  would  almost  seem  as  if 
the  author  thought  more  of  amusing  than  in- 
structing, or — which  is  indeed,  in  most  instances, 
more  usual — as  if  he  supposed  the  reader  to  be, 
in  fact,  as  well  informed,  as  shrewd  of  apprehen- 
sion, and  as  cleverly  genial  as  himself.  Such 
writers,  who  are,  however,  of  the  rarest,  are  in- 
valuable as  educators,  or  as  trainers  of  thought 
and  style.  He  who  is  treated  by  an  author  as 
an  equal  will,  if  he  studies  that  man's  works 
thoroughly,  end  by  developing  more  or  less  his 
style,  or  art-nature.     In  this   respect  I  believe 


▼I  TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE. 

Heine  to  be  equalled  by  few  writers,  and  the 
"Germany,"  from  the  same  point,  to  be  by  far 
his  best  work.  One  cannot  praise  too  highly,  as 
regards  depth  and  value,  the  manner  in  which  he 
has  seized,  in  a  most  independent,  original  manner, 
on  the  leading  names  which  truly  illustrate  German 
thought  since  Luther,  or  the  exquisite  skill  and 
refined  art  with  which  he  has  concisely  and  beauti- 
fully set  them  forth.  And  even  beyond  this  is  his 
great  idea  of  enforcing,  as  no  one  ever  did  before 
him,  the  great  truth  that  the  philosophers,  meta- 
physicians, scholars,  and  literary  men  of  Germany ; 
who  have  been  proverbial  not  merely  among  the 
vulgar,  but  too  often  among  the  better  educated, 
as  mere  dreamers,  speculators,  and  spinners  of 
transcendental  and  visionary  cobwebs  of  the  brain ; 
were  in  fact  the  intellects  which  in  the  most  literal 
and  practical  manner  trained  and  developed  the 
German  mind  and  nation  to  its  present  position. 
Heine  was  probably  the  only  man  of  his  time 
who  perfectly  understood  this  fact,  and  even  now 
— ^important  as  it  is  to  every  thinker — ^it  is  very 
far  from  being  understood,  especially  in  "  Anglo- 
Saxony."  The  perception  of  it  induced  in  our 
author's  mind  the  wonderful  parallel  which  runs 
through  his  work,  like  a  motive  through  an  opera, 
of  the  progress  of  the  mental  revolution  in  Ger- 
many, and  the  political  in  France.     The  simile  is 


TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE.  if 

grandly  emstained  and  carried  to  a  triumphant 
conclusion.  The  work  is  a  braid  of  many  threads, 
of  which  this  is  not  the  least  brilliant.  This  led 
Heine  to  the  remarkable,  the  loudly  uttered  and 
earnest  prophecy,  bidding  the  French  beware  the 
day  when  Germany  should  be  united.  But  to 
point  out  all  the  profound,  valuable,  and  beautiful 
thoughts  which  occur  in  this  great  summary  of 
the  causes  of  the  development  of  German  intellect 
in  its  every  phase,  would  be  like  commenting  on 
every  item  in  an  index  of  the  work.  I  may  sum- 
marise its  merits  by  saying  that  one  cannot  con- 
ceive of  any  really  intelligent  and  liberal  or  triUy 
strong-minded  thinker  who  would  not  be  fasci- 
nated with  this  book. 

And  this  brings  us  to  the  other  side  of  the 
shield,  that  is,  to  the  defects  and  errors  which 
such  a  thinker  or  reader  can  readily  detect  and 
reject,  as  a  skilled  miner  throws  away  from 
his  gold  the  dross  which  would  induce  a  more 
ignorant  person  to  reject  the  whole.  But  to 
find  the  gold,  one  must  understand  the  quartz 
which  incrusts  the  oxide  of  iron,  and  the  glitter- 
ing pyrites  which  conceals  and  deludes ;  nay,  to 
a  certain  degree,  he  must  also  appreciate  their 
value  as  accompaniments  of  the  precious  metal. 
That  is  to  say,  the  truly  skilled  seeker  who  most 
thoroughly  masters  a  subject  is  in  all  cases  the 


yOi 


TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE. 


one  who  nnderstands  its  fanlts.  And  for  this 
reason  I  have,  while  leaving  it  to  the  reader 
himself  in  great  measure  to  detect  the  golden 
flakes,  dorU  la  Ittm'Ure  saut  atuc  yeux,  pointed 
out ;  not  without  much  serious  reflection  and  care, 
and  inspired  deeply  with  a  desire  to  present 
Heine  as  he  was  in  very  sincere  truth;  the 
strange  and  sad  failings  and  sins  of  commission 
and  omission  which  run  all  through  his  works, 
like  the  rugged  lumps  and  vacant  hollows  in  a 
piece  of  stalagmite.  The  first  of  these  faults  is 
a  manifest  inability  to  accord  or  co-ordinate 
error  and  merit  in  others,  so  as  to  give  us  a 
fair  and  harmonious  idea  of  the  balance  of  any 
author  described.  This  is  the  result  of  two 
causes,  one  of  which  was  an  insatiable  petty, 
small-feminine  love  of  gossip  and  scandal,^  in 
spite  of  the  true  principle  which  he  announces, 
that  it  is  by  the  works  of  a  man,  and  not  his 
life,  that  he  should  be  judged.  The  second  was 
an  almost  boyish  susceptibility,  which  made  him 
for  the  moment  altogether  enthusiastic,  either 
with  admiration  or  anger,  at  a  character  or  a 

*  This  has  g^o^m  enormoasly  of  late  years.  I  recently 
foond  in  one  of  the  best  known  minor  libraries  in  Europe 
two  livet  of  a  distinguished  English  poet,  but  not  a  line  of 
his  works.  It  would  seem  as  if  to  the  general  reader  an 
author's  work  is  rapidly  becoming  a  mere  pin  on  which  to 
hang  his  biography.  j 


B^" 


TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE.  i« 

book,  withont  reflecting  on  the  other  side.  And 
yet  again  with  these  defects  was  often  inter- 
twined an  equally  childish  jealousy,  or  merely 
personal  dislike,  which  he  had  not  the  good 
sense  to  control  or  conceal,  the  result  being  that 
certain  characters  —  as,  for  instance,  August 
Wilhelm  von  Schlegel — are  so  presented  that 
we  know  not  whether  they  are  drivelling  idiots 
or  debauchees  with  hardly  a  mind,  or  men  of 
genius  and  leaders  of  great  intellectual  move- 
ments, as  the  Schlegels  certainly  were,  of  which 
Heine  indeed  informs  us  in  certain  places,  but 
gives  much  less  stress  to  it  than  he  does  to 
mere  disreputable  chambermaids'  gossip  regard- 
ing them.  This  is  not  invariably  the  case,  but 
it  occurs  so  often  that  the  reader  would  do  well 
to  bear  it  in  mind. 

Heine  had  lived  in  touch  or  time  with  many 
eminent  men,  with  the  very  common  result  that 
he  thought  too  much  of  some  and  too  little  of 
others — as  is  generally  the  result  of  personal 
acquaintanceship,  attractions,  or  antipathies.  He 
had  not  the  vast  impartiality  of  a  Goethe  in  this 
respect.  Hence  he  neglects,  or  is  unable  to  in- 
variably set  forth,  the  real  influence  or  action 
of  certain  authors  in  their  time,  though  he  does 
it  well  with  others.  But  the  two  great  faults  of 
his  "Germany"  are  these.     Heine  wished  to  be 


t  .■ 


s  TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE. 

regarded  as  the  first  person  who  made  German 
literature  and  thought  known  to  France,  which 
was  to  him  really  the  world.  England  he 
ignored,  because  he  had  no  hold  on  or  fame  in 
it.  But  Madame  de  Stael,  aided  by  her  early 
teacher,  August  W.  Von  Schlegel,  had  done  the 
one  well  in  L'Allemagne,  and  Victor  Cousin  had 
elaborately,  and  in  fact  admirably,  achieved  the 
other;  therefore  Heine  treats  these  authors, 
especially  the  two  men,  with  an  unconcealed 
hatred  which  is  simply  as  violent  as  it  is  more 
generally  silly,  his  object  being  to  decry  them,  out 
of  mere  envy.  For  I  do  not  believe  that  Heine 
had  at  heart  a  poor  opinion  of  their  works :  he  was 
far  too  intelligent  and  well  read  not  to  appreciate 
them.  I 

It  may  be  indicated  as  a  great  defect  that  our 
author  devotes  such  disproportionate  space  to  the 
folk-lore  of  goblins  and  fairies,  great  as  its  in- 
fluence in  Germany  has  been ;  and  that  even  in 
these  chapters,  as  in  Elementary  Spirits,  he  wanders 
widely  from  the  subject,  while  in  other  places  he 
gives  many  pages  to  spiteful  gossip  over  petty 
people  like  Kaupauch  (as  it  were  to  prove  at 
length  that  they  are  not  worth  noticing),  while  he 
quite  omits  to  mention,  or  else  to  illustrate  in  any 
way  whatever,  many  very  famous  men.  Whether 
it  arose  from  impatience  of  labour  or  research,  it 


TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE.  ?        Jd 

is  certain  that  in  illustration  by  citation  Heine 
was  very  unfortunate,  that  of  Uhland  being  any- 
thing but  fairly  representative,  while  the  old 
Danish  ballads  and  legends,  to  which  many  pages 
are  given,  are  somewhat  out  of  place  and  badly 
selected. 

The  reader  who  is  not  familiar  with  the  subject 
must  again  be  on  his  guard  as  to  Heine's  really 
arrogant  assertion  that  he  was  the  first  to  make  - 

known  to  the  people  the  systems  of  the  great 
German  philosophers.  He  was  a  fairly  accom- 
plished "  metaphysician "  for  his  time,  but  he 
did  not  at  all  perceive  what  was  common  to  all 
schools,  and  he  believed,  like  all  Germans  of  his 
day — departing  from  cogito  ergo  sum — that  some- 
where there  must  exist  some  kind  of  absolute  philo- 
sophy founded  on  theism  or  "spirit."  The  grain 
which  he  boasts  of  having  taken  from  the  store-  y 

house  of  German  philosophy,  and  cleaned  for  the 
people,  turns  out  too  often  to  be  mere  "  chaff."  He 
does  not  give,  in  fact,  intelligently  and  succinctly, 
as  many  before  him  had  done,  the  method  of  any 
philosopher ;  and  in  several  cases  this  is  done  so 
imperfectly  as  to  almost  induce  a  suspicion  that 
he  had  not  clearly  understood  them.  This  is 
certainly  the  case  as  regards  the  methods  of 
Kant,  Fichte,  and  Schelling,  while  as  to  Hegel 
he  really  tells  us  nothing  at  all.     I  do  not  thinV 


TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE. 


that  I  err  when  I  say  that  for  a  reader  who  is 
interested  in  the  subject,  it  is  easier  to  understand 
these  writers  from  their  own  pages  than  from 
Heine's  eccentric,  though  brilliant  and  genial, 
mingling  of  metaphysics,  mockery  and  memoir. 
He  did  not  explain  German  metaphysics  well  or 
clearly  to  the  multitude;  he  simply  made  its 
vast  influence  understood  by  entertaining  and 
personal  gossip,  interspersing  so  much  that  was 
vivacious,  original,  and  true  with  a  great  deal  that 
was  frivolous  and  sometimes  false,  as  to  produce 
the  greatest  masterpiece  of  mSlange  known  in 
literature.  Rabelais  had  shown  how  genius  and 
learning  could  be  allied  to  illustrate  broad  humour 
and  life,  and  Sterne  how  all  this  could  be  blended 
with  sentiment.  Heine  tried  the  bolder  and 
broader  experiment  of  combining  these  elements 
with  serious  discussion  of  literature  and  politics. 
Sometimes  his  stream  runs  very  shallow  as 
regards  sound  knowledge  of  his  subject;  great 
dry  rocks  of  ancient  facts  appear  which  he  could 
not  rise  to  or  cover;  but  he  then  makes  all  the 
greater  babbling  and  bubbling,  and  hurries  along 
to  some  more  congenial  and  softer,  perhaps 
muddier,  spot,  where  he  presently  hollows  out  a 
tolerably  deep  eddy,  and  whirls  round  and  round 
exultingly,  springing,  like  one  of  the  dancing  der- 
vishes whom  he  cites,  into  a  fancied  conception 


TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE.  ;      *| 

of  the  absolute,  but  always  bright  and  brilliant, 
sparkling  and  amusing. 

Heine  posed  as  a  deeply  read  man  on  most 
subjects — ^as  he  should  have  been,  to  treat  so 
many  properly ;  but  it  would  amaze  not  a  few  of 
his  devoted  admirers  to  know  how  slender  was 
his  erudition,  even  where  he  tried  to  appear 
learned.  This  is  apparent  in  several  places  in 
"Germany,"  which  occasionally  presents  pitiful 
illustration  of  a  man's  endeavouring  to  carry  on  a 
great  business  with  a  small  capital.  And  yet  he 
never  comes  to  actual  bankruptcy ;  in  fact,  with 
many  he  has  illimitable  CTedit  for  solid  wisdom, 
which  credit  is  in  the  end  to  him  as  good  as 
capital.  True,  he  is  often  hard  put  to  it  to  meet 
his  notes,  or  make  good  his  vaunts ;  very  often  he 
stands  at  his  own  door  "barking"  about  the 
superiority  of  his  ready-made  clothes  for  the  soul ; 
but  in  the  end  he  attracts  a  crowd.  And  then 
the  coats  or  waistcoats,  if  not  of  the  veiy  best 
wool  or  make,  are  still  so  beautifully  dyed,  and 
have  such  brilliant  and  original  buttons! — nay, 
there  is  much  jewellery  in  the  way  of  studs  and 
pins  generously  thrown  in  gratis,  so  that  the  cus- 
tomers depart  well  satisfied.  Nor  can  it  be  said 
that  they  do  not  get  their  money's  worth,  or  even 
very  great  bargains — all  that  can  be  said  is  that 
always  in  life  people  should  know  exactly  what  it  is 


xhr 


TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE. 


that  they  are  buying.  Or,  again,  Heine  was  like 
a  large  and  really  valuable  diamond,  full  of  flaws 
of  which  he  was  conscious  and  knew  that  others 
noticed  them,  and  yet  he  wished  to  be  valued  as 
if  perfect.  All  of  which  he  has  said  of  himself 
as  clearly  and  far  more  bitterly  than  I  have  done. 

This  flaw  in  the  diamond  is  Heine's  caprice, 
instability,  and  self-will.  There  are  women  who 
expect  to  have  all  their  follies,  tricks,  and  faults 
forgiven  with  a  smile,  because  "it  is  pretty 
Fanny's  way,"  and  who  fancy  that  all  their  little 
rebellious  whims  or  even  evil  manners  and  deeds 
must  be  passed  over  because  they  are  so  engaging. 
It  is  a  pity  when  such  women  are  really  gifted 
and  clever,  for  the  result  is  to  common  sense  a 
painful  paradox.  It  cannot  be  denied  that  Heine 
had  this  feminine  weakness,  that  he  was  over- 
conscious  of  his  own  genius  and  marvellous 
brilliancy  and  versatility,  and  so  conducted  him- 
self habitually  like  a  spoiled  belle  with  a  great 
deal  of  the  femme  nerveuse  in  her  nature.  In 
Grermany  the  youthful  belle  of  the  Beisebilder 
occasionally  seems  to  be  un  peu  sur  le  retour, 
showing  traces  of  la  vi&Ule  coquette,  when  her 
minauderies  are  terrible.  And  yet  she  is  as  clever 
and  amusing  as  ever !  'I 

We  have  the  feeling  as  regards  Heine  that  if 
any  one  had  said  to  him,  "  Unstable  as  water,  thou 


TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE.  xt 

shalt  not  excel,"  lie  would  have  immediately  re- 
torted, "  Ah !  but  you  can't  get  along  without 
water,  you  know."  Which  is  unanswerable,  but 
not  an  answer,  neither  is  it  wisdom,  and  yet  Heine 
set  himself  up  for  a  sage  of  sages  and  a  leader  in 
politics.  Sometimes  this  king's  jester  disguises 
himself  as  a  wise  man  and  sits  in  the  assembly, 
and  for  a  time  amazes  and  amuses  all  present  by 
his  marvellous  genius ;  but  anon  there  is  heard  a 
tinkling  of  morrice-bells,  and  there  is  seen  a  flash 
of  red  ribbons  and  tinsel — some  one  twitches  away 
the  philosopher's  robe,  when  out  skips  the  mad 
rogue  with  a  roar  of  laughter  and  a  screaming 
joke,  in  naught  ashamed,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
reappears  incognito  in  another  guise.  "  And  yet 
he  did  speak  wisely  for  a  time ;  yes,  very  beauti- 
fully, and  oh,  so  gaily ! "  says  some  one  regretfully. 
And  so  say  we  all  of  us.  He  spoke  more  sagely 
than  our  sages  do,  and  yet  he  was  a  jester  all  the 
while.  In  justice  to  "  Germany  "  it  must  be  said 
that  in  it,  for  the  greater  portion,  our  author 
sits  well-behaved  in  the  council  and  speaks 
admirably. 

I  would  call  the  reader's  attention  to  the  fact 
that,  until  the  appearance  of  this  present  work, 
there  was  not  in  existence  a  complete  edition  of 
Heine's  "  Germany."  The  author  professed  to  have 
written  it  in  French  as  well  as  in  German,  but 


xvi 


TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE. 


the  aid  of  a  secretary  or  of  an  assistant  translator, 
who  was  710^  Heine,  is  so  marked  and  manifest  in 
many  places  as  to  be  beyond  all  question.  There 
are  often  entire  pages,  or  several  pages  together, 
to  be  fonnd  in  the  German  which  are  wanting  in 
the  French  version,  but  occasionally  it  is  vice  versd, 
while  differences  of  mere  sentences  or  expres- 
sions are  very  numerous.  Heine  expresses  in  the 
beginning  the  most  stony-hearted  independence 
as  to  all  men's  opinions,  but  he  is  generally  very 
careful  to  omit  things  which  would  offend  his 
French  readers,  as,  for  instance,  by  leaving  out 
the  word  "Catholic"  wherever  it  is  possible. 
Where  there  are  additions  in  the  French  text, 
the  German  editor  translates  them  into  German 
and  gives  them  in  a  footnote ;  but  he  omits  several 
important  passages,  and  rarely  takes  account  of 
minor  expressions.  As  I  presume  that  English  and 
Americans  who  care  to  read  Heine,  can  understand 
French,  I  have  thought  it  better  to  give  these 
variations  in  the  original.  I  do  not  exaggerate 
when  I  say  that  the  labour  of  thus  collating, 
comparing,  and  selecting  every  word  in  the  two 
versions  has  been,  not  twice,  but  perhaps  thrice 
as  great  as  simple  translation  from  one  language 
would  have  been;  in  saying  which  I  judge  by 
the  work  which  I  devoted  to  the  ReisebUder  and 
Florentine   Nights.      In    a  few  cases  where  the 


TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE.  .     icvii 

French  version  presented  unmistakable  originaKty 
and  beauty  of  expression  superior  to  the  German, 
I  have  availed  myself  of  it;  but  in  all  cases, 
every  word,  from  the  beginning,  has  been  based 

,  on  frequent  reading  or  study  of  the  latter,  and 
I  therefore  trust  that  critics  and  readers  will 
be  lenient,  considering  the  difSculty  which  this 

;         double  task  involved. 

The  difficulty  in  translating  Heine,  of  which  we 
hear  so  much,  does  not  consist  by  any  means  en- 
tirely in  rendering  his  exquisite  grace,  his  inimi- 

;  .  v  table  sprightliness  and  tours  deforce — it  very  often 
lies  in  not  following  his  intolerable  tautology  of 
t  words,  iteration  of  ideas,  or  of  commonplace  con- 
ceptions, his  brusque  French-German  terms,  or 
common  slang,  and  in  occasionally  feeling  obliged 
to  put  some  kind  of  expressive  termination  to  a 
sentence  which,  when  reduced  to  strict  English 
sense,  and  deprived  of  its  et  ccdera,  is  only  a  wind- 
ing corridor  which  leads  to  nothing.  There  are 
certain  readers  with  whom  the  untranslatable, 
even  if  trash,  passes  for  the  inimitable;  but  as  a 
rule,  perhaps  without  exception,  the  author  who 
is  really  untranslatable  is  not  worth  a  version. 
Heine  is  by  no  means  deficient  in  passages  which, 
if  they  were  no  better  written  in  English  than 
they  are  in  German,  would  be  condemned  in  the 

humblest  writer.     Our  author  was  by  no  means 
VOL.  I.  _  b 


xviii 


TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE. 


himself  always  an  accurate  or  oooscientioas  trans- 
lator, as  I  have  shown  hj  the  very  carious  Latin 
original  of  a  tale  which  he  strangely  perverted, 
to  make  a  point. 

It  is  usual  to  extol  the  French  version  as  a 
miracle  of  translation.  But  there  are  pages 
together  in  it  in  which  we  find  serious  and  mani- 
festly careless  or  reckless  omissions  of  ideas,  more 
frequently  those  of  important  words,  or  petty 
departures  from  the  spirit  of  the  original  in 
almost  every  sentence — as  the  reader  may  easily 
verify  from  the  footnotes  in  this  volume.  It  is 
not  possible— discounting  the  natural  grace  of 
the  French  language  itself,  even  gold-leaf  being 
always  gold-leaf  wherever  applied — ^to  conceive 
of  any  EngUsh  translation  being  made  so  inac- 
curately by  anybody  who  understood  the  original 
and  dared  to  publish.  It  has  been  said  that 
Heine  "threw  himself  into  himself"  in  making 
this  French  version ;  if  so,  it  is  very  certain  that, 
like  the  juggler  who  performed  a  similar  flip-flap, 
he  came  out  Somebody  Else. 

I  trust  that  the  reader  will  accept  the  foot- 
notes, whether  of  explanation  or  comment,  which 
I  have  given  with  kindly  feeling.  Where  I  think 
that  the  author  has  in  any  way  erred,  either  as  to 
books,  data,  or  character,  I  have  taken  the  liberty 
of  commenting,   to   save  certain    readers  from 


TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE.  .        jdx 

being  misled.  Many  will  not  require  such  sug- 
gestions ;  I  beg  them  not  to  regard  my  remarks 
as  uncalled  for,  and  to  reflect  on  those  who  may 
desire  some  benefit  from  them.  Such  as  they 
are,  these  notes  have  cost  me  much  reading  and 
search,  which  I  pray  may  be  put  down  to  my 
good  account.  As  regards  serious  effort  to  trans- 
late carefully  and  clearly,  retaining  as  well  as 
I  could  the  spirit  of  a  writer  with  whom  I  have 
long  been  familiar,  and  who  himself  expressed 
gratification  at  the  publication  of  my  translation  ,•/ 

of  his  Beisebilder,  I  can  only  say  that  I  have 
taken  a  degree  of  pains  which  I  never  before 
devoted  to  any  similar  work. 

CHARLES  GODFREY  LELAND. 

Geneva,  July  1891.  , 


U 


THE  GERMAN  PUBLISHER'S 
PREFACE. 


J 


The  review  of  German  intellectnal  efEort  in  the 
past,  which  Henry  Heine  published  in  French 
under  the  general  title  Be  VAllemagne,  is  now 
brought  for  the  first  time  before  the  German 
public  as  a  comprehensive  whole.  The  author 
had  in  the  prefaces  to  difiEerent  parts  of  his  works 
fully  explained  the  reasons  which  forced  him  to 
print  it  in  Germany  in  fragments.  These  were 
of  an  extremely  foreign,  yet  none  the  less  com- 
pulsive, character.  On  the  one  hand,  he  was 
obliged  to  hasten  his  work  in  setting  before  the 
public  of  his  native  land  the  articles  written  in 
French  for  French  journals,  lest  some  unauthorised 
third  person  should  profit  by  a  translation  of 
them.  At  that  time  there  was  not  only  no  inter- 
national treaty  or  copyright  law  which  secured  to 
an  author  the  privilege  of  possession  and  transla- 


/ 


xxu 


PUBLISHER'S  PREFACE. 


tion  of  his  own  works  when  written  in  a  foreign 
country,  but  an  edict  of  the  German  Confederacy 
of  the  5th  of  April  1832  had  declared  that  no 
printed  piece,  in  German,  of  a  political  character, 
of  less  than  twenty  sheets,  could  be  admitted  to, 
or  sold  in  any  of  its  states,  without  previous  per- 
mission from  the  government.  And  again,  the 
hindrances  of  the  censorship  assumed  every  year 
a  more  threatening  character,  until  from  Wolfgang 
Menzel's  denunciation  of  that  decree  of  December 
10,  1835,  it  resulted  that  in  connection  with  the 
writings  of  the  so-called  Young  Germany,  all  the 
works  of  Henry  Heine  were  put  in  Acht  v/nd 
Bann,  under  suspicion  and  prohibition,  and  even 
caused  a  total  suspension  of  the  sale  of  all  the 
books  issued  by  his  publisher  in  several  German 
cities.  A  work  of  Heine's  with  the  general  title 
tjher  Deutschland,  or  "  On  Germany,"  was  at  any 
rate  previously  suppressed  by  the  censorship  and 
the  reactionary  government ;  it  being  a  very  mixed 
collection  of  philosophical,  artistic,  and  literary- 
historical,  or  novelifitic  fragments,  as  contained 
in  the  Salon.  It  is  well  known  that  Heine  found 
these  portions  of  his  work  published  in  fragments 
80  vilely  docked  and  disfigured  b>  iiie  scissors  of 
the  censor  that  their  very  meaning  had  vanished. 
If  the  reader  will  compare  this  present  work — 
enlarged  from  the  original  manuscript  and  the 


.  ^*«.i-*r-- 


PUBLISHER'S  PREFACE.  xadii 

French  edition  — even  in  the  most  superficial 
manner  with  the  earlier  German  editions,  he  will 
at  once  perceive  that  Heine,  in  spite  of  the  con- 
tinually increasing  difficulties  of  his  situation  as 
an  author,  never  once  in  his  "Germany"  did 
aught  unworthy  of  him,  or  sacrificed  the  idea  to 
remunerative  concessions. 

"I  conjure  you,"  he  wrote  to  his  friend  Hein- 
rich  Laube,  during  the  time  of  denunciations  of 
Menzel  (on  the  25th  of  November  1835),  "by  all 
you  hold  dear,  either  to  take  no  part  in  the  war 
which  Young  Germany  is  now  waging,  or  at  least 
to  observe  a  very  furtive  neutrality,  and  do  not 
try  this  youth  with  a  single  word.  Draw  a  line 
clearly  between  political  and  religious  questions. 
In  the  former  you  may  make  as  many  concessions 
as  you  please,  for  political  forms  of  state  and  of 
government  are  only  a  mean — monarchy  or  re- 
public, democratic  or  aristocratic  institutions  are 
of  equal  consequence,  so  long  as  the  idea  of  life 
itself  is  not  determined.  In  due  time  will  come 
the  question  whether  we  are  to  have  a  monarchy 
or  republic,  or  aristocracy,  or  even  absolutism ; 
for  which  latter  I  have  no  great  disinclination. 
By  such  a  distinction  in  the  question,  one  can 
also  allay  the  scruples  of  the  censorship,  for  dis- 
cussions of  religious  and  moral  principles  cannot 
be  silenced  without  annulling  the  whole  Protestant 


xxiv  PUBLISHER'S  PREFACE. 

freedom  of  thought  and  of  judgment;  and  here 
we  meet  with  the  approval  of  the  Philistines. 
You  understand  me  when  I  say  the  religious 
and  moral  principle ;  though  both  are,  like  pork 
and  pig's  meat,  one  and  the  same.  Morality  is 
only  religion  passed  into  manners;  and  if  the 
religion  of  the  past  is  rotten,  then  morals  stink. 
We  need  a  sound  religion,  so  that  manners  may 
be  sounder  and  better  based  than  they  are  at 
present  when  their  only  substratum  is  unbelief 
and  worn-out  hypocrisy." 

I  have  retained  almost  unchanged  the  arrange- 
ment of  the  French  edition  of  the  book  "On 
Germany,"  made  by  Heine  himself.  I  have  only 
left  to  the  last  division  of  the  third  book  of  the 
"  Romantic  School "  (which  formed  the  preface  of 
the  French  issue),  the  place  which  it  occupied  in 
the  previous  German  edition.  And  I  have,  more- 
over, for  internal  and  external  reasons,  allotted  to 
the  Confessions,  which  formed  the  conclusion  of 
the  latest  French  edition,  another  position.  The 
seventh  volume  of  this  complete  series  would  have 
been,  as  regards  size,  out  of  all  proportion  to  the 
other  volumes,  had  I  included  in  it  the  Con- 
fessions; but  what  was  of  still  more  importance 
was  the  inner  reason  that  this  essay,  which  as 
regards  the  time  of  composition  and  its  subject- 
matter,  forms  the  conclusion  of  the  literary  activity 


PUBLISHER'S  PREFACE. 

of  the  poet,  seemed  to  be  most  appropriately  placed 
in  the  last  volume  of  the  prose  writings.  The 
omissions  and  softenings  of  certain  sentences  to 
which  Heine  refers  in  the  preface  to  the  French 
edition,  are  of  too  unimportant  a  nature  to  require 
a  simultaneous  or  preparatory  reading  of  the  Oonf 
fessions.  "    •  ' 

The  essay,  "  For  the  History  of  Religion  and  • 
Philosophy  in  Germany,"  which  first  appeared  in 
French  under  the  title  De  VAllemagne  depuis 
Luther,  in  the  Revue  des  deux  Mondes,  March  i, 
November  15,  and  December  15,  1834,  appeared 
soon  after,  in  the  beginning  of  1835,  ^  * 
German  translation  as  the  second  volume  of  the 
Salon,  but  in  such  an  absolutely  mangled  and 
abbreviated  form,  that  the  patriotic  aim  of  the 
work,  if  nothing  else,  was  entirely  lost.  In  the 
second  edition,  in  the  year  1852,  the  most  impor- 
tant omissions  were  made  good  by  the  author 
from  the  French  version,  because  Heine  believed 
that  the  first  manuscript  of  the  work,  which  he 
had  sent  to  Hamburg,  had  there  perished  in  the 
great  fire  of  1842.  But  it  was  subsequently 
found  among  certain  papers  of  the  publisher's 
which  had  been  rescued,  and  has  been  used  in 
preparing  and  enlarging  this  present  edition. 


..^   i».     .,    ..X  .^i_   -    ^nf«^A 


AUTHOR'S  PREFACE 

TO  THE  FRENCH  EDITION  OF  THE  BOOK 
"ON  GERMANY." 


The  limited  space  of  a  preface  will  not  permit  me 
to  give  ia  detail  all  which  I  would  gladly  com- 
municate to  the  public.  I  have  therefore  pre- 
ferred to  present  these  confessions  of  the  author 
as  a  whole  in  the  last  part  of  my  work,  and  I 
even  confess  that  my  dear  reader  would  do  well 
to  begin  his  reading  at  this  latter  end.^  That 
is  serious  advice.  Those  who  may  by  chance  be 
acquainted  with  the  first  edition  of  my  book,  will 
see  at  the  first  glance  that  the  new  one  contains 
more  than  half  as  much,  and  that  a  great  number 
of  passages  were  cut  out  of  it,  so  that  this  book 
"  On  Germany"  has  an  altogether  dijfferent  appear- 
ance, and  is  not  indeed  the  same  book. 

In  several  new    parts  which  I   have    added, 


*  Vide  the  foregoing  preface  by  the  German  paUiah«r. 


xxviii 


AUTHOR'S  PREFACE. 


especially  in  those  which  form  the  whole  second 
half,  I  have  undertaken  to  unveil  to  the  view 
of  the  French  public  the  most  secret  and  charac- 
teristic treasures  of  the  German  people,  and  in 
which,  as  I  may  say,  all  its  dreamy,  yet  at  the 
same  time  strong  and  vigorous,  character  is  set 
forth.  I  here  speak  of  those  traditions  and  tales 
which  live  in  the  language  of  the  lower  classes, 
the  best  and  most  original  of  which  have 
never  been  noticed.  I  have  here  given  more 
than  one  of  these,  which  I  myself  have  heard 
by  hearths  in  humble  huts,  narrated  by  some 
vagabond  beggar  or  old  and  blind  grandmother ; 
but  the  strange,  uncanny  reflection  which  the 
flickering  flame  of  the  fire  of  twigs  cast  on  the 
face  of  the  narrator,  and  the  beating  of  the 
hearts  of  the  hearers  who  listened  in  happy 
silence,  I  could  not  render,  and  these  rustic, 
well-nigh  barbaric  stories  deprived  of  that,  lose 
their  most  attractive  wondrous  secret  charm. 

I  refrain  from  making  any  remarks  relative 
to  the  expurgations  or  elisions  which  my  book 
has  experienced.  By  so  doing  I  have  at  least 
escaped  the  danger  of  displaying  any  want  of 
tact.  I  have  suppressed  bitter  sallies  which  were 
once  inspired  by  youthful  and  unjust  ill-feeling, 
and  I  have  done  the  same  with  the  flattering  and 
complimentary  words  of  dedication,  which  would 


^ifei 


AUTHOR'S  PREFACE,  xxix 

to-day  be  an  anachronism,*  and  whose  untimely 
form  would  now  produce  an  effect  the  very 
reverse  of  what  the  author  intended  when  the 
first  edition  of  his  work  appeared.  In  those  days 
the  name  to  which  I  offered  that  homage  was, 
as  it  were,  a  shibboleth  which  indicated  the  most 
advanced  party  in  the  human  battle  for  freedom, 
and  which  was  also  cruelly  crushed  by  the  gens- 
darme  and  courtiers  of  the  old  school.  By  thus 
favouring  the  conquered,  I  cast  a  proud  challenge 
at  their  foes ;  and  I  often  proclaimed  my  sympathy 
for  the  martyrs,  who  were  then  reviled,  and  that 
bitterly  and  unmercifully,  by  the  press,  as  well 
as  in  society.  I  did  not  fear  to  incur  the  ridicule 
with  which  their  good  cause,  as  it  must  be  fairly 
admitted,  was  a  little  burdened.  Things  have 
changed  since  then:  the  martyrs  of  the  former 
time  are  now  no  longer  mocked  or  persecuted; 
they  no  longer  bear  their  cross — unless  it  be  the 
cross  of  the  legion  cThonneitr.  They  no  longer 
wander  barefooted  through  the  wastes  of  Arabia 
to  seek  for  the  emancipated  woman,  or  free- 
love — ^these  liberators  of  mankind  from  the  yoke 
of    marriage,   these  bursters  of  wedding-bonds, 

^  The  German  pablisher  here  cites  the  dedication  of  the  first 
edition  to  Prosper  Enfantin,  which  is,  however,  of  no  special 
interest,  and  which  by  its  insertion  directly  contradicts  the 
spirit  of  Heine's  wish — Trandator. 


xxz 


AUTHOR'S  PREFACE. 


have  since  their  return  from  the  East  been 
wedded  themselves,  and  become  the  most  un- 
daunted manying  men,  or  ipotLseurs,  in  the  world, 
and  they  wear  boots.*  Most  of  these  men  now 
live  in  clover,  some  of  them  are  brand-new 
millionaires,  and  more  than  one  have  risen  to  the 
most  honourable  and  profitable  positions — people 
travel  quickly  now  by  railways.  These  former 
apostles,  who  dreamed  of  a  golden  age  for  all 
mankind,  have  contented  themselves  with  carry- 
ing on  the  age  of  silver,  or  the  rule  of  the  money- 
god  {dieti  argent),  who  is  the  father  and  mother 
of  all,  and  who  is  all — perhaps  the  same  deity 
of  whom  it  was  preached,  "  All  is  in  him,  nothing 
is  out  of  him,  nothing  is  without  him."  But  this 
is  not  the  God  which  the  writer  of  these  lines 
adores.^    Indeed,  I  prefer  to  him  the  poor  Grod 

1  Und  tie  tragen  Stiefd.  Stiefd  means  a  boot ;  also,  jocosely, 
a  portion.  They  have  gone  in  for  booty  and  beauty  is  a  rongh 
rendering.  The  allusions  here  are  all  to  the  famous  socialistic 
efiFort  or  community,  established  about  1830  in  Paris  by  Enfantin 
and  others,  which  is  referred  to  in  Carlyle's  Sartor  Retartut. 
Singularly  enough,  many  who  embarked  in  this  wild  scheme 
afterwards  became  eminent  as  statesmen  and  promoters  of 
railways,  and  other  great  speculations.  Reybaud,  in  "  Jerome 
Patur6t,"  and  in  an  amusing  sketch  of  this  society,  gives  a  picture 
in  which  a  neophyte  with  an  aureole  round  his  head  is  repre- 
sented as  cleaning  the  boots  of  the  brethren.  It  was  a  part  of 
the  great  after- movement  of  the  first  revolution  which  produced 
Fourier,  Cab^t,  and  many  more  world-betterers  of  the  sudden- 
reform  kind. — Translator. 


AUTHOR'S  PREFACE.  jtxxi 

of  Nazareth,  who  had  not  a  farthing,  and  who  waa 
the  protector  of  beggars  and  snfferers.  As  I 
belong  somewhat  to  this  latter  class,  I  should 
be  guilty  of  great  folly  if  I  paid  old-fashioned 
compliments  to  the  proud  victors  and  fortunate 
ones  of  the  age,  who  can  get  on  perfectly  well 
without  them. 

I  cannot  too  earnestly  urge  the  fact  that  I  had 
not  the  intention  to  give  a  perfect  picture  of 
Germany.  I  only  wished  to  here  and  there  lift 
the  veil  which  covers  this  mysterious  land,  and 
if  the  reader  has  not  seen  all,  or  but  a  small  por- 
tion, he  will  at  least  have  seen  that  little  as  it 
truly  is,  while  he  will  be  scantily  or  not  at  all 
informed  by  books  in  which  the  perfection  of 
intelligence  is  promised,  and  which  give  nothing 
but  a  dry  and  fruitiess,  though  it  may  be  an  accu- 
rate and  conscientious,  enumeration  of  facts. 

As  regards  German  literature,  my  book  cont^dns 
only  the  history  of  the  so-called  Bomantic  school ; 
and  as  I  had  determined  to  give  the  most  accurate 
information  as  to  the  writers  who  belong  to  it, 
I  was  of  course  obliged  to  speak  more  in  detail 
of  them  than  of  German  poets  of  a  higher  rank, 
who  were  gifted  with  far  greater  talent,  yet  had 
no  place  therein.  I  have  even  passed  over  in 
silence  several  great  authors  who  are  sometimes 
included  among  its  allies,  but  who  in  my  opinion 


XXXll 


AUTHOR'S  PREFACE. 


have  naught  to  do  with  it ;  as,  for  instance,  Henry 
von  Kleist,  and  my  late  friend,  Karl  Immermann, 
and  Christian  Grabbe,  all  three  men  of  great 
genius.  They  are,  indeed,  giants  when  compared 
to  those  writers  of  the  Romantic  school  of  whom 
I  have  spoken  in  my  book ;  and  they  can,  without 
contradiction,  be  regarded  as  the  most  distinguished 
poets  of  the  Goethe  period.  Certainly  no  one  of 
them  has  been  since  then  surpassed,  though  the 
German  theatre  has  at  present  two  poets  of  rarest 
merit  in  the  person  of  my  friend  Friedrich 
Hebbel,  the  composer  of  "Judith,"  and  Alfred 
Meissner,  author  of  the  tragedy  known  as  "  The 
"Wife  of  Unas."  The  IBrst  is  allied  in  spirit  to 
Kleist  and  Grabbe,  and  a  trifling  critic  of  the  day 
would  not  be  capable  of  appreciating  his  genius ; 
the  other,  Alfred  Meissner,  is  much  more  acces- 
sible, his  public  is  greater,  he  has  a  soul  inspired 
with  passion,  and  I  am  convinced  that  he  will  yet 
attain  to  the  popularity  of  Frederic  Schiller,  whose 
presumptive  heir  he  is  at  present  in  Germany. 

I  have  remarked  that  I  could  not  mention  in 
my  book  several  of  our  great  German  poets  be- 
cause they  did  not  fit  into  the  frames  of  my 
gallery,  which  was  devoted  entirely  to  pictures  of 
the  Homantic  school.  Among  these  great  men  are 
several  lyrical  poets  who,  owing  to  the  direction 
which  their  souls  steeped  in  romance  have  taken, 


AUTHOR'S  PREFACE.  xxxiii 

seem  to  be  allied  to  it.  Of  these  are  four  whose 
talents  approach  those  of  our  greatest  poets.  They 
are  my  late  friend,  Adelbert  von  Chamisso,  who 
was  French  by  birth,  and  the  admirable  Friedrich 
Btickert,  whose  imagination  is  of  a  luxuriant 
oriental  fulness;  the  third  is  my  friend,  Count 
Auersperg,  known  by  the  name  of  Anastasius 
Griin,  a  lyric  poet,  rich  to  excess  in  imagery, 
and  gifted  with  a  great  and  noble  soul ;  finally, 
the  fourth,  but  recently  appearing  on  the  scene, 
is  Ferdinand  Freiligrath,  a  talent  of  the  first  class, 
a  powerful  colourist,  and  gifted  with  great  origin- 
ality. 

In  another  work,  which  I  hope  to  finish,  I  shall 
be  able  to  speak  in  detail  of  many  German  writers 
who  were  my  contemporaries,  and  who  are  not 
mentioned  in  my  book  "  On  Germany."  Therein 
I  shall  amply  fill  the  empty  places  in  this  last 
work;  and  I  pledge  my  word  that  neither  the 
public  nor  the  authors,  with  whom  I  at  present 
have  not  occupied  myself,  will  find  aught  missing 
which  they  have  expected. 

HEINRICH  HEINE. 

Paris,  January  15,  1855, 


VOL.  I. 


ZXXIV 


AUTHOR'S  PREFACE. 


EXTRACT  FROM  THE  FIRST  EDITION  OF 
THE  FRENCH  VERSION.  , 

In  the  first  three  parts  of  this  book  I  have  spoken 
rather  in  detail  of  the  wars  between  religion  and 
philosophy  in  Germany,  and  it  was  my  task  to 
clearly  set  forth  that  spiritual  revolution  in  my 
native  land,  regarding  which  Madame  de  Stael 
circulated  so  many  errors.  I  candidly  confess 
that  I  always  had  this  book  of  the  grandmother 
of  the  Doctrinaires  before  my  eyes,  and  it  was 
with  a  view  to  rectification  that  I  gave  mine  the 
same  title,  "  On  Germany." 


HEINRICH  HEINE. 


Pabis,  April  8,  1835. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  FIRST 
EDITION. 


I  MUST  beg  the  German  reader  to  especially  observe 
that  these  pages  were  originally  written  for  a 
French  publication,  the  Bevue  des  Devx  Mondes, 
and  for  a  special  and  then  timely  object.  For 
they  belong  to  a  survey  of  German  genius  of  the 
past,  a  part  of  which  I  had  previously  placed 
before  the  French  public,  and  which  had  also 
appeared  in  German,  as  contributions  to  the 
history  of  the  more  recent  literature  of  Germany. 
The  demands  of  the  periodical  press,  errors  in 
its  management,  the  want  of  requisite  books  and 
references,  inadequate  French  aid,  a  law  recently 
promulgated  in  Germany  regarding  foreign  works 
which  reached  me  alone,  and  similar  hindrances, 
prevented  me  from  publishing  the  different  por- 
tions of  the  survey  in  question  in  chronologcali 
order,  and  under  a  common  title.     Therefore  the 


XXXV 


xxxvi      PREFACE  TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION. 

present  work,  in  spite  of  its  apparent  internal 
unity  and  its  external  exclusiveness,  is  only  the 
fragment  of  a  greater  whole.  | 

I  greet  my  home  with  a  most  friendly  greeting 

HEINRICH  HEINE. 


Written  in  Paris,  December  1834. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  SECOND 
EDITION. 


When  the  first  edition  of  tliis  work  appeared,  and 
I  examined  a  copy,  I  was  not  a  little  shocked 
at  the  mutilations  and  errors  which  appeared 
everywhere  in  it.  Here  an  adjective  was  want- 
ing, there  a  phrase  in  parenthesis,  while  whole 
passages  were  omitted  without  reference  to  the 
context,  so  that  not  only  the  general  meaning, 
but  very  often  all  meaning  whatever,  had  dis- 
appeared. It  was  far  more  the  fear  of  Caesar 
than  that  of  God  which  had  guided  the  hand  of 
the  censor  in  these  excisions,  for  while  everything 
which  was  politically  suspicious  had  been  care- 
fully expunged,  the  most  serious  and  doubtful 
references  to  religion  had  been  passed  over.  The 
result  was,  that  the  real  tendency  or  intent  of  the 
book,  which  was  patriotic  and  democratic,  was  lost, 
and  there  glared  at  me  in  its  place  a  grim,  strange 

xzzTii 


xxxviu     PREFACE  TO  THE  SECOND  EDITION. 

spirit,  suggestive  of  scholastic  theologic  cuffing 
and  pummelling,  such  as  is  utterly  repugnant  to 
my  humane  and  tolerant  disposition. 

I  flattered  myself  that  I  could  make  it  all  right 
and  fill  up  the  gaps  in  a  second  edition;  but  no 
such  restoration  is  now  possible,  because  the  manu- 
script perished  in  the  house  of  my  publisher,  in 
the  great  fire  of  Hamburg.^  My  memory  is  too 
weak  to  aid  me  in  the  work,  neither  were  my 
eyes  in  a  fit  condition  for  it.  I  therefore  avail 
myself  of  the  French  version,  which  was  published 
before  the  German,  to  translate  and  replace  the 
more  important  missing  portions. 

One  of  these  passages  which  appeared  in  in- 
numerable French  newspapers,  which  was  much 
discussed,  and  even  cited  by  one  of  the  greatest 
statesmen  of  France,  Count  Mol^,  in  the  Chamber 
of  Deputies  last  year,  is  given  at  the  end  of  this 
new  edition,  and  it  may  show  what  relation  it  has 
to  the  depreciation  and  degradation  of  Germany, 
of  which  I,  according  to  certain  honourable  men, 
have  been  guilty  as  to  a  foreign  country.  If 
I  ever  in  my  anger  expressed  myself  plainly  as 
to  the  old  official  Germany,  the  mouldy  country 
of  the  Philistines  (which  has,  however,  produced 

1  It  baa  been  already  mentioned  that  it  was  subsequently 
found  and  used  for  the  edition  from  which  this  translation  is 
taken. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  SECOND  EDITION,    xxxix 

no  Goliath,  and  no  one  great  man),  then  it  was 
so  twisted  and  turned  as  to  make  it  appear  as 
if  I  meant  the  real  Germany  itself,  the  great 
mysterious,  or,  as  it  were,  the  anonymous  Germany 
of  the  German  people — those  sleeping  sovereigns 
with  whose  sceptre  and  crown  the  monkeys  are 
playing.  Such  insinuations  were  all  the  more 
easily  conveyed,  because  during  a  long  time  any 
true  expression  of  my  opinions  was  simply  im- 
possible, especially  during  the  decree  of  the 
Bundestag  against  "Young  Germany,"  which 
was  specially  directed  against  me,  and  which  put 
me  into  an  exceptionally  strained  position,  such 
as  was  unprecedented  in  the  annals  of  oppression 
of  the  press.  And  when  I  at  a  later  time  suc- 
ceeded in  getting  rid  somewhat  of  the  muzzle  my 
thoughts  were  still  clogged. 

This  book  is  a  fragment,  and  a  fragment  it 
shall  remain.  I  declare  on  my  honour  that  I 
should  be  pleased  if  I  could  leave  it  unpublished. 
Since  it  appeared  my  views  have  changed  as  re- 
gards many  things,  especially  religious  matters, 
and  much  which  I  then  asserted  is  totally  at 
variance  with  my  present  opinions.  But  the 
arrow  when  it  has  left  the  bow-string  no  longer 
belongs  to  the  archer,  and  the  word  is  no  longer 
in  the  control  of  him  who  spoke  it  when  it  has 
left  his  lips,  and   still  more  when  it  has  been 


xl  PREFACE  TO  THE  SECOND  EDITION.        j 

multiplied  by  the  press.  And  there  are  strict 
external  claims  upon  me  which  I  cannot  control, 
and  obligations  which  I  must  fulfil,  as  regards 
publishing  this  work,  which  render  it  impossible 
for  me  to  suppress  it.  I  could,  indeed,  as  many 
authors  would  ia  such  circumstances  have  done, 
take  refuge  in  softening  expressions  and  veiling 
phrases,  but  I  hate  from  my  very  soul  ambiguous 
words,  hypocritical  flowers  of  speech,  cowardly 
fig-leaves.^  But  under  all  circumstances  there 
always  remains  to  an  honourable  man  the  in- 
alienable right  to  candidly  confess  his  faults,  and 
I  will  here  exercise  the  right  without  diffidence. 
I  here  candidly  confess  that  everything  in  this 
book  which  relates  to  the  great  question  of  God  is 
as  false  as  it  was  foolish.^  And  just  as  irrational 
as  false  is  the  assertion  which  I  repeated  in  the 
school,  that  Deism  was  theoretically  doomed,  and 
must  for  the  future  drag  out  a  feeble  life  in  the 
world  of  mere  shams.  No,  it  is  not  true  that 
the  critic  of  reason,  which  has  conquered  the 
fanatical  advocates  of  proofs  of  the  existence  of 
God,  as  we  have  known  them  since  Anselm  of 
Canterbury,  has  also  put  an  end  to  the  existence 

^  Diefeigen  Feigenblatter.  In  England,  in  the  time  of  Queen 
Elizabeth,  the  term  Jico,  from  the  Italian,  was  equivalent  to  a 
reproach  of  cowardice.  It  still  survives  in  the  saying,  "  A  fig 
for  him,"  or  "  I  would  not  give  a  fig  for  it" 

^  Ur^>esonnen.     Heedless,  rash,  foolish  without  reflection. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  SECOND  EDITION.         xli 

of  God  Himself.  For  Deism  lives — lives  its  most 
lively  life ;  it  is  not  dead,  and  least  of  all  has  it 
been  killed  by  the  last  German  philosophy.  This 
cobweb  Berlin  dialectic  cannot  entice  a  dog  out 
of  the  kitchen,  or  kill  a  cat,  much  less  a  God. 
I  have  personally  experienced  how  little  danger 
there  is  in  their  killing;  they  are  always  killing 
Bomebody,  but  their  victims  always  live.  The 
door-keeper  of  the  Hegelian  school,  the  grim  Ruge, 
once  declared  stiff  and  strong,  or  rather  strong  and 
stiff,  that  he  had  knocked  me  dead  in  the  Halle 
Annual,  yet  all  the  while  I  was  running  about 
the  Boulevards  of  Paris,  fresh  and  sound,  and 
more  immortal  than  ever.  Poor,  valiant  Ruge! 
he  himself  could  not  refrain  from  the  heartiest 
laughter,  when  I  confessed  to  him,  here  in  Paris, 
that  I  had  never  seen  the  terrible  death-dealing 
sheets  of  the  Halle  Annual ;  and  my  rosy  cheeks, 
as  well  as  the  excellent  appetite  with  which  I 
swallowed  oysters,  convinced  him  how  little  of 
a  corpse  there  was  in  me.  In  fact,  I  was  then 
still  healthy  and  fat,  yes,  in  the  zenith  of  my 
fatness,  and  was  as  haughty  as  TCing  Nebuchad- 
nezzar before  his  fall. 

Ah !  a  few  years  later  there  came  a  bodily 
and  spiritual  change.  How  often  since  then 
have  I  reflected  on  the  history  of  that  Baby- 
lonian monarch  who  held  himself  to  be  God,  but 


..  ( 


/ 


xUi        PREFACE  TO  THE  SECOND  EDITION. 

i 

was  cast  down  from  the  height  of  his  delusion, 
crept  like  a  beast  in  the  field,  and  ate  grass — ^it 
may  have  been  salad.^  In  the  great  and  glorious 
Book  of  Daniel  lies  the  legend  which  I  commend, 
not  only  to  the  excellent  Ruge,  but  also  to  my 
still  more  deeply  deluded  friends,  Marx,  yea  even 
unto  Messieurs  Feuerbach,  Datimer,  Bruno  Bauer, 
Hengstenberg,  and  whatever  else  they  may  be 
called,  these  godless  self-gods — for  their  edifying 
consideration.  But  there  are  also  in  the  Bible 
many  beautiful  and  remarkable  narratives  well 
worth  their  attention,  as  for  instance  in  the  very 
beginning,  that  of  the  forbidden  tree  in  Paradise 
and  the  serpent,  that  little  private  professor  who, 
six  thousand  years  before  Hegel  was  bom,  taught 
the  whole  Hegelian  philosophy.  This  blue  stock- 
ing without  feet  showed  very  shrewdly  how  the 
Absolute  consisted  of  an  identity  of  being  and 
knowing*  how  man  became  God  through  know- 
ledge, or,  which  is  the  same  thing,  how  God 
in  man  first  attained  to  knowledge  of  Himself. 
However,  this  formula  is  not  so  clear  or  intel- 
ligible as  the  original  words :  "  If  ye  eat  of  the 

^  Es  wird  looM  Salat  gewesen  sein.  This  exclamation  in  thia 
place  perfectly  expresses  the  full  value  of  all  Heine's  deep  "  re- 
ligious conviction." — Trandator. 

^  Sein  und  Wiuen,  Existence  and  cognition,  from  the  teoh- 
nology  first  developed  by  Kant  and  greatly  enlarged  by  his 
followers. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  SECOND  EDITION.       xliii 

treQ  of  knowledge  ye  shall  be  as  gods."  Dame 
Eve  only  understood  one  thing  in  all  the  demon- 
stration, that  the  fruit  was  forbidden,  and  there- 
fore she,  the  good  lady,  because  it  was  forbidden, 
of  course  ate  it.  But  she  had  hardly  devoured 
the  enticing  apple  ere  she  lost  her  innocence, 
her  naive  directness  or  simplicity;  she  found 
that  she  was  too  much  undressed  for  a  person 
of  her  position — she,  the  ancestral  mother  to  be 
of  so  many  future  emperors  and  kings — and  so 
she  required  a  dress.  Of  course  only  a  dress 
of  fig-leaves,  for  in  those  days  your  silk-factories 
were  as  yet  unborn,  and  Paradise  was  wanting 
in  milliners  and  fashionable  dressmakers.  Oh, 
what  a  Paradise  it  was !  Strange,  that  when 
woman  comes  to  reflecting  self-consciousness  her 
first  thought  is  a  new  dress !  Truly  this  Biblical 
tale,  and  with  it  the  speech  of  the  serpent,  are 
ever  in  my  mind,  and  I  would  fain  place  it  as 
motto  to  this  book,  just  as  one  often  sees  before 
princely  gardens  a  board  with  the  warning ;  "  Here 
are  set  man-traps  and  spring-guns." 

I  have  already  in  my  last  work,  the  Boman- 
cero,  spoken  of  the  change  which  I  have  experi- 
enced as  regards  religious  matters.  Since  then 
many  questions  inspired  with  Christian  impor- 
tunacy  and  intrusiveness  have  been  addressed 
to   me,  asking  how  it  was  that   a  better  light 


/ 


"«rr»^ 


xliv       PREFACE  TO  THE  SECOND  EDITION. 

came  to  me.     Pious  souls  seemed  to  be  yearning 
for  me  to  reveal  some   miracle  to  them;   they 
would  fain  know  whether  I  did  not,  like  Paul, 
see  a  light  on  the  way  to  Damascus,  or  whether 
I  had  not,  like  Balaam  the  son  of  Beor,  been 
riding  a  stubborn  ass,  who  suddenly  opened  his 
mouth  and   began  to  speak   like  a  man?     No, 
ye  pious,   confiding   souls,   I  never   travelled   to 
Damascus;    I    know    nothing    whatever    about 
Damascus,  save  that  the  Jews  who  lived  there 
were  lately  accused  of  eating  old  Capuchins.    Nor 
would  I  perhaps  have  known  the  name  of  the  city, 
had  I  not  read  the  Canticles  of  King  Solomon, 
in  which  the  monarch  compares  the  nose  of  his 
beloved  to  a  tower  which  looketh  forth  towards 
Damascus.     Nor  did  I  ever  see  an  ass — that  is, 
a  four-footed  one  who  spoke  like  a  man ;  though  I 
have  met  men  enough  who,  whenever  they  opened 
their  mouths,  spoke  like  asses.     In  fact,  it  was 
neither  a  vision,  nor  a  seraphic  rapture,  nor  a 
voice  from  heaven,  or  wonderful  dream,  or  any 
such  marvellous  spiriting ;  ^  and  I  owe  my  en- 
lightenment entirely  and  simply  to  reading  an 
old  simple  book,  as  plain  and  modest  as  nature 
itself — yes,  and  quite  as  natural ;  a  book  which 

1  Wunderspuk.  There's  a  suspicion  of  satire  in  this  term 
which  would  be  perfectly  understood  in  Pennsylvania  if  one 
were  to  speak  of  a  wonderful  spook. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  SECOND  EDITION.        xlv 

seems  as  week-day  like  and  unpretending  as  the 
sun  which  warms  us,  or  as  the  bread  with  which 
we  are  fed ;  a  book  which  greets  us  with  ail  the 
intimate  confidence,  the  blessed  affection,  and  kind 
glance  of  an  old  grandmother,  who  herself  reads  it 
every  day  with  her  dear,  trembling  lips,  with  the 
spectacles  on  her  nose;  and  this  book  is,  simply 
and  briefly,  the  Bible.  This  is  called  with  cause 
the  Holy  Scripture ;  he  who  has  lost  his  God  may 
find  Him  again  in  this  book,  and  to  him  who  has 
never  known  Him  the  breath  of  the  divine  word  is 
wafted  from  it.  The  Jews,  who  are  connoisseurs 
in  costly  things,  knew  very  well  what  they  were 
about  when,  in  the  conflagration  of  the  Second 
Temple,  they  left  the  gold  and  silver  vessels  of 
sacrifice,  the  candelabras  and  lamps,  and  even  the 
high-priest's  breast-cloth,  with  its  great  jewels,  t  j 
take  care  of  themselves,  and  only  rescued  the 
Bible.  This  was  the  real  treasure  of  the  Temple, 
and  it  was  not — God  be  praised ! — a  prey  to  the 
flames,  or  to  Titus  Vespasian,  the  evildoer  who 
had  such  an  evil  end,  as  the  Rabbis  relate.  A 
Jewish  priest  who  lived  during  the  time  of 
Ptolemy  Philadelphus  at  Jerusalem,  and  who 
was  called  Joshua  ben  Siras  ben  Eliezer,  has 
expressed  in  Meschalim,  a  collection  of  gnomic 
sayings,  the  opinions  of  his  time  as  to  the  Bible, 
and  I  will  here  cite  his  beautiful  woras.     They 


xlvi       PREFACE  TO  THE  SECOND  EDITION. 


are  sacerdotally  solemn,  and  yet  vigorous  and 
refreshing  as  if  they  had  but  yesterday  been 
uttered,  and  are  as  follows : —  i 

"  All  of  this  is  the  Book  of  the  Covenant  made 
with  the  highest  God,  that  is  to  say,  the  Law 
which  Moses  ordained  for  a  treasure  to  the  house 
of  Jacob.  From  it  wisdom  has  ever  flown  like 
unto  the  water  of  Pison  when  it  is  great,  and  the 
water  of  Tigris  when  it  runs  over  in  the  time  of 
Spring.  From  it  understanding  has  run  like  the 
Euphrates  when  it  is  swollen,  and  like  Jordan 
in  the  harvest.  From  it  virtue  burst  forth  like 
light,  and  like  the  water  of  the  Nile  at  the  in- 
gathering of  the  harvest.  He  has  never  yet  lived 
who  learned  it  all,  nor  will  he  ever  exist  who  can 
master  all  its  wisdom,  for  its  sense  is  deeper  than 
a. 'V  sea,  and  its  word  deeper  than  any  abyss." 

HEINRICH  HEINK 


(Written  in  Paris  in  the  month  of  joy  (June)  1852.) 


CONTENTS 

VOLUME  NINE 

PAGE 

Translator's  Preface v 

The  German  Publisher's  Preface         .       .  xxi 

Author's  Preface       .       .       ...       .  xxvii 

Preface  to  the  First  Edition       .       .       .  xxxv 

Preface  to  the  Second  Edition    .       .       .  xxxvii 

GERMANY 

I 

First  Part- 
Book    I.  Germany  till  the  Time  of  Luther  .        i 
„      II.  From  Luther  to  Kant.        ...      68 
„    III.  From  Kant  to  Hegel  ....    132 


LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

Luther Frontispiece 

From  the  Portrait  by  Holbein. 

Lord  Bacon To  face  page    68 

Reproduced  from  an  Engraving. 

Lessing 

From  the  Portrait  by  ANTON  Graff. 


130 


I 


k    . 


GERMANY. 


TIRST  PART.— BOOK  FIRST. 


GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER. 

The  French  believed  of  late  years  that  they  had 
attained  to  an  understanding  of  Germany  when 
they  had  learned  something  of  our  literature.  Yet 
by  this  they  have  only  raised  themselves  from 
a  condition  of  utter  ignorance  to  simple  super- 
ficiality ;  for  the  products  of  our  literature  will  re- 
main for  them  silent  flowers,  and  the  whole  spirit 
of  German  thought  a  barren  repulsive  riddle,  so 
long  as  they  are  ignorant  of  the  significance  and 
meaning  of  religion  and  philosophy  in  Germany. 

By  imparting,  as  is  my  object,  some  explanatory 
information  on  this  subject,  I  believe  that  I  shall 
undertake  a  useful  work.  This  is  for  me  no  easy 
task.  Firstly,  it  is  necessary  to  avoid  a  technology 
of  which  the  French  are  utterly  ignorant.     And 

VOL.  L  A 


2       GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER. 

yet  I  have  not  so  deeply  sounded  the  subtleties  of 
theolog}'  or  metaphysics  as  to  be  able  to  formulise 
them  simply  and  briefly  to  suit  the  requirements 
of  the  French  public.  I  shall  therefore  treat  only 
of  the  great  questions  which  are  discussed  in 
German  divinity  and  worldly  wisdom,  and  I  shall 
always  take  into  due  consideration  the  limit  of 
my  own  powers  of  explanation,  and  those  of  com- 
prehension in  the  French  reader. 

Great  German  philosophers,  who  may  perhaps 
by  accident  cast  a  glance  over  these  pages,  will 
probably  shrug  their  shoulders  at  the  scantily 
abridged  fashion  of  all  which  I  here  present.  But 
they  will  kindly  observe  that  what  little  I  say  is 
clearly  and  significantly  expressed,  while  their  own 
works  are  indeed  very  fundamental — immeasurably 
fundamental,  very  profound — stupendously  pro- 
found, but  just  in  the  same  proportion  unintelli- 
gible. Of  what  use  to  the  people  are  locked-up 
granaries  if  they  have  no  key  to  them  ?  The 
people  hunger  for  knowledge,  and  thank  me  for 
the  bit  of  spiritual  truth  which  I  honourably  divide 
with  them.  [ 

I  do  not  think  it  is  want  of  ability  which  re- 
strains most  German  learned  men  from  expressing 
themselves  in  a  popular  manner  as  to  religion  and 
philosophy.  I  believe  it  is  a  diffident  fear  of  the 
results  of  their  own  thoughts,  which  they  dare  not 
put  before  the  people.     I  have  not  this  reserve ; 


GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER.       3 

I  am  not  a  learned  man ;  I  do  not  belong  to  the 
seven  hundred  sages  of  Germany.  I  stand  with 
the  great  multitude  before  the  gates  of  their  wis- 
dom, and  if  any  truth  slips  through  them  and 
gets  to  me,  that  is  enough.  I  write  it  nicely  out 
on  paper  and  hand  it  to  the  printer,  who  prints  it, 
and  then  it  belongs  to  all  the  world. 

The  religion  in  which  we  rejoice  in  Germany  is 
Christianity.  I  shall  therefore  have  to  tell  what 
Christianity  is,  how  it  became  Roman  Catholi- 
cism, how  this  passed  over  into  Protestantism,  and 
how  from  Protestantism  proceeded  German  philo- 
sophy.^ 

And  since  I  shall  begin  by  discussing  religion, 
I  beg  beforehand  that  all  pious  souls  shall  not  for 
goodness-sake  worry  themselves.  Fear  nothing, 
pious  souls ;  no  profane  jests  shall  pain  your  ears. 
Such  are,  however,  still  useful  in  Germany,  where 
it  is  necessary  to  restrain  for  a  while  the  power  of 
religion.  For  we  are  there  as  yet  where  you  were 
before  the  Revolution,  when  Christianity  was  in 
inseparable  alliance  with  the  old  regime.  The 
one  could  not  be  disturbed  so  long  as  the  other 
exerted  an  influence  on  the  multitude.  Voltaire 
had  to  let  his  sharp  laughter  be  heard  ere  Sanson 

'  In  the  Revue  des  Deux  Mondes,  as  well  as  in  the  later  French 
editions,  there  are  paraphrases  of  the  foregoing  introduction, 
but  which  are  inferior  to  it ;  nor  do  they  contain  anything  which 
is  not  virtually  included  in  it. — Tramlator. 


ti. 


4       GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER. 

could  let  his  axe  fall.  Yet  the  laughter,  like  the 
axe,  in  reality  proved  nothing — they  only  worked 
practically.  Voltaire  could  only  wound  the  body 
of  Christianity.  All  his  jests  drawn  from  Church 
history,  all  his  witty  sayings  as  to  dogmatics  and 
culture,  on  the  Bible,  the  holiest  book  of  mankind, 
on  the  Virgin  Mary,  the  fairest  flower  of  poetry, 
the  whole  dictionary  of  philosophic  arrows  which 
he  shot  freely  against  clergy  and  priests,  only  hurt 
the  mortal  body  of  Christianity,  not  its  deeper 
spirit,  not  its  immortal  soul. 

For  Christianity  is  an  idea,  and  as  such  inde- 
structible and  immortal,  like  every  idea.  But 
what  is  this  idea  ? 

It  is  just  because  this  idea  has  not  been  clearly 
understood,  and  because  externals  have  been  mis- 
taken for  the  reality,  that  there  is  as  yet  no  his- 
tory of  Christianity.  Two  opposite  parties  write 
the  history  of  the  Church,  and  instantly  contradict 
one  another ;  but  neither  will  ever  distinctly  ex- 
press what  that  idea  really  is  which  forms  the  true 
centre  of  Christianity,  and  which  strives  to  reveal 
itself  in  its  symbolism,  its  dogma,  as  in  its  cul- 
ture.^ Neither  Baronius,  the  Catholic  cardinal, 
nor  the  Protestant  court-councillor,  Schrock,  has 


^  KuUut.  The  true  meaning  of  this  disputed  word  is  here 
the  peculiar  form  which  national  spirit  or  character  assumes  in 
action,  including  its  social,  literary,  and  other  developments. — 
Translator, 


GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER.       5 

revealed  to  us  what  that  idea  really  was.  And 
though  you  should  turn  over  all  the  folios  of  the 
acts  of  the  councils,  the  Assemanic  code  of  litur- 
gies, and  the  whole  Historia  Ecclesiastica  of  Saca- 
relli,  you  would  never  learn  from  them  what  the 
idea  of  Christianity  really  was.  What  do  you  see, 
then,  in  the  histories  of  the  Oriental  and  Western 
Churches  ?  Nothing  but  dogmatic  subtleties,  in 
which,  in  the  one,  the  old  Greek  sophistry  shows 
itself  again,  while  in  the  Western  you  find  only 
disputes  on  points  of  discipline  concerning  eccle- 
siastical interests,  in  which  the  old  Roman  legal 
casuistry  and  arts  of  government  are  revived  with 
new  formulas  and  means  of  enforcing  them.  In 
fact,  just  as  people  fought  in  Constantinople  over 
the  Logos,  so  they  fought  in  Rome  over  the  rela- 
tive claims  of  secular  and  ecclesiastical  power; 
and  as  they  made  feuds  there  as  to  6fiov(Tio<i,  so 
they  quarrelled  here  concerning  investiture.  But 
the  Byzantine  questions,  Whether  the  Logos  was 
ofiovaia  to  God  the  Father  ? — ^whether  the  Virgin 
Mary  was  one  giving  birth  to  God  or  man? — 
whether  Christ,  wanting  food,  hungered,  or  only 
felt  hungry  because  he  wished  to  do  so? — all 
these  questions  had  in  the  background  mere  court 
intrigues,  whose  settlement  depended  on  what 
was  whispered  and  giggled  in  the  chambers  of 
the  sacred  palace — sacri  palatii — as,  for  instance, 
whether  Eudoxia  should  fall  or  Pulcheria?  for 


-m 


6  GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER. 

this  lady  hated  Nestorius,  who  had  betrayed  her 
amorous  intrigues,  and  that  one  hated  Cyrillus, 
who  protected  Pulcheria.  All  concentrated  at 
last  on  mere  intrigues  or  gossip  of  women  and 
eunuchs,  and  in  a  dogma  some  individual  (and 
in  the  individual  some  party)  was  persecuted  or 
protected.  Just  so  it  was  in  the  West.  Rome 
would  rule.  "  When  its  legions  fell,  it  sent  dogmas 
into  its  provinces ; "  every  quarrel  as  to  religion 
had  at  the  bottom  Eoman  usurpation,  the  main 
question  being  to  consolidate  the  power  of  the 
head  Koman  bishop.  This  ruler  was  very  easy 
indeed  as  to  many  matters  of  faith,  but  belched 
fire  and  flame  when  the  rights  of  the  Church 
were  attacked.  He  did  not  dispute  much  as  to 
the  persons  in  Christ,  but  a  great  deal  over  the 
consequences  of  the  Isidore  Decretals.^  He  cen- 
tralised his  power  by  canon  law,  appointment  of 
bishops,  degradation  of  princely  power,  monastic 
orders,  celibacy,  and  so  forth.  But  was  all  this 
Christianity  ?  Does  the  reading  of  all  this  history 
reveal  to  us  the  idea  of  Christianity  ?  What  is 
this  idea  ? 

How  this  idea  developed  itself  historically,  and 
manifested  itself  in  the  world  of  things  visible, 

^  There  is  a  very  amusing  chapter  in  the  Chronicles  of 
Rabelais  as  to  the  immense  importance  attached  to  these  holy 
decretals,  which  were  virtually  more  revered  than  the  Scrip- 
tares. — TraJidator. 


.fi  • 


GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIMS  OP  LUTHER.       7 

may  be  easily  perceived  in  the  first  century  after 
Christ's  birth,  if  we  will,  without  prejudice,  in- 
vestigate the  history  of  the  Manichaeans  and 
Gnostics.  Although  the  first  have  been  declared 
heretics,  and  the  last  decried  and  damned  by  the 
Church,  they  still  maintained  an  influence  on  the 
dogma;  the  art  of  the  Church  developed  itself 
from  their  symbolism,  and  their  manner  of  think- 
ing penetrated  the  whole  life  of  the  Christian 
races.  The  Manichaeans,  as  regards  fundamental 
principles,  are  not  very  different  from  the  Gnostics. 
The  theory  of  two  opposing,  warring  principles, 
good  and  bad,  is  common  to  both.  The  Mani- 
chaeans derived  this  idea  from  the  old  Persian 
religion,  in  which  Ormuzd,  or  Light,  is  opposed 
as  an  enemy  to  Ahriman,  or  Darkness.  The  true 
Gnostics  placed  more  reliance  on  the  pre-existence 
of  the  good  principle,  and  explained  the  existence 
of  the  evil  by  emanation,  "by  the  generations  of 
aeons,  who,  the  more  remote  they  become  from 
their  origin,  die  the  more  degraded.  According 
to  Cerinthus,  the  creator  of  this  our  world  was 
by  no  means  the  highest  God,  but  only  an  emana- 
tion from  him,  one  of  the  aeons,  the  real  demi- 
urgus,  who  gradually  became  deteriorated,  and 
who  now,  as  the  bad  principle,  stands  as  an  enemy 
to  the  good  principle,  or  Logos,  directly  sprung 
from  the  highest  God.  This  Gnostic  view  of  the 
world  is  most  ancient  Indian,  and  it  involves  the 


T  r- 


k*-*it>-j»k\^a<«»'>*--.  -jfc  i.»-!«J»-'«.««!i" 


8       GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER. 

doctrine  of  the  incarnation  of  God,  of  the  mortifi- 
cation of  the  flesh,  of  spiritual  introversion,^  and 
from  these  it  developed  the  ascetic,  contemplative, 
monkish  life  which  is  the  most  perfect  blossom  of 
the  Christian  idea.  But  this  idea  could  only  ex- 
press itself  in  a  very  confused  manner  in  dog- 
matics, and  very  sadly  and  gloomily  in  culture. 
Yet  we  see  the  doctrines  of  the  two  schools  mani- 
festing themselves  everywhere ;  the  evil  Satan 
appears  opposed  to  the  good  Christ ;  the  world  of 
the  spirit  is  set  forth  by  the  latter,  that  of  matter 
by  Satan.  Our  soul  belongs  to  one,  our  body  to 
the  other,  and  the  whole  world  of  phenomena  or 
Nature  is  accordingly  originally  evil,  and  Satan, 
the  prince  of  darkness,  will  allure  us  with  it  to  de- 
struction, and  we  must  renounce  all  the  sensuous 
joys  of  life  or  we  must  chasten  and  torment  the 
body,  which  is  a  copyhold  of  Satan,  so  that  the  soul 
may  the  more  easily  soar  upward  into  the  light- 
bright  heaven,  the  glorious  kingdom  of  Christ. 

This  view  of  the  world,  the  real  idea  of  Christi- 
anity, spread  with  great  rapidity  over  the  whole 
Roman  realm  like  an  infectious  disease,  and  the 
whole  Middle  Age  endured  its  agonies,  sometimes 
in  the  delirium  of  fever,  and  anon  in  death-like 
exhaustion,  and  we  moderns  still  feel  its  cramps 
and  debilities  in  our  limbs.     Even  if  one  of  us  be 

^  It%tieJueU>stver$enien,  the  sinking  into  one's  self,  or  seeking 
God  and  light  in  our  own  inner  being. — TVanilator.  , 


■:■%'■'. 


GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER.       9 

in  health,  he  cannot  escape  the  general  lazar-house 
atmosphere,  and  he  feels  miserable  as  the  only 
sound  man  among  utter  invalids.  When  it  shall 
come  to  pass  that  mankind  shall  regain  their 
perfect  health,  when  peace  shall  be  restored  be- 
tween body  and  soul  and  they  blend  again  in 
their  original  harmony,  then  we  shall  hardly 
understand  the  artificial,  unnatural  strife  which 
Christianity  caused  between  them.  Happier  and 
more  beautiful  generations,  who,  begotten  in  free- 
choice  ^  embraces,  will  flourish  in  a  religion  of  joy 
and  pleasure,  will  smile  sadly  at  their  poor  ances- 
tors, who,  mournful  and  melancholy,  abstained  from 
all  enjoyment  of  this  beautiful  world,  and  by 
mortifying  and  killing  the  warm,  glowing,  coloured 
sensuousness,  almost  wasted  into  cold  spectres. 
Yes,  I  say  it  definitely,  our  descendants  will  be 
more  beautiful  and  happier  than  we  are.  For  I 
believe  in  progress,  I  believe  that  man  was  meant 
to  be  happy,  and  I  have  a  higher  opinion  of 
Divinity  than  those  pious  people  who  think  it 
only  created  humanity  to  make  it  suffer.  I  would 
beforehand,  by  the  blessings  of  free  political  and 
industrial  institutions,  establish  that  happiness, 
which,  according  to  the  religious,  will  be  first 
found  in  heaven  on  the  day  of  judgment.  True, 
the  one  may  be  as  great  a  folly  or  as  idle  a  hope 

^  ie.,  free-love. — Trandator. 


10     GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER, 

as  the  other,  and  perhaps  there  is  to  be  no  resur- 
rection of  humanity  either  in  the  politico-moral 
or  in  the  apostolic-catholic  sense.  Humanity  is 
perhaps  meant  for  everlasting  misery ;  races  are 
perhaps  to  be  damned  for  ever,  trampled  on  by 
despots,  bought  and  sold  by  their  accomplices,  and 
mocked  by  their  lackeys.  Ah !  if  this  be  so,  we 
must  strive  to  uphold  Christianity,  even  if  we 
believe  it  to  be  an  error.  Uphold  it  we  must ;  one 
must  go  in  the  monkish  cowl  and  barefoot  over 
Europe,  and  preach  the  nothingness  of  all  earthly 
goods  or  goodness  and  asceticism,  and  hold  before 
flagellated  and  mocked  men  the  consoling  cruci- 
fix, and  promise  them — after  death — all  the  seven 
heavens  up  there  on  high. 

It  is  perhaps  because  the  magnates  of  this 
world  are  so  sure  of  their  power,  and  have  de- 
termined in  their  hearts  to  eternally  abuse  it,  to  our 
woe,  that  they  are  convinced  of  the  necessity  of 
Christianity  for  the  people,  and  it  is  at  bottom  a 
tender  feeling  for  humanity  which  makes  them 
take  such  pains  to  maintain  this  religion.^ 

The  final  destiny  of  Christianity  or  the  dura- 
tion of  religion  depends  on  whether  we  need  it. 
This  religion  was  a  benefit  for  suffering  mankind 
for  eighteen  centuries ;  it  was  providential,  divine, 
holy.  All  the  benefits  which  it  conferred  on 
civilisation,  by  taming  the  strong  and  strengthen- 

'  This  passage  is  wanting  in  the  French  version. 


GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OP  LUTHER,     ii 

ing  the  weak,  bound  races  together  by  the  same 
feelings  and  a  common  language,  and  whatever 
else  its  apologists  urge  is  all  of  small  account 
in  comparison  to  that  greater  comfort  which  it 
of  itself  conferred  on  mankind.  Eternal  renown 
is  due  to  that  symbol  of  a  suffering  God,  the 
Saviour  with  a  cross  of  thorns,  the  crucified 
Christ,  whose  blood  was  also  the  allaying  balsam 
which  ran  down  into  the  wounds  of  humanity. 
The  poet  will  of  all  others  recognise  with  awe 
and  honour  the  terrible  sublimity  of  this  symbol. 
The  whole  system  of  symbols  which  express  them- 
selves in  the  art  and  life  of  the  Middle  Age  will 
through  all  time  awaken  the  amazed  admiration 
of  the  artist.  And  indeed  what  a  colossal  result 
it  had  in  Christian  art,  especially  in  architecture ! 
How  these  Gothic  cathedrals  are  in  harmony  with 
the  general  culture,  and  how  the  idea  of  the 
Church  is  revealed  in  them !  Everything  in  them 
rises  and  soars,  everything  transforms  itself ;  the 
stone  sprouts  in  sprays,  branches,  and  foliage,  and 
becomes  a  tree,  the  fruit  of  the  vine,  and  the 
branches  become  flesh  and  blood;  man  becomes 
God — God  a  pure  spirit!  Truly  the  Christian 
life  in  the  Middle  Age  is  an  ever-fertile,  inex- 
haustibly precious  mass  of  material  for  the  poet. 
Only  Christianity  could  in  this  world  cause  con- 
ditions involving  such  bold  contrasts,  such  varied 
sorrows,  such  startling  beauties,  that  we  might 


!  ■"*^« — ».».^?'  * '  ''"•  ;■' ;  ..,~.;»^>^, 


12      GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OP  LUTHER. 

suppose  they  had  really  never  existed,  and  that 
all  was  a  vast  delirious  dream,  the  fevered  vision 
of  a  crazy  god.*  Nature  herself  seemed  then  to 
be  fantastically  disguised,  and  yet,  though  man, 
absorbed  in  abstract  subtle  investigation  of  trifles, 
turned  away  peevishly  from  her,  she  often  roused 
him  with  a  voice  so  shndderingly  sweet,  so  terribly 
lovely,  with  such  magic  power,  that  he  involun- 
tarily listened  and  smiled,  and  was  terrified,  and 
even  died  of  it.  Here  the  story  of  the  Nightin- 
gale of  Basle  occurs  to  me,  and  as  you  probably 
do  not  know  it,  I  will  tell  it  to  you. 

"In  May  1433,  at  the  time  of  the  Council,  a 
company  of  clergymen  went  walking  in  a  grove 
near  Basle,  prelates  and  doctors,  monks  of  every 
colour,  and  they  disputed  over  theological  con- 
troversies, and  distinguished  and  argued,  or  quar- 
relled about  annates,  expectatives,  and  reserva- 
tions, or  debated  whether  Thomas  of  Aquinas  was 
a  greater  philosopher  than  Bonaventura,  for  all  I 
know!  But  all  at  once,  in  the  midst  of  their 
dogmatic  and  abstract  discussions,  they  stopped 
and  stood  as  if  rooted  before  a  blooming  linden- 
tree  on  which  sat  a  nightingale,  who  exulted  and 

^  A  simile  which  Heine  repeats  several  times  in  his  works. 
It  appears  to  have  been  suggested  by  the  remark  of  Spinoza 
{Trae.  Polit.),  that  God  thinks  worlds  as  man  thinks  thoughts. 
It  is  remarkable  that  Heine,  however,  represents  this  deity  as 
drunk  {Reite  BUder,  Pictures  of  Travd,  vol.  L  "  Ideas,"  chap. 
iiL ),  or  insane,  as  in  the  present  instance. — TranslcUor. 


'■ff*'''X  jr 


"fi' 


GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OP  LUTHER.     13 

sobbed  in  the  softest  and  tenderest  melodies. 
Then  the  learned  men  were  strangely  happy  in 
their  souls,  the  warm  notes  of  spring  rushed  into 
their  scholastic  encloistered  hearts,  their  feelings 
awoke  as  from  a  gloomy  winter's  sleep,  they  looked 
at  one  another  with  amazed  delight,  till  one  of 
them  made  the  shrewd  remark  that  there  was 
something  wrong  in  all  this ;  that  this  nightingale 
might  well  be  a  devil ;  that  this  devil  drew  them 
with  his  charming  sounds  from  their  Christian 
discourse,  and  would  fain  invite  them  to  lechery 
and  similar  sweet  sins,  and  he  began  to  exorcise, 
probably  in  the  formula  which  was  then  used: 
Adjuro  te  per  eum,  qui  venturus  est,  judicare  vivos 
et  mortuos,  et  cetera.  It  is  said  that  at  this  con- 
juration the  bird  replied,  'Yes,  I  am  an  vile 
spirit,'  and  flew  laughing  away.  But  those  who 
heard  his  song  fell  ill,  it  is  said,  that  day,  and 
soon  after  died."^ 

^  It  may  interest  many  readers,  and  especially  those  who 
are  extremely  critical  as  to  translations  of  Heine,  to  know 
how  Heine  himself  translated,  for  which  reason  I  give  the  ori- 
ginal of  this  tale,  as  first  told  by  Manlius,  and  repeated  by 
Grosius  in  his  Magica,  seu  MirabHiwn  Hiitoriarum  de  Spectris  et 
Apparitionibus.  Islebise  1597.  It  occurs  in  several  later  works. 
Heine  took  his  version  from  Kommann,  Temp,  N.H.  161 1. 

"Docti  quidam  viri  in  Concilio  Basliensi  anim&  gratia  in 
sylvulam  egressi  fuerant,  ut  amic^  de  controversiis  illius  tem- 
poris  conferrent.  Inter  eundem  aviculam  in  modum  luscinis 
dulcissim^,  canentem  audiunt :  admirantur  vocis  dulcedinem 
ujcus  sit  avis  cautus  dubitant.     Ingressi  silvam,  arbori  inai- 


14     GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER. 

I 
This  story  needs  no  comment.  It  bears  all  the 
cruel  impress  of  a  time  when  everything  which 
was  sweet  and  lovely  was  cried  down  as  devilish. 
Even  the  nightingale  was  slandered,  and  peopla 
crossed  themselves  when  it  sang.    The  true  Chria- 

dentem  aviculatn  conspicantar,  eatnque  citra  remisgionem  quiitn 
BuaviB8iin6  canentem  attentis  omnes  et  aniinis  et  auribas 
auscultant.  Tandem  is,  qui  cseteria  cordatior  videri  volebat, 
alloquitur  his  verbia  aviculam  :  '  Adjuro  te  in  nomine  Christi, 
ut  indices  nobis,  quis  sis  ? '  Respondit  avicula  :  '  Se  esse  tmam 
ex  damnatis  animabus,  et  destinatam  esse  ad  eum  locum,  usqne 
ad  diem  novissimum,  et  tunc  supplicium  sternum  subeun- 
dum  esse.'  His  dictis  avolavit  ex  arbore,  clamitans  :  '  0  quam 
diutuma  et  immenta  e»t  atemitai  I '  '  Judico  f uisse  Diabo- 
lum,'  inquit  Fhilippus  Melanchthon,  'in  illo  loco  habitantem.' 
Omnea  ver5  qui  haio  adjurationi  interfuenint,  veheroentur 
tegrotare  ccBperunt,  et  paul5  post  aunt  mortui.  {In  CoUectaneit 
Mania. ) 

It  will  be  seen  by  this  that  the  bird  in  question  was  not  **  an 
evil  spirit"  or  devil,  bat  an  unfortunate  condemned  human 
soul,  pouring  forth  its  complaint  in  the  wailing  tones  of  the 
nightingale,  even  as  of  yore  Philomela  was  supposed  to  lament 
her  cruel  fate.  Friedrich  gives  several  instances  to  prove 
(Symbolik  der  Natur,  p.  513),  that  the  song  of  the  nightingale 
was  anciently  regarded  everywhere  as  melancholy  or  mournful, 
"and  of  an  edifying  nature,  referring  to  the  changes  of  life 
and  its  loss''  (Unterganff).  Nor  does  the  unfortunate  being 
flyaway  "laughing,"  but  with  the  very  impressive  cry,  "Oh, 
how  lasting  and  vast  ia  eternity  ! "  That  the  monks  all  died 
is,  I  believe,  a  comment  to  the  effect  that  they  were  punished 
for  a  want  ot  pity  and  charity.  As  Heine  tells  the  tale,  its 
whole  inner  or  true  meaning  ia  quite  perverted.  It  appears 
to  have  been  conceived  by  some  heretic  of  the  Middle  Ages. 
Heine,  however,  ignorantly  follows  the  Protestant  Melanchthon 
in  hia  half -understanding  of  it,  and  not  the  originaL — Trana- 
lator.  I 


OERUANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OP  LUTHER.      15 

tian  walked  with  agonised,  reserved  feelings,  like 
an  abstracted  spectre  here  and  there  in  blooming 
Nature.  I  may  discuss  this  relation  of  the  Chris- 
tian to  Nature  in  another  book,  and  more  fully, 
when  I  fundamentally  treat  of  German  popular 
beliefs  in  explanation  of  the  new  romantic  litera- 
ture. At  present  I  can  only  remark  that  French 
authors,  misled  by  German  authorities,  are  all 
in  error  when  they  assume  that  these  popular 
beliefs  were  the  same  during  the  Middle  Age  all 
over  Europe.  It  was  only  as  regarded  the  good 
principle,  or  the  kingdom  of  Christ,  that  people 
held  all  over  Europe  the  same  views ;  the  Roman 
Church  took  good  care  of  that,  and  whoever 
differed  from  the  prescribed  opinion  was  a 
heretic.  But  in  different  countries  there  were 
different  views  as  regards  the  evil  principle  and 
the  kingdom  of  Satan,  and  in  Germany  they 
varied  much  from  those  of  the  Latin  South.* 
This  was  caused  by  the  fact  that  the  Christian 
priesthood  did  not  reject  the  old  national  gods 
whom  they  found  existing,  as  if  they  were  idle 
fancies,  cobwebs  of  the  brain,  but  allowed  them 
a  real  existence  as  male  and  female  devils,  who 
had  lost  by  the  triumph  of  Christ  their  power 


^  Somanisehen  Sitden.  Aa  here  emplojed,  Romaniaeh  meuu 
neither  Roni&n  nor  Romanesque  nor  Romantic,  bat  f-^tin  ^ 
a{^lied  to  the  desoendaats  of  the  aacient  Latin-q>eaking 
—TnuuUUor. 


i6     GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER. 

over  mankind,  and  who  now  strove  by  wanton 
smiles  and  wicked  wiles  to  lead  man  into  sin. 
All  Olympus  became  an  aerial  fantastic  hell,^  and 
when  a  poet  of  the  Middle  Ages  sang  the  history 
of  the  gods  of  Greece,  however  beautifully,  the 
pious  Christian  saw  in  it  all  only  spectres  and 
devils.  This  gloomy  delusion  of  the  monks  bore 
most  bitteriy  on  poor  Venus,  who  passed  specially 
for  a  daughter  of  Beelzebub,  and  the  excellent 
knight  Tannhiiser  said  to  her  very  face — 

"  O  Venus,  lovely  lady  mine,  •; 

Thou  art  a  deviless  !  "  | 

For  she  had  allured  Sir  Tannhiiser  into  that 
wondrous  cave  which  is  also  called  the  Venusberg, 
of  which  the  legend  went  that  the  beautiful 
goddess  there  led  with  her  damsels  and  paramours, 
amid  games  and  dances,  the  maddest,  merriest  life. 
Poor  Diana,  despite  her  chastity,  was  not  safe 
from  a  similar  fate,  and  she  was  made  to  hunt 
by  night  with  her  nymphs  through  the  forests, 
whence  the  legend  of  the  raging  host  of  the 
Wild  Hunt.2  , 


^  Eine  luftige  HSUe,  "an  airy  hell."  In  the  French  version, 
"Tout  rOlympe  ^tait  devenu  un  enfer  dans  I'espace." 

*  Popular  legend  as  well  as  scientific  folk-lore  assign  a  very 
different  origin  to  the  Wild  Hunt,  whose  leader,  whether  Odin, 
Rodenstein,  or  Hackelnberg,  was  certainly  male  and  of  Northern 
origin.  Diana  as  Hecate  was  the  dreaded  queen  of  all  the 
witches   in  classic  times,  as  she  is  to-day  in  Italy,  and  the 


GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER,      17 

Here  the  Gnostic  view  of  the  deterioration  of 
that  which  was  divine  shows  itself  in  all  its  ful- 
ness, and  it  was  in  this  changing  of  the  forms  of 
earlier  national  faiths  that  the  idea  of  Christianity 
manifests  itself  most  profoundly  and  perfectly. 

The  national  faith  in  Europe  and  in  the  North, 
far  more  than  in  the  South,  was  pantheistic ;  its 
mysteries  and  symbols,  were  related  to  a  wor- 
ship of  Nature.  In  every  element  man  revered 
wondrous  beings,  in  every  tree  breathed  a  divinity ; 
the  whole  world  of  phenomena  was  deified  through- 
out; but  Christianity  reversed  the  view,  and  in 
place  of  a  deified  Nature  gave  us  one  utterly  be- 
devilled. But  the  gay  and  smiling  images  of 
Grecian  gods,  made  more  beautiful  by  art,  which 
ruled  with  Roman  culture  in  the  South,  could 
not  be  so  easily  changed  into  hideous  and  horrible 
Satanic  masques  as  the  forms  of  German  gods, 
which  had  of  course  been  modelled  by  no  artistic 
sense,  and  were,  from  the  first,  as  grim  and  gloomy 
as  the  North  itself.  Therefore  there  could  not  be 
created  by  you  in  France  any  such  darkling  horrors 
of  devildom  as  with  us,  and  even  demonology  and 
witchcraft  assumed  with  you  a  more  cheerful  form. 

Christian  Middle  Ages  added  nothing  to  the  nocturnal  terrors 
with  which  she  was  anciently  surrounded.  In  Europe,  as  in 
India,  she  Vas  the  Moon-cat  who  all  night  long  hunted  the 
star-mice.  Heine  is  here  quite  in  the  right  as  to  his  principle, 
but  very  unfortunate  in  his  illustrations.  Vide  notes  to  "  the 
goddess  Diana,"  with  which  this  work  ends. — Trandator. 
VOL.  I.  B 


i8     GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER. 


How  beautiful,  clear,  and  rich  in  colour  are  your 
legendary  tides  in  comparison  with  ours — tJiose 
monstrous  abortions,  which  consist  of  blood  and 
mist,  and  which  grin  at  us  so  grisly  and  so  grim ! 
Our  mediaeval  poets,  who  generally  chose  mate- 
rials which  had  been  first  invented  or  worked  up 
in  Brittany  and  Normandy,  gave,  perhaps  inten- 
tionally, as  much  as  was  possible  of  that  cheerful 
old  French  spirit.  But  in  our  national  poems 
and  our  oral  popular  tales  there  ever  remained 
that  dusky  mystical  Northern  spirit,  of  which  you 
have  hardly  an  idea.  You  too  have,  like  us,  dif- 
ferent kinds  of  elementary  spirits,  but  they  are 
as  different  from  ours  as  a  German  is  from  a 
Frenchman.  How  clear,  and  especially  how  clean, 
are  the  demons  in  your  fabliaux  and  romances 
of  chivalry  compared  with  our  obscure,  and  often 
obscene,  canaille  of  ghosts!  Your  fairies  and 
elementary  spirits,  from  whatever  source  derived, 
from  Wales  or  Arabia,  are  at  least  naturalised, 
and  a  French  ghost  is  as  different  from  a 
German  Geist  as  a  dandy  who  lounges  on  the 
Boulevard  Coblence  differs  from  a  German  por- 
ter. Your  water-nymphs — for  instance,  Melusina — 
differ  from  ours  as  much  as  a  princess  differs  from 
a  washerwoman.  How  the  fairy  Morgana  would 
be  frightened  should  she  meet  a  German  witch 
stark  naked,  smeared  with  ointment,  riding  on  a 
broom  to  the   Brocken!     This  mountain  is  no 


GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER.     19 

charming  Avalon,  but  a  rendezvous  for  all  that  is 
hideous  and  horrible.  On  its  summit  sits  Satan 
in  the  form  of  a  black  goat.  Every  witch  ap- 
proaches him  with  a  candle  in  her  hand,  and 
kisses  him  behind  where  the  back  ends.  After 
this  ceremony  the  infamous  sisterhood  dance 
round  him,  and  sing,  "Donderemus!  Donde- 
remus ! "  The  goat  bleats,  the  infernal  com- 
pany^ yell  and  hurrah.  It  is  a  bad  omen  for 
the  witch  who  loses  a  shoe,  for  it  is  a  sign  that 
she  will  be  burned  during  the  year  to  come. 
But  the  mad  music  of  the  Sabbat,  which  is  for 
all  the  world  like  that  of  Berlioz,  drowns  all 
painful  forebodings,  and  when  the  poor  witch 
awakes  in  the  morning  from  her  intoxication,  she 
lies  naked  and  weary  in  the  ashes  by  the  extin- 
guished fire.2 

^  Chdhilt,  probably  from  cajute,  a  cabin  ;  hence  cabinet  or 
select  assembly.  Hence  the  American  "in  cahoot." — Tram- 
lator. 

'  In  these  passages  Heine,  to  flatter  his  public,  compares  the 
higher  class  of  early  literary  French  romances  with  the  lowest 
of  later  popular  German  witch-tales.  But  according  to  Prse- 
torius  {Of  Witch- Meetings  in  France,  p.  28 1,  Bloclcesberge), 
Bodinus,  Sprenger,  and  many  other  authorities,  the  witchcraft 
of  France  was  precisely  the  same  in  every  respect  as  that  which 
is  here  described  as  peculiarly  German.  The  witchcraft  of  the 
Church,  which  was  so  enormously  developed  by  the  Bull  of  Pope 
Innocent  VIII.,  and  which  was  based  on  a  pact  with  the  devil, 
was  the  same  wherever  the  power  of  the  Pope  prevailed,  and 
wherever  the  Catholic  law,  as  laid  down  by  the  oflBcial  MaUeiu 
malcficarum  and  Grillandus,  was  accepted.     Italian  witchcraft 


20     GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER. 

The  best  information  as  to  these  witches  is  to  be 
found  in  the  Daemonologie  of  the  strictly  honour- 
able and  deeply  learned  Doctor  Nicholas  Remigius, 
the  criminal  judge  of  the  Duke  of  Lorraine.  This 
sagacious  man  had  indeed  the  best  of  opportunities 
to  learn  the  ways  of  witches,  for  he  was  "in- 
structor "  in  their  trials,  and  in  his  time,  and  in 
Lorraine  alone,  eight  hundred  women  mounted  the 
funeral  pyre  after  being  found  guilty  of  sorcery.* 
The  proof  consisted  generally  in  this :  the  hands 
and  feet  of  the  accused  were  tied,  and  then  the 
victim  was  thrown  into  the  water.  K  she  sank 
and  was  drowned,  she  was  innocent ;  if  she  floated, 
she  was  held  to  be  guilty,  and  burned  alive.  Such 
was  the  logic  of  that  time.  ; 

As  a  fundamental  trait  in  the  character  of 
German  demons,  we  see  that  everything  ideal  has 

as  described  by  Pico  Mirandola  in  "  La  Strega,"  ia  in  every 
detail  identical  with  that  depicted  by  Heine.  The  real  motive 
of  the  witch  persecution  was  to  suppress  heresy,  and  nine-tenths 
of  all  that  was  known  about  witchcraft  and  its  horrors  came 
from  the  Church,  and  was  disseminated  by  it  all  over  the 
world  (Horst). 

^  The  words  of  Remigius  on  this  subject  are : — "  I  have 
been  for  sixteen  years  a  judge  of  witches,  I  have  with  my 
helpers  during  this  time  convicted  eight  hundred  vnzardt  and 
witches,  and  burned  them  in  honour  of  God." — Kemigii,  Dcemono- 
latria,  1st  part,  xv.  p.  74  (not  Ddnvondogie,  as  Heine  gives  it). 
This  work  is  full  of  information,  but  far  superior  to  it  is  the 
Ddmonomagie  of  Georg  Christian  Horst  (Frankfurt-a-M.,  1818), 
a  book  of  genius  written  in  a  singularly  liberal  spirit  for  its  time. 
— Trandator. 


GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER.     21 

been  stripped  from  them,  and  what  is  vulgar  and 
horrible  is  intimately  mingled  in  their  nature 
The  more  coarsely  familiar  they  are  in  approach- 
ing us,  the  more  horrible  is  the  effect.  Nothing 
ifl  so  uncanny  as  our  knocking  spirits,  gobKns, 
and  brownies.  PraBtorius  in  his  AnthropodeTmbS 
Plutonicus  has  in  this  relation  a  passage  which  I 
here  copy  from  Dobeneck.^ 

"  The  ancients  had  no  other  opinion  as  to  noisy 
spirits  than  that  they  were  really  human  beings  in 
the  form  of  little  children  with  parti-coloured  short 
frock  or  garment.  Some  add  to  this  that  they 
sometimes  have  a  knife  in  their  backs,  sometimes 
something  else,  according  to  whatever  instrument 
it  was  with  which  they  were  slain,  which  is  full 
grim  and  grisly  to  behold.  For  superstitious 
people  think  they  are  the  souls  of  those  who 
have  been  murdered  in  the  house.  And  they 
gossip  many  tales,  as  that  when  the  goblins  have 
done  good  service  for  a  while,  they  made  them- 
selves so  beloved  that  their  friends  have  earnestly 
desired  to  see  them,  and  begged  it ;  to  which  the 
noise-spirits  never  willingly  assented,  declaring 

^  The  Anthropodemui  is  a  work  of  nearly  1300  pages,  devoted 
to  descriptions  of  all  kinds  of  marvellous  beings.  It  will  be 
found  fully  discussed  in  another  chapter.  That  of  Friedrich  L. 
F.  von  Dobeneck  is  entitled  Bet  Deuttehm  MUtdaUert  VoUct- 
glavben  und  Heroentagen,  Berlin,  18 15.  Its  author  also  makes 
great  use  of  Prsetoriua. — Tramlator. 


fMtt^msMt^- 


>.iii»i,'iifcj   iiirifci.---)*.^    ;.  -fr-^jib  >  ..**:'^*';^ 


22      GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER. 

that  no  one  could  behold  them  without  being 
horrified.  Yet  when  it  so  came  that  these  girls 
would  not  forego  their  curiosity,  the  goblins 
mentioned  a  place  in  the  house  where  they 
might  be  seen  in  person,  but  told  them  they 
must  have  ready  a  paU  of  cold  water.  And 
what  happened  was  that  a  goblin  showed  him- 
self on  the  ground,  lying  naked  on  a  cushion 
with  a  great  murderous  knife  sticking  in  his 
back.  At  which  many  a  maid  was  so  much 
frightened  as  to  faint.  Whereupon  the  Thing 
jumped  up,  seized  the  water,  and  dashed  it  over 
the  girl,  so  that  she  came  to  herself.  Whereupon 
the  girls  lost  their  yearning,  and  never  more 
desired  to  see  dear  Chimmy.^  The  goblins  have 
all  names  of  their  own,  but  are  generally  called 
Chim.  And  when  they  are  well  inclined  to  the 
men  or  women  servants,  they  do  for  them  all  their 
housework,  curry  and  feed  the  horses,  clean  out 
the  stables,  scour  up  everything,  and  attend  to 
everything  in  the  house,  and  under  their  care 
the  cattle  thrive  and  grow.  For  this  the  goblin 
must  be  caressed  by  the  house-folk ;  he  must  not 
be  annoyed  in  the  least,  either  by  being  laughed 

'  In  PnetoriuB,  Court  Chimgen,  i.e.  Chimchen.  Heine  speaks 
of  all  this  as  Grennan,  but  in  Tuscany  the  peasantry  still  believe 
in  hoasehold  goblins,  who  play  all  kinds  of  tricks  on  the  servant- 
maids,  yet  do  all  their  work  for  them.  The  chief  of  these  ia 
called  Dono. — Trantlator.  i 


GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER.      23 

at  or  neglected  as  to  food.  If,  for  instance,  a  cook 
has  once  taken  one  of  them  into  the  house  as  her 
secret  assistant,  she  must  every  day  bring  for  him, 
to  a  certain  place,  at  a  certain  time,  his  dishful  of 
good  victuals,  and  then  go  her  way;  after  that 
she  may  idle  about  and  go  to  bed  early ;  in  the 
morning  she  will  find  all  her  work  properly  done. 
But  should  she  once  neglect  her  duty  or  forget  to 
prepare  his  food,  she  will  have  to  do  all  her  own 
work  and  have  all  kinds  of  mishaps,  so  that  she 
will  scald  herself  with  hot  water,  break  pots  and 
pans,  or  upset  the  cooking,  which  ends  in  being 
scolded  out  of  doors  by  the  mistress  or  master — 
at  which  the  goblin  has  often  enough  been  heard 
to  snigger  or  laugh.  Such  goblins  always  remain 
in  a  house,  though  the  servants  be  changed.  Yes, 
and  a  maid  on  going  away  will  commend  her 
goblin,  and  give  him  a  good  character  to  the  one 
succeeding  her,  so  that  he  may  wait  on  the  next 
in  turn.  And  if  she  did  not  follow  instructions, 
she  had  no  end  of  bad  luck,  and  ere  long  must 
herself  leave." 

The  following  short  story  is  perhaps  one  of  the 
grimmest  of  these  tales. 

"A  servant-maid  had  for  many  years  an  in- 
visible brownie,  who  would  sit  by  her  on  the  hearth, 
where  she  had  cleared  away  his  own  little  place  for 
him,  and  where  they  talked  together  during  the 
long  winter  evenings.     Once  she  begged  Heinz- 


^»<i«>«»<i«k- 


24     GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OP  LUTHER. 

chen,  or  Harry,  as  he  was  called,  to  let  her  see 
him  in  his  natural  form,  but  Heinzchen  always 
refused  to  do  so.  But  at  last  he  consented,  and 
said  if  she  would  go  into  the  cellar  he  would  be 
visible.  Then  the  girl  took  a  candle,  went  down 
into  the  cellar,  and  there  she  saw  a  dead  babe 
floating  in  an  open  barrel  of  blood.  The  girl 
had  many  years  before  given  birth  to  an  illegiti- 
mate child,  killed  it,  and  hidden  the  corpse  in  a 
barrel." 

However,  the  Germans,  as  they  are,  often  find 
their  best  merriment  in  the  terrible,  and  their 
popular  tales  of  goblins  often  abound  in  delight- 
ful incidents.  Especially  amusing  are  the  stories 
of  Hlideken,  a  kobold  who  had  his  being  in  the 
twelfth  century  at  Hildesheim,  of  whom  much  is 
still  told  in  spinning-drcles  and  in  ghost-stories. 
A  frequently  published  passage  from  an  old  chro- 
nicle narrates  of  him  the  following : — 

"In  the  year  1132  there  appeared  an  evil 
spirit  for  a  long  time  unto  many  men  in  the 
bishopric  of  Hildesheim,  and  it  was  in  the  form 
of  a  peasant  with  a  hat  on  his  head ;  wherefore 
the  peasants  in  their  Saxon  tongue  called  him 
Hiideken  (Hoodkin,  or  Little  Cap).  This  spirit 
took  pleasure  in  the  company  of  men,  to  whom  he 
revealed  himself  visibly  or  invisibly,  asking  or 
answering  questions.  He  abused  no  one  without 
cause ;  but  if  any  one  laughed  at  or  abused  him, 


't     Vf-i'    ..^;,,.,.>.,*,.:-— ""'"•*.•  ••»^-*»-,,"*, 


GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER.     25 

he  repaid  the  injustice  received  with  full  measure.* 
When  Count  Burchard  de  Luka  (Burcardus  von 
Luca — Frcetorivs)  was  murdered  by  Count  Her- 
mann von  Wiesenburg,  and  the  lands  of  the  latter 
were  in  danger,  Hiideken  awoke  the  Bishop  Ber- 
nard von  Hildesheim  from  his  sleep,  saying,  'Arise, 
thou  bald-head !  the  county  of  Wiesenburg  is  aban- 
doned and  void  by  murder,  and  thou  mayst  easily 
occupy  it.'  So  the  bishop  assembled  his  armed 
men,  attacked  the  domain  of  the  guilty  Count, 
and  annexed  it,  with  the  assent  of  the  Emperor, 
to  his  own  bishopric. 

"  This  spirit  often  warned  the  said  bishop,  all 
unsought,  of  coming  danger.  He  showed  himself 
many  times  in  the  court-kitchen,  where  he  talked 
with  the  cooks,  and  did  them  much  good  ser- 
vice; and  as  they  gradually  became  familiar 
with  Hiideken,  a  kitchen-boy  ventured,  when  he 
appeared,  to  jeer  him  and  throw  dirty  water  on 
him.  The  spirit  begged  the  head-cook  or  master 
of  the  kitchen  to  restrain  the  boy  from  his  im- 
pudence, to  which  the  master-cook  replied,  *  Thou 
art  a  spirit,  and  yet  art  afraid  of  a  boy ! '  To 
which   Hiideken   repKed,   threateningly,     'Since 

^  In  the  French  version  of  this  work  Heine  says,  "J'em- 
prunte  k  la  chronique  da  cloitre  de  Hirschgau  par  I'Abb^ 
Trith^me  le  passage  saiTant."  It  is  given  in  the  Anthropo- 
demut  of  Prsetorius  after  the  foregoing  reoiarks  on  goblins; 
but  Heine  follows  the  old  text— Tratutotor. 


26     GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER. 

you  will  not  pnnish  the  boy,  I  will  show  you 
within  a  few  days  whether  I  fear  him.'  And  it 
came  to  pass  soon  after  that  the  boy  who  had 
abused  the  spirit  sat  sleeping  alone  one  evening 
in  the  kitchen.  Thereupon  the  goblin  seized  and 
strangled  him,  tore  him  to  pieces,  and  put  them 
in  the  pots  upon  the  fire  to  boil.  When  the  cook 
found  out  this  freak,  he  cursed  the  spirit,  and 
then  Hiideken  next  day  spoiled  all  the  roasts 
which  were  upon  the  spits  with  the  blood  and 
poison  of  toads,  which  he  cast  over  them. 
Revenge  caused  the  cook  to  curse  him  again, 
for  which  the  spirit  cast  him  over  a  sham  en- 
chanted bridge  into  a  deep  ditch.* 

"  It  was  his  wont  to  go  the  rounds  every  night 
on  the  walls  and  towers,  and  compel  the  guards  to 
keep  good  watch.  A  man  who  had  a  faithless 
wife,  once  before  he  went  a-joumeying  said  in 
jest  to  Hiideken,  'Good  spirit,  I  now  commend 
to  thee  my  wife;  guard  her  well.'  As  soon  as 
he  had  gone,  the  adulterous  dame  let  all  her  lovers 
come,  one  after  the  other.  But  Hiideken  kept 
them  from  her,  and  threw  them  all  out  of  bed  on 
the  floor.  When  the  man  came  back  from  his 
journey,  Hiideken  approached  him  from  afar, 
crying  out  unto  him,  'I  rejoice  in  thy  return, 

*  That  is,  he  prodnced  by  glamour  or  illasive  magic  the 
appearance  of  a  bridge,  over  which  the  cook  was  induced  to 
pass. — TranalaUor. 


-     .^  <    ... 


.-  ,-M"''«—  •**».« 


rnv 


GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER.     27 

because  I  am  freed  from  the  dire  duty  with  which 
thou  didst  charge  me.  Truly,  I  have  with  terrible 
trouble  kept  thy  wife  from  actual  adultery,  but 
give  me  no  more  such  work,  for  verily  I  had  rather 
take  care  of  all  the  pigs  in  all  Saxony  than  of  a 
woman  who,  by  wiles  and  tricks,  seeks  the  em- 
braces of  her  lovers.' " 

For  accuracy's  sake,  I  must  observe  that  Hiide- 
ken's  head-covering  differs  from  the  common  cos- 
tume of  the  goblins.  These  are  generally  clad  in 
grey,  and  wear  a  red  cap.  At  least,  it  is  so  in 
Denmark,  where  they  are  at  present  most  nume- 
rous.^ I  was  once  of  the  opinion  that  these  kobolds 
liked  living  in  Denmark  because  they  were  so  fond 
of  red  groats;*  but  a  young  Danish  poet,  Mr. 
Andersen,  whom  I  had  the  pleasure  to  know  this 
summer  here  in  Paris,  has  expressly  assured  me 
that  the  Nissen,  as  kobolds  are  called  in  Denmark, 

^  More  80  in  Northern  Italy,  where  the  red-capped  mannikin 
who  can  bestow  treasures  is  generally  believed  in  by  the  eonta- 
dwL  He  is  here  unquestionably  derived  from  the  very  ancient 
Picus  or  Picumnus,  a  goblin-god,  who  was  the  personified  red- 
beaded  woodpecker  (Preller,  Rom.  Mythologie).  This  bird  re- 
vealed treasures  and  his  red  head  suggested  the  cap.  These 
red-capped  goblins  occur  in  Roman  art.  They  extended  to 
Scandinavia,  and  thence  to  the  Algonkin  Indians  of  America. 
Vide  "Algonkin  Legends  of  New  England,"  by  Charles  6. 
Leland. — Trantlator. 

'  Rothe  Chattt,  grits  or  barley-groats.  The  Danes  are  oon- 
tinually  rallied  by  the  Germans  in  regard  to  their  eating  this 
diah. 


'  <>  ♦-  '*'^.». 


a8     GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER.         I 

prefer  to  everything  else  porridge,  or  mush,  and 
butter.  When  they  are  once  settled  in  a  house, 
they  have  little  will  to  leave  it.  However,  they 
never  come  unannounced ;  and  when  they  wish  to 
dwell  in  any  place,  they  forewarn  the  master  in 
this  fashion.  They  bear  by  night  many  chips  of 
wood  into  the  house  and  put  cattle-dung  into  the 
milk-pots.  Should  the  master  of  the  house  neglect 
to  cast  out  the  chips,  or  should  the  family  drink 
the  defiled  milk,  then  the  goblins  always  remain. 
A  poor  Jutlander  was  once  so  much  annoyed  by 
the  society  of  such  a  kobold  that  he  resolved  to 
give  up  his  house,  and  so  put  his  "  sticks  "  ^  on  a 
waggon,  and  so  went  to  the  next  village  to  settle. 
But  on  the  route,  looking  behind  him,  he  saw  peer- 
ing out  of  a  barrel  the  red-capped  head  of  the 
goblin,  who  cried  out  in  a  friendly  tone,  Wi 
flatten  ("  We're  moving — we  flit "). 

I  have  perhaps  delayed  too  long  over  these  little 
demons,  and  it  is  time  that  I  go  to  the  great  ones ; 
but  all  these  stories  illustrate  the  beliefs  and 
character  of  the  German  people.  In  bygone  cen- 
turies this  faith  was  as  powerful  as  that  in  the 
Church.  When  the  learned  Dr.  Kemigius  had 
finished  his  great  book  on  witchcraft,  he  thought 
he  knew  his  subject  so  well  that  he  too  could 

^  Siebentaehen,  "seTon  things,"  a  small  mixed  lot  of  fumi- 
tore  and  household  goods  ;  generally  used  in  a  deprecatory  sense. 
It  corresponds  to  the  English  "few  sticks." — Trantlator. 


'.?•'% 


■■*  »•-*»•► 


GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER.     29 

bewitch,  and  being  a  consdentions  man,  gave 
himself  up  to  justice  as  a  wizard,  and  as  a  wizard 
he  was  burnt  alive. 

These  horrors  did  not  originate  directly  in  the 
Catholic  Church,  but  indirectly  in  this,  that  it  so 
craftily  and  meanly  manipulated  the  old  German 
national  religion  as  to  change  its  pantheistic  view 
of  the  world  into  a  pandemonic,  and  turned  all  the 
early  saints  of  the  people  into  devils.  But  man  does 
not  willingly  abandon  what  was  dear  to  him  and 
to  his  forefathers,  and  deep  feelings  cling  as  with 
iron  clamps  to  us  even  after  they  have  been  dis- 
torted and  defaced.  Therefore,  this  old  disfigured 
and  transformed  popular  faith  held  its  own,  per- 
haps longer  than  Christianity,  in  Germany,  which 
latter  did  not  take  such  deep  root  in  its  nationality. 
In  the  time  of  the  Reformation,  the  belief  in 
Catholic  legends  very  soon  disappeared,  but  not 
that  in  magic  and  witchcraft. 

Luther  did  not  believe  in  the  marvels  of  the 
Church,  but  he  had  firm  faith  in  devilry.  His 
"Table-Talk"  is  full  of  curious  tales  of  satanic 
devices,  goblins,  and  witches.  He  himself,  in  his 
trials,  often  believed  that  he  contended  with  the 
"  God-be-with-us  "  in  person.^  On  the  Wurtburg, 
while  he  was  translating  the  New  Testament,  he 

^  "Er  glaubte  manchmal  mit  dem  liebhaftigen  Grott-sei-bei-uns 
zu  kainpfen."  That  is  to  say,  the  devil  who  calls  forth  Buch 
exclamation. — Tromdator. 


\-.-^. 


30     GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER. 

was  so  disturbed  by  the  devil  that  he  threw  his 
inkstand  at  his  head.  Ever  since  that  time  the 
devil  has  had  a  great  horror  of  ink,  especially 
printer's  ink.  In  the  "  Table-Talk  "  referred  to 
there  are  many  delightful  bits  relative  to  the 
craftiness  of  the  devil,  and  I  cannot  refrain  from 
giving  one. 

"  Dr.  Martin  Luther  relates  that  once  some  jolly 
companions  were  drinking  together  in  a  tavern, 
and  there  was  one,  a  wild,  profligate  fellow. 
He  had  said  if  any  one  would  give  him  a  good 
treat  of  wine,  he  would  sell  his  very  soul  for  it. 

"Soon  after  there  came  into  the  room  a  man 
who  sat  down  and  drank  with  him,  and  said, 
among  other  things,  to  this  man  who  had  been 
so  daring — 

"'Hear!  thou  didst  say  just  now  that  if  any 
one  would  give  thee  a  good  treat  of  wine,  thou 
wouldst  give  him  thy  soul.' 

"'That  I  will,'  repeated  the  fellow,  *  if  I  can 
only  rollick  and  frolic  and  be  jolly  to-day.'  ^ 

"  The  man,  who  was  the  devil,  said  *  Yes,'  and  he 
soon  after  disappeared.  And  when  that  carouser 
had  been  gay  all  day,  and  at  last  was  roaring 
drunk,  there  came  that  same  man — the  devil — 
who  sat  down  opposite  to  him,  and  questioned 
the  other  pot-companions  and  said — 

^  "Ja  ich  will's  thun,  lass  mich   heute  recht  schlemmen, 
demmen  und  guter  Dinge  sein." 


■■  ..    -A 


GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER.     31 

" '  Grood  fellows !  what  think  ye  ?  Supi)ose  a 
man  buys  a  horse,  do  the  saddle  and  bridle  also 
belong  to  him  or  not  ? ' 

"At  this  all  were  terrified.  Then  the  man  spoke 
again — 

" '  Come,  say  it  out  quickly !  * 

"Then  they  roused  up  and  said — 

"*Yes,  he  should  have  the  saddle  and  bridle 
with  it.'  ,f 

"  Then  the  devil  caught  up  the  wild  rough  rowdy, 
and  flew  with  him  through  the  roof,  but  so  that 
no  one  ever  knew  what  had  become  of  him." 

Though  I  have  the  greatest  respect  for  our 
great  Martin  Luther,  it  seems  to  me  that  he 
quite  misunderstood  the  character  of  Satan ;  for 
the  latter  certainly  does  not  think  of  the  body 
with  such  contempt  as  this  tale  intimates.  What- 
ever evil  one  may  say  of  the  devil,  he  cannot  be 
accused  of  being  a  Spiritualist. 

But  Luther  misunderstood  the  sentiments  of 
the  Pope  and  of  the  Catholic  Church  even  more 
than  he  did  those  of  the  devil.  According  to  my 
strict  impartiality  I  must  defend  both,  as  well 
the  devil  against  this  too  zealous  man.  In  fact, 
if  I  am  put  upon  my  conscience,  I  must  confess 
that  Pope  Leo  was  really  much  more  sensible 
than  Luther,  and  that  the  latter  did  not  at  all 
understand  the  fundamental  principles  of  the 
Catholic  Church.     For  Luther  did  not  compre- 


\ 


i' 


32  GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER. 

hend  that  the  idea  of  Christianity,  the  ntter 
destruction  of  Sensnalism,  was  altogether  too 
much  in  contradiction  to  human  nature  to  be 
ever  perfectly  realised  in  life;  he  had  not  com- 
prehended that  Catholicism  was  a  compromise 
between  Grod  and  the  devil — that  is,  between 
spirit  and  matter,  by  which  the  autocracy  of  the 
spirit  was  theoretically  declared,  but  the  material 
element  placed  in  such  condition  that  it  could 
practically  exercise  all  its  annulled  rights.  Hence 
the  shrewd  system  of  confession  which  the  Church 
invented  for  the  benefit  of  the  senses,  though 
always  according  to  forms  which  discredit  every 
act  of  sensuality,  and  secure  to  the  spirit  its 
arrogant  usurpation.  You  may  yield  to  the 
tender  impulses  of  the  heart  and  embrace  a 
pretty  girl,  but  you  must  confess  that  it  is  a 
shameful  sin,  and  for  this  sin  there  must  be 
atonement.  That  this  atonement  could  be  settled 
by  paying  money,  was  as  great  a  benefit  for 
humanity  as  it  was  profitable  for  the  Church. 
The  Church  had,  so  to  speak,  a  fine  or  settled 
price  for  every  carnal  indulgence ;  hence  a  tax  for 
all  sorts  of  sins,  and  there  were  holy  pedlars  who, 
in  the  name  of  the  Roman  Church,  retailed  in- 
dulgences for  every  rated  sin  all  over  the  land. 
Such  a  one  was  Tetzel,  whom  Luther  first  at- 
tacked. Our  historians  think  that  this  protest 
against  the  sale  of  indulgences  was  a  trifling 


GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER.     33 

event,  and  that  it  was  only  through  Roman 
obstinacy  that  Luther,  who  at  first  only  fought 
against  a  clerical  abuse,  was  urged  thereby  to 
attack  the  entire  authority  of  the  Church,  even 
to  its  topmost  summit.  But  that  is  an  error; 
the  traffic  in  indulgences  was  no  misuse  or  abuse ; 
it  was  a  necessary  consequence  of  the  whole 
Church  system,  and  by  attacking  it,  Luther 
attacked  the  Church  itself,  and  it  was  obliged 
to  condemn  him  as  a  heretic.  Leo  X.,  the 
refined  Florentine,  the  pupil  of  Politian,  the 
friend  of  Kaphael,  the  Greek  philosopher  with 
the  triple  crown  which  the  Council  conferred  on 
him,  perhaps  because  he  suffered  from  a  malady 
which  certainly  was  not  caused  by  Christian 
abstinence,  and  which  was  in  those  days  very 
dangerous — Leo  de'  Medicis,  how  he  must  have 
smiled  at  the  poor,  chaste,  simple  monk,  who 
fancied  that  the  Gospel  was  the  chart  of  Christen- 
dom, and  that  this  chart  must  be  true !  Perhaps 
he  never  really  knew  or  cared  to  know  what 
Luther  wanted,  so  occupied  was  he  with  the 
building  the  Church  of  St  Peter,  the  expense 
of  which  was  to  be  defrayed  by  the  sale  of  in- 
dulgences, so  that  it  was  really  built  by  sin, 
and  was  a  monument  of  lust — like  that  pyramid 
which  an  Egyptian  harlot  erected  with  the  money 
which  she  had  earned  by  prostitution.  It  might 
indeed  be  said  much  more  truly  of  this  church 
VOL.  I.  C 


34     GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER. 

than  of  the  Cathedral  of  Cologne,  that  it  was 
built  by  the  devil.  This  triumph  of  Spiritualism, 
that  sensuality  itself  should  build  for  it  its  most 
beautiful  temple,  and  that  from  confessions  of 
fleshly  sins  the  means  were  drawn  to  glorify  the 
spirit,  was  not  understood  in  the  German  North. 
For  here,  far  sooner  than  under  the  glowing  sky 
of  Italy,  was  it  possible  to  practise  a  Christianity 
which  made  the  very  least  concession  to  sensuality. 
We  of  the  North  are  of  colder  blood,  and  did  not 
need  so  many  indulgences  for  fleshly  sins  as  the 
paternal  Leo  supplied  us  with.  The  climate  aids 
us  very  much  in  practising  Christian  virtues,  and 
on  the  31st  of  October  1 5 16,  when  Luther  nailed 
his  thesis  on  the  door  of  the  Augustine  church, 
perhaps  the  moat  of  Wittenberg  was  frozen,  and 
people  could  skate  on  it ;  which  being  a  very  cold 
pleasure,  is  consequently  not  a  sin, 

I  have  perhaps,  in  the  foregoing  remarks,  used 
the  words  Spiritualism  and  Sensualism,  but  they  do 
not  relate  here,  as  with  the  French  philosophers,  to 
the  two  different  sources  of  our  knowledge.  I  use 
them  much  more,  as  must  appear  from  the  mean- 
ing of  my  remarks,  to  indicate  those  two  different 
methods  of  thought,  of  which  \fne  will  exalt  the 
spirit  by  seeking  to  annihilate  matter,  while  the 
other  seeks  to  vindicate  the  natural  rights  of 
matter  against  the  usurpations  of  the  spirit.^ 

^  This  passage  is  thus  given  in  the  French  version  of  Heine's 


.,T>T^'^  ■*  "-"^^ 


GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER.      35 

I  call  especial  attention  to  the  foregoing  begin- 
ning of  the  Lutheran  Reformation,  which  reveals 
its  whole  spirit,  because  here  in  France  the  old 
misunderstandings  still  prevail  as  to  the  Refor- 
mation which  Bossuet  has  disseminated  in  his 
Histoire  des  Variations,  and  which  are  even 
current  among  Grerman  writers.^  The  French 
have  only  understood  the  negative  side  of  our 
Reformation ;  they  saw  in  it  only  a  strife  against 
Catholicism,  and  often  thought  it  was  the  same 
battle,  on  the  same  grounds,  as  in  France,  But 
the  motives  were  radically  different    The  struggle 

works  : — "  Je  viena  me  servir  des  mots  spiritvalitme  et  sensual- 
tame.  Je  les  ezpliquerai  plus  tard,  quand  je  parlerai  de  la 
philoBophie  allemande.  II  me  suffit  ici  de  faire  observer  que  je 
n'emploie  pas  ces  expressions  en  vue  de  syst^mes  philoso- 
phiques,  mais  seulement  pour  distinguer  deux  syst^es  sociaux, 
dont  Ton,  le  spiritoalisme,  est  bas^  sur  le  principe  qu'il  faut 
annoler  toutes  les  pretentions  des  sens  pour  donner  la  domina- 
tion enti^re  k  I'esprit,  qu'il  faut  mortifier,  fl^trir,  Eraser  notre 
chair  pour  glorifier  d'autant  plus  notre  ftme,  pendant  que 
I'autre  syst^me,  le  sensualisme,  revendique  les  droits  de  la 
chair,  qu'on  ne  devrait  et  qu'on  ne  pourrait  pas  annuler." 

^  This  passage  is  also  given  with  some  variation  in  the  first 
French  edition  (Hevxie  dea  Deux  Mondea),  and  with  yet  another 
change  in  the  edition  of  Calmann  Levy,  Paris,  1884.  The  only 
passage  of  any  consequence  in  these  French  versions  is  the 
following : — "  Les  commencements  de  la  r^forme  r^vfelent  d^jk 
toute  sa  port^e.  Aucun  Fran^ais  n'a  encore  compris  la  signifi- 
cation de  ce  grand  fait  Les  id^s  plus  erron^s  r^gnent  ea 
France  au  sujet  de  la  r^forme ;  et  je  doia  ajouter  que  ces 
id^  empgcheront  peut-etre  les  Fran9ai8  d'arriver  jamais  4 
une  juste  i^pr^iation  de  la  vie  allemande." 


36     GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER. 

against  Catholicism  in  Germany  was  simply  a  war 
which  Spiritualism  began  when  it  perceived  that 
it  only  bore  the  title  of  supremacy  and  only  ruled 
de  Jure,  while  Sensualism,  by  means  of  long- 
transmitted  trickery,  exercised  the  real  power  and 
ruled  de  facto.  The  pardon-pedlars  were  driven 
away,  the  pretty  concubines  of  priests  were  changed 
for  cold  legitimate  wives,  the  charming  images 
of  Madonnas  were  broken,  while  here  and  there 
sprung  up  the  most  ascetic  Puritanism.  The  war 
against  Catholicism  in  France  in  the  seventeenth 
and  eighteenth  centuries  was,  on  the  contrary,  a 
strife  which  was  begun  by  Sensualism  when  it 
saw  that  it  ruled  de  facto,  and  yet  that  every  act 
of  its  government  was  scorned  as  illegitimate  by 
Spiritualism,  which  claimed  to  rule  dejure,  these 
acts  being  most  cruelly  reviled.  Instead  of  battling, 
as  in  Germany,  with  moral  earnestness,  they  fought 
in  France  with  licentious  jests ;  instead  of  disput- 
ing theologically,  they  composed  gay  satires.  The 
subjects  of  these  were  generally  the  contradictions 
in  which  man  is  involved  when  he  will  be  all  soul, 
and  so  there  flourished  rankly  the  most  delightful 
tales  of  pious  men  who  involuntarily  succumbed 
to  their  animal  instincts,  or  who,  to  preserve  the 
appearance  of  holiness,  took  refuge  in  hypocrisy. 
The  Queen  of  Navarre  had  long  before  depicted 
in  her  novels  such  contradictions  and  indecorums ; 
her  common  theme  is  the  relation  of  priests  to 


GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER.      37 

women,  as  if  she  would  not  only  make  us  burst 
with  laughter,  but  explode  all  monkhood  at  the 
same  time.^  The  most  piquant  and  malicious 
product  of  this  humorous  polemic  is  unquestion- 
ably the  Tartuffe  of  Moli^re;  for  it  is  not  only 
directed  against  the  Jesuitism  of  his  time,  but 
against  Christianity  itself — yes,  even  against  the 
idea  of  Christianity  or  Spiritualism.  When  Tar- 
tuffe sees  the  bare  bosom  of  Dorine,  he  exclaims 
with  affected  grief  and  anxiety — 

"  Le  del  defend,  de  vrai,  certains  conteutements, 
Mais  on  trouve  avec  lui  des  accomodements."  ^ 

By  this  there  is  gaily  satirised  not  only  common 
hypocrisy,  and  the  general  falsehood  which  neces- 
sarily restdts  from  the  impracticability  of  the  Chris- 
tian idea,  but  the  whole  system  of  concessions 
which  SpirituaKsm  must  make  to  Sensuality.  In 
fact,  Jansenism  had  much  more  reason  to  complain 
of  being  wounded  in  its  feelings  than  had  Jesuit- 
ism by  the  representation  of  Tartuffe,  and  Moli^re 
should  make  the  Methodists  of  to-day  feel  quite 
as  uncomfortable  as  he  did  the  Catholic  devout 

^  "  Und  aie  will  als  dann  nicht  blass  nnser  Zwerchfell,  aondem 
aach  das  Moncbsthum  erschiittem."  This  passage  is  omitted 
in  the  French  version.  A  large  proportion  of  the  Cent  NouvelUs 
is  devoted  to  such  tales  of  priests.  But  Heine  quite  forgets 
that  of  all  this  jocose  satirical  literatare  originated  in  Italy. 
'  "  Certain  delights  Heaven  to  us  denies, 
But  we  can  make  with  it  a  compromise. " 

— Trandator. 


38     GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER, 

of  his  own  times.  And  it  is  this  which  makes 
Moli^re  so  great,  that  he,  like  Aristophanes  and 
Cervantes,  jested  not  only  with  temporal  events 
and  chances,  but  the  eternally  laughable  weak- 
nesses of  humanity.  Voltaire,  who  always  attacked 
only  contemporary  and  immaterial  topics,  is  in  this 
respect  greatly  his  inferior. 

But  Voltairean  persiflage  or  mockery  has  ful- 
filled its  mission  in  France,  and  to  carry  it  further 
would  be  as  untimely  as  unwise.  For  if  we  were 
to  destroy  the  last  visible  remains  of  Catholicism, 
it  might  easily  happen  that  its  idea  might  assume 
a  new  form  and  put  on  a  new  body,  even  re- 
nouncing the  very  name  of  Christianity,  and  in 
this  changed  state  could  be  more  vexatious  and 
burdensome  than  in  its  present  broken,  ruined, 
and  generally  discredited  condition.  Yes,  it  has 
its  advantages,  that  Spiritualism  is  represented 
by  a  religion  and  a  priesthood,  the  first  of  which 
has  lost  its  early  vigour,  while  the  last  stands  in 
direct  opposition  to  the  whole  enthusiasm  for  free- 
dom of  this  our  time. 

But  why  is  Spiritualism  then  so  repulsive  to  us  ? 
Is  there  anything  in  it,  then,  which  is  so  bad? 
Not  at  all.  Attar  of  roses  is  a  precious  thing, 
and  a  phial  of  it  is  stimulating  and  delightful, 
especially  to  those  who  pass  their  days  shut  up 
in  a  harem.  Yet,  for  all  that,  we  would  not  have 
all  the  roses  of  life  trampled  and  pressed  to  get  a 


GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER.      39 

few  drops  of  the  extract,  however  delightful  and 
stimulating  they  might  be.  We  are  far  more  like 
nightingales,  who  are  enraptured  by  the  rose  itself, 
and  quite  as  blest  by  seeing  its  blooming  blushes 
as  by  its  unseen  perfume. 

I  have  before  declared  that  it  was  really  Spiri- 
tualism which  attacked  Catholicism  among  us ;  but 
this  is  only  true  as  regards  the  beginning  of  the 
Reformation,  for  as  soon  as  Spiritualism  had  made 
a  breach  in  the  old  Church  edifice,  Sensuality  came 
bursting  out  of  it  with  all  its  long-restrained  fire 
and  fervency,  and  Germany  became  the  wildest 
war-field  of  intoxication  of  freedom  and  sensual 
pleasure.  The  oppressed  peasants  found  in  the 
new  doctrines  weapons  wherewith  to  carry  on  the 
war  with  aristocracy,  and  there  had  been  a  longing 
for  such  a  war  for  a  century  and  a  half.  In 
Munster,  Sensuality  ran  naked  through  the  streets 
in  the  form  of  Jan  von  Leyden,  who  slept  with  his 
twelve  wives  in  the  great  bedstead  which  is  still 
to  be  seen  in  the  town-hall.  The  cloister  gates 
wide  open  flew  everywhere,  and  nuns  and  priests 
rushed  into  mutual  embraces,  billing  and  cooing.^ 

^  Sehndbein,  to  bill,  ue.,  to  kiss.  Heine  speaks  of  sndi 
amours  as  Protestant  novelties,  but  there  is  the  most  abundant 
Roman  Catholic  testimony  proving  that  down  to  the  Reforma- 
tion a  priest  who  did  not  keep  a  concubine  was  a  great  ex- 
ception, either  in  Italy  or  Grermany.  It  was  Protestantism 
which  taught  and  inspired  such  morality  as  is  now  found  in 
the  Catholicism. — Trandator. 


WHW.I^WXw— .^»t>f^.fi  n<" 


40     GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER. 

Yes,  the  public  history  of  that  time  consists  almost 
entirely  of  simply  sensual  outbursts.  We  shall  see 
anon  how  little  of  it  remained  in  results,  how 
Spiritualism  again  repressed  these  rebels,  how  it 
step  by  step  strengthened  its  rule  in  the  North, 
and  finally  got  its  mortal  wound  from  an  enemy. 
Philosophy,  which,  however,  it  had  nurtured  in  its 
own  bosom.  It  is  a  very  complicated  and  con- 
fused affair,  hard  to  disentangle.  It  is  easy 
enough  here  for  the  Catholic  party  in  turn  to 
attribute  the  worst  intentions  to  these  reformers, 
and,  according  to  them,  it  was  inspired  by  a  desire 
to  render  legal  the  most  outrageous  debauchery 
and  plunder  the  Church.  Certainly,  spiritual  in- 
terests must  always  form  an  alliance  with  the 
material  to  conquer;  but  in  this  game  the  devil  had 
so  mixed  the  cards,  that  there  is  nothing  certain 
as  to  what  were  the  real  objects  of  any  one. 

The  distinguished  personages  who  in  the  year 
1 52 1  were  assembled  in  the  Imperial  hall  at 
"Worms  ^  may  well  have  had  many  thoughts  in 
their  hearts  which  were  in  contradiction  with 
their  words.  There  sat  a  young  Emperor,  who, 
in  all  the  joy  of  youthful  delight  in  power, 
wrapped  himself  in  his  new  purple  mantle,  and 
secretly  rejoiced  that  the  proud  Roman,  who  had 

^  lo  the  French  version  the  date  is  given  more  accurately  : 
"Lea  personages  illustres  qui  s'^tMent  rassembl^,  le  17  avril 
1521,  it  Worms  dans  la  grande  salle  de  la  Diete." — Trandator. 


GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER.     41 

SO  often  treated  right  rudely  his  predecessors  in 
the  realm,  and  had  not  even  yet  renounced  his 
pretensions,  had  now  found  some  one  who  would 
set  them  seriously  to  rights.  The  representative 
of  that  Boman  had  on  his  side  the  inner  delight  of 
reflecting  that  here  was  a  cause  of  discord  among 
these  Germans,  who  had,  like  drunken  barbarians, 
so  often  invaded  and  plundered  beautiful  Italy, 
and  who  still  threatened  it  with  new  attacks  and 
rapine.^  The  lofty  prelates  were  already  turning 
it  over  in  their  minds  whether  they  should  marry 
their  cooks,  and  so  provide  legitimate  descendants 
to  inherit  their  electorates,  bishoprics,  and  abbeys. 
The  minor  officers  of  cities  rejoiced  in  a  possible 
new  extension  of  their  freedom.  Everybody  pres- 
ent had  something  to  make,  and  was  privately 
thinking  of  practical  profits. 

Yet  there  was  one  man  there  who,  I  am  con- 
vinced, was  not  thinking  of  himself,  but  of  the 
divine  interests  which  he  represented.  This  man 
was  Martin  Luther,  the  poor  monk  whom  Pro- 
vidence had  chosen  to  break  that  Roman  world- 
power  against  which  the  most  powerful  emperors 
and  boldest  sages  had  fought  in  vain.  But  Pro- 
vidence knew  very  well  on  what  kind  of  shoulders 

^  The  French  version  has  here  the  following  passage,  not  givea 
in  German :  "Les  princes  temporels  se  rejouissaient  de  pouvoir 
mettre  la  main  sur  les  biens  de  I'^glise  au  moyen  des  id^s  que 
r^pandait  la  nouvelle  doctrine." 


-  l9i!r«i.«  viiiin    III.  M  ti«*i^-«^u>«« 


42      GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER. 

it  had  laid  this  burden.  What  was  wanting  here 
was  not  only  a  spiritual,  but  also  a  physical 
strength.  A  body  trained  by  cloistral  severity 
and  chastity  with  a  constitution  of  steel  was 
needed  to  endure  the  bitter  trials  of  such  a 
mission.  Yet  at  this  time  our  dear  master  was 
lean  and  very  pale,  so  that  the  rosy,  well-fed 
gentlemen  of  the  Diet  looked  almost  with  pity 
on  the  pitiable  man  in  the  black  cowl.  But  he 
was  right  vigorous  and  healthy ;  his  nerves  were 
so  firm  that  the  brilliant  tumultitude  did  not  in 
the  least  overawe  him,^  and  even  his  lungs  must 
have  been  very  strong.  For  after  he  had  delivered 
his  long  defence,  he  was  obliged,  because  the 
Emperor  did  not  understand  High  German,  to 
repeat  it  in  Latin.  I  am  always  vexed  when  I 
recall  this,  for  our  dear  master  stood  by  an  open 
window  in  a  full  draught  of  air  while  the  sweat 
fell  from  his  forehead.  He  must  have  been  tired 
enough,  and  no  doubt  his  throat  was  parched ;  and 
"  he  must  have  been  very  dry,"  thought  the  Duke 
of  Brunswick — at  least  we  read  that  he  at  once 
sent  to  Martin  Luther  from  his  hostelry  three 
kanne  of  the  best  Eimbeck  beer.^  I  shall  never 
forget  this  noble  trait  of  the  House  of  Brunswick. 

^  The  French  veraion  adds  to  this  "  et  ses  poumons  devaient 
dtre  d'ane  gnuide  force." 

*  A  kanne  was  something  more  than  an  imperial  English 
quart,  or  about  three  pints. — Trandator. 


•    >      ,«*T    »     f     U  ^- 


» 

i .  .. 


GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER.      43 

There  are  in  France  as  false  ideas  of  the  hero 
of  the  Eefonnation  as  of  the  Eeformation  itself. 
The  main  cause  of  this  misunderstanding  really 
is  that  Luther  is  not  only  the  greatest,  but  the 
Germanest  man  in  our  history ;  and  as  in  his  char- 
acter all  the  virtues  and  weak  points  of  Germans 
are  united  in  the  grandest  manner,  so  he  repre- 
sented personally  our  strange  Germany.  For  he 
had  peculiar  traits,  such  as  we  seldom  find  united, 
and  which  we  generally  regard  as  utterly  contra- 
dictory. He  was  equally  a  dreamy  mystic  and 
yet  a  practical  man.  His  thoughts  had  hands  as 
well  as  wings ;  he  spoke  and  acted ;  he  was  not 
only  the  tongue,  but  the  sword  of  his  time.  And 
he  was  at  once  a  cool  scholastic  picker  and  sifter 
of  words  and  an  inspired  God-intoxicated^  prophet. 
When  he  had  worked  himself  weary  all  day  long 
with  his  dogmatic  distinctions,  he  in  the  evening 
took  his  flute,  and,  while  looking  at  the  stars, 
melted  away  in  melody  and  pious  reverie.  This 
man,  who  could  scold  like  a  fishwife,  could  also 
be  as  gentle  as  a  tender  maid.  He  was  often 
wild  as  the  storm  which  roots  up  oaks,  and  then 
soft  as  the  zephyr  playing  with  violets.  He  was 
filled  with  the  most  terrible  fear  of  God  and  a 
sense  of  sacrifice  to  the  Holy  Ghost;  he  could 

^  Oottberatuchier.  I  think  it  was  Novalis  (F.  von  Harden- 
burg)  who  fint  uaed  this  expression,  in  reference  to  Spinoza. — 
Translator. 


.'  'r« 


44     GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER. 

lose  himself  in  the  depths  of  pure  spirituality, 
and  yet  he  knew  full  well  the  glories  of  this 
world  and  their  worth,  and  from  his  mouth  came 
the  far-famed  saying —  ! 

"  Who  loves  not  woman,  wine,  and  song, 
Remains  a  fool  his  whole  life  long."  ^ 

He  was,  I  may  say,  a  complete  man,  an  absolute 
man,  in  whom  spirit  and  matter  were  not  divided. 
Therefore  it  would  be  as  wrong  to  call  him  a 
Spiritualist  as  a  Sensualist.  How  shall  I  express 
it  ? — there  was  in  him  something  of  an  underived 
original,  incomprehensible  miraculous,  such  as  we 
find  in  all  providential  men ;  ^  something  terribly 
naif,  clumsily-clever,  sublimely  narrow-minded, 
unconquerably  d£emonic, 

^  In  the  French  edition  this  is  given  as  follows : — 

"  Wer  liebt  nioht  Wein,  Wetber  und  Gesang, 
Der  bleibt  ein  Narr  sein  Lebenlang." 

That  is  to  say,  women  is  substituted  for  tooman,  which  spoils 
not  only  the  moral,  but  also  the  metre  of  the  originaL  In  hia 
own  German  text  Heine  says  that  this  "blossomed  (erblUhte) 
from  the  mouth  of  Luther."  This  singular  simile,  by  which  the 
great  reformer  is  made  to  appear  as  a  flower-pot,  was  changed 
in  French  to  est  tomb6,  or  "fell  from." — Tramlator. 

'  Providentidle  Manner,  men  created  by  Providence  for 
great  special  emergencies.  "Unconquerably  daemonic,"  or  Un- 
bezwingbar-dcBTnonisches,  appears  to  have  been  beyond  Heine's 
French  resources,  as  it  does  not  appear  in  the  Paris  version. 
Goethe  uses  the  term  in  reference  to  the  young  Duke  of  Weimar, 
and  thai  as  if  it  were  original  with  him.  The  daemon  of  Socrates 
was  simply  his  own  original  genius. — Trantlator. 


\  k     A  *.  A    b  '  -■  ■ 


GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER.      45 

Luther's  father  was  a  miner  in  Mannsfeld,  and 
there  the  boy  often  descended  with  him  to  the 
subterranean  laboratory  where  mighty  metals  grew 
and  first-bom  fountains  ran,  and  there  it  may  be 
that  his  young  heart,  all  unconscious,  took  in  the 
deepest  secrets  of  Nature,  or  was  fairied  or  be- 
witched by  the  elves  of  the  mountain.  Hence  it 
came  too,  perhaps,  that  so  much  earthy  stufiF,  so 
much  of  the  dross  or  slag  of  human  passion,  stuck 
to  him,  with  which  he  has  been  continually  re- 
proached. But  he  was  wronged  therein;  for 
without  that  mingling  of  earth  he  would  never 
have  been  a  man  of  deeds.  Pure  souls  cannot  act. 
Do  we  not  learn  from  Jung  Stilling's  spectre-lore 
that  spirits  can  manifest  themselves  visibly  in  full 
colour  with  perfect  distinctness,  and  are  able  to 
walk,  run,  dance,  and  do  all  things  to  sight  like 
human  beings,  but  can  effect  nothing  material, 
nor  so  much  as  move  the  lightest  toilet-table  from 
its  place? 

Glory  to  Luther !  glory  to  the  valiant,  valued 
man  to  whom  we  owe  the  rescue  of  our  most  pre- 
cious possessions,  and  by  whose  benefits  we  now 
exist.  It  little  becomes  us  to  bewail  his  narrow 
views.  The  dwarf  who  stands  upon  the  giant's 
shoulders  can,  of  course,  see  farther  than  the  giant 
himself,  especially  with  spectacles ;  but  to  this  ele- 
vated view  is  wanting  elevation  of  feeling,  or  the 
giant  heart  which  we  cannot  make  our  own.     Still 


46      GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER. 

less  does  it  become  us  to  pass  sentence  on  his 
failings ;  these  faults  have  profited  us  more  than 
the  virtues  of  a  thousand  others.  The  refined 
subtlety  of  Erasmus  and  the  mildness  of  Melanch- 
thon  would  never  have  brought  us  so  far  as  the 
godlike  brutality  of  Brother  Martin  often  did. 
Yes,  his  faults,  which  I  have  pointed  out,  have 
borne  the  most  precious  fruit — fruit  by  which  all 
mankind  has  been  refreshed.  From  that  day  of 
the  Diet,  when  Luther  denied  the  authority  of  the 
Pope,  and  openly  declared  "that  his  doctrines  must 
be  refuted  by  texts  from  the  Bible  itself  or  upon 
reasonable  grounds,"  there  began  a  new  era  in 
Germany.  The  chain  with  which  St.  Boniface 
had  fettered  the  German  Church  to  B^me  was 
severed.  This  Church,  which  had  been  previously 
an  integral  part  of  the  great  hierarchy,  crumbled 
away  and  divided  into  religious  democracies.  The 
religion  itself  changed  its  nature,  the  Indian- 
Gnostic  element  disappeared,  and  we  see  how  the 
Judaic-deistic  principle  is  rising  in  it.  Evan- 
gelical Christianity  is  being  developed.  And  as 
the  most  needed  demands  of  matter  are  not  only 
considered  but  made  legitimate,  religion  becomes 
once  more  a  truth.  The  priest  becomes  human 
and  takes  a  wife  and  begets  children  as  God  or- 
dained. On  the  other  hand,  God  himself  becomes 
a  celestial  old  bachelor  without  family,  the  legiti- 
macy of  his  son  is  contested,  the  saints  are  obliged 


GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER.     47 

to  resign,  the  wings  of  the  angels  are  clipped,  the 
mother  of  God  loses  all  claim  to  the  heavenly 
crown,  and  she  is  forbidden  to  work  miracles.  ^ 
And  it  may  be  observed  that  since  that  time,  and 
especially  since  natural  science  has  made  such 
progress,  miracles  have  ceased.  Whether  it  be 
that  the  Lord  does  not  like  to  have  the  doctors 
watch  his  fingering  so  closely,  or  that  he  will  not 
enter  into  competition  with  Bosco,  certain  it  is 
that  in  these  later  days,  though  religion  is  in  such 
danger,  he  has  disdained  to  help  it  by  a  brilliant 
miracle.  Perhaps  he  intends  in  future  to  exclude 
all  holy  tricks  from  all  the  new  religions  which  he 
may  introduce  here  on  earth,  and  prove  the  truths 
of  the  new  doctrines,  always  by  reason — which  is 
indeed  the  most  reasonable  way.  At  least,  there 
has  been  no  miracle  manifested  by  Saint-Simonism, 
which  is  the  newest  faith,  unless  it  be  that  the 
tailor's  bill  which  Saint  Simon  left  was  paid  ten 
years  after  his  death  in  good  cash  by  his  disciples. 
I  seem  even  now  to  see  the  excellent  Father  Olinde 
in  the  Salle  Taitbout,  rising  as  if  inspired,  and 
showing  to  the  astonished  congregation  the  re- 


^  In  reference  to  the  famous  placard  said  to  have  been  placed 
in  the  Cour  des  Miracles  during  the  excitement  caused  by  the 
Convulsionnaires : — 

"  De  par  le  roi — defense  k  Dieu 
De  faire  miracle  dans  ce  lieiL" 


48     GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER. 

ceipted  tailor's  bill.  Young  grocers  startled,^ 
pricked  up  their  ears,  and  the  tailors  began  to 
believe. 

However,  if  we  in  Germany  through  Protes- 
tantism lost  much  poetry  in  old  miracles  and  other 
ancient  things,  we  received  ample  amends.  Men 
became  more  virtuous  and  nobler.  Protestantism 
exercised  the  happiest  influence  as  to  purity  of 
manners,  and  that  strict  practice  of  duty  which 
we  commonly  call  morals — in  fact,  Protestantism 
has  taken  in  many  communities  a  direction  by 
which  it  finally  quite  coincides  with  it,  and  the 
Bible  only  remains  as  a  beautiful  illustration  or 
parable.  We  see  an  especially  happy  change  in 
the  life  of  clergymen.  There  disappeared  with 
celibacy  also  much  pious  immorality  and  monkish 
crime.  Among  the  Protestant  clergymen  we  often 
find  the  most  virtuous  men — men  whom  even  the 
Stoics  of  old  would  have  respected.  One  should 
have  travelled  on  foot  as  a  poor  student  through 
North  Germany  to  know  how  much  virtue  and — 
to  give  it  a  good  qualifying  adjective — how  much 
evangelical  virtue  is  often  to  be  found  in  a  humble 
pastor's  home.     How  oft  have  I  of  a  winter  even- 

^  "  Jange  Epiciers  stutzten."  In  the  French  version,  "  Et  les 
^piciers,  de  se  regarder  I'un  I'autre  la  bouche  b^ante."  Stutzten 
implies  not  only  being  startled,  bat  also  a  certain  degree  of 
observation,  as  stopping  in  sudden  embarrassment,  jibbing  or 
balking.  The  French  version  adds  that  they  were  startled  "  at 
this  transubstantiation  of  paper  to  gold." — Trandator. 


GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER.     49 

ing  there  found  a  hospitable  reception,  I  a  stranger, 
who  had  no  other  recommendation  save  that  I  was 
hungry  and  weary !  And  when  I  had  eaten  and 
slept  well,  and  in  the  morning  would  wend  my  way, 
then  came  the  old  pastor  in  his  dressing-gown 
and  gave  me  a  parting  blessing  which  truly  never 
brought  me  any  ill-luck,  and  the  good-natured, 
gossiping  Frau  Pastorin  put  pieces  of  bread  and 
butter  into  my  pocket,  which  did  not  less  refresh 
me,  while  in  the  background  and  in  silence  stood 
the  preacher's  pretty  daughters  with  rosy  cheeks 
and  violet  eyes,  the  memory  of  whose  modest  fire 
warmed  my  heart  a  whole  winter's  day. 

When  Luther  announced  the  proposition  that 
his  doctrine  should  only  be  refuted  by  the  Bible 
itself  or  on  reasonable  grounds,  he  opened  to 
human  intelligence  and  reason  the  right  to  ex- 
plain the  Bible,  and  so  reason  was  recognised  as 
head-judge  in  all  religious  debates.  Hence  re- 
sulted in  Germany  the  so-called  spiritual  liberty 
also  known  as  freedom  of  thought.  Thought 
became  a  right,  and  the  decisions  of  reason  were 
made  legal.  It  is  true  enough  that  for  several 
centuries  before  this  men  could  think  and  speak 
with  tolerable  freedom,  and  the  schools  disputed 
over  subjects  which  we  must  wonder  that  they  dared 
to  mention  in  the  Middle  Age.  But  this  resulted 
from  the  distinction  which  was  drawn  between 
theological  and  philosophical  truth,  a  distinction 

VOL.  I.  D 


so     GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER. 

by  which  they  expressly  guarded  against  heresy ; 
and  all  this,  moreover,  was  only  heard  in  the 
lecture-rooms  of  universities,  and  was  uttered  in 
an  abstruse  Gothic  Latin,  of  which  the  people 
understood  nothing,  bo  that  little  harm  was  to 
be  feared  for  the  Church.  However,  the  Church 
never  really  permitted  such  proceedings,  and  now 
and  then  she  actually  burnt  some  poor  scholar 
by  way  of  protest.  But  after  Luther  there  was 
no  distinction  observed  between  theological  and 
philosophical  truth,  and  people  disputed  in  the 
market-place  in  the  German  country  dialect,  and 
that  without  fright  or  fear.  The  rulers  who  ac- 
cepted the  Reform  legitimatised  such  freedom 
of  thought,  and  a  weighty  world-wide  result  of 
it  has  been  German  philosophy. 

In  fact,  human  intelligence  could  never  have 
spoken  out  so  freely^  in  Greece  as  in  Germany 
from  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century  to 
the  French  invasion.  Especially  in  Prussia  was 
there  a  limitless  freedom  of  thought.  The  Mar- 
quis of  Brandenburg  had  understood  that  as  he 
could  only  become  legitimate  king  of  Prussia 
through  Protestant  principles,  he  must  also  main- 
tain Protestant  liberty  of  thinking.        ' 

Since  then,  things  have  changed,  and  the 
natural  protector  of  our  Protestant  freedom  of 

*  In  the  French  version  "n'a  pu  s'exprimer  at  se  devdopper 
•ussi  librement. " — Translator.  i 


GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER.     51 

thought  has  an  understanding  with  the  Ultra- 
montane party  to  suppress  it,  and,  to  do  this, 
traitorously  uses  a  weapon  which  Popery  first 
invented  and  applied  against  us — the  censor- 
ship. 

Strange  !  we  Germans  are  the  strongest  and 
the  cleverest  race.  Our  princes'  relations  sit  on 
every  throne  in  Europe;  our  Rothschilds  rule 
Exchanges  through  the  world ;  our  learned  men 
give  laws  in  every  science ;  we  invented  gun- 
powder and  printing,^  and  yet  he  who  fires  off  a 
pistol  among  us  must  pay  three  thalers  fine ;  and 
if  we  publish  in  the  Hamburger  Correspondent, 
"Mj  dear  wife  has  given  birth  to  a  daughter 
as  fair  as  freedom,"  Doctor  Hoffmann  seizes  his 
red  pencil  and  strikes  out  "  freedom." 

Will  this  last  long?  I  do  not  know;  but  I 
know  that  the  question  of  the  liberty  of  the  press, 
which  is  now  being  so  vehemently  discussed  in 
Germany,  is  very  closely  connected  with  these 
preceding  remarks;  and  I  believe  its  solution  is 
not  difficult  when  we  reflect  that  freedom  of  the 
press  is  a  natural   consequence   of  freedom  of 

^  Carlyle,  who  should  have  known  better,  also  repeated  the 
assertion  that  the  German  Berthold  Schwartz  invented  gun- 
powder. A  century  before  Schwartz,  Roger  Bacon  knew  it, 
and  a  century  before  Bacon  a  Norman-Latin  recipe  ad  facien- 
dum le  erake  (how  to  make  a  fire-cracker)  had  set  it  forth,  as 
is  shown  in  the  notes  to  The  Merchant  and  the  Friar  by  Sir 
Francis  Palsgrave. — Trandator. 


NV^^ 


S^^ 


.Q^ 


52      GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER. 

thonght,  and  therefore  a  Protestant  right.  For 
such  rights  Grermany  has  poured  forth  its  best 
blood,  and  it  may  be  that  for  the  same  cause  it 
will  again  do  battle. 

This  is  also  applicable  to  the  question  of  aca- 
demic freedom,  which  at  present  is  so  passion- 
ately exciting  the  German  mind.  Since  it  has 
been  discovered  that  political  agitation,  that  is, 
the  love  of  freedom,  prevails  principally  in  the 
universities,  it  has  been  insinuated  to  sovereigns 
from  every  side  that  these  institutes  should  be 
suppressed,  or  at  least  be  changed  into  ordinary 
schools;  and  so  new  plans  are  contrived,  and 
the  pro  and  contra  discussed.  But  the  public 
opponents  of  the  univerpities  seem  to  have  under- 
stood the  real  grounds  of  the  question  quite  as 
little  as  their  public  advocates.  They  do  not 
understand  that  youth  is  inspired  for  freedom 
everywhere,  under  any  form  of  discipline,  and 
that  if  the  universities  should  be  suppressed, 
that  enthusiastic  youth  will  declare  itself  in 
other  places,  and  perhaps  in  alliance  with  the 
youth  engaged  in  commerce  and  trade.  The 
defenders  only  try  to  prove  that  the  best  of 
German  learning  and  science  would  perish  with 
the  universities,  and  that  academic  freedom  is  of 
advantage  to  study  because  youth  derives  from 
it  such  fine  opportunities  to  develop  itself  in  so 
many  directions,  and  so  on ;  as  if  so  many  Greek 


GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER.      $3 

accents  or  a  few  rude  expressions  more  or  less 
were  here  the  question ! 

And  what  would  our  princes  care  for  all  learn- 
ing or  science,  studies  or  culture,  should  the 
sacred  safety  of  their  thrones  be  endangered? 
They  would  be  heroic  enough,  in  such  case,  to 
sacrifice  all  relative  benefits  for  the  only  Absolute, 
their  own  absolute  rule.^  For  this  has  been 
confided  to  them  by  God,  and  where  Heaven 
commands,  all  earthly  considerations  must  give 
way. 

And  there  is  as  much  misunderstanding  of  the 
question  by  the  poor  professors  who  come  forward 
as  defenders  as  by  the  public  officials  who  publicly 
oppose  the  universities.  Only  the  Catholic  Propa- 
ganda in  Germany  understands  the  meaning  of  it, 
and  these  pious  dwellers  in  darkness  are  the  most 
dangerous  opponents  of  our  university  system. 
These  work  against  it  insidiously  by  means  of 
falsehood  and  foul  play,  and  even  when  one  of 
them  (as  did  lately  a  magnificent  rascal  in  the 
Aula  ^  at  Munich)  assumes  an  amiable  air,  as  if  he 
would  speak  a  word  for  the  universities,  a  Jesuiti- 
cal intrigue  reveals  itself.  Well  do  these  cowardly 
hypocrites  know  what  is  to  be  gained  in  this  game ; 

^  Heine  refers  here  to  the  Absolute  of  German  philosophers. 
The  point  is  lost  in  the  French  version,  which  gives  it  as  "  ud 
seul  bien  absolu." — Translator. 

'  Aula,  university  hall. 


';•*•.*'.•*!»#  •»-•  *tm  ,f^'*-'  .-•  ■•■•  ^'^  -■^"«-,#*.«(i' 


54     GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER. 

for  with  the  universities  would  fall  also  the  Pro- 
testant Church,  which  has  been  rooted  in  them 
since  the  Keformation,  so  that  the  whole  Protes- 
tant Church  history  of  later  centuries  consists 
almost  entirely  of  theological  disputes  among  the 
learned  men  of  Wittenberg,  Leipzig,  Tubingen,  and 
Halle.*  The  spiritual  courts  "  are  only  the  dimmed 
reflection  of  the  theological  faculty;  they  would 
lose  with  it  all  hold  and  character,  and  sink  into  an 
empty  dependence  on  ministers,  or  even  the  police. 

But  I  must  not  devote  too  much  space  to  such 
melancholy  reflections,  the  more  so  because  we 
have  yet  to  speak  of  the  man  of  Providence  by 
whom  BO  much  that  was  great  was  done  for  the 
German  people.  I  have  already  shown  how  we 
through  him  attained  the  greatest  freedom  of 
thought;  but  Martin  Luther  gave  us  not  only 
freedom  of  action,  but  the  means  to  act — that  is, 
he  gave  a  body  to  the  soul.  He  gave  language  to 
thought.     He  created  the  German  language. 

This  he  did  by  translating  the  Bible. 

Li  fact,  the  Divine  composer  of  this  book  seems 
to  have  known  quite  as  well  as  we  that  it  is  not  a 
matter  of  indifference  by  whom  we  are  translated ; 
therefore  he  chose  his  own  translator,  and  gifted 
hiTin  with  the  wonderful  power  to  translate  from  a 

'  Heine  here  omits  to  notice  the  Puritan  development  in 
England. — Trandator. 
'  Consistonen. 


GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER.      55 

language  which  was  not  only  dead  but  buried  into 
another  which  had  not  come  to  life. 

Men  had,  it  is  true,  the  Vulgate,  which  was 
understood,  and  the  Septuagint,  which  they  might 
understand.  But  the  knowledge  of  Hebrew  was 
then  utterly  extinguished  in  all  the  Christian 
world.  Only  the  Jews,  who  kept  themselves  hidden 
here  and  there  in  a  comer  of  the  world,  preserved 
the  traditions  of  this  tongue.  Like  a  ghost  guard- 
ing a  treasure  which  was  confided  to  him  when 
living,  this  murdered  race  sat  in  its  gloomy 
Ghettos  keeping  watch  over  the  Hebrew  Bible,  and 
German  scholars  could  be  seen  stealing  into  these 
ill-famed  blind  alleys  to  raise  the  precious  hoard, 
to  gain  a  knowledge  of  the  Hebrew  language. 
When  the  Catholic  clergy  saw  that  danger  was 
drawing  nigh  in  this  direction,  that  the  people 
might  by  this  side-path  attain  a  knowledge  of  the 
true  Word  of  God  and  discover  its  Romish  falsi- 
fications, they  would  gladly  have  suppressed  all 
Jewish  tradition,  and  they  went  to  work  to  destroy 
all  Hebrew  books.  Then  on  the  Rhine  began  that 
persecution  of  books  against  which  the  admirable 
and  excellent  Doctor  Reuchlin  fought  so  gloriously. 
Yet  the  theologians  of  Cologne,  who  were  active  in 
the  strife,  were  by  no  means  so  narrow-minded— 
especially  Hochstraaten — as  they  are  depicted  in 
the  LUteroB  Obscurorum  Virorum  by  the  knight 
Ulrich  von  Hutten,  the  valiant  fellow-champion 


■.II  ■■  ■«.ii»..».,^  _  .^  _ 


56     GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER. 

of  Reuchlin.^  The  efiEort  was  to  suppress  the 
Hebrew  language.  When  Reuchlin  conquered, 
Luther  could  begin  his  work.  In  a  letter  which 
he  wrote  at  this  time  to  Reuchlin,  he  seems  to  feel 
the  great  importance  of  the  victory  which  the  latter 
had  won,  and  that  in  a  difficult  and  dependent 
situation,  while  he,  the  Augustine  monk,  was  at 
perfect  liberty.  He  says  very  naively  in  this 
letter,  "  Ego  nihil  timeo,  quia  nihil  habo  " — "  No- 
thing I  fear,  because  I  nothing  have." 

How  Luther  ever  learned  the  language  into 
which  he  translated  the  Bible  is  to  me  to  this 
hour  incomprehensible.  The  old  Swabian  dialect 
had  utterly  passed  away  with  the  knightly  poetry 
of  the  imperial  age  of  the  Hohenstaufen.  The 
old  Saxon  dialect — the  so-called  Platt-Deutsch — 
prevailed  in  only  a  part  of  North  Germany,  and, 
in  spite  of  every  effort,  it  never  attained  to  a 
literary  position.  K  Luther  had  used  for  his 
translation  of  the  Bible  the  language  which  was 
spoken  in  the  Saxony  of  the  day,  Adelung  would 
have  been  right  in  declaring  that  the  Saxon, 
especially  the  dialect  of  Meissen,  is  our  real  High 

^  These  letters,  which  may  be  called  a  companion>piece  to  the 
works  of  Rabelais,  and  of  Luther  and  Melanchthon,  form  one 
of  the  best  works  of  humour  ever  written.  They  are  in  the 
worst  and  simplest  Latin,  and  are  supposed  to  be  addressed  to 
their  chief  by  the  most  fanatical  and  ignorant  monks,  exposing 
all  their  secrets,  sins,  and  follies.  The  book  had  an  immense 
circulation,  and  greatly  aided  the  Reformation. — Translator. 


GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER.      $7 

German — that  is,  our  written  tongue.  But  this 
error  has  been  long  disproved.  I  must  lay  the 
more  stress  on  it  because  it  is  still  current  in 
France.  The  present  Saxon  was  never  a  dialect 
of  the  German  people  any  more  than  Silesian, 
for  both  are  bom  of  Slavonic  influence.  I  frankly 
confess  I  do  not  know  how  the  language  which  we 
find  in  the  Bible  of  Luther  originated,  but  I  know 
that  it  was  through  this  Bible,  of  which  the  press 
— as  yet  in  its  youth — by  its  black  art  cast  forth 
thousands  of  copies  among  the  people,  that  in 
a  few  years  the  language  of  Luther  spread  all 
over  Germany,  and  was  raised  to  be  that  of  our 
literature.  This  written  language  still  prevails 
in  Germany,  and  gives  to  our  otherwise  politically 
and  religiously  mangled  and  divided  country  a 
literary  unity.  Such  an  inestimable  service  may 
indemnify  us  for  the  fact  that,  in  the  present 
development  of  this  language  there  is  something 
wanting  in  the  inward  earnestness^  which  we 
usually  find  in  languages,  developed  from  a  single 
dialect.  But  the  language  in  Luther's  Bible  does 
not  need  such  genial  expression,  and  this  old  book 
is  an  eternal  fountain  of  youth  for  our  tongue. 
All  the  expressions  and  turns  of  speech  which 
are  in  the  Lutheran  Bible  are  German.  The 
author  may  use  them   freely,  and  as  the  book 

^  Innigkeit,  characteristic,  original  vigour,  generally  imply- 
ing cordiality,  warmth,  or  genial  depth. 


58     GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER. 

is  in  the  hands  of  the  poorest  people,  they  need 
no  specially  erudite  preparation  to  exprese  them- 
selves in  a  literary  form.  This  fact  will,  when 
the  great  political  revolution  breaks  out,  produce 
remarkable  results.  Freedom  will  speak  every- 
where, and  its  speech  will  be  Biblical.* 

The  original  writings  of  Luther  have  not  less 
contributed  to  fix  the  German  language.  By 
their  polemic  passion  they  drive  deep  into  the 
heart  of  the  time.  Their  tone  is  not  always  nice, 
but  even  religious  revolutions  are  not  made  with 
rose-water.  A  tough  log  often  needs  a  rough 
wedge.'  In  the  Bible,  Luther's  language  is 
always  kept  within  the  bounds  of  a  certain 
dignity  out  of  reverence  to  the  ever-present 
spirit  of  God.  Li  his  controversial  writings,  on 
the  other  hand,  he  often  gives  himself  up  to 
his  plebeian  coarseness,  which  is  at  times  as 
grand  as  it  is  repulsive.  Hib  expressions  and 
images  then  resemble  those  colossal  stone  figures 
which  are  found  in  Indian  or  Egyptian  cave- 
temples,  and  whose  harsh  colouring  and  strange 
ugliness  at  once  repel  and  attract  us.  In  this 
hor-rocky  style  *  the  bold  monk  often  appears  like 

^  This  and  the  preceding  sentence  are  omitted  in  the  French 
edition. — Trtmilator. 

>  "Zu  dem  groben  Klotz  gehorte  manchmal  ein  grober 
KeiL"  Also  "  harter  KeiL"  An  old  Roman  saying.  A  French 
equivalent  is  "  k  vilain,  vilain  et  demu" — Trantlator. 

'  "Dorch  diesen  barocken  Felseostil,   i.e.,  baroque;  rocky 


-^,  t,f- 


GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER.     59 

a  religious  Danton,  a  preacher  of  the  Mountain, 
who  from  its  height  hurls  down  varied  blocks  of 
words  on  the  heads  of  his  foes. 

Far  more  remarkable  and  significant  than  his 
prose  writings  are  Luther's  poems,  or  the  songs 
which  sprung  from  his  soul  in  battle  and  suffer- 
ing. They  often  seem  like  a  flower  growing  on 
a  rock  or  a  moon-ray  quivering  on  a  moving  lake. 
Luther  loved  music ;  he  even  wrote  a  treatise  on 
it;  hence  his  songs  are  remarkably  melodious. 
And  in  this  respect  the  name  of  the  Swan  of 
Eisleben  was  appropriate  to  him.  But  he  was 
anything  but  a  gentle  swan  in  many  songs,  in 
which  he  fired  the  souls  of  his  followers  and 
inspired  himself  to  the  wildest  joy  of  battle. 
That  was  a  defiant  war-song  indeed  with  which 
he  and  his  companions  entered  Worms.  The  old 
cathedral  trembled  at  the  new  sounds,  and  the 
ravens  were  terrified  in  their  obscure  nests  in 
the  towers.  That  song,  which  was  the  Marseilles 
Hymn  of  the  Reformation,  has  preserved  its  power 
of  inspiration  to  this  day,  and  we  perhaps  shall 
use  the  old  mail-clad  words  ere  long  for  other 
battles — 

style.  The  baroque  style  is  properly  that  of  the  architecture 
of  the  Regency  and  later.  It  is  also  often  applied  to  grotesque 
yet  tasteless  art,  which  showed  itself  in  "  grottoes."  The  word 
itself  is  also  said  to  be  derived  from  pemke,  in  reference  to  the 
wigs  which  were  worn  of  such  extravagant  dimensions  when  it 
prevailed.— Trorwiotor. 


6o     GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER. 

God  is  a  citadel  indeed,  j 

A  good  defence  and  weapon  ; 
He  helps  us  free  from  every  need 
Which  unto  us  can  happen.         i 
The  old  and  evil  foe 
Is  in  grim  earnest  now  ;  | 

Great  power  and  craft  I  wis 
His  cruel  armour  is,  I 

On  earth  is  not  his  equal.  | 

But  with  our  might  is  nothing  done, 
We  soon  would  be  y-losen, 
But  for  us  fights  the  proper  man, 
Whom  God  himself  hath  chosen. 

Askest  thou  his  name  ? 

'Tis  Jesus  Christ,  the  same 

As  the  Lord  Zebaot ; 

There  is  no  other  God, 
He'll  keep  the  field  for  ever. 

And  were  the  world  with  devils  filled, 
And  if  they  would  devour  us. 
With  fear  we  never  should  be  chilled, 
For  victory  is  before  us. 

The  prince  of  this  world  here, 
Though  grim  he  may  appear. 
Why  should  we  fear  him  aught  ? 
He's  judged,  his  power  is  naught, 
A  single  word  can  fell  him. 

And  they  shall  let  the  Word  remain. 
No  thanks  for  that  they  merit ; 
He  is  before  us  on  the  plain  j 

With  all  his  gifts  and  spirit. 
And  if  they  take  our  life 


•  "t 


•>T- 


GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER.     6i 

Goods,  honour,  child  and  wife, 
Though  nought  to  us  remain, 
Yet  nothing  will  they  gain ; 
The  realm  is  ours  for  ever  ! 

I  have  shown  how  much  we  owe  to  our  dear 
Dr.  Martin  Luther  for  the  freedom  of  thought 
which  the  new  literature  needed  for  its  develop- 
ment. I  have  also  shown  how  he  shaped  the 
Word  in  which  this  new  Kterature  could  express 
itself.  I  have  now  only  to  add  that  he  himself 
began  this  literature ;  that  it,  and  in  fact  our  pure 
literature,^  begins  with  Luther;  that  his  religi- 
ous songs  are  the  first  appearances  in  it  of  any 
importance,  and  already  announce  the  character 
which  it  was  to  assume.  He  who  will  speak  of 
modern  German  literature  must  begin  with  Luther, 
and  not  with  a  Nuremberg  cockney  citizen  ^  named 


*  Sclwne  Literature,  belles  lettres. 

*  Spiestbilrger,  a  good  citizen,  like  John  Gilpin,  enrolled  in 
the  city  guards.  The  intimation  is  of  honest  stupidity,  recalled 
what  was  associated  once  with  the  National  Guards  of  Paris. 
To  make  the  most  of  Luther,  Heine  is  here  guilty  of  the  grossest 
injustice  to  Hans  Sachs — an  injustice  which  is  the  greater 
because  Heine,  of  all  men,  must  have  appreciated  the  quaint 
humour  and  exquisite  local  and  temporal  colour  of  this  writer, 
who  reflects  his  age  with  rare  fidelity.  Equally  superficial  and 
misleading  are  his  remarks  to  the  effect  that  Luther  created, 
entirely  and  alone,  the  German  language,  and  that  no  sources  of 
aid  or  inspiration  whatever  existed  to  bis  hand.  This  is  the 
more  to  be  regretted  because,  apart  from  these  forced  exaggera- 
tions, this  sketch  of  Luther  is  one  of  the  masterpieces  of  the 


62     GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER. 

J 
Hans  Sachs,  as  is  done  by  the  dishonest  envy  of 
certain  Romantic  writers.  Hans  Sachs,  the  trou- 
badour of  the  Honourable  Guild  of  Shoemakers, 
whose  master-song  is  only  a  silly,  nonsensical 
parody  of  the  earlier  Minnelieder,  and  whose 
dramas  are  only  a  clumsy  doltish  travesty  of  the 
old  mystery-plays — this  pedantic  jack-pudding, 
who  painfully  apes  the  free  naivete  of  the  Middle 
Age,  may  perhaps  be  regarded  as  the  last  poet 
of  the  olden  time,  but  by  no  means  as  the  begin- 
ning or  last  of  the  new.^  There  is  therefore  no 
need  of  further  proof  ere  I  proceed  to  discuss  in 
a  decided  manner  the  contrasts  of  our  new  litera- 
ture with  the  elder. 

If  we  consider  German  literature  as  it  was 
before  Luther,  we  find  that  —  I 

I.  Its  material  is  like  the  life  of  the  Middle 
Age  itself,  a  mixture  of  two  heterogeneous  ele- 
ments, which  in  a  long  struggle  closed  round 
each  other  so  forcibly,  that  in  the  end  they  united ; 
that  is,  the  German  nationality  and  the  Indian- 
Gnostic,  so-called  Catholic  Christianity. 

IL  The  treatment,  or  much  rather  the  spirit  of 
the  treatment,  in  this  older  literature,  is  romantic. 

German  language.     He  subsequently  flatly  contradicts  himself 
as  to  this  when  speaking  of  Tauler  and  of  Sachs. — Trcmslator. 

^  Here  the  first  book  ends  in  the  French  version  ;  that 
is  to  say,  there  are  five  and  a  half  pages  more  in  the  German 
original. 


GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OP  LUTHER.     63 

The  same  is  said  abnsively  also  of  the  material  of 
that  literature,  as  of  all  the  developments  of  the 
Middle  Age  which  resulted  from  the  blending  of 
the  two  elements  mentioned,  or  German  nation- 
ality and  Catholic  Christendom.  For  just  as 
certain  poets  of  the  Middle  Age  treated  Greek 
history  and  mythology  quite  romantically,  so 
we  can  set  fort:h  mediaeval  manners  and  legends 
in  classic  form.  The  expressions  classic  and 
romantic  depend,  therefore,  upon  the  spirit  in 
which  they  are  treated.^  The  treatment  is  classic 
when  the  form  of  that  which  is  set  fort}h  is  quite 
identical  with  the  idea  of  the  representer,  as  is  the 
case  in  Greek  works  of  art;,  where,  in  consequence 
of  this  identity,  the  greatest  harmony  is  found 
between  form  and  idea.  But  it  is  romantic  when 
the  form  does  not  reveal  the  idea  by  identity, 
but  lets  the  idea  be  guessed  parabolicaUy.  I  use 
the  word  parabolic  here  in  preference  to  symbolic, 
Greek  mythology  had  an  array  of  forms  of  gods, 
of  which  every  one,  notwithstanding  the  identity 
of  form  and  of  idea,  could,  however,  assume  a 
symbolic  meaning.  But  in  this  Greek  religion 
only  the  forms  of  the  gods  were  accurately  deter- 
mined or  defined;  everything  else,  such  as  their 
living  and  loving,  was  left  to  the  will  of  the  poet 

^  See  further,  as  regards  Heme's  definition  of  this  expression, 
the  first  book  of  the  Romantic  School,  German  edition  of  1876, 
vol.  vi.  p.  27. — Note  by  the  German  PvMither. 


64     GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER. 

to  handle  as  he  pleased.  In  the  Christian  religion,  : 
on  the  contrary,  there  are  not  such  determined 
forms,  but  defined  facts  positively  declared  holy 
events,  and  deeds  into  which  the  creating  mind 
of  man  may  inspire  a  parabolic  meaning.  It  is 
said  that  Homer  invented  the  gods  of  Greece, 
which  is  not  true;  they  existed  long  before  in 
distinct  outlines,  but  he  invented  their  histories. 
The  artists  of  the  Middle  Age,  on  the  other  hand, 
never  dared  to  invent  or  add  anything,  however 
trifling,  to  the  historical  part  of  their  religion. 
The  fall  through  sin,  the  becoming  man,  baptism 
and  the  crucifixion,  were  deeds  not  to  be  touched, 
on  which  there  could  be  no  modelling,  yet  into 
which  the  creative  or  poetising  mind  of  man  might 
put  a  parabolic  meaning.  In  this  parabolic  spirit 
all  the  arts  were  treated  in  the  Middle  Age,  and 
this  treatment  is  romantic.  Hence  in  mediaeval 
poetry  that  mystical  generality^ — ^the  forms  are 
so  shadowy ;  what  they  do  is  so  dream-like.  All 
is  dusky-dim,  as  if  lit  by  shifting  moonlight ;  the 
idea  is  only  intimated  in  the  form  like  a  riddle ; 
therefore  we  see  a  vague  form,  such  as  is  adapted 
to  a  spiritualistic  literature.  There  is  not,  as 
with  the  Greeks,  a  harmony  as  clear  as  sunlight 
between  form  and  idea,  but  very  often  the  idea 
exceeds   or  over-tops  the   given  form,  and  the 

^  AUgemeinheit,  universality ;  here  trUlcmgt  or  " mixed-upness  " 
is  the  best  translatiou. 


jij 


GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OP  LUTHER.      65 

latter  strives  desperately  or  despairingly  to  equal 
it ;  the  result  being  a  bizarre  and  daring  sublimity. 
Often,  too,  the  form  grows  far  over  the  head  of  the 
idea ;  a  feeble,  tiny  thought  drags  and  trails  itself 
about  in  a  colossal  form  and  we  see  the  grotesque — 
always  at  least  deformity. 

III.  The  general  character  of  that  literature 
was  that,  in  all  its  products,  the  same  firm  and 
confident  faith  showed  itself  which  then  prevailed 
in  all  worldly  as  well  as  spiritual  things.  All  the 
views  or  opinions  of  the  time  were  based  on 
authority ;  the  poet  wandered  with  the  easy  con- 
fidence of  a  mule  along  by  the  abyss  of  doubt, 
and  there  prevailed  in  his  works  a  daring  repose, 
a  happy  confidence,  such  as  at  a  later  time  be- 
came impossible  when  the  culminating  point  of 
those  authorities  or  the  authority  of  the  Pope  was 
broken,  and  everything  else  fell  after  it.  The 
poems  of  the  Middle  Age  have  therefore  all  the 
same  character ;  they  do  not  seem  as  if  one  man, 
but  as  if  the  whole  race  had  composed  them  j  they 
are  objective,  epic,  and  naive. 

In  the  literature  which  sprung  up  with  Luther 
we  find  directly  to  the  contrary  that — 

I.  Its  material,  or  the  stuff  which  it  treats,  is 
the  field  of  the  interests  of  the  Reformation  and 
views  as  to  the  old  order  of  things.  To  the  new 
spirit  of  the  time,  that  mixed  faith  which  sprung 
up  from  the  twq  elements  before  mentioned,  that 

VOL.  L  S 


66     GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER. 

is,  German  nationality  and  Indian-Gnostic  Christi- 
anity, is  entirely  repulsive ;  it  regards  the  latter 
as  heathen  idolatry,  and  it  will  have  in  its  place 
the  true  religion  of  the  Jewish-deistic  Bible.  A 
new  order  of  things  formed  itself ;  the  spirit  made 
discoveries.-  which  promoted  the  well-being  of 
material  man  by  the  development  of  industry  and 
progress  of  philosophy ;  Spiritualism  became  dis- 
credited in  public  opinion ;  the  Third  Estate  raised 
itself ;  the  Revolution  began  to  growl  and  roar  in 
hearts  and  heads,  and  whatever  the  age  felt  and 
thought  and  wanted  and  would  have,  was  spoken 
out,  and  that  is  the  material  of  modem  literature. 

II.  The  spirit  of  treatment  is  no  longer  romantic, 
but  classic.  From  the  revival  of  ancient  literature 
there  spread  all  over  Europe  a  genial  enthusiasm 
for  Greek  and  Boman  authors,  and  the  learned, 
who  were  the  only  ones  who  then  wrote,  sought 
to  make  the  spirit  of  classical  antiquity  their  own. 
If  they  could  not  attain,  like  the  Greeks,  to  a 
harmony  of  form  and  idea,  they  clung  all  the 
more  strongly  to  the  externals  of  Greek  treat- 
ment; they  arranged  all  according  to  Greek 
precept  into  classes;  they  refrained  from  every 
romantic  extravagance,  and  in  this  regard  we  call 
them  classic. 

III.  The  general  character  of  modem  literature 
lies  in  this,  that  individuality  and  scepticism  now 
prevail.      Authorities  are  overthrown,  reason  is 


GERMANY  TILL  THE  TIME  OF  LUTHER.     67 

now  the  only  lamp  of  man,  and  his  own  con- 
science his  only  staff  in  the  dark  mazes  of  life. 
Man  sits  alone  face  to  face  with  his  Creator,  and 
sings  him  his  song.  Therefore  this  literature 
begins  with  hymns.  But  even  later,  when  it 
became  worldly,  there  ruled  in  it  the  deepest 
self -consciousness,  the  feeling  of  personality. 
Poetry  is  now  no  longer  objective,  epic,  and 
naive,  but  subjective,  lyrical,  and  reflecting. 


y 


ITRST  PART.— BOOK  SECOND. 


FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT. 

In  the  foregoing  book  we  have  treated  of  the 
great  religious  revolution  which  was  represented 
by  Martin  Luther  in  Germany.  Now  we  have 
to  speak  of  the  philosophical  revolution  which 
came  from  it,  and  which  is,  in  fact,  the  last 
result  of  Protestantism.  I 

But  before  relating  how  this  revolution  was 
caused  by  Immanuel  Kant,  we  must  discuss  more 
in  detail  the  philosophical  precedents  in  other 
countries,  the  meaning  and  significance  of  Spinoza, 
the  result  of  the  philosophy  of  Leibnitz,  the 
mutual  relations  of  this  philosophy  and  religion, 
their  irritations  and  discords;  and  we  must  con- 
stantly bear  in  mind  those  questions  of  philosophy 
to  which  we  attribute  a  social  significance,  and 
whose  solution  concurs  with  that  of  religion. 

This  is  now  the  question  of  the  nature  of 
God.  "God  is  the  beginning  and  end  of  all 
wisdom,"  say  the  believers  in  their  humility,  and 

68 


,..i 


of  the 
resented 
we  have 
1  which 
the   last 

ion  was 
ass  more 
in  other 
Spinoza, 
litz,  the 
religion, 
ust  con- 
ilosophy 
Qce,  and 
on. 

ature  of 
d  of  all 
lity,  and 


-  "■<• .  ■*    T-  , 


if 


Iw 


.1 


«  5' 


■■^^m 


FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT.  71 

Ghost !  The  Schoolmen  formed  in  secret  a  philo- 
sophic opposition  to  the  Church,  but  in  public 
they  pretended  the  utmost  deference  to  it;  in 
many  cases  they  fought  for  it ;  in  grand  proces- 
sions they  paraded  in  its  train,  as  did  the  French 
deputies  of  the  Opposition  in  the  solemnities  of 
the  Restoration. 

This  comedy  of  the  Schoolmen  lasted  more  than 
six  centuries,  becoming  all  the  time  more  trifling. 
By  destroying  Scholasticism  Descartes  also  de- 
stroyed the  superannuated  opposition  of  the 
Middle  Age.  The  old  brooms  had  been  worn 
to  stumps  by  long  sweeping;  too  much  rubbish 
and  dust  stuck  to  them,  and  a  new  world  wanted 
new  brooms.  After  every  revolution  the  hitherto 
opposition  must  resign,  else  there  will  be  great 
follies.  We  have  experienced  this.  At  that 
time  it  was  not  the  Catholic  Church  so  much  as 
its  old  opponents,  the  rearguard  of  the  School- 
men, who  first  rose  against  the  Cartesian  philo- 
sophy.    The  Pope  did  not  forbid  it  till  1663. 

I  may  assume  that  Frenchmen  have  an  all- 
suflScient  knowledge  of  the  philosophy  of  their 
great  countryman,  and  therefore  need  not  show 
how  the  most  opposing  doctrines  could  take  from 
it  necessary  material.  I  here  speak  of  Idealism 
and  Materialism. 

As  writers  generally,  especially  in  France, 
speak  of  these  two  doctrines  by  the  names  of 


t  f 


y«-V..'.i)..**«^*^*»-».*,  -^i  •*r^;**«......i..-^,"'^  ,^^  ».. ..  »-..^«.  -^f  Vi  '*j^  ' »  ■^•••■"*^r*^ 


r^fH"*^'- 


7« 


FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT. 


Spiritnalism  and  Sensnalism,  and  as  I  nse  both 
terms  in  another  sense,  I  must  here,  to  avoid 
confusion  of  ideas,  discuss  the  expressions  more 
accurately. 

Since  the  earliest  times  there  have  been  two 
opposite  opinions  or  views  as  to  the  nature  of 
human  thought — that  is,  as  to  the  final  or  deepest 
base  of  human  knowledge,  or  the  origin  of  ideas. 
It  is  maintained  on  one  side  that  we  get  our  ideas 
only  from  without,  that  our  mind  is  only  an 
empty  receptacle  in  which  the  perceptions  taken 
in  from  the  senses  work  themselves  up,  very 
much  like  the  food  in  our  stomach.  To  use  a 
better  simile,  these  people  regard  our  mind  as 
a  tabula  rasa,  on  which  experience  afterwards 
writes  every  day  something  new,  according  to 
certain  laws  of  writing. 

Others,  of  different  views,  declare  that  ideas  are 
innate  or  born  in  man ;  that  the  human  mind  is 
the  first  or  primitive  seat  of  ideas,  and  that  the 
world  without,  experience,  and  the  intermediary 
senses  bring  us  only  to  a  knowledge  of  that  which 
was  already  in  the  soul,  and  wake  up  the  slumber- 
ing ideas  which  were  already  there. 

The  first  view  has  been  called  Sensualism,  and 
often  Empiricism,  the  latter  Spiritualism  and 
Rationalism.  From  this,  misunderstandings  could 
readily  arise,  since,  as  I  have  shown  in  the 
previous  book,  they  have  been  employed  to  indi- 


_*■<..  *r1fi:    *.d!Vf    -^t--^ 


1j    54-: 


PROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT.  yj 

cate  those  two  social  systems  which  show  them- 
selves in  all  the  manifestations  of  life.  We  will 
leave  the  name  Spiritualism  to  that  fanatical 
arrogance  of  the  spirit  which,  striving  for  self- 
glorification,  endeavours  to  trample  on,  or  at  least 
vilify  matters,  and  we  abandon  the  term  Sensual- 
ism to  the  opposition  which,  on  the  contrary, 
aims  at  a  rehabilitation  of  matter,  and  vindi- 
cates the  inalienable  rights  of  the  senses,  without 
gainsaying  the  rights  of  the  spirit,  or  even  its 
supremacy. 

These  two  systems  have  been  opposed  since  men 
began  to  think,  for  there  have  always  been  men 
of  imperfect  capacities  for  enjoyment,  of  crippled 
senses  and  bruised  flesh,  who  find  all  the  grapes  soar 
in  this  garden  of  God,  who  see  the  decoying  serpent 
by  every  tree  of  Paradise,  and  seek  their  triumph 
in  asceticism  and  their  pleasure  in  pain.  On  the 
contrary,  there  are  also  and  ever  with  us  well- 
grown,  bodily-proud  natures,  who  like  to  hold 
their  heads  high ;  all  the  stars  and  roses  smile 
sympathetically  with  them ;  they  love  to  listen  to 
the  melodies  of  the  nightingale  and  of  Rossini; 
they  love  the  beautiful  Gliick  and  Titian's  flesh, 
and  to  the  dull  fellow  who  hangs  his  head  and  to 
whom  all  such  things  are  an  abomination  they 
reply  in  the  words  of  Shakespeare's  fool,  "  Think- 
est  thou  because  thou  art  virtuous  there  shall  be 
no  more  cakes  and  ale  ?  "     To  these  two  social 


^^■*'*r,^;^.,a.,  r!v^'~«^w?*r^,'<hi(Pv^>W.4  54.r'  •*;   -  -  ■ "-  ••>,■•**"■•♦  «>;-.♦,■'' 


74  FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT. 

Bystems  I  leave  the  names  of  Spiritnalism  and 
Sensualism.* 

On  the  other  hand,  I  give  to  philosophical 
opinions  on  the  nature  of  our  knowledge  the 
names  Idealism  and  Materialism,  and  indicate  by 
the  first  the  doctrine  of  innate  ideas  or  ideas  d 
priori,  and  by  the  other  the  theory  of  knowledge 
through  the  senses,  or  that  of  ideas  d  posteriori. 

It  is  a  very  significant  fact  that  the  idealistic 
aide  of  the  Cartesian  philosophy  never  had  any 
success  in  France.  Several  distinguished  Jansen- 
ists  followed  this  course  for  a  while,  but  they  soon 
lost  themselves  in  Christian  Spiritualism.  Perhaps 
it  was  this  circumstance  which  discredited  Idealism 
in  France.  The  people  divine  by  instinct  whom 
they  need  to  fulfil  their  mission.  The  French 
were  already  well  on  their  way  to  that  political 
revolution  which  broke  out  at  the  end  of  the 
eighteenth  century,  and  for  which  they  had  need 
of  an  axe,  and  of  a  material  philosophy  not  less 
cold  and  cutting.  Christian  Spiritualism  was  a 
fellow-warrior  in  the  ranks  of  the  enemy,  and 
Sensualism  was  therefore  their  natural  ally.     As 

*  All  of  the  preceding  passage  is  omitted  in  the  French  ver- 
aion,  and  the  German  publisher  informs  us  that  Heine  himself 
bad  stricken  it  out  of  the  original  MS.,  probably  in  haste,  be- 
cause the  same  quotation  from  Shakespeare  is  repeated  in  another 
place.  As  for  the  quotation,  Heine  gives  it  as  follows  :  ' '  Narr 
meinst  du,  well  du  tugendhaft  bist,  solle  es  keinen  stissen  Sekt 
und  keine  Torten  auf  dieser  Weltgeben." — TranilcUor. 


^  rj   .JC  ■-  r_L  - '  -^  ■M,ii»iiy---^-'i.^' 


C."-  a  fc*_  •.  >  ^    f  •.hJt  'i 


FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT.  75 

the  French  Sensualists  were  generally  Materialists, 
the  error  rose  that  Sensualism  proceeded  only  from 
Materialism.  But  it  can  develop  itself  just  as  well 
as  a  result  of  Pantheism,  and  then  it  has  a  beauti- 
ful and  commanding  form.  But  we  will  not  deny 
to  French  Materialism  its  dues  for  service  rendered. 
It  was  an  admirable  antidote  or  counter-poison 
against  the  evil  of  the  past,  a  desperate  remedy 
for  a  desperate  disease,  mercury  for  an  infected 
race.  The  French  philosophers  had  chosen  John 
Locke  for  their  master ;  he  was  the  saviour  whom 
they  required.  His  essay  on  the  Human  Under- 
standing was  their  evangel,  and  they  swore  by  it. 
John  Locke  had  been  in  the  school  of  Descartes, 
and  had  learned  from  him  all  that  an  Englishman 
can  learn, — mechanics,  analysis,  combination,  con- 
struction, and  calculation.  But  one  thing  he  never 
could  understand,  which  was  innate  ideas.  There- 
fore he  perfected  the  theory  that  we  obtain  our 
knowledge  from  without  by  experience.  He  metde 
of  the  human  soul  a  kind  of  calculating  box ;  the 
whole  man  became  an  English  machine.  This  is 
also  applicable  to  man  as  the  scholars  of  Locke 
constructed  him;  but  though  they  differ  among 
themselves  by  different  names,  they  are  all  afraid 
of  the  final  results  of  their  leading  principle,  and 
the  disciples  of  Condillac  are  horrified  when  classed 
with  Helvetius,  or  even  Holbach,  or  perhaps  at  last 
with  a  La  Metrie.     However,  it  is  inevitable,  and 


76  FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT. 

I  mnst  characterise  the  French  philosophers  of  the 
eighteenth  century  and  their  followers  of  to-day, 
one  and  all,  as  Materialists.  Lhomme  machine  is 
the  most  consequent  book  of  French  philosophy, 
and  its  title  indicates  the  final  conclusion  of  its 
view  of  all  things.  I 

These  Materialists  were  in  the  main  deists,  for 
a  machine  presupposes  a  mechanic,  and  it  per- 
tains to  the  highest  perfection  of  the  former  that 
it  recognises  and  esteems  the  technical  knowledge 
of  such  an  artist,  be  it  in  its  own  construction 
or  in  that  of  other  works. 

Materialism  has  fulfilled  its  mission  in  France. 
Perhaps  it  is  now  perfecting  the  same  work  in 
England,  and  the  revolutionary  parties,  especially 
the  Benthamites,  the  preachers  of  utility,  are  based 
on  Locke.  These  are  strong  minds  who  have 
grasped  the  right  lever  wherewith  to  move  John 
Bull.  John  Bull  is  a  born  Materialist,  and  his 
Christian  Spiritualism  is  for  the  greater  part 
traditional  hypocrisy,  or  only  material  or  sensual 
narrow-mindedness ;  ^  his  flesh  yields  because  the 
spirit  comes  not  to  his  aid.  It  is  different  in 
Germany,  and  the  German  revolutionaries  err 
if  they  believe  that  a  material  philosophy  will 
favour  their  aims.     Nor  will  any  general  revolu- 

*  MaterieUe  Bomirtheit.  In  the  French  version,  une  ritig- 
fuUion,  ttupide.  The  four  following  paragraphs  are  wanting  in 
the  French. — Translator. 


.^^T,,^-.-,.    ^  ^t  j^C  •■^■>'*|  -.<*  ,tiaMM^'>m^ 


PROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT.  77 

tion  be  possible  there  so  long  as  its  principles 
are  not  deduced  from  a  more  popular,  more 
religious,  and  more  German  philosophy,  and  made 
predominant  by  its  power.  What  philosophy 
is  this?  That  we  will  discuss  candidly  later. 
I  say  candidly,  for  I  also  expect  that  Germans 
will  read  these  pages. 

Germany  has  always  manifested  an  antipathy 
for  Materialism,  and  was  therefore  for  a  century 
and  a  half  the  real  theatre  of  Idealism.  Germans 
also  sought  the  school  of  Descartes,  and  his  greatest 
scholar  was  named  Gottfried  WUhelm  Leibnitz. 
As  Locke  developed  the  materialistic,  so  Leibnitz 
pursued  the  idealistic  direction  of  the  master. 
We  find  in  him,  expressed  most  determinedly, 
the  theory  of  innate  ideas.  He  opposed  Locke 
in  his  Nouveaux  Essais  sur  VEntendement  Humain. 
With  Leibnitz  arose  great  zeal  for  philosophic 
study  in  Germany.  He  woke  German  souls  and 
led  them  in  new  ways.  Whether  it  was  the  innate 
gentleness  or  the  religious  feeling  which  inspired 
him,  his  works  reconciled  the  most  revolted  minds 
with  their  boldness,  and  the  effect  was  enormous. 
The  boldness  of  this  philosopher  is  specially  shown 
in  his  doctrine  of  monads,  one  of  the  most  remark- 
able hypotheses  which  ever  sprung  from  the  head 
of  a  philosopher.  And  it  is  also  the  best  which 
he  produced,  for  there  was  foreshadowed  in  it 
the  knowledge  of  the  most  important  laws  which 


y« 


FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT. 


our  present  philosophy  has  produced.  The  doctrine 
of  monads  was  perhaps  only  an  awkward  formu- 
lising  of  the  same  law  which  is  now  declared  by 
natural  philosophers  in  better  formulas.  I  should 
here,  instead  of  the  word  "  law,"  only  use  that  of 
formula,  for  Newton  is  right  when  he  remarks 
that  what  we  call  law  does  not  really  exist  in 
Nature,  and  that  those  are  only  formulas  which 
come  to  the  aid  of  our  power  of  comprehension  ^ 
to  erplain  a  series  of  phenomena  in  Nature.  The 
Theodicea  is  in  Germany  the  most  discussed 
of  all  the  works  of  Leibnitz,  and  yet  it  is  his 
weakest.  This  book,  as  well  as  certain  others  in 
which  the  religious  feeUng  of  Leibnitz  expresses 
itself,  attracted  to  him  many  a  slander,  many  a 
bitter  misconception.  His  enemies  accused  him 
of  the  extreme  of  amiable  weak-mindedness ;  his 
friends,  defending  him,  made  him  out  a  crafty 
hypocrite.  The  character  of  Leibnitz  was  for  a 
long  time  a  subject  of  controversy  among  us. 
The  best  natured  have  never  been  able  to  free 
>iiTn  from  the  reproach  of  duplicity.  He  was 
most  reviled  by  the  free-thinkers  and  enligh- 
teners.  How  could  they  forgive  a  philosopher 
who  had  defended  the  Trinity,  eternal  punish- 
ment in  hell,  and  even  the  divinity  of  Christ? 
Their  toleration  did  not  stretch  so  far.     And  yet 

^  Faasvmgilcraft.    In  the  Freocb  version  tn^tyerioe.   Literally 
power  of  grasping. 


PROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT.  79 

Leibnitz  was  neither  a  knave  nor  a  fool,  and 
from  his  harmoniouB  heights  he  could  well  defend 
all  Christianity.  I  say  all  Christianiiy,  for  he 
defended  it  against  semi-Christianity.  He  pointed 
out  the  consistency  of  the  orthodox  in  contrast 
to  the  half-way  in  completeness  of  their  oppo- 
nents. More  he  did  not  seek.  And  he  was  on 
that  point  of  indiilerence  from  which  the  most 
different  systems  only  seem  to  be  different  sides 
of  the  same  truth.  Schelling  subsequently  recog- 
nised this  point  of  indifference,  and  Hegel  gave  it 
scientific  foundation  as  a  system  of  systems.  It 
was  in  this  spirit  that  Leibnitz  occupied  himself 
with  a  harmony  between  Plato  and  Aristotle,  a 
problem  which  has  been  proposed  to  us  many 
times  of  later  yeara     Has  it  been  solved  ? 

No,  in  truth,  no !  For  this  problem  is  nothing 
else  than  an  adjustment  of  the  strife  between 
Idealism  and  Materialism.  Plato  is  thoroughly 
Idealist,  and  only  knows  innate  or  rather  connate 
ideas.^  Man  brings  his  ideas  with  him  to  the 
world,  and  when  he  becomes  conscious  of  them, 
they  seem  to  him  like  memories  of  an  earlier 
existence.  Hence  the  vagueness  and  mysticism 
of  Plato,  who  only  remembers  more  or  less  dis- 
tinctly. With  Aristotle,  on  the  contrary,  all  is 
clear,  significant,  and  certain,  because  his  experi- 

^  "Oder  vielmehr  mitgeborene  Ideea."     This  is  wantiog  in 
the  French  version. — Translator. 


8o  FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT. 

ences  do  not  reveal  themselves  in  him  in  relation 
to  a  previous  life,  for  he  draws  everything  from 
experience,  and  knows  how  to  classify  everything 
most  accurately.  Therefore  he  has  always  been 
the  model  for  all  empirical  philosophers,  who  can- 
not sufficiently  praise  God  for  making  him  the 
tutor  of  Alexander,  through  whose  conquests  he 
had  so  many  opportunities  to  advance  science, 
and  that  his  victorious  pupil  gave  him  so  many 
thousand  talents  for  zoological  purposes.  No 
doubt  the  old  master  expended  all  the  money  con- 
scientiously, and  dissected,  for  it,  an  honourable 
amount  of  mammaliae,  stuffed  sufficient  birds,  and 
made  in  so  doing  the  most  important  observa- 
tions ;  but  the  great  animal  whom  he  had  always 
before  his  eyes,  whom  he  himself  had  trained, 
and  who  was  far  more  remarkable  than  all  the 
menagerie  of  all  the  world  in  those  days,  he 
passed  by  unexamined.  In  fact,  he  left  us  with- 
out any  knowledge  as  to  the  nature  of  that  young 
king,  at  whose  life  and  deeds  we  are  always 
amazed  as  if  at  miracles  and  problems.  Who  was 
Alexander?  What  did  he  want?  Was  he  a 
madman  or  a  god?  As  yet  we  do  not  know. 
Aristotle,  however,  gives  all  the  better  informa- 
tion as  to  Babylonian  monkeys,^  Indian  parrots, 
and  Greek  tragedies,  which  latter  he  also  cut  up. 

1  Assyrian  quadrupeds  in  the  latest  French  version. 


,  FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT.  8f 

Plato  and  Aristotle!  they  are  not  only  two 
systems,  but  the  types  of  two  dijfferent  kinds  of 
hnman  nature,  which,  since  ages  beyond  the 
mind's  grasp,  under  all  forms  or  disguises,  have 
always  been  more  or  less  opposed.  So  they 
fought  all  through  the  Middle  Age  till  this 
our  time,  and  this  battle  is  the  most  sig- 
nificant summary  of  Christian  Church  history. 
Plato  and  Aristotle  are  always  discussed  under 
other  names.  Visionary,  mystical,  Platonic  souls 
have  revealed  unto  them  from  the  depths  of  the 
soul,  or  of  feeling,  Christian  ideas  and  corre- 
sponding symbols.  Practical,  classifying,  Aristo- 
telian natures  form  from  these  ideas  and  symbols 
a  fixed  system,  a  dogmatic,  and  a  cultus.  The 
Church  at  last  embraced  both  these  natures  of 
men,  one  entering  the  camp  of  the  secular  clergy, 
and  the  other  that  of  monasticism,  but  who  still 
kept  up  a  constant  feud.  The  same  antagonism 
manifested  itself  in  the  Protestant  Church,  in 
which  the  division  between  pietists  and  orthodox 
corresponds  to  a  certain  degree  to  that  between 
Catholic  mystics  and  dogmatics.  The  Protestant 
pietists  are  mystics  without  imagination,  and  the 
Protestant  orthodox  are  dogmatics  without  in- 
telligence or  wit.  :     ' 

We  find  these  two  Protestant  parties  engaged 
in  bitter  strife  in  the  time  of  Leibnitz,  and  his 
philosophy  intervened  in  it  later,  when  Christian 

VOL.  L  F 


82  PROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT. 

Wolf  mastered  it,  adapted  it  to  the  wants  of  the 
time,  and,  what  was  of  the  most  importance, 
brought  it  forth  in  German.  But  before  we 
speak  further  of  this  pupil  of  Leibnitz,  of  the 
result  of  his  efforts,  and  of  the  later  destinies 
of  Lutheranism,  we  must  mention  the  man  of 
Providence  who  had  developed  himself  at  the 
same  time  with  Locke  and  Leibnitz  in  the  school 
of  Descartes,  who  was  long  regarded  with  hate 
and  scorn,  and  despite  it  rose  in  our  days  to 
general  spiritual  supremacy.  I 

I  speak  of  Benedict  Spinoza.  j 

A  great  genius  forms  himself  on  another  great 
genius  less  by  assimilation  than  by  friction.  One 
diamond  grinds  another.  So  the  philosophy  of 
Descartes  by  no  means  produced  that  of  Spinoza, 
but  only  aided  its  development.  Hence  we  find 
in  the  pupil  the  method  of  the  master,  which  is 
a  great  gain;  and  then  we  find  in  Spinoza,  as 
in  Descartes,  the  system  of  demonstration  taken 
from  mathematics,  which  is  a  great  defect.  The 
mathematical  form  gives  to  Spinoza  a  forbidding 
exterior.  But  it  is  the  hard  shell  of  the  almond, 
for  which  the  kernel  is  all  the  sweeter.  In  read- 
ing Spinoza,  we  are  seized  by  a  feeling  as  when 
contemplating  Nature  in  her  grandest  aspects  of 
life-inspired  repose,  a  forest  of  thoughts,  high 
as  heaven,  whose  blooming  summits  are  in  wavy 
motion,  while  their  immovable  trunks  are  deep- 


s'    y 


FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT.  83 

rooted  in  earth.  There  is  a  certain  air  in  the 
writings  of  Spinoza  which  is  inexplicable ;  we  are 
breathed  on  as  by  the  breezes  of  the  future.  The 
spirit  of  the  Hebrew  prophets,  it  may  be,  rested 
on  their  remote  descendant.  There  is  in  him 
a  solemn  earnestness,  a  self-conscious  pride,  a 
grandezza  of  thought  which  also  seems  to  be 
an  inheritance^  for  Spinoza  belonged  to  those 
families  of  martyrs  who  were  formerly  driven 
by  Most  CathoKc  kings  from  Spain;  to  which 
add  the  patience  of  the  Hollander,  which  is  as 
perfectly  manifested  in  all  the  life  of  the  man  as 
it  is  in  his  writings. 

It  is  proved  that  the  life  of  Spinoza  was  as  free 
from  every  fault  and  pure  and  spotless  as  that 
of  his  divine  cousin  Jesus  Christ.  Like  the  latter, 
he  too  struggled  for  his  doctrine ;  like  him,  he  bore 
the  crown  of  thorns.  Wherever  a  great  soul 
speaks  out  its  thoughts,  is  Golgotha. 

Dear  reader,  should  you  ever  go  to  Amsterdam, 
let  your  guide  show  you  the  Spanish  synagogue. 
It  is  a  fine  building ;  its  roof  rests  on  four  colossal 
pillars,  and  in  the  midst  is  the  pulpit  where  the 
curse  of  excommunication  was  uttered  against  the 
scorner  of  Mosaic  law,  the  Hidalgo  Don  Benedict 
de  Spinoza.^     On  such  an  occasion  a  ram's  horn, 

^  Hidalgo  Don  Benedict  de  Spinoza  sounds  sufficiently 
strange ;  but  to  the  revolutionary  Heine  the  vety  shadowy  title 
of  the  poor  scholar  wag  a  great  matter  of  envy  and  admiration. 


84  FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT. 

.•-"-•"  I.        . 

called  the  scho/ar,  is  blown.  There  must  be  some- 
thing horrible  connec5ted  with  this  horn.  For,  as 
I  have  read  in  the  life  of  Solomon  Maimond,  the 
Rabbi  of  Altona  once  visited  him — the  pupil  of 
Kant — to  bring  him  back  to  the  old  faith,  and  as 
Maimond  obstinately  persisted  in  his  philosophic 
heresy,  he  became  threatening  and  produced  a 
scho/ar  with  the  darkly  significant  words,  "Do 
you  know  what  that  is  ?  "  And  when  the  Kantian 
calmly  replied,  "Yes,  it  is  a  goat's  horn,"  the 
Ilabbi  in  horror  fell  flat  on  his  back. 

With  this  horn  the  excommunication  of  Spinoza 
was  accompanied ;  he  was  solemnly  expelled  from 
the  community  of  Israel,  and  declared  to  be 
unworthy  henceforth  to  bear  the  name  of  Jew. 
His  Christian  enemies  were  magnanimous  enough 
to  allow  him  this,  but  the  Jews,  the  Swiss  guard 
of  deism,  were  implacable,  and  the  place  is  still 
shown  before  the  Spanish  synagogue  in  Amster- 
dam where  they  once  endeavoured  to  murder  him 
with  their  long  daggers. 

I  could  not  refrain  from  specially  calling  atten- 
tion to  such  personal  misadventures  of  the  man, 
for  he  was  formed  not  only  by  lessons  of  learning, 
but  those  of  life.  Herein  he  differs  from  most 
philosophers,  and  in  his  writings  we  recognise 
its  direct  influencea  Theology  was  not  merely  a 
branch  of  learning  for  him,  nor  politics,  which  he 
had  also  learned  practically.     The  father  of  his 


PROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT.  Sj 

betrothed  had  been  hung  for  political  offences  in 
the  Netherlands.  And  in  no  place  in  the  world 
are  people  as  badly  hung  as  they  are  in  Holland. 
You  have  no  idea  of  the  interminable  prepara- 
tions and  ceremonies  observed  there  on  such  occa- 
sions. The  culprit  is  bored  to  death  before  he 
is  executed,  and  the  spectator  has  most  abundant 
and  excessive  time  for  reflection.  I  am  con- 
vinced that  Benedict  Spinoza  reflected  a  great 
deal  over  the  execution  of  old  Van  Ende,  and 
just  as  he  had  previously  comprehended  religion 
with  its  daggers,  he  now  comprehended  poKtics 
with  its  halters ;  information  of  which  is  given  in 
his  TroLctatus  Politiciis} 

I  have  only  undertaken  to  show  the  way  and 
manner  in  which  philosophers  are  more  or  less 
allied,  and  I  set  forth  their  degrees  of  relationship 
and  their  inheritances.  This  philosophy  of  Spinoza, 
the  third  son  of  Ren^  Descartes,  as  he  teaches 
in  his  chief  work,  the  Ethics,  is  as  remote  from 
the  Materialism  of  his  brother  Locke  as  from  the 
Idealism  of  his  brother  Leibnitz.  Spinoza  does 
not  torment  himself  analytically  with  the  question 
as  to  the  ultimate  grounds  of  our  knowledge; 
he  gives  us  his  great  synthesis,  his  explanation  of 
divinity. 

*  Traetatiu  TTuologico  -  PolUicua.  This  work  is  the  prin- 
cipal source  of  modem  German  Rationalism.  It  has  been  well 
translated  into  English. — Trandator. 


"*  •  •  »~*'*^'>  j  «■'■""-'*' -'"  "  '-*<'-...» '  I        ■  ■4^^_-vM»\  •""••  -"r-tt-rat /•■»«.*»  •e.rMtm 


86  PROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT. 

Benedict  Spinoza  teaches  that  there  is  only  one 
snbstance,  which  is  Qod.  This  single  snbstanoe 
is  infinite  and  absolute.  All  finite  snbstances 
are  derived  from  it,  are  contained  in  it,  rise  and 
sink  in  it;  they  have  only  a  relative,  transitory, 
accidental  existence.  The  absolute  substance 
reveals  itself  to  ns  as  mnch  under  the  form  of 
infinite  thought  as  that  of  endless  extension. 
Both  infinite  thought  and  infinite  extension  are 
the  two  attributes  of  the  absolute  substance.  We 
only  know  these  two  attributes,  but  God,  the 
absolute  substance,  has  perhaps  other  attributes 
which  we  do  not  know.  "Non  dico  me  Deum 
omnino  cognoscere,  sed  me  qusedam  ejus  attributa, 
non  antem  omnia,  neque  maximam  intelligere 
partem."  I 

Only  senselessnesa  and  malignity  could  apply 
to  this  doctrine  the  adjective  atheistic*  No  one 
has  expressed  himself  more  sublimely  regarding  the 
Divinity  than  Spinoza.  Instead  of  saying  that 
he  denies  God,  one  could  rather  declare  that  he 
denies  man.  All  finite  things  are  to  him  only 
modi  of  the  infinite  substance.  All  finite  things 
are  contained  in  God ;  the  human  soul  is  only  a 

^  Heine,  who  was  not  a  very  deep  or  learned  metapbysician, 
forgets  here  that  it  all  depends  on  the  conception  which  we  hsre 
of,  or  the  definition  which  we  may  attach  to,  the  words 
mibttanee,  matter,  and  Ood,  or  that  Pantheism  carried  to  its 
logical  extreme  is  AtbeiuB — that  h,  fk  ends  with  natmrm 
natwmm. — Trandator. 


■t 


FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT.  87 

ray  of  the  infinite  thoaght;  the  hnman  body  is 
oidy  an  atom  of  the  endless  extension.  God  is 
the  illimitable  cause  of  both  spirits  and  bodies, 
ncUura  naturans. 

In  a  letter  to  Mad^ne  Du  Deffant,  Voltaire 
ahows  himself  quite  enraptured  with  an  idea  of 
this  lady,  who  had  declared  that  all  things  which 
a  man  cannot  know  are  surely  of  such  a  nature 
that  it  would  be  of  no  use  to  him  to  know  them. 
I  would  apply  that  observation  to  that  passage  of 
Spinoza  which  I  have  above  given  in  his  own 
words,  and  according  to  which  not  only  thought 
and  extension  are  attributes  of  God,  but  perhaps 
others  which  are  perhaps  for  us  unknowable. 
What  we  cannot  know  has  for  us  no  value,  at  least 
from  the  social  point  of  view,  where  the  question 
is  to  reduce  to  practical  form  what  has  been  known 
in  the  spirit.  In  our  explanation  of  the  being  of 
God  we  have  therefore  regard  only  to  those  two 
recognisable  attributes.  And,  then,  after  all  the 
things  which  we  call  "attributes  of  God"  are 
only  different  forms  of  our  perception,  and  these 
different  f onus  are  identical  in  the  absolute  sub- 
stance. Thought  is  finally  only  invisible  extension, 
and  extension  is  only  visible  thought.  Here  we 
find  ourselves  in  the  leading  dause  of  the  German 
philosophy  of  identity,  which  is  not  essentially 
different  from  that  of  Spinoza.  Schelling  may 
contend,  on  the  contrary,  that  his  philosophy  is 


.  ■^.^^>*.f-*^-^.^,^'^.^^*^-^:^.;C^  ,.^  ^..^L,-^^:i^iCt^_t^£a 


PROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT. 


different  from  that  of  Spinoza,  that  his  is  more  of 
"  a  living  blending  of  the  ideal  and  real,"  and  that  it 
difiFers  from  Spinozaism  "  as  a  perfect  Greek  statue 
differs  from  a  stiflE  Egyptian  mummy."  I  must 
still  distinctly  declare  that  Schelling  in  his  earlier 
period,  when  he  was  as  yet  a  philosopher,  did  not 
differ  in  the  least  from  Spinoza.  All  he  did  was 
to  get  to  the  same  philosophy  by  another  road,  as 
I  show  in  another  place,  when  I  explain  how  Kant 
opened  a  new  way,  how  Fichte  followed  him,  and 
Schelling  trod  in  his  footsteps,  and  while  wander- 
ing about  lost  in  the  forest  shades  of  natural  philo- 
sophy, he  found  himself  standing  at  last  face  to 
face  before  the  grand  statue  of  Benedict  Spinoza. 

The  recent  philosophy  of  Nature  has  only  this 
merit,  that  it  has  indicated  with  sharpest  sagacity 
the  eternal  parallelism  which  reigns  between  spirit 
and  matter.  I  say  spirit  and  matter,  using  the 
expressions  as  synonymous  for  what  Spinoza  calls 
thought  and  extension.  To  a  certain  degree  what 
our  natural  philosophers  call  spirit  and  nature,  or 
the  ideal  and  real,  is  quite  the  same. 

I  shall  consequently  indicate  with  the  name 
Pantheism  not  so  much  the  system  as  the  manner 
in  which  Spinoza  regarded  it.  In  this  latter  the 
unity  of  God  may  be  assumed  as  well  as  in  deism. 
But  the  God  of  the  Pantheists  is  in  the  world  itself 
— not  merely  penetrated  by  his  divinity,  as  St. 
Augustine  once  tried  to  explain  it  when  he  compared 


«♦* 


"» ». 


<f^ ■■•.< 


■t 


FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT.  ^ 

God  to  a  great  lake  and  the  world  to  a  great  sponge 
swimming  in  it  and  imbibing  divinity.  No,  the 
world  is  not  steeped  and  impregnated  in  God,  but 
as  identical  with  God.  God,  who  is  called  a  sub- 
stance by  Spinoza  and  the  Absolute  by  German 
philosophers,  is  "all  that  which  is; "  he  is  matter 
as  well  as  spirit ;  both  are  alike  divine,  and  whoever 
insults  holy  matter  sins  even  as  he  sins  who  sins 
against  the  Holy  Ghost. 

The  God  of  the  Pantheists  differs  also  from  that 
of  the  deists,  because  he  is  himself  in  the  world, 
while  the  latter  is  quite  out  of,  or,  what  is  the 
same,  over  it.  The  God  of  the  deists  rules  the 
world  from  above  downwards,  as  if  it  were  a 
separate  establishment,  but  the  deists  differ  among 
themselves  as  to  the  mode  or  manner  of  this  rule. 
The  Hebrews  conceive  God  as  a  thundering  tyrant, 
the  Christians  as  a  loving  father;  the  pupils  of 
Rousseau,  or  the  whole  Genevese  school,  imagine 
him  as  a  clever  artist  who  made  the  world  much 
as  their  papa  made  his  watches,  and  as  connoisseurs 
they  admire  the  work  and  praise  the  master  on 
high. 

To  the  deist,  who  consequently  admits  a  God  out 
of  or  above  the  world,  the  spirit  only  is  holy, 
since  he  regards  the  latter  as  the  divine  breath 
with  which  the  Creator  of  the  world  has  inspired 
the  human  body,  the  work  kneaded  by  his  own 
hands  from  clay.     The  Jews,  therefore,  regarded 


i«.  r 


90  PROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT. 

the  body  as  something  of  small  acoonnt,  or  as 
a  miserable  envelope  of  the  ruach  hdkodasch,  the 
holy  breath  or  spirit,  and  to  this  alone  they  de- 
voted their  care,  their  reverence,  their  calt  They 
became  through  this  peculiarly  the  people  of  the 
spirit,  chaste,  sober,  serious,  abstract,  obstinate, 
inclined  to  martyrdom,  and  their  sublimest  form 
in  all  or  flower  is  Jesus  Christ.  He  is  in  the 
true  sense  of  the  word  the  incarnate  spirit,  and 
deeply  significant  is  the  beautiful  relation  that 
a  pure  virgin  gave  birth  to  him  by  conception 
from  the  Spirit. 

But  if  the  Jews  treated  the  body  with  little 
respect,  the  Christians  went  still  further  on  this 
road,  and  regarded  it  as  something  objectionable, 
bad,  or  as  evil  itself.  We  see,  some  centuries 
after  the  birth  of  Christ,  a  religion  rise  which  is 
destined  to  eternally  amaze  mankind,  and  to  com- 
pel the  latest  generations  to  an  admiration  of  awe.^ 
Yes,  it  is  a  great  and  holy  religion,  filled  with 
infinite  happiness,  which  would  conquer  for  the 
spirit  the  most  unconditional  supremacy  in  this 
world.  But  this  religion  was  just  too  sublime, 
too  pure,  entirely  too  good  for  this  world,  where 
its  idea  could  only  be  set  forth  in  theory,  bat 

*  "  Welohe  ewi^;  die  Meoachheit  in  Erstaunen  setzen,  nnd  den 
■patesten  Geachlechtem  die  schanerlichsten  Bewonderung  ab- 
trotzen  wird."  The  most  considerate  translation  cannot  remove 
from  this  panage  its  **  puff  and  pleonasm." — Trcmdaitor. 


W  -f     .♦  ♦  •  '  '>..      .'■■  ■  •■••■  ,  r--V,, '.,.,»'-■-■•«■.-——.»   »j',.".>.».»-^-j-^|^ 


FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT.  91 

never  practically  carried  out.  The  attempt  to 
realise  this  idea  brought  forth  au  infinite  array  of 
dazzling  deeds,  of  which  poets  in  every  age  will 
long  sing  and  say.  The  effort  to  reduce  the  idea 
of  Christianity  to  practice,  as  we,  in  fine,  see, 
failed  miserably,  and  this  unfortunate  effort  has 
cost  mankind  incalculable  sacrifices,  and  its  melan- 
choly result  is  our  present  social  illness  in  all 
Europe.  If,  as  many  think,  we  live  as  yet  in  the 
youth  of  mankind,  tiien  Christianity  belongs  to 
the  most  extravagant  of  its  college  ideas,  which 
do  far  more  credit  to  its  heart  than  to  its  head. 
Christianity  abandoned  all  that  was  material  and 
worldly  to  the  hands  of  Cassar  and  his  Jewish 
attendants,^  and  contented  itself  with  denying 
the  supremacy  of  the  one  and  defiling  the  others 
in  public  opinion.  But  lo !  the  hated  sword  and 
the  despised  money  got  the  supreme  power  in  the 
end,  and  the  representatives  of  the  spirit  were 
obliged  to  enter  into  arrangement  with  them. 
Yes,  and  this  agreement  even  became  a  solid 
alliance.  Not  only  the  Boman,  but  also  the 
English,  the  Prussian,  in  short  all  privil^ed 
priests,  have  united  with  Cassar  and  his  consorts 
to  oppress  the  people.  But  from  this  alliance 
will  result  the  more  rapid  ruin  of  Spiritualism. 
Some  priests  have  already  perceived  this,  and  to 

'  "  JUdischen  Kftmmerknecbte."    In  the  Freoeh  Tenion  et 
Irnnjttien  taimiuditta. 


•*lt-«'«^*w-r'T**"'^   f**-^— *— ■"•   -s.'  .      g.^x-.'--^-r-^i»*fJ--J. 


9» 


FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT. 


rescue  religion  they  give  themselves  the  aspect 
of  renouncing  that  ruinous  alliance  and  come 
over  into  our  ranks.^  They  wear  the  red  cap, 
they  swear  death  and  hatred  to  all  kings,  to  the 
seven  blood-drinkers ;  they  cry  for  equality  in 
earthly  possessions,  they  curse  despite  Marat  and 
Robespierre.  Between  us,  if  we  look  into  them 
closely,  we  shall  find  that  they  read  mass  in  the 
language  of  Jacobinism,  and  as  they  once  brought 
to  Caesar  poison  in  the  host,  so  they  now  bring 
to  the  people  their  hosts  hidden  in  revolutionary 
poison,  for  they  know  that  we  love  such  deadly 
stuff. 

Yet  all  your  weary  efforts  are  in  vain.  Humanity 
is  sated  and  disgusted  with  all  kinds  of  sacramental 
wafers,  and  longs  for  more  nourishing  food,  for 
real  bread  and  beautiful  flesh.  Humanity  smiles 
pityingly  at  those  youthful  ideals  which  with  all 
its  efforts  it  could  never  realise,  and  it  is  becom- 
ing manly  and  maturely  practical  Humanity 
now  cherishes  the  system  of  worldly  utility;  it 
thinks  seriously  of  a  good,  comfortable,  citizen- 
like establishment,  of  sensible  housekeeping,  and 
of  comfort  for  its  old  age.  There  is  no  longer 
any  question  as  to  leaving  the  sword  in  CsDsar's 

^  This  is  followed  in  the  French  version  by  the  words  "en 
s'affublant  de  nos  oouleurs."  Bat  all  that  which  follows  to  the 
end  of  the  paragraph  or  to  the  word  "  stuff  "  is  wanting  in  it. — 
Trandator. 


•,#fniA.»   —     «• 


y      »  ■  ^   i«  »<- 


«<---?7»' 


*j^-WTtf^^  •>~31 


FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT.  93 

hands  or  the  money-bags  to  his  deputies.  The 
privileged  honours  will  be  torn  from  Caesar,  and 
industry  be  freed  from  the  old  disgrace.^  The 
next  question  is  how  to  recover  our  health,  for 
we  still  feel  very  weak  in  our  limbs — the  holy 
vampires  of  the  Middle  Age  have  sucked  so  much 
of  our  life's  blood;  and  then  we  must  still  offer 
to  Matter  such  great  expiatory  sacrifices  to  atone 
for  our  ancient  injuries  to  it.  It  would,  perhaps, 
be  even  advisable  should  we  institute  festal  games, 
and  even  manifest  to  matter  still  more  extra- 
ordinary honours  of  reparation ;  for  Christianity, 
incapable  of  annihilating  matter,  has  on  all 
occasions  degraded  it,  depreciating  and  reviling 
its  noblest  pleasures,  and  the  senses  being  forced 
into  hypocrisy,  the  result  was  lies  and  sin.  We 
must  clothe  our  women  in  new  chemises  and  new 
thoughts,  and  fumigate  all  our  feelings,^  as  if  we 
had  passed  through  a  pestilence. 

The  immediate  aim  of  all  our  most  recent 
reforms  or  institutions  is  relatively  the  rehabili- 
tation of  matter,  the  restoration  of  it  to  its 
dignity,  its  moral  recognition,  its  religious  sancti- 
fication,  its  reconciliation  with  the  spirit.  Purusa 
will  be  again  wedded  to  Prakriti.  It  was  by  their 
violent  separation — as  is  so  admirably  and  ingeni- 

'  The  preceding  two  sentenoes  are  not  given  in  the  French 
▼ersion. 
'  In  the  French  yersion  d  la  fwnie  dtt  parfwau. 


94  FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT. 

ously  represented  in  the  Indian  myth — that  the 
great  rent  in  all  the  world,  or  evil,  originated. 

Do  you  now  know  what  evil  is  in  the  world? 
The  Spiritualists  have  always  reproached  us  that 
according  to  the  Pantheistic  view  all  difference 
ceases  between  good  and  bad.  But  evil  is  partly 
the  mad  idea  involved  in  their  views  of  the  world, 
and  partly  the  result  of  their  own  arrangement 
of  the  world.^  According  to  their  view  of  the 
world,  matter  is  in  and  of  itself  evil,  which  is 
really  a  slander,  and  a  terrible  blasphemy  of  God. 
Matter  never  becomes  evil  except  when  it  is 
forced  to  conspire  in  secret  against  the  usurpa- 
tions of  the  spirit,  when  the  spirit  has  defiled 
or  slandered  it,  and  she  has  prostituted  herself 
from  self-contempt,  or  when  she,  with  the  hatred 
of  despair,  revenges  herself  on  the  spirit ;  and  so 
evil  is  only  a  result  of  the  spiritual  arrangement 
of  the  world. 

God  is  identical  with  the  world.  He  manifests 
himself  in  plants,  which  lead  without  conscious- 
ness a  cosmic-magnetic  life.  He  manifests  him- 
self in  plants,  which,  in  their  sensual  dream-life, 
experience  a  more  or  less  dull  existence.  But  he 
manifests  himself  most  grandly  in  man,  who  not 
only  feels,  but  thinks  at  the  same  time,  who  knows 

^  Therefore,  if  there  were  no  "Spiritualists,"  there  could  be 
no  "evil"  in  the  world.  This  passage  is  much  admired  bj 
modern  dynamiters. — Translator. 


FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT,  9$ 

how  to  distinguish  himself  individually  from  ob- 
jective Nature,  and  bears  already  in  his  reason  the 
ideas  which  manifest  themselves  to  him  in  the 
world  of  phenomena.  In  man,  divinity  attains 
to  8elfHX)nsciou8ne8s,  and  such  self-consciousness 
reveals  itself  again  through  man.  But  this  is  not 
effected  in  and  by  the  single  individual,  but  in 
and  by  the  totality  of  mankind,  so  that  every  man 
only  comprehends  and  represents  a  portion  of  the 
God- universe,  but  all  men  grasp  and  set  forth  the 
whole  God-universe  in  the  idea  and  in  reality. 
Every  race  has,  perhaps,  the  mission  to  cognise 
and  make  known  a  certain  portion  of  that  God- 
universe — to  understand  a  series  of  phenomena, 
to  bring  to  perception  a  series  of  ideas,  and  to 
transmit  the  result  to  succeeding  races,  who  have 
in  turn  the  same  mission.  God  is  therefore  the 
real  hero  of  the  world's  history,  which  is  naught 
save  his  constant  thinking,  his  incessant  action, 
his  word,  his  deed ;  and  one  may  say  with  justice 
of  all  mankind  that  it  is  an  incarnation  of  God.* 

It  is  an  error  to  suppose  that  this  religion  of 
Pantheism  leads  men  to  indifference.  On  the 
contrary,  the  knowledge  of  his  divinity  will  in- 
spire man  to  manifest  it,  and  from  this  point  the 

1  This  abrigi  of  the  Schelling-Oken  natural  philosophy  is 
suggestive  in  expression  of  the  influence  of  the  GetehidUe  der 
Sede  of  Schubart,  whom  Heine  probably  knew  in  Munich. — 
Trandator. 


96  FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT. 

true  great  deeds  of  true  heroism  will  glorify  the 
earth. 

The  political  revolution  which  bases  itself  on  the 
principles  of  French  Materialism  will  find  no 
opponents  in  the  Pantheists,  but  allies,  and  allies 
who  have  drawn  their  convictions  from  a  deeper 
source  or  from  a  religious  synthesis.  We  pro- 
mote the  well-being  of  the  material,  the  material 
prosperity  of  the  peoples,  not  because  we,  like  the 
Materialists,  despise  the  spirit,  but  because  we 
know  that  the  divinity  of  man  proclaims  itself 
even  in  his  bodily  appearance,  and  misery  destroys 
or  makes  vile  the  body,  the  image  of  God,  the 
spirit  thereby  utterly  perishing.  The  great  word 
of  the  revolution  which  St.  Just  pronounced,  "  Le 
pain  est  le  droit  du  peuple  "  (bread  is  the  people's 
right),  is  according  to  us,  "  Lepain  est  le  droit  divin 
de  I'homme"  (bread  is  man's  divine  right  ^).  We 
do  not  contend  for  the  human,  but  for  the  divine 
rights  of  man.  In  this  and  in  many  other  things 
we  differ  from  the  men  of  the  Revolution.  We  will 
not  be  sans  culottes,  nor  frugal  citizens,  nor  econo- 
mical small  presidents.  We  found  a  democracy 
of  equally  lordly,  equally  holy,  and  equally  happy 
gods.  You  demand  simple  costumes,  austere 
manners,  and  cheap  unseasoned  pleasures ;  we,  on 

^  "  Somebody  will  pay  for  it,"  said  Mr.  Wilkins  Micawber. 
St.  Just  and  Heine  have  inadvertently  omitted  to  explain 
bow  all  this  bread  is  to  be  paid  for  or  by  whom.  —  Trandator. 


FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT.  97 

the  contrary,  demand  nectar  and  ambrosia,  purple 
garments,  costly  perfumes,  luxury  and  splendour, 
dances  of  laughing  nymphs,  music  and  comedies. 
Be  not  angered,  0  virtuous  republicans !  To  your 
censuring  reproaches  we  reply  what  the  fool  in 
Shakespeare  has  already  said,  "Dost  thou  think 
because  thou  art  virtuous  there  shall  be  no  more 
cakes  and  ale  ?  " 

The  Saint-Simonians  understood  and  wanted 
something  of  the  kind,  but  they  stood  on  an 
unfavourable  soil,  and  the  Materialism  which  sur- 
rounded suppressed  them.  They  were  better 
understood  in  Germany,  for  Germany  is  the 
most  propitious  soil  for  Pantheism;  it  is  the 
religion  of  our  greatest  thinkers  and  best  artists, 
and  deism,  as  I  shall  explain  in  another  place,  has 
there  long  perished  in  theory.  It  maintains  itself 
there,  like  many  other  things,  only  among  the 
unthinking  masses,  without  reasonable  warrant.* 
It  is  not  said,  but  every  one  knows,  that  Pantheism 
is  the  public  secret  in  Germany.  In  fact,  we  have 
outgi-own  deism.  We  are  free,  and  do  not  want 
a  thundering  tyrant;  we  are  grown-up,  and  require 
no  fatherly  care.  Nor  are  we  the  bungled  work 
of  a  great  mechanic.  Deism  is  a  religion  for 
slaves,  for  children,  for  Genevese,  for  watch- 
makers. 


^  This  passage  is  wanting  in  the  French  version. 
VOL.  I.  O 


98  FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT. 

PnntheiBm  is  the  secret  religion  of  Germany, 
and  that  it  would  come  to  that  was  foreseen 
fifty  years  ago  by  those  German  writers  who 
warred  so  vigorously  on  Spinoza.  The  most 
furious  of  these  foes  was  Doctor  Friedrich  Hein- 
rich  Jacobi,  who  sometimes  has  the  honour  shown 
him  of  being  classed  among  German  philosophers. 
He  was  nothing  but  a  quarrelsome  sneak,  who 
dressed  himself  in  the  cloak  of  philosophy,  and 
stealing  in  among  philosophers,  first  whimpered  a 
great  deal  about  his  love  and  tender  heart,  and 
then  burst  out  into  abuse  of  reason.  His  eternal 
refrain  ever  was  that  philosophy  or  knowledge  by 
reason  is  mere  delusion,  that  reason  does  not  know 
herself  to  what  she  leads,  but  conducts  man  into  a 
dark  labyrinth  of  error  and  contradiction,  and  that 
Faith  is  the  only  sure  guide.  The  mole !  he  did 
not  see  that  reason,  like  the  eternal  sun,  which, 
while  it  wanders  high  in  heaven,  lightens  its  path 
with  its  own  glorious  rays.  Nothing  can  be  com- 
pared to  the  pious  genial  hatred  of  little  Jacobi  for 
great  Spinoza. 

It  is  worth  observing  that  the  most  different 
parties  made  war  on  Spinoza.  They  form  an  army 
whose  varied  contrasts  are  very  amusing.  Side  by 
side  with  a  swarm  of  white  and  black  Capuchins, 
with  crosses  and  smoking  censers,  marches  the 
phalanx  of  Encyclopaedists,  who  are  also  enraged 
at  this  penseur  Umiraire.     By  the  Rabbi  of  the 


FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT.  99 

synagogue  of  Amsterdam,  who  sounds  the  signal 
of  attack  on  his  ram's  horn  of  faith,  trips  Arouet 
de  Voltaire,  who  trills  on  his  flageolet  or  piccolo 
of  persiflage  for  the  benefit  of  deism ;  and  in 
between  whines  and  grumbles  old-woman  Jacobi, 
the  sutler-wife  of  this  army  of  religion. 

Let  us  escape  from  the  charivari,  and  return- 
ing from  our  pantheistic  tour,  refer  again  to 
the  philosophy  of  Leibnitz,  whose  further  fate  in 
Germany  remains  to  be  told. 

Leibnitz,  as  you  know,  had  written  his  works 
in  Latin  or  French.  Christian  Wolf  was  the 
excellent  man  who  not  only  systematised  the 
ideas  of  Leibnitz,  but  lectured  on  them  in  German. 
And  yet  his  greatest  merit  did  not  consist  in 
having  put  the  ideas  of  Leibnitz  into  a  compact 
system,  and  still  less  that  he  made  them  acces- 
sible in  German  to  a  larger  public:  his  chief 
desert  lies  in  this,  that  he  invited  us  to  philo- 
sophise in  our  native  language.  For  as  until 
Luther  we  only  treated  theology,  so  until  Wolf 
we  only  discussed  philosophy  in  Latin.  The 
example  of  a  few  who  had  previously  read  in 
German  remained  without  result,  but  the  literary 
historian  must  reflect  on  them  with  special  praise. 
Especially  would  I  mention  Johannes  Tauler,  a 
Dominican  monk,  who  was  bom  in  the  beginning 
of  the  fourteenth  century  by  the  Rhine,  and  who 
died,  I  believe,  in  1361  at  Strasburg.     He  was  a 


lOO 


FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT. 


pious  man,  and  belonged  to  those  mystics  whom 
I  have  characterised  as  the  Platonic  party  of  the 
Middle  Age.  In  the  last  years  of  his  life  he  re- 
nounced all  pedantic  obscurity,  was  not  ashamed 
to  preach  in  the  humble  tongue  of  the  people, 
and  those  sermons  which  he  wrote  down,  as  well 
as  the  German  translations  of  some  of  his  earlier 
Latin  preachings,  belong  to  the  monuments  of 
the  German  language.^  For  even  so  early  as 
this  it  shows  itself  not  only  adapted  to  meta- 
physical discussion,  but  far  more  fitted  for  it  than 
Latin.  This  last,  the  language  of  the  Romans, 
can  never  cast  off  its  origin.  It  is  a  language 
of  command  for  captains  in  the  field,  of  decre- 
tals for  ministers,  a  legal  language  for  misers,  a 
lapidary  one  for  the  Roman  race  as  hard  as  stone. 
And  it  became  the  predestined  tongue  of  Material- 
ism. Though  Christianity,  with  perfect  Christian 
patience,  tormented  itself  for  more  than  a  thou- 
sand years  in  trying  to  spiritualise  this  speech, 
it  did  not  succeed,  and  when  Johannes  Tauler 
would  sink  his  soul  into  the  most  terrible  abyss 
of   thought,   and  when   his  heart   swelled   with 

^  In  the  French  version  :  eomptent  parmi  let  monumenta  let 
p2u8  remarqiuiblet  de  la  langue  allemande.  Such  being  the  case, 
it  is  singular  that  our  historian  makes  no  mention  of  them 
whatever  in  his  account  of  German  literature  before  Luther. 
But  Heine  was  predetermined  to  make  a  melodramatic  de- 
parture from  the  great  reformer  and  ignore  all  his  predecessors 
— Translator. 


FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT.  loi 

intensest  religious  feelings,  lie  was  obliged  to 
speak  German.  His  language  is  like  a  mountain 
torrent  which  bursts  out  of  a  hard  rock,  won- 
drouslj  impregnated  with  perfumes  of  unknown 
flowers  and  strange  mysterious  virtues  of  stones. 
But  it  was  only  in  more  recent  times  that  the 
practical  applicability  of  the  German  language 
to  philosophy  was  observed.  In  no  other  could 
Nature  so  reveal  her  most  occult  work  as  in  our 
dear  and  delightful  mother-tongue.  It  was  only 
on  the  mighty  oak  that  the  sacred  mistletoe  could 
grow. 

This  would  be  the  place  to  mention  Paracelsus, 
or,  as  he  called  himself,  Theophrastus  Paracelsus 
Bombastus  von  Hohenheim,  for  he  wrote  almost 
always  in  German.  But  I  shall  speak  in  another 
place  of  Paracelsus  from  a  more  important  point 
of  view.^  His  philosophy  was  what  we  call 
to-day  natural  philosophy,  and  this  doctrine  of 
Nature  Kving  with  ideas,  which  agrees  so  mysteri- 
ously with  the  German  mind,  would  have  at  that 
time  fully  developed  itself  among  us,  had  not, 
by  accidental  influence,  the  lifeless,  mechanical 
physics  of  the  Cartesians  usurped  a  general  sway. 
Paracelsus  was  a  great  charlatan,  and  always  wore 
a  scarlet  coat,  breeches,  stockings,  and  hat,  and 

^  The  contributions  of  Paracelsus  to  the  German  language, 
and  the  number  of  new  words  and  expressions  which  he  added 
to  it,  were  very  far  from  being  unimportant. — Trantlator. 


"'(M^w^nM^^aHMMe^Ha.     ^..„._~^ ..    -    _^_itj. 


I03  FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT. 

I        • 

declared  that  he  could  make  homunculi,  or  little 
men;  at  least  he  was  in  confidential  relations 
with  occult  beings  who  dwell  in  different  elements, 
but  he  was  also  one  of  the  most  profound  natural 
philosophers,  who,  with  the  heart  of  a  true  German 
investigator,  understood  the  pre-Christian  popular 
faith  or  the  German  Pantheism,  and  what  they 
did  not  know  they  shrewdly  guessed. 

I  should  really  speak  here  also  of  Jacob  Bohme, 
for  he  also  employed  the  German  language  for  philo- 
sophic demonstration,  and  has  in  this  respect  been 
highly  praised.  But  I  could  never  make  up  my 
mind  to  read  him  (I  do  not  like  to  be  made  a  fool 
of).  I  much  suspect  that  the  admirers  of  this 
mystic  wish  to  mystify  the  multitude.  As  for 
what  his  works  contain,  St.  Martin  has  given 
something  of  them  in  French.  The  English  have 
also  translated  him.  Charles  I.  had  so  high 
an  opinion  of  this  theosophical  shoemaker  that 
he  himself  sent  a  scholar  to  Gorlitz  to  study 
him.  This  messenger  was  luckier  than  his  master, 
for  while  the  latter  lost  his  head  by  Cromwell's 
axe,  the  former  at  Gorlitz  only  lost  his  wits 
through  Jacob  Bohme's  philosophy. 

As  I  have  stated,  Christian  Wolf  first  in- 
troduced with  success  the  German  language  to 
philosophy.  His  lesser  merit  was  his  systema- 
tising  and  making  popular  the  ideas  of  Leibnitz. 
Both  have  been  greatly  blamed,  and  we  must 


FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT.  103 

incidentally  refer  to  the  cause.  His  systematising 
was  all  mere  show  and  sham,  and  the  most 
important  portion  of  the  philosophy  of  Leibnitz 
was  sacrificed  to  it — that  is,  the  best  part  of  the 
doctrine  of  Monads.  Leibnitz,  it  is  true,  left 
behind  him  no  systematic  edifice,  but  only  the 
ideas  for  one.  It  required  a  giant  to  put  together 
the  colossal  squared  stones  and  stupendous  columns 
which  a  giant  had  quarried  from  the  deepest 
caves  of  marble  and  magnificently  hewn.  Truly 
that  would  have  been  a  grand  temple!  But 
Christian  Wolf  was  of  very  humble  stature,  and 
could  only  master  a  portion  of  the  materials,  and 
of  these  he  built  a  paltry  little  tabernacle  of 
testimony,  or  an  ark  of  the  covenant  of  deism. 
"Wolf's  head  was  more  of  the  encyclopaedic  than 
of  the  systematic  order,  and  he  only  understood 
the  unity  of  a  doctrine  under  the  form  of  com- 
pleteness. He  was  satisfied  with  a  certain  panel 
or  framework  in  which  the  panels  were  most 
admirably  arranged,  perfectly  fitted,  and  provided 
with  legible  labels ;  so  he  gave  us  an  Encyclopaedia 
of  Philosophic  Sciences.  That  he,  the  descen- 
dant of  Descartes,  had  inherited  the  grandf  atherly 
form  of  mathematical  demonstration  is  a  matter 
of  course.  I  have  already  censured  this  form  as 
used  by  Spinoza.  Through  Wolf  it  caused  much 
mischief.     In  the  hands  of  his  pupils  it  degene- 


».>^.t. »-,..--.  ....^^  .^^  ^ 


104  FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT, 

rated  into  an  intolerable  schematismuB  or  classifi- 
cation, and  to  a  ridiculous  mania  for  demonstrating 
everything  mathematically.  Thus  originated  what 
is  known  as  the  Wolfian  dogmatism.  All  deep 
investigation  ceased,  and  a  wearisome  mania  for 
clearness  took  its  place.  The  Wolfian  philosophy 
became  more  and  more  watery,^  and  ended  by 
inundating  all  Germany.  The  traces  of  this 
deluge  are  still  visible,  and  here  and  there  on 
our  highest  seats  of  the  Muses  we  may  find  old 
fossils  of  the  "Wolfian  school. 

Christian  Wolf  was  bom  in  1679  in  Breslau, 
and  died  in  1754  in  Halle.  His  intellectual 
rule  endured  for  half  a  century  in  Germany. 
We  must  specially  refer  to  his  relations  to  the 
theologians  of  those  days,  and  shall  thereby 
enlarge  our  contributions  as  to  the  destiny  of 
Lutheranism. 

In  the  whole  history  of  the  Church  there  is  no 
portion  so  entangled  or  embroiled  as  the  quarrels 
of  the  Protestant  theologians  since  the  Thirty  Years* 
War.  Only  the  subtle  hair-splitting  wranglings  of 
the  Byzantines  are  to  be  compared  to  them,  and 
even  the  latter  were  not  so  wearisome,  because  great 
politically  interesting  court  intrigues  lurked  behind 
them,  while  the  Protestant  pummelling  and  pugi- 

^  "La  philoBopbie  de  Wolf  devint  toote  limpide,  ou  plutdt 
aquetue." — French  version. 


■i-S. 


i 


FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT.  105 

lism  was  generally  based  on  the  narrow  pedantry 
of  petty  magistral  pates  and  poor  professors,  the 
universities ;  especially  of  Tubingen,  Wittenberg, 
Leipzig,  and  Halle;  being  the  arenas  of  these  theo- 
logical battles.  The  two  parties  whom  we  have  seen 
fighting  in  Catholic  attire  through  the  entireMiddle 
Age,  the  Platonist  and  Aristotelian,  have  now 
changed  costume  and  carry  on  the  feud  as  before. 
Those  are  the  pietists  and  orthodox,  whom  I 
have  already  mentioned,  and  whom  I  described  as 
mystics  without  imagination  and  dogmatists  with- 
out wit.  Johannes  Spener  was  the  Scotus  Erigena 
of  Protestantism,  and  as  the  former  founded  Catho- 
lic mysticism  by  his  translation  of  the  forged 
Dionysius  Areopagita,  so  the  latter  laid  the  basis 
of  Protestant  pietism  by  his  collection  of  edifying 
tracts  called  CoUoquia  Pietatis,  whence  perhaps  the 
name  pietists  came  to  be  applied  to  his  adherents. 
He  was  a  pious  man,  honoured  be  his  memory ! 
A  Berlin  pietist,  Mr.  Franz  Horn,  has  written  a 
good  biography  of  him.  Spener's  life  sets  forth 
a  continued  martyrdom  for  the  Christian  idea. 
He  w-as  in  this  respect  superior  to  his  adversaries, 
that  he  insisted  on  good  works  and  piety,  being 
far  more  a  preacher  of  the  spirit  than  of  the  letter. 
All  his  preaching  and  teaching  was  for  his  time 
admirable,  for  all  theology,  as  it  was  taught  at  the 
universities  mentioned,  consisted  only  in  narrow- 
minded  dogmatics  and  hypercritical,  captious  pole- 


\*X: 


106  FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT. 

■■:.-■  I        ,     •  ■        ■. 

mics.  Biblical  exegesis  and  Churcli  history  were 
entirely  set  aside. 

A  pupil  of  Spener's,  Hermann  Franke,  began 
to  deliver  lectures  in  Leipzig  after  the  example 
and  in  the  spirit  of  his  master.  He  delivered  them 
in  German — a  service  which  we  always  repay 
gratefully.  His  success  aroused  the  envy  of  his 
colleagues,  who  in  consequence  made  life  bitter 
for  our  poor  pietist.  He  had  to  quit  the  field  and 
retire  to  Halle,  where  he  taught  Christianity  by 
word  and  deed.  His  memory  will  there  be  ever 
green,  for  he  is  the  founder  of  the  Orphans' 
Asylum  of  Halle. 

The  university  of  Halle  was  soon  filled  with 
pietists,  and  they  were  called  the  Orphan  Asylum 
party,  a  term  which,  by  the  way,  still  exists. 
Halle  is  also  still  the  molehill  or  head-quarters 
of  the  pietists,  and  their  quarrels  with  the  Protes- 
tant Rationalists  a  few  years  ago  raised  a  scandal 
which  spread  its  foul  odour  through  all  Germany. 
Happy  Frenchmen  who  heard  nothing  of  it  all ! 
Even  the  existence  of  those  evangelical  clack-and 
gossip  journals,  in  which  the  pious  fishwives  of  the 
Protestant  Church  lustily  abuse  one  another,  is 
unknown  to  you.  Happy  Frenchmen !  who  have 
no  idea  how  maliciously,  how  pettily,  how  disgust- 
ingly our  evangelical  priests  can  slander  one 
another !  You  know  that  I  am  no  dependant  on 
Catholicism.     In  my  present  religious  convictions 


fi-ILt^j  «   ^.p,  «•  -*  - 


'^'^  'iTiit^'  '^  **^ 


FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT.  WJ 

lives  no  longer  the  dogma,  yet  ever  the  spirit, 
of  Protestantism.^  I  therefore  always  take  part 
with  the  Protestant  Church,  yet  I  owe  it  to  truth 
to  say  that  in  the  annals  of  Papistry  I  never  found 
such  detestably  mean  trash  as  in  the  Berlin 
Evangelical  Church  Journal  when  the  scandal 
referred  to  became  public.  The  most  cowardly 
monkish  malice,  the  pettiest  intrigues  of  cloisters, 
are  noble  acts  of  benevolence  compared  to  the 
deeds  of  Christian  heroism  which  our  Protestant 
orthodox  and  pietists  practised  against  the  hated 

*  In  the  French  edition  there  is  given,  instead  of  this  sentence, 
the  following  : — 

"  Le  protestantisme  fut  pour  moi  plus  qu'une  religion,  ce  fat 
nne  mission  ;  et  depuis  quatorze  ans,  c'est  pour  ses  int^rdts  que 
je  combats  contre  lea  machinations  des  j^uites  allemands.  Plus 
tard,  il  est  vrai,  s'^teignit  ma  sympathie  pour  le  dogme  et  je 
d^larai  franchement,  dans  mes  ^rits,  que  tout  mon  protestan- 
tisme ne  consistait  plus  que  dans  le  fait  d'Stre  inscrit  comme 
Chretien  ^vang^ique  sur  les  r^gistres  de  la  communion  luth^- 
rienne.  .  .  .  Mais  une  secrete  pr^ilection  pour  la  cause  qui 
nous  fit  jadis  combattre  et  souffrir  demeure  toujours  dans  notr* 
coeur,  et  mes  convictions  religieuses  d'aujourd'hui  sont  encore 
anim^es  de  I'esprit  de  protestantisme." 

It  must  be  admitted  that,  however  interesting  or  entertaining 
it  may  be  to  follow  our  author  through  the  astonishing  variety 
of  Hebrew,  Christian,  Hellenic,  Sentimental-Catholic,  Panthe- 
istic, Deistic,  Naturalistic,  Atheistic-Protestant  opinions  which 
he  entertains,  either  consecutively  or  simultaneously,  it  is  ex- 
tremely difficult  to  understand  what  he  ever  did  believe  in. 
As  the  Scotchman  said  of  the  haggis,  "There's  a  vara  great 
deal  o'  fine  confused  feedin'  aboot  it,"  Aufond,  Heine  believed 
in  anything  which  gave  him  an  of^rtunity  to  say  something 
clever. — Trandator. 


j^Btssaiksti^'-.^ 


io8  FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT. 

Rationalists.  You  Frenclimen  have  no  idea  of 
the  hatred  which  is  developed  on  such  occasions. 
The  Germans  are  altogether  more  vindictive  than 
the  Latin  races.^ 

This  comes  because  we  are  Idealists  even  in 
hating.  We  do  not  hate  one  another  for  external 
trifles,  like  you,  as,  for  instance  ruffled  vanity,  or 
an  epigram,  or  a  visiting-card  not  returned.  No, 
we  hate  in  our  enemies  the  deepest,  the  most 
essential  part  in  them — that  is,  thought  itself. 
You  French  are  frivolous  and  superficial,  in  love 
as  in  hate.  We  Germans  hate  fundamentally, 
utterly,  and  enduringly,  for  we  are  too  honourable 
and  too  clumsy  to  revenge  ourselves  with  vapid 
perfidies,  and  so  hate  to  our  last  breath.  "Oh, 
I  know.  Monsieur,  what  this  German  calm  is," 
said  a  lady  lately,  while  she  with  staring  eyes 
looked  at  me  incredulously  and  in  anxious  fear.' 
"I  know  that  you  Germans  use  the  same  word 
for  forgiving  and  poisoning."  And  in  fact  she 
was  right,  for  the  word  Vergeben  means  both. 

^  One  of  the  sayings  which,  uttered  by  a  great  writer,  obtained 
undeserved  acceptance.  Heine  himself  was  indeed  implacably 
vindictive,  as  is  shown  by  his  revenge  on  Platen.  Bat  to  com- 
pare the  German  with  the  Italian  or  Spaniard,  or  the  more 
vulgar  class  of  Americans,  in  this  respect,  is  to  compare  burning 
straw  to  red-hot  steel. 

*  "  In  dem  sie  mich  mit  gross  gebfFueten  Angen  uiiglaubig  und 
be&ngstigt  ansah. "  This  is  given  very  dififerently  in  the  French 
version  as  "  en  me  regardant  de  tous  ses  yeux  et  d'un  sourire 
incr^ule." — Ttxindator.  , 


FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT.  Wf 

If  I  am  not  mistaken,  the  orthodox  of  Halle, 
in  their  conflict  with  the  hermit-like  pietists,^ 
called  to  their  aid  the  Wolfian  philosophy;  for 
religion,  when  it  can  no  longer  bum  us  alive, 
comes  to  us  begging.  But  all  our  gifts  bring  her 
but  little  gain.  The  mathematical,  demonstrative 
garment,  wherewith  "Wolf  had  clothed  poor  Re- 
ligion so  lovingly,  fitted  her  so  badly  that  she 
felt  still  more  cramped,  and  in  this  strait  made 
herself  still  more  ridiculous.  The  bad  sewing 
burst  everywhere,  exposing  her  person,  and  it 
was  especially  the  shameful  part — original  sin — 
which  displayed  itself  in  its  most  glaring  naked- 
ness. Here  no  logical  fig-leaf  availed.^  Christian- 
Lutheran  original  sin  and  Leibnitz-Wolfian  opti- 
mism are  intolerable.  The  French  persiflage  of 
optimism  did  not  much  displease  our  orthodox. 
The  wit  of  Voltaire  came  to  the  aid  of  naked 
original  sin,  but  the  German  Pangloss  had  lost 
a  great  deal  by  the  destruction  of  optimism,  and 
sought  long  for  a  doctrine  equally  consoling,  until 
the  Hegelian  utterance,  "  All  which  is,  is  reason- 
able," brought  him  some  consolation  and  amends. 

^  "  Mit  den  eingesiedelten  Pietisten,"  from  eintieddn,  to  live 
as  a  hermit.  In  the  French  version  these  are  called  "lea 
pi^tistes  Smigris,"  the  translator  having  confused  einaiedeln 
with  ansieddn,  to  settle  down  as  a  colonist  or  immigrant. 

'  In  the  French  version,  "Les  feuilles  de  vigne  philosophiques 
n'y  purent  rien. "  The  shade  of  the  fig-tree  is,  in  this  instance, 
•uperior  to  that  of  the  vine. 


no  FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT. 

I 
But  from  the  instant  when  a  religion  seeks 

support  from  philosophy,  its  ruin  is  inevitable. 
It  seeks  to  defend  itself  and  sinks  even  deeper 
into  destruction.  Religion,  like  every  other  form 
of  absolutism,  should  be  above  justification.  Pro- 
metheus is  chained  to  the  rock  by  the  power 
of  silence.  .^schylus  does  not  suffer  power 
personified  to  speak  a  word ;  it  must  be  silent. 
As  soon  as  religion  prints  a  reasoning  catechism, 
or  a  political  absolutism  publishes  an  official  news- 
paper, both  come  to  an  end.  And  therein  is  our 
triumph ;  we  have  involved  our  enemies  in  a  dis- 
cussion, and  they  must  speak. 

It  is  indeed  not  to  be  denied  that  religious  as 
well  as  political  absolutism  has  found  very  power- 
ful organs  to  express  their  opinions.  Yet  let  us  not 
be  afraid  for  that.  If  the  Word  lives,  dwarfs  may 
carry  it ;  if  it  is  dead,  no  giant  can  uphold  it.^ 

And  since  religion ;  as  I  have  observed ;  sought 
assistance  from  philosophy,  innumerable  experi- 
ments were  tried  upon  her  by  German  savants.  It 
was  thought  advisable  to  rejuvenate  her,  and  to  do 
this  they  went  to  work  much  after  the  manner 
of  Medea  in  doing  the  same  to  King  ^son.  At 
first  they  opened  her  veins,  and  all  the  super- 
stitious blood  was  very  slowly  extracted;  or,  to 
speak  without  a  simile,  an  attempt  was  made  to 

'  This  paragraph  is  wanting  io  the  French  version. — Trans- 
lator. 


FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT.  lit 

take  from  Christianity  its  historical  element,  and 
only  retain  the  moral  portion.  Thus  they  made 
of  it  a  pure  deism.  Christ  ceased  to  be  an  equal 
ruler  with  God ;  he  was,  so  to  speak,  mediatised, 
and  only  found  honourable  recognition  as  a  private 
person.  His  moral  character  was  praised  as  being 
beyond  all  measure,  and  men  could  not  find  lan- 
guage to  describe  what  an  admirable  person  he 
was.^  As  for  his  miracles,  people  explained  them 
by  natural  causes,  or,  better  still,  kept  as  quiet  as 
possible  regarding  them.  "Miracles,"  said  some, 
"were  needed  in  those  ancient  days  of  superstition, 
and  an  intelligent  man  who  had  any  truth  to  an- 
nounce used  them  as  an  advertisement."  Those 
theologians  who  cut  out  everything  historical 
from  Christianity  were  called  Rationalists,  and 
against  them  was  united  all  the  wrath  of  the 
pietists  as  well  as  that  of  the  orthodox,  who 
from  that  time  quarrelled  less  among  themselves, 
and  were  indeed  often  allied ;  for  what  love  could 
not  effect,  hate  brought  about — the  mutual  hatred 
of  the  Rationalists.  2 

This  direction  in  the  Protestant  theology  began 
with  the  tranquil  Semler,  whom  you  do  not  know, 
who  attained  an  anxious  eminence  with  the  ludd 

*  "  Welch  'ein  braver  Mensch  er  gewesen  sei." 
^  In  the  French  version  "  cette  riforme  de  la  tbeologie  pro- 
testante,"   the   translator  evidently   believing   that   Richtung, 
direction,  setting  right  as  allied  to  correcting  e.g.,  richten  to 
correct,  also  meant  reform  1 — Trandator. 


Ill  FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT. 

Teller,  of  whom  you  are  ignorant,  and  reached  its 
summit  with  the  shallow^  Bahrdt,  by  wanting 
whose  acquaintance  you  lose  nothing.  The  most 
vehement  impulses  came  from  Berlin,  where 
Frederick  the  Great  and  the  bookseller  Nicolai 
held  sway. 

As  to  the  first,  who  was  crowned  Materialism 
itself,  you  are  well  instructed.  You  know  that 
he  wrote  French  verses,  played  the  flute  very 
well,  won  the  battle  of  Rossbach,  took  a  great 
deal  of  snuff,  and  only  believed  in  cannon.  Some 
of  you  have  certainly  visited  Sansouci,  and  the 
old  invalid  soldier  who  is  a  castle-guard  has 
shown  you  in  the  library  the  French  novels  which 
Frederick,  when  crown-prince,  read  in  church- 
time,  and  which  he  had  bound  in  black  morocco 
to  make  his  stern  parent  believe  that  he  was 
reading  a  Lutheran  hymn-book.  You  know  this 
royal  sage,  whom  you  have  called  the  Solomon  of 
the  North.  France  was  the  Ophir  of  this  Solomon, 
whence  he  imported  his  poets  and  philosophers, 
for  whom  he  had  a  great  predilection,  like  that 
Solomon  of  the  South,  who,  as  you  may  read  in 
the  Book  of  Kings,  chap,  x.,  had  brought  to 
him  from  Ophir  whole  ship-loads  of  gold,  ivory, 

1  "Mit  dem  seichten  Bahrdt."  In  the  French  version 
"Bahrdt  au  front  d'airain."  Seichtkopfig,  shallow-brained. 
It  is  possible  that  some  confusion  of  brain  or  head,  and  of 
tevche  with  seigemy  "  to  refine  metals,"  suggested  this  singular 
translation,  which  was,  however,  perfectly  applicable  to  Bahrdt. 


FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT.  113 

poets  and  philosophers.^  Having  such  preference 
for  foreign  talent,  Frederick  the  Great  could  not, 
of  course,  exercise  any  all  too  great  influence  on 
the  German  mind.  He  insulted,  and,  moreover, 
weakened  German  national  feeling.  The  con- 
tempt with  which  he  treated  our  literature  may 
even  now  vex  us,  his  descendants.  With  the 
exception  of  old  Gellert,  not  one  German  man 
of  letters  ever  received  from  him  aught  of  his 
all-gracious  good-will  or  favour.  His  interview 
with  this  poet  is  very  curious. 

If  Frederick  the  Great  mocked  without  sup- 
porting us,  yet  were  we  supported  all  the  more 
by  the  bookseller  Nicolai,  which  in  no  wise  pre- 
vented us  from  mocking  and  deriding  him.  This 
man  was  all  his  life  long  unwearied  in  work  for 
the  good  of  his  fatherland,  sparing  neither  pains 
nor  money  wherever  he  hoped  to  do  good,  and 
yet  there  was  never  in  Germany  a  person  so 
cruelly,  so  inexorably,  so  crushingly  ridiculed  and 
abused  as  he  was.  And  yet,  though  we,  the  later- 
bom,  know  very  well  that  old  Nicolai,  the  friend 
of  enlightenment,  was  perfectly  right  in  the  main, 
and  though  we  are  also  perfectly  aware  that  it 
was  chiefly  our  own  enemies,  the  obscurants,  who 

'  In  the  French  version  the  passage  referred  to  is  here  qnoted 
in  Latin  from  the  Vulgate,  Kings,  L  L  22,  "  Classis  regis  per  mare, 
cum  classe  Hiram  semel  per  tres  annos  ibat,  deferens  inde  aurum 
et  argentum,  et  dentes  elephantoram,  et  simias  et  pavos." 

VOL.  L  H 


114  FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT. 

ridiculed  him  into  his  grave,  still  we  cannot  think 
of  him  with  altogether  serious  faces.  Old  Nicolai 
sought  to  effect  in  Germany  what  philosophers 
had  done  in  France,  which  was  to  make  the  past 
vanish  from  the  minds  of  the  people;  also  an 
admirable  prefatory  work,  without  which  no 
radical  revolution  can  take  place.  The  trouble 
was  lost,  for  he  was  not  cut  out  for  the  work. 
The  old  ruins  stood  as  yet  far  too  firmly,  the 
spectres  of  the  past  flitted  out  and  mocked  him, 
and  then  he  grew  furious  and  struck  out  blindly, 
and  the  lookers  on  laughed  when  the  bats  hissed 
and  entangled  themselves  in  his  well-powdered 
peruke.  And  it  sometimes  happened  that  he 
mistook  windmills  for  giants,  and  fought  them, 
but  it  was  far  worse  when  he  many  times  mis- 
took real  giants  for  mere  windmills,  as,  for  in- 
stance, a  Wolfgang  Goethe.  Against  his  Werther 
he  wrote  a  satire  in  which  he  most  rudely  per- 
verted every  meaning  of  the  author.  And  yet 
he  was  right  in  the  main,  and  if  he  did  not 
understand  what  Goethe  meant  to  express  by 
Werther,  he  at  least  understood  what  its  effect 
would  be,  the  debilitating  dreaminess,  the  feeble 
fanaticism,  the  fruitless  sentimentalism  which  this 
romance  brought  forth,  and  which  was  in  hostile 
contradiction  with  every  healthy  and  reasonable 
sentiment,  such  as  we  really  require.  And  in 
this  Nicolai  agreed  perfectly  with  Lessing,  who 


PROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT.  115 

wrote  to  one  of  his  friends  the  following  opinion 
as  to  Werther : — 

"Do  you  not  think  that  a  brief  cold  con- 
clusion would  be  advisable  to  prevent  such  a 
fiery  production  from  doing  more  harm  than 
good  ?  A  few  hints  as  to  how  Werther  became 
such  an  eccentric  character,  or  how  another 
youth  whom  Nature  gifted  in  the  same  way 
could  guard  himself?  Do  you  believe  that  a 
Greek  or  Roman  youth  would  have  taken  his 
own  life  in  such  a  manner  and  for  such  a 
cause?  Certainly  not.  They  knew  how  to 
guard  themselves  from  the  visionary  follies  of 
love,  and  in  the  time  of  Socrates  they  would 
have  hardly  forgiven  a  young  country-maid  such 
an  i^  €pa>ro<i  Karoyrj  inspired  by  n  roXfiav  irapa 
<f>v(j-iv.  To  produce  such  petty-great,  contemp- 
tibly valuable  originals  was  reserved  for  a  Chris- 
tian education,  which  alone  could  transform  a 
bodily  need  so  beautifully  into  a  spiritual  perfec- 
tion. Therefore,  dear  Goethe,  add  yet  another 
chapter  to  conclude,  and  the  more  cynical  the 
better." 

Friend  Nicolai  really  published  a  Werther 
travestied  according  to  these  recommendations. 
In  his  version  the  hero  is  not  killed,  but  only 
spattered  with  chicken's  blood,  with  which  the 
pistol  had  been  charged.  Werther  is  made 
ridiculous,    lives,    marries    Charlotte  —  in    fact, 


ii6  FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT. 

ends  more  tragically   than    in    the   original   by 
Goethe.^  I 

The  journal  which  Nicolai  founded  was  called 
Die  Allgemeine  Deutsche  Bihliothek,  or  the  "  Uni- 
versal German  Library,"  in  which  he  and  his 
friends  waged  war  on  superstition,  Jesuits,  court- 
lackeys,  and  the  like,  with  great  vigour.  It 
cannot  be  denied  that  many  a  blow  meant  for 
absurd  belief  fell  by  sad  fate  on  poetry  itself. 
Thus  Nicolai  fought  against  the  liking  for  old 
German  popular  ballads.'  But,  in  fact,  he  was 
right  here  too,  for,  with  many  a  merit,  those 
songs  had  innumerable  associations  which  were 
not  in  keeping  with  the  age,  and  those  old 
sounds,  "the  call  to  the  cows"  of  the  Middle 
Ages,'  might  easily  entice  popular  feeling  back 
into  the  cattle-pen  of  the  past.  He  sought,  like 
Ulysses,  to  stop  the  ears  of  his  companions,  so 
that  they  might  not  hear  the  song  of  the  sirens, 
and  never  heeded  that  they  thereby  also  became 
deaf  to  the  notes  of  the  nightingale.  So  that 
the  field  of  the  present  could  be  radically  cleared 
of  weeds,  the  practical  man  cared  little  if  the 

^  It  is  a  remarkable  coincidence  that  in  an  American  Algonkin 
legend,  a  sorcerer  by  the  same  trick  makes  people  believe  that 
he  has  killed  himself,  and  then  returned  to  life. — Translator. 

*  As  did  Cobbett,  who  enumerates  them  among  the  incom- 
prehensible or  absurd  follies  of  collectors. 

'  Kuhreigen,  the  ram  dea  vaelut,  which  so  fascinates  the 
Swiss.  I 


FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT.  117 

flowers  went  with  them.  Against  this  the  party  of 
flowers  and  of  nightingales,  and  therewith  all  else 
belonging  to  it,  such  as  beauty,  wit,  grace,  and 
gaiety,  rose  in  enmity  and  poor  Nicolai  was  laid 
low. 

To-day  matters  are  changed  in  Germany,  and  the 
party  of  flowers  and  nightingales  is  closely  connected 
with  the  Revolution.  The  future  is  ours,  and  the 
day-spring  of  victory  is  already  dawning.  Should 
this  bright  beautiful  day  ever  pour  its  light  over 
our  whole  country,  then  we  will  certainly  think 
of  thee,  old  Nicolai,  poor  martyr  of  reason !  We 
will  bear  thy  ashes  to  the  German  pantheon,  the 
sarcophagus  surrounded  by  a  rejoicing  triumphal 
procession,  and  accompanied  by  a  chorus  of  musi- 
cians, among  whose  wind  instruments  there  shall 
be  none  which  hiss ;  ^  we  will  lay  on  thy  coffin  the 
most  admirable  of  laurel  crowns,  and  do  our  best 
not  to  laugh  while  doing  so. 

As  I  would  give  an  idea  of  the  philosophic  and 
religious  relations  of  that  time,  I  must  here  men- 
tion those  thinkers  who  were  more  or  less  actively 
associated  with  Nicolai,  and  at  the  same  time 
formed  a  juste  milieu  between  philosophy  and 
literature.  They  had  no  settled  system,  but  a 
settled  and  determined  direction.     They  were  like 

^  Querpfeife,  i.e.,  cross-pipes.  In  English  slang  the  word 
quer  has  become  "queer,"  while  cross  is  its  synonyme. — 
Translator. 


r^fvas 


llS  FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT. 

■      I  ■:  ■      - 

the  English  moralists  in  their  style  and  their 
fundamental  principles.  They  wrote  without  ob- 
serving any  scientific€Jly  strict  form,  and  moral 
consciousness  was  the  only  source  of  their  know- 
ledge. Their  tendency  is  altogether  the  same  as 
that  which  we  find  among  French  philanthropists. 
In  religion  they  were  rationalists,  cosmopolites  in 
politics,  in  morals  noble,  virtuous  men,  severe  as  to 
themselves,  and  tolerant  to  others.  As  regards 
ability,  Mendelssohn,  Sulzer,  Abt,  Moritz,  Garve, 
Engel,  and  Blester  were  the  most  distinguished 
among  them.  Of  these,  I  prefer  Moritz,  who  com- 
municated much  of  value  in  experimental  psycho- 
logy. He  was  a  man  of  charming  naivete,  but  was 
Uttle  understood  by  his  friends.  His  biography  is 
one  of  the  most  important  records  of  his  time. 
Mendelssohn  has,  however,  among  them  all,  pre- 
emiaent  social  importance.  He  was  the  reformer 
of  his  co-religionists,  the  German  Jews ;  he  over- 
threw the  authority  of  the  Talmud,  and  founded 
pure  Mosaic  culture.  This  man,  who  was  called  by 
his  contemporaries  the  German  Socrates,  and  whom 
they  admired  for  his  nobility  of  soul  and  strength 
of  intellect,  was  the  son  of  a  poor  sacristan  of  the 
synagogue  of  Dessau.  Over  and  above  this  defect 
of  birth,  Providence  had  loaded  him  with  a  hump- 
back, as  if  to  show  the  mob  in  rough  fashion  that 
men  should  be  judged  not  by  outer  seeming,  but 
by  inner  value.     Or  did  Providence  bestow  it  on 


^-"mg 


PROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT.  119 

him  with  foresight,  so  that  he  might  attribute  to 
it  much  ill-treatment  by  the  vulgar  multitude,  for 
which  a  wise  man  can  easily  find  consolation  ? 

As  Luther  had  overthrown  the  Popedom,  so  did 
Mendelssohn  the  Talmud,  and  that  in  the  same 
manner,  since  he  destroyed  the  tradition,  pro- 
claimed the  Bible  as  the  source  of  religion,  and 
translated  the  most  important  portions  of  it. 
Thus  he  destroyed  Jewish-Catholicism,  as  Luther 
had  the  Roman.  In  fact,  the  Talmud  is  the 
Catholicism  of  the  Jews,  It  is  a  Gothic  cathedral, 
which  is  indeed  over-loaded  with  child-like  gro- 
tesque ornament,  yet  it  amazes  us  with  its  heaven- 
soaring  giant-grandeur.  It  is  a  hierarchy  of 
religious  laws,  which  often  treat  of  the  drollest, 
most  ridiculous  subtleties,  and  yet  they  are  so 
intelligently  arranged  over  and  through  one 
another,  sustaining  and  aiding  mutually,  and  co- 
incide with  such  tremendous  logical  force,  that 
they  constitute  a  formidable  and  colossal  whole. 

After  the  fall  of  Christian  Catholicism,  that  of 
the  Jews  or  the  Talmud  was  also  doomed.  For 
the  Talmud  had  then  lost  its  meaning;  it  had 
served  as  a  bulwark  against  Rome,  and  the  Jews 
owe  this  to  it,  that  by  its  aid  they  resisted 
Christian  Rome  as  heroically  as  they  had  the 
Rome  of  Paganism.  Not  only  did  they  resist — 
they  conquered.  The  poor  Rabbi  of  Nazareth, 
over  whose  dying  head  the  heathen  Roman  wrote 


f  (•"'^^•'•Wf  z""^-  .„i».._ 


^^i*t«lH»*  i«Wv — I*  >•'  i:'-*"!^  f- 


4» 


I20 


FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT. 


the  mocking  words,  "  Jesus  of  Nazareth,  the  King 
of  the  Jews," — even  this  mock-king  of  the  Jews, 
crowned  with  thorns,  and  clad  with  ironic  purple, 
became  at  last  the  king  of  the  Bomans,  and 
they  had  to  kneel  before  him.  As  heathen  Kome 
had  been,  so  Christian  Rome  was  conquered,  and 
even  made  tributary.  If  you,  dear  reader,  will  go 
during  the  first  days  of  any  quarter  to  the  Rue 
Lafitte,  No.  15,  Paris,  you  will  there  see  before  a 
high  portal  a  heavy  coach,  from  which  will  step 
a  very  weighty  man.  He  will  go  upstairs  into  a 
little  room,  where  sits  a  blonde  young  man,  who 
is,  however,  older  than  he  looks,  yet  in  whose 
aristocratic,  grand-seigneur-like  nonchalance  there 
is  something  as  solid,  as  positive,  as  absolute  as  if 
he  had  all  the  money  in  the  world  in  his  pocket. 
And  he  really  has  all  the  money  of  this  world  in 
his  pocket,  and  he  is  called  Monsieur  James  de 
Rothschild,  and  the  stout  man  is  Monsieur  Grim- 
baldi,  ambassador  of  His  Holiness  the  Pope,  and 
he  brings  in  his  name  the  interest  of  the  Roman 
loan — the  Roman  tribute. 

What  is  the  use  of  the  Talmud  now  ? 

Moses  Mendelssohn,  therefore,  deserves  great 
praise  for  overthrowing  this  Jewish  Catholicism, 
at  least  in  Germany.  For  whatever  is  super- 
fluous is  injurious.  Though  overthrowing  the 
tradition,  he  endeavoured  to  strictly  maintain  the 
Mosaic  ceremonial  law  as  a  religious  duty.    Was 


FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT.      .  121 

it  timidity  or  shrewdness?  Was  it  a  lingering 
melancholy  love,  which  restrained  him  from 
laying  destructive  hands  on  objects  which  were 
holiest  to  his  ancestors,  and  for  which  the  blood 
and  tears  of  so  many  martyrs  had  been  shed? 
I  do  not  think  so.  Like  the  monarchs  of  matter, 
so  the  sovereigns  of  the  spirit  must  be  impiti- 
able  as  to  family  feelings ;  even  on  the  throne  of 
thought  there  should  be  no  yielding  to  tender 
sentiments.  I  am  therefore  of  the  opinion  that 
Moses  Mendelssohn  saw  in  pure  Mosaism  an  insti- 
tution which  might  serve  deism  as  its  last  defence 
and  final  fort ;  for  deism  was  his  innermost  faith 
and  his  deepest  conviction.  When  his  friend 
Lessing  died,  and  was  accused  of  having  been  a 
Spinozist,  he  defended  him  with  the  most  restless 
zeal,  and  because  of  it  grieved  himself  to  death. 

I  have  here  mentioned  for  the  second  time  a 
name  which  no  German  can  utter  without  its 
being  more  or  less  re-echoed  in  his  heart.  For 
since  Luther,  Germany  has  brought  forth  no 
greater  or  better  man  than  Gotthold  Ephraim 
Lessing.  The  two  are  our  pride  and  our  joy. 
In  these  sad  troubled  times,  we  raise  our  eyes 
to  their  consoling  images,  and  they  nod  to  us  a 
glorious  promise.  Yes,  there  will  come  the  third 
man  who  will  perfect  what  Luther  begun,  what 
Lessing  continued,  and  what  the  Fatherland  so 
much  requires — ^the  third  liberator !    I  see  already 


M«.^       JK    «>■  JI.4*M*s.'«il|^'    yWh 


-^^■•-.■i^-   -f*-/*    ^"' 


132  PROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT. 

Bhining  from  afar  his  golden  armour  gleaming 
through  the  imperial  purple  mantle,  "  even  like 
the  sun  through  morning's  rosy  glen."  I 

Lessing  had  his  effect  like  Luther  in  this,  that 
he  not  only  did  something  definite,  but  that 
while  he  moved  the  German  people  to  their 
depths,  he  developed  a  healthy  intellectual  action 
by  his  criticism  and  polemics.  He  was  the  living 
critic  of  his  time,  and  his  whole  life  was  polemics. 
This  criticism  manifested  its  influence  in  the 
remotest  realms  of  thought  and  of  feeling,  in  re- 
ligion, science,  and  art,  while  his  polemic  conquered 
every  foe  and  grew  stronger  with  every  victory. 
Lessing,  as  he  himself  confessed,  needed  strife 
for  the  proper  development  of  his  intellect.  He 
was  like  the  legendary  Norseman,  who  inherited 
the  talents,  knowledge,  and  power  of  the  men 
whom  he  killed  in  duels,  and  who  was  thus  in 
time  gifted  with  all  possible  advantages  and 
virtues.  It  is  intelligible  enough  that  such  a 
battle-loving  Kempe^  made  not  a  little  noise  in 
calm,  still  Germany,  wherein  the  Sabbath  still- 
ness was  deeper  even  than  that  of  to-day.  The 
many  were  dumbfounded  by  his  literary  daring, 
but  this  stood  him  in  good  stead,  for  oser ! — 
be  bold ! — is  the  secret  of  success  in  literature  as 

*  Xdmpe.  This  is  Low  German  for  Eampfer,  a  warrior. 
The  Norse  Kempe  was  used  in  England  till  the  fourteenth  cen- 
tarj,  perhaps  later.     "  With  Eempes  many  a  one." 


FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT.  I«3 

well  as  in  revolution  or  in  love.  All  trembled 
before  the  sword  of  Lessing;  no  head  was  safe 
from  him ;  in  fact,  he  decapitated  many  from  mere 
wantonness,  and  was  then  wicked  enough  to  lift 
the  head  from  the  ground  and  show  the  public 
that  it  was  hollow.  Those  whom  he  could  not 
slay  with  the  sword,  he  slew  with  the  arrows  of 
his  wit.^  His  friends  admired  the  coloured  feathers 
in  these  arrows,  his  foes  felt  them  in  their  hearts. 
The  wit  of  Lessing  was  not  at  all  like  that  enjoite- 
ment,  that  gaiety,  those  sparkling  sallies,  such  as 
are  known  here.  It  was  no  French  greyhound  who 
runs  after  his  own  shadow;  it  was  much  more 
like  a  great  German  tom-cat,  which  plays  with 
the  mouse  before  she  strangles  it. 

Yes,  polemics  were  the  joy  of  our  Lessing, 
therefore  he  never  deliberated  long  whether  his 
opponent  was  worthy  of  him.     So  he  by  his  war- 


'  In  the  French  version,  "  celui  que  sa  logique  trancbante  ne 
pouvait  atteindre  il  le  tuait  avec  lea  traits  de  son  esprit." 
These  passages  are  extremely  characteristic  of  Heine,  who  far 
mrpassed  any  modem,  or  indeed  ancient  author,  excepting 
perhaps  Carlyle,  in  admiring  and  desiring  mere  power  for  its 
own  sake,  and  in  regarding  it  as  the  summum  bonum  of  the 
IndividoaL  The  character  of  Lessing,  as  here  described  and 
praised  for  sheer  wanton  cruelty,  is  worse  than  that  of  the 
Red  Indian  who  inflicts  death  with  torture  only  on  his  enemies. 
But  manners  and  morals  have  improved  since  Heine  wrote,  and 
a  writer  who,  inspired  by  personal  ill-feeling  or  injured  vanity, 
would  hunt  down  a  rival  is  now  regarded,  be  his  genius  what 
it  may,  with  little  favour. 


p>.-,r^i  ♦ ". 


124 


FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT. 


fare  preserved  from  oblivion  many  names  who  well 
deserved  it.  Round  many  a  tiny  writer  did  he 
spin  the  wittiest  mockery  and  most  precious 
humour,  and  they  are  preserved  for  eternity  in 
the  works  of  Lessing  like  insects  in  a  lump  of 
amber.  By  killing  his  enemies  he  made  them 
immortal.  Who  among  us  would  else  have  ever 
heard  of  that  Klotz  on  whom  Leasing  lavished  so 
much  scorn  and  keen  wit  ?  The  masses  of  rock 
which  he  cast  on  this  poor  antiquary  and  where- 
with he  was  crushed  are  now  his  indestructible 
monument. 

It  is  remarkable  that  this,  the  wittiest  man  of 
Germany,  was  also  the  most  honourable.  There's 
nothing  equal  to  his  love  of  truth.  Lessing  never 
made  the  least  concession  to  lies,  even  when  he 
by  so  doing  could,  in  the  usual  fashion  of  the 
worldly-wise,  aid  in  the  victory  of  truth.  He 
could  do  everything  for  truth  except  lie.  As  he 
himself  once  said,  "The  man  who  will  present 
truth  to  us  in  all  kinds  of  masks  and  paints  may 
indeed  be  her  pander,  but  never  her  lover." 

That  fine  expression  of  Buffon,  "Style  is  the 
man  himself,"^  is  applicable  to  no  one  more  than 
to  Lessing.  His  manner  of  writing  is  entirely 
like  his  character,  true,  firm,  without  ornament, 
beautiful  and  imposing  from  indwelling  strength. 

^  In  the  French  version,  "  Le  style  est  tout  rbomme."     It  in 
generally  cited  as  "  Le  style  c'est  rbomme."  , 


•'■••  -» «♦•      -«.\. 


-J  ^    .»  1 


ft    -^r  m     A-^' 


,  •*?.•■«•  »^ 


FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT.  11$ 

His  style  is  altogether  like  that  of  Roman  archi- 
tecture, the  most  perfect  solidity  with  extreme 
simplicity;  the  sentences  rest  one  on  the  other 
like  squared  stones,  and  as  in  the  one  the  law  of 
weight,  so  in  the  other  that  of  logical  consequence 
is  the  invisible  power  which  binds  and  connects 
the  whole.  Therefore  there  are  in  his  prose  so  few 
of  the  expletives  and  artistic  turns  which  we  use 
like  mortar  in  constructing  sentences;  and  still 
fewer  are  those  caryatides  of  thought  which  you 
call  la  helle  phrase. 

That  a  man  like  Lessing  could  never  be  happy 
may  easily  be  conceived ;  and  even  if  he  had  not 
loved  the  truth,  and  even  if  he  had  not  voluntarily 
defended  it  everywhere,  he  must  still  have  been 
unhappy,  because  he  was  a  man  of  genius.  "Every- 
thing will  be  forgiven  you,"  said  of  late  a  sighing 
poet,  "wealth,  illustrious  birth,  personal  beauty, 
even  talent — but  there  is  no  mercy  for  genius." 
Ah !  and  even  if  ill-will  did  not  encounter  it  from 
without,  genius  would  find  in  itself  the  enemy 
which  destroys  it.  Therefore  the  history  of  great 
men  is  always  a  martyrology ;  when  they  did  not 
suffer  and  make  war  for  great  humanity,  they  did 
it  for  their  own  greatness,  for  the  great  order  of 
their  being,  for  the  un-Philistine,  for  their  dislike 
of  pompous  vulgarity,  the  ridiculous  troubles  of 
their  surroundings,  a  trouble  which  drives  them 
naturally  to  extravagances — for  example,  to  the 


It6  FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT. 

theatre,  or  even  to  the  gambling-house,  as  hap- 
pened to  poor  Lessing.^ 

Scandal  could  reproach  him  with  nothing 
•  worse  than  this,  and  we  learn  from  his  biography 
that  pretty  comediennes  seemed  to  him  to  be 
more  amusing  than  Hamburg  clergymen,  and 
that  silent  cards  were  more  entertaining  than 
twaddling  Wolfians. 

It  rends  the  heart  to  read  how  destiny  denied 
to  this  man  every  joy,  and  how  he  was  not  even 
permitted  to  enjoy  in  domestic  life  rest  from  his 
daily  conflicts.  Once  fate  seemed  to  favour  him, 
and  gave  him  a  beloved  wife  and  a  child ;  but  this 
prosperity  was  like  the  sun-ray  which  falls  on 
the  wings  of  a  bird  as  it  flits  by.  His  wife  died 
in  child-bed,  the  child  also  soon  after  birth,  and 
regarding  this  he  wrote  to  a  friend  the  grimly- 
witty  words : — 

"My  joy  was  but  short,  and  I  lost  him 
unwillingly,  this  son!  For  he  had  so  much 
intelligence  —  so  much  intelligence!  Do  not 
think  that  my  few  hours  of  paternity  have  made 
me  a  foolish  monkey  of  a  father.*  I  know  what 
I  am  saying.  Was  it  not  intelligent  that  he  so 
promptly  perceived  that  things  went  badly  in  this 

^  In  the  French  version  "  malaise  qui  lea  porta  facilement 
aux  extravagances,  par  exemple,  aux  actrioet  ou  au  jeu,  comme  U 
arriva  au  pauvre  Leasing." 

^  In  allusion  to  the  fable  of  the  ape  and  her  young. 


FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT.  127 

world  when  he  was  drawn  forth  into  it  with  iron 
pincers  ?  Was  it  not  clever  of  him  to  seize  the 
first  opportunity  to  escape  from  it?  I  wanted 
for  once  to  be  happy  like  other  men.  But  it 
went  ill  with  me." 

There  was  a  misfortune  of  which  Leasing  never 
complained  to  his  friends;  this  was  his  terrible 
isolation,  his  spiritual  solitude.  Some  of  his 
contemporaries  loved  him,  none  understood  him. 
Mendelssohn,  his  best  friend,  defended  him  with 
zeal  when  he  was  accused  of  Spinozism.  Defence 
and  zeal  were  both  as  ridiculous  as  they  were 
superfluous.  Rest  in  thy  grave,  old  Moses ;  thy 
Lessing  was  indeed  on  the  way  to  that  awfid 
error,  that  lamentable  misery  of  Spinozism,  but 
the  Highest,  whose  home  is  in  heaven,  saved  him 
betimes.  Be  calm !  thy  Lessing  was  no  Spinozist, 
as  slander  asserts ;  he  died  a  good  deist,  like  thee 
and  Nicolai  and  Teller,  and  the  Universal  Creraaan 
Library. 

Lessing  was  only  the  prophet  who,  grasping  the 
meaning  of  the  second  Testament,  set  forth  the 
third.  I  have  called  him  the  one  who  continued 
Luther,  and  it  is  really  in  this  character  that  I 
must  here  discuss  him.  Of  his  influence  and 
significance  as  to  German  art  I  shall  speak  anon. 
In  this  he  not  only  by  criticism  but  by  example 
effected  a  healthy  reform,  and  it  is  this  side  of 
his  work  which  is  most  exalted  and  elucidated. 


128  FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT. 

We,  however,  regard  him  from  another  point  of 
view,  and  his  philosophic  and  theologic  battles  are 
for  us  of  more  importance  than  his  Dramaturgy 
and  his  Dramata.  The  last,  however,  have,  like 
all  his  writings,  a  social  significance,  and  "  Nathan 
the  Sage  "  is  in  fact  not  only  a  good  comedy,  but 
also  a  philosophic-theological  treatise  in  favour 
of  pure  deism.  Art  was  for  Lessing  a  tribune ; 
and  when  he  was  cast  out  of  the  pulpit  or  the 
chair,  then  he  leaped  upon  the  stage,  and  there 
spoke  more  significantly  than  ever,  and  attracted 
more  hearers. 

I  say  that  Lessing  continued  Luther.  After 
Luther  had  freed  us  from  tradition  and  raised 
the  Bible  to  being  the  only  source  of  Christianity, 
there  sprung  up,  as  already  set  forth,  a  stiff  dry 
worship  of  the  text,  and  the  letter  of  the  Bible 
ruled  as  tyrannically  as  tradition  had  before. 
Lessing  contributed  chiefly  to  deliverance  from 
this  tyrannic  letter.  And  as  Luther  likewise  was 
not  the  only  one  who  fought  tradition,  so  Lessing 
did  not  fight  alone,  but  was  the  most  vigorous 
against  the  letter.  Here  his  war-cry  sounded 
loudest;  here  he  swung  his  axe  most  joyously, 
and  it  shone  and  slew.  But  here  he  was  most 
closely  pressed  by  the  black  bands,  and  in  such 
stress  he  once  cried — 

"0   sancta  simplicitas!     But   I   am  not   yet 
where  the  good  man   who   cried  this  could  do 


FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT.  129 

nanght  else  but  cry  it.  (These  were  the  words 
of  Huss  at  the  stake.)  First  let  ns  be  heard,  first 
let  us  be  judged  by  those  who  can  and  will  hear 
and  judge ! 

"Oh,  that  he  could  do  it,  he  whom  I  would 
most  gladly  have  for  my  judge — Luther! — thou 
great  man  misunderstood,  and  by  none  more  than 
by  the  stubborn  stupid,  who,  bearing  thy  slippers 
in  hand,  saunter  crying  aloud,  yet  all  indifferent 
in  the  road  which  thou  hast  opened.  Thou  didst 
free  us  from  the  slavery  of  tradition ;  who  will  free 
us  from  the  more  intolerable  yoke  of  the  letter? 
Who  will  bring  us  at  last  a  Christianity  such  as 
thou  wouldst  teach,  such  as  Christ  himself  would 
teach  ?  " 

Yes,  the  letter,  said  Lessing,  is  the  last  crust 
of  Christianity,  and  not  till  it  is  broken  away  can 
the  spirit  come  forth.  This  spirit  is,  however, 
nothing  else  but  what  the  Wolfian  philosophy 
sought  to  demonstrate,  what  the  philanthropists 
felt  in  their  souls,  what  Mendelssohn  found  in 
Mosaism,  what  Freemasons  sung  and  poets  piped ; 
in  a  word,  what  was  then  developing  itself  in 
every  form  in  Germany — ^that  is,  pure  deism. 

Lessing  died  in  Brunswick  in  the  year  178 1, 
misunderstood,  hated,  and  decried.  In  that 
same  year  appeared  in  Konigsberg  Die  KrUik  der 
reinen  Vemunft — the  "  Critique  of  Pure  Reason  " 
— by  Tmmanuel  Kant     With  this  book,  which, 

VOL.  I.  I 


ijo  FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT. 

owing  to  a  strange  delay,  did  not  become  generally 
known  for  eight  years,  began  in  Germany  a 
spiritual  revolution  which  has  the  most  mar- 
vellous analogy  with  the  material  Revolution  of 
France,  and  which  must  appear  to  a  profound 
thinker  quite  as  important.  It  develops  itself 
with  the  same  phases,  and  a  most  remarkable 
parallelism  appears  in  both.  On  both  sides  of 
the  Khine  we  see  the  same  breach  with  the 
past;  all  respect  is  denied  to  tradition;  as  in 
France  every  right,  as  in  Grermany  every  thought, 
has  been  obliged  to  justify  itself.  And  as  the 
monarchy,  the  key-stone  of  the  old  social  order 

of    tlixng«,   fell    Here,    so    fell    tliere    deism,    t>He  key— 

ItODe  Ot  tl?©  iDiiatna^  anoieDt  in^oiino 

stx>xx&   o£  -ttlx^    B-j^ljri.^i:M.eii   ^zicsi^^zife   x-^g^me. 

^Ve    -will    spealc    in    tiiie    foUo'wixig'    l>ool£    of    tliia 

A&t&StW^kft,  wWll  wftfi  tke  4 1  si;  of  January  of 
deism.      A.  strange  dread,  a  mysterious  reverence, 

does  not  permit  us  to  write  fnrther  to-day.    Our 

breast  is  filled  with  terrible  compassion ;  it  is  the 

ancient  Jehovah  himself  preparing  for  death,  i  We 

have  known  him  so  well  from  his  cradle  upwards, 

in  Egypt,  where  he  was  brought  up  among  sacred 
calves,  crocodiles,  holy  onions,  ibises  and  cats. 
We  have  seen  him  as  he  bid  adieu  to  these  play- 
mates of  his  childhood  and  obelisks  and  sphinxes, 
and  became  a  small  god-king  in   Palestine  to 

1  In  the  French  version,  "  c'est  le  vieux  du  del  lui-mSme  qui 
86  prepare  it  la  mort."  i 


Fnm  thf  h»  liait  hy  Attfott  Ora/f 


-v. 


FROM  LUTHER  TO  KANT.  131 

a  poor  pastoral  people,  and  dwelt  in  his  own 
temple-palace.  We  saw  him  later  when  he  came 
into  contact  with  the  Assyrian-Babylonian  civi- 
lisation, and  laid  aside  his  all  too  human  passions, 
and  no  longer  belched  wrath  and  vengeance,  at 
least  no  longer  tJiundered  for  every  trumpery 
trash  of  sin.^  We  saw  him  emigrate  to  Rome, 
the  capital,  where  he  renounced  all  national  preju- 
dices and  proclaimed  the  heavenly  equality  of 
all  races,  and  with  such  fair  phrases  formed  an 
opposition  to  the  ancient  Jupiter,  and  intrigued 
so  long  that  at  last  he  rose  to  power,  and  from 
the  Capitol  governed  the  state  and  the  world, 
urhem  et  orhem.  We  saw  how  he  spiritualised  him- 
self more  and  more,  how  he  sweet-saintly  wailed 
when  he  became  a  loving  father,  a  universal 
friend  of  humanity,  a  benefactor  of  the  human 
race,  a  philanthropist.  It  all  availed  him  naught. 
Hear  ye  the  bell  ring?  Kiieel  down!  they 
bring  the  sacrament  to  a  dying  God ! 

^  Lumperei,  literally  blackguardism.      Lump   means  a  rag 
or  a  blackguard ;  hence  in  the  French  version  vetiile 


FIRST  PART.— BOOK  THIRD. 


FROM  KANT  TO  HEGEL. 

There  is  a  story  that  an  English  mechanic,  who 
had  already  invented  the  most  artistically  ingeni- 
ous machines,  hit  upon  the  idea  to  make  a  man, 
and  that  it  finally  succeeded.  This  work  of  his 
hands  could  bear  and  behave  itself  perfectly  like 
a  man ;  it  even  had  in  its  leathern  breast  a  kind 
of  human  feeling,  which  did  not  differ  greatly 
from  the  usual  feelings  of  Englishmen.  It  could 
communicate  its  emotions  in  articulate  tones,  and 
the  rustle  and  buzz  of  the  inner  wheels,  rasps,  and 
screws,^  when  heard,  had  the  very  intonation  of  pure 
English  pronunciation;  in  short,  this  automaton 
was  a  perfect  gentleman,  and  all  that  he  wanted, 
to  be  a  real  man,  was  a  soul.  But  this  the  English 
mechanic  could  not  give  him,  and  the  poor  creature 
having  come  to  the  consciousness  of  his  imperfec- 
tion, tormented  his  creator  night  and  day,  begging 
him  for  a  souL   This  entreaty  became  so  intolerable, 

^  French  version,  "Rouages,  ressorto  et  ^bappements." 

13a 


FROM  KANT  TO  HEGEL. 


133 


that  the  artist  at  last  fled  in  fear  from  his  own 
work.  But  the  automaton  followed  him  at  once 
by  extra-post  to  the  Continent,  travelled  con- 
stantly after  him,  caught  him  many  times  unex- 
pectedly, and  snarled  and  growled  at  him,  "  Give 
me  a  soul  /  "  ^  We  meet  these  two  forms  in  every 
country,  and  those  who  know  what  their  mutual 
relations  are,  understand  their  strange  haste  and 
anxious  irritation.  But  when  their  peculiar  con- 
ditions are  known,  one  finds  in  it  something 
common  enough,  and  sees  how  a  part  of  the 
English  people,  weary  of  its  mechanical  existence, 
demands  a  soul,  while  the  other,  agonised  by  this 
constant  request,  flies  here  and  there,  neither 
being  able  to  remain  at  home. 

This  is  a  terrible  tale.  It  is  dreadful  when  the 
bodies  which  we  have  created  demand  a  soul  of 
us.  But  more  horrible,  appalling,  and  uncanny 
is  it  when  we  have  made  a  soul  which  demands 
from  us  its  body,  and  persecutes  us  with  this 
prayer.  The  thought  which  we  have  formed  is 
such  a  soul,  and  it  leaves  us  no  repose  till  we  have 
given  it  a  body,  or  till  we  have  hurried  it  on  to 
sensible  realisation-  The  thought  will  become 
deed,  the  word  flesh.  And,  wonderful !  man,  like 
God  in  the  Bible,  has  only  to  express  his  thoughts, 
and  a  world  forms  itself ;  there  is  light  or  dark- 

^  It  is  hardly  neceasary  to  inform  the  English  reader  that 
this  atoiy  is  a  ritvmi  of  Mrt.  Shelley's  "  Frankenstein.' 


!»■•••  .,' 


■<  .jr»».At-MT*^: 


.»-#--*»i,  »>"•*_%  '•^#..*T'"^^  *'•-»■*. 


134  FROM  KANT  TO  HEGEL. 

nesB,  the  waters  are  divided  from  the  dry  land, 
and  wild  beasts  of  the  earth  appear.  The  world 
is  the  signature  of  the  Word. 

Mark  this,  ye  proud  men  of  action !  Ye  are 
nothing  but  the  unconscious  nnder-workmen  of 
the  men  of  thought,  who  have  often  in  modest 
silence  prescribed  for  you  all  your  work  in  the 
most  determined  and  detailed  manner.  Maxi- 
milian Robespierre  was  nothing  but  the  hand  of 
Jean  Jacques  Rousseau,  the  bloody  hand  which 
drew  from  the  womb  of  Time  the  body  whose 
soul  Rousseam  had  formed.  The  restless  anxiety 
which  embittered  the  life  of  Jean  Jacques  came 
perhaps  from  this,  that  he  presented  in  his  spirit 
what  a  midwife  his  thoughts  needed  to  come 
forth  bodily  to  life.^ 

Old  Fontenelle  was  perhaps  in  the  right  when 
he  said,  "If  I  had  all  the  thoughts^  in  the  world 
in  my  hand,  I  would  take  care  not  to  open  it." 
For  my  part,  I  think  differently.  If  I  had  all 
the  thoughts  in  this  world  in  my  hand,  I  would 
perhaps  beg  you  to  cut  it  off,  and  in  any  case  I 
would  not  keep  it  long  closed.  I  am  not  fitted 
or  born  to  be  a  jailer  of  thoughts.  By  God,  I'd 
let  them  go !  Let  them  assume  the  most  doubt- 
ful or  serious  forms,  let  them  storm  in  wild 
Bacch  antic  trains  through  every  land,  let  them 

^  All  of  this  paragntpfa  is  wanting  in  the  French  version. 
'  In  the  French  rersion  "  toates  les  v^rit^  da  monde  " 


FROM  KANT  TO  HEGEL.  135 

strike  down  with  thyrsus-staves  our  most  inno- 
cent flowers,  let  them  burst  into  onr  hospitals 
and  drive  from  its  bed  our  old  sick  world — of 
course  my  heart  would  sorrow  sadly,  and  I  too 
would  suffer,  for,  alas !  I  myself  belong  also  to 
this  old  sick  world,  and  the  poet  has  said  with 
justice,  "We  walk  no  better  for  abusing  our 
crutches ! "  I  am  the  sickest  of  you  all,  and  the 
more  to  be  pitied  because  I  knew  what  health 
is.  But  ye,  O  men  to  be  envied !  know  it  not. 
Ye  are  capable  of  dying  without  knowing  it  your- 
selves. Yes,  many  of  you  died  long,  long  ago, 
and  declare  that  your  real  life  is  now  just  begin- 
ning. When  I  contradict  such  madmen,  then 
they  are  angry  and  revile  me,  and,  horrible !  the 
corpses  spring  up  round  me  and  curse  me;  and 
what  is  more  loathsome  to  me  than  their  curses 
is  their  churchyard  smell.  .  .  .  Away,  ye  spectres, 
for  I  speak  now  of  one  whose  name  has  the  power 
of  exorcism — I  speak  of  Immanuel  Kant ! 

It  is  said  that  night- wandering  ghosts  are  terri- 
fied when  they  see  the  sword  of  an  executioner. 
But  what  terror  must  they  then  feel  if  any  one 
holds  out  at  them  Kant's  "  Critique  of  Pure 
B^ason"?  This  book  is  the  sword  with  which 
deism  was  decapitated  in  Germany. 

To  tell  the  honest  truth,  ye  French  in  com- 
parison with  us  Germans  are  tame  and  moderate. 
At  best  you  could  only  kill  a  king,  and  he  had 


^^V-'*""-*  ♦•^•»-^.*,»'iMt«*r^"*^*"'*^-'--'*»^*  *.*■--*'•'-•-..  *^-».ii^     *•;#«■.,-*■**■.■-.: 


136  FROM  KANT  TO  HEQEL.  i 

lost  his  head  long  before  you  chopped  it  off. 
And  over  that  you  needs  make  such  a  drumming 
and  shouting  and  foot-stamping,  that  it  shook 
all  the  earth.  One  really  does  too  much  honour 
to  Maximilian  Robespierre  when  we  compare  him 
to  Immanuel  Kant.  Maximilian  Robespierre,  the 
great  cockney  of  the  Rue  Saint-Honor^,  had  of 
course  his  fit  of  destruction  when  it  came  to  the 
kingdom,  and  he  twitched  frightfully  enough  in 
his  regicidal  epilepsy ;  but  as  soon  as  the  question 
was  of  the  highest  being,  he  wiped  the  white 
foam  from  his  mouth  and  the  blood  from  his 
hands,  and  put  on  his  blue  Sunday-coat  with  its 
shining  buttons,  and  moreover  stuck  a  bouquet 
before  his  broad  waistcoat  collar.  i 

The  history  of  the  life  of  Immanuel  Kant  is 
hard  to  write,  inasmuch  as  he  had  neither  life 
nor  history,  for  he  lived  a  mechanically  ordered, 
an  abstract  old  bachelor  life  in  a  quiet  retired 
street  in  Konigsberg,  an  old  town  on  the  north- 
east border  of  Germany.  I  do  not  believe  that 
the  great  clock  of  the  cathedral  there  did  its 
daily  work  more  impassionately  and  regularly 
than  its  compatriot  Immanuel  Kant.  Rising, 
coffee-drinking,  writing,  reading  college  lectures, 
eating,  walking,  had  all  their  fixed  time,  and  the 
neighbours  knew  that  it  was  exactly  half-past 
three  when  Immanuel  Kant  in  his  grey  coat,  with 
his  Manilla  cane  in  his  hand,  left  his  house-door 


V  1  ...»-•■,.,  r--  fc  .   V'  /..  •."■■   r  ~^:,-,,--.  m.  ,»  .  j,  .    '  — '     .  %  ♦. 


FROM  KANT  TO  HEGEL.  lyj 

and  went  to  the  lime-tree  avenue,  which  is  still 
called  in  memory  of  him  the  Philosopher's  Walk. 
There  he  walked  its  length  eight  times  up  and 
down  in  every  season;  and  when  the  weather 
was  threatening  or  the  grey  clouds  announced 
rain,  his  servant,  old  Lampe,  in  anxious  care 
walked  behind  him  with  a  long  umbrella  under 
his  arm,  like  an  image  of  Providence. 

Strange  contrast  between  the  external  life  of 
the  man  and  his  destroying,  world-crushing 
thoughts!  In  very  truth,  if  the  citizens  of 
Konigsberg  had  dreamed  of  the  real  meaning 
of  his  thought,  they  would  have  experienced  at 
his  sight  a  greater  horror  than  they  would  on 
beholding  an  executioner,  who  only  kills  men. 
But  the  good  people  saw  nothing  in  him  but  a 
professor  of  philosophy,  and  when  he  at  his 
regular  hour  passed  by,  they  greeted  him  as  a 
friend,  and  regulated  their  watches  by  him. 

But  if  Immanuel  Kant,  the  great  destroyer  in 
the  world  of  thought,  went  far  beyond  Maxi- 
milian Robespierre  in  terrorism,  he  had  many 
points  of  resemblance  to  him  which  challenge 
comparison  between  the  twain.  Firstly,  we  find 
in  both  the  same  inexorable,  cutting,  prosaic, 
sober  ?ense  of  honour  and  integrity.  Then  we 
find  in  them  the  same  talent  for  mistrust,  which 
the  one  showed  as  regarded  thoughts  and  called 
it  criticism,  while  the  other  applied  it  to  men. 


. '^'•'•T'^***'**^ '*•'■*■'■» '"•*c  ■ 


,*»-:*    m-Ji.'tM.   . 


138  FROM  KANT  TO  HEQEL. 

and  entitled  it  republican  virtue.  But  there  was 
manifested  in  both,  to  the  very  highest  degree, 
the  type  of  bourgeoisie,  of  the  common  citizen. 
Nature  meant  them  to  weigh  out  coffee  and 
sugar,  but  destiny  determined  that  they  should 
weigh  other  things ;  so  one  placed  a  king,  and  the 
other  a  god  in  the  scales.  ... 

And  they  both  gave  exact  weight ! 

The  "  Critique  of  Pure  Reason  "  is  Kant's  chief 
work,  and  we  must  occupy  ourselves  chiefly  with  it. 
None  of  his  other  writings  are  of  such  import- 
ance. This  book,  as  I  have  mentioned,  appeared 
in  1 78 1,  and  first  became  known  in  1789.  It 
was  at  first  quite  neglected;  only  two  trifling 
notices  of  it  were  published,  and  it  was  long 
before  the  attention  of  the  public  was  drawn  to 
this  great  work  by  articles  from  such  men  as 
Schiitz,  Schulz,  and  Reinhold.  The  cause  of  this 
delayed  recognition  lies  without  doubt  in  the 
strange  form  of  the  work  and  its  bad  expression. 
As  regards  the  latter,  Kant  deserves  more  blame 
than  any  other  philosopher,  and  all  the  more 
when  we  consider  his  preceding  better  style. 
The  recently  published  collection  of  his  minor 
works  contains  his  first  efforts,  and  we  are  amazed 
over  them  at  his  excellent  and  often  witty  writing. 
While  Kant  had  his  great  work  in  his  head,  he 
hummed  these  essays  like  little  airs.  He  seems 
to  smile  like  a  soldier  arming  himself  for  a  con- 


-*--     •    V,     I     ^    „.».-•    ^ 


r»-,  V  , V-  •■     ■-       '    '  '   '    ■**■■  *'    -»  r   11 


FROM  KANT  TO  HEGEL.  139 

flict  in  which  he  is  sure  to  conquer.  Among  these 
little  pieces  are  especially  remarkable  the  "  Uni- 
versal Natural  History"  and  "Theory  of  Heaven," 
which  were  written  so  early  as  1755,^  "Observa- 
tions on  the  Feeling  of  the  Beautiful  and  Sub- 
lime," written  ten  years  later,  as  well  as  the 
"Dreams  of  a  Spirit-Seer,"  full  of  caprices  in  the 
style  of  French  essays.  The  wit  of  a  Kant,  as  it 
reveals  itself  in  these  little  writings,  has  in  it 
something  extremely  peculiar.  Wit  there  twines 
round  the  thought,  and  though  not  strong,  attains 
thereby  to  a  pleasing  height.  Without  such  sup- 
port the  best  wit  cannot  flourish;  it  is  like  the 
grape-vine,  which  without  a  prop  must  creep 
miserably  on  the  ground,  and  decay  with  its 
precious  fruit. 

But  why  did  Kant  write  his  "  Critique  of  Pure 
Reason "  in  such  a  grey,  dry,  wrapping-paper 
style?  I  believe  because  he  feared,  in  abandon- 
ing the  mathematical  form  of  the  Descartes- 
Leibnitz- Wolfians,  that  learning  would  lose  some- 
thing of  its  dignity  if  it  expressed  itself  in  a 
light,  attractive,  and  cheerful  tone.  Therefore  he 
gave  his  style  a  stiff,  abstract  form,  which  coldly 
repulsed  all  familiarity  from  the  lower  classes  of 
intellect.  He  wished  to  aristocratically  distinguish 
himself  from  the  popular  philosophers  of  his  time, 
who  aimed  at  bourgeois  simpKcity,  so  he  clothed 

^  In  the  French  version  "  Thdorie  but  le  Sentiment  du  CieL" 


.f.^ 


140  FROM  KANT  TO  HEOEL. 

his  thoughts  in  a  cold  court-chancellor  language. 
Here  the  Philistine  spirit  shows  itself  completely. 
Yet  it  may  be  that  Kant  needed  for  his  carefully 
measured  path  of  ideas  a  language  even  more 
carefully  meted  out,  and  he  was  unable  to  make  a 
better.  Only  genius  has  for  new  thoughts  the  new 
word.  But  Immanuel  Kant  was  no  genius ;  and 
being  conscious  of  this  defect,  Kant  became,  like 
the  good  Maximilian,  more  distrustful  of  genius, 
and  in  his  critique  of  the  faculty  of  judgment  he 
even  declared  that  genius  has  nothing  to  do  with 
science,  as  its  sphere  of  action  Kes  in  that  of  art. 

Kant  did  much  harm  by  the  unwieldy,  stifF- 
buckram  style  of  his  work,  for  imitators  without 
intellect  or  vivacity  aped  him  in  his  external  form, 
and  so  there  sprang  up  the  superstition  that  a 
man  could  not  be  a  philosopher  and  write  well. 
However,  the  mathematical  form  can  never,  since 
Kant,  reappear  in  philosophy ;  he  broke  its  staff 
without  mercy  and  for  ever  in  the  "  Critique  of  Pure 
Reason."  "  The  mathematical  form,"  he  said, 
"  produces  nothing  but  card-houses  in  philosophy, 
just  as  the  philosophical  form  in  mathematics 
develops  mere  idle  talk."  For  there  can  be  no 
definition  given  in  philosophy,  as  in  mathematics, 
where  the  definitions  are  not  discursive  but  in- 
tuitive— that  is,  can  be  demonstrated  to  perception 
— while  what  are  called  definitions  in  philosophy 
are  only  presented  experimentally  and  hypothetic- 


*•■*<■**•«.    .'x*  .v  4 -^  jB,^.», .  .,v  •' •?    *'**"'"•'■    »••'■■■•■'"**-*■♦' 


FROM  KANT  TO  HEGEL.  141 


ally,  the  real  and  correct  definition  only  appear- 
ing at  the  end  as  a  result. 

How  is  it  that  philosophers  show  such  a  pre- 
dilection for  the  mathematical  form?  It  began 
even  with  Pythagoras,  who  indicated  the  principles 
of  things  with  numbers.  This  was  a  thought 
inspired  by  genius.  All  that  which  is  sensible 
and  finite  is  concisely  given  in  a  number,  and 
yet  it  indicates  something  determined,  and  its 
relation  to  something  determined,  which  last,  if 
also  characterised  by  a  number,  assumes  the  same 
character  of  the  spiritualised  and  infinite.  Herein 
number  is  like  ideas,  which  have  the  same  char- 
acter and  the  same  relation  to  one  another.  One 
can  set  forth  with  numbers  in  a  very  striking 
manner  ideas  as  they  manifest  themselves  in  our 
soul  and  in  nature,  but  the  number  always  remains 
the  number  of  the  idea,  and  not  the  idea  itself. 
The  master  understands  this  difference,  but  the 
scholar  forgets  it,  and  so  transmits  to  other  pupils 
only  numerical  hieroglyphics,  mere  ciphers,  whose 
living  meaning  is  lost,  yet  which  are  chattered 
vrith  pedantic  pride.  This  applies  also  to  other 
elements  of  the  mathematical  form.  The  intel- 
lectual in  its  eternal  action  endures  no  fixation ; 
it  will  no  more  allow  itself  to  be  fixed  by  number 
than  by  the  line,  triangle,  square,  and  circle. 
Thought  can  neither  be  numbered  nor  measured. 

As  it  is  my  task  to  facilitate  the  study  of  Ger- 


142  PROM  KANT  TO  HEGEL. 

man  philosophy  in  France,  I  chiefly  discuss  those 
externals  which  always  repel  the  ignorant  beginner; 
and  I  specially  call  the  attention  of  writers  who 
would  bring  Kant  before  the  French  public,  that 
they  omit  that  part  of  his  philosophy  which  only 
serves  to  combat  the  absurdities  of  the  Wolfian 
philosophy.  This  controversy,  which  shows  itself 
everywhere,  can  only  cause  confusion  to  a  French 
reader,  and  profit  him  nothing.  I  hear  that  Dr. 
Schon,  a  learned  German  in  Paris,  is  busy  with 
a  French  edition  of  Kant.  I  have  too  favourable 
an  opinion  of  the  philosophical  views  of  this  writer 
to  believe  that  he  has  need  of  any  such  suggestion, 
and  I  expect  from  him  a  book  both  useful  and 
important.^ 

The  "Critique  of  Pure  Reason  "  is,  as  I  have  said, 
the  chief  work  of  Kant,  and  his  other  writings 
may  be  regarded  as  such  as  can  be  passed  by,  or 
considered  simply  as  commentaries  on  it.  What 
social  meaning  lies  in  this  chief  work  may  be 
found  in  the  following  remarks. 

Philosophers  had,  before  Kant,  reflected  on  the 
origin  of  knowledge,  and  took,  as  we  have  seen, 
two  different  paths,  according  to  their  choosing 
ideas  d  priori  or  d  posteriori,  but  less  was  reflected 
on  the  cognitive  faculty,  or  that  of  knowledge 
itself,  and  the  comprehension  of  our  power  of 

1  The  last  two  passagvs  are  wanting  in  the  French  version. 
— Trantlaior.  i 


FROM  KANT  TO  HBQEL.  143 

knowing,  or  its  limits.  This  was  the  task  of 
Kant ;  he  submitted  our  faculty  of  knowledge  to 
a  pitiless  search ;  he  sounded  all  the  depth  of  this 
faculty,  and  determined  all  its  limits.  Thus  he 
found,  of  course,  that  we  can  know  nothing  at  all 
about  many  things  with  which  we  once  thought 
we  were  most  intimately  acquainted,  which  was 
very  vexatious,  and  yet  it  is  always  advantageous 
to  know  what  the  things  are  of  which  we  can  know 
nothing.  He  who  warns  us  against  ways  which 
lead  to  nothing  does  us  a  good  service  as  the  man 
who  sets  us  on  the  right  path.  Kant  proved  that 
we  know  nothing  of  things  as  they  are  in  and  for 
themselves,  and  that  we  can  have  no  knowledge 
of  them  except  so  far  as  they  are  reflected  in  our 
own  soul.  We  are,  therefore,  quite  like  the  pri- 
soners of  whom  Plato  speaks  so  sadly  in  the  seventh 
book  of  his  "  Republic."  These  wretches,  chained 
neck  and  leg,  so  that  they  cannot  turn  their  heads, 
sit  in  a  dungeon  which  is  open  above,  so  as  to  give 
them  some  light.  But  this  light  comes  from  a  fire 
which  is  burning  above  and  behind  them,  and 
which  is  separated  from  them  by  a  little  wall. 
Along  this  wall  people  walk,  bearing  all  kinds  of 
statues  and  images  of  stone  or  wood,  and  con- 
versing together.  But  the  poor  prisoners  can  see 
nothing  of  these  men,  who  are  not  so  high  as  the 
wall,  and  though  the  statues  rise  above  it,  they 
only  see  of  these  the  shadows  which  pass  along 


144  FROM  KANT  TO  HEGEL. 

.        ■        -    ■  1 

the  wall  before  them.  Therefore  they  take  these 
shadows  for  the  objects  themselves,  and,  deceived 
by  the  echo  of  their  dungeon,  believe  that  what 
they  hear  are  the  voices  of  the  shadows. 

The  previous  philosophy,  which  had  run  about 
sniffing  at  things,  to  collect  and  classify  their 
characteristics,  ended  when  Kant  appeared.  He 
led  back  investigation  into  the  human  soul  itself, 
and  examined  what  was  in  it.  Therefore  it  was 
with  reason  that  he  compared  his  philosophy  with 
the  method  followed  by  Copernicus.  In  old  times, 
when  the  world  was  made  to  stand  still  and  the 
sun  to  turn  round  it,  astronomical  calculations 
went  wrong;  but  when  Copernicus  reversed  this 
arrangement,  all  went  admirably.  And  once, 
reason,  like  the  sun,  circulated  round  the  world 
of  phenomena,  and  sought  to  enlighten  it;  but 
Kant  bade  the  sun  of  reason  stand  still,  and  it 
obeyed  him,  and  the  world  of  phenomena  turned 
around  it,  and  was  enlightened  according  to  the 
measure  in  which  it  came  within  its  sphere. 

From  the  few  words  with  which  I  have  indicated 
Kant's  task,  every  one  will  understand  that  I  con- 
sider that  part  of  his  book  in  which  he  treats  the 
so-called  noumena  and  phenomena  as  the  most 
important  of  all.  Kant  here  makes  a  difference 
between  the  appearances  of  things  and  the  things 
in  themselves.  Since  we  can  only  know  anything 
of  things  so  far  as  they  appear  to  us,  and  as  they 


FROM  KANT  TO  HEGEL.  145 

do  not  manifest  themselves  as  they  are,  in  and  for 
themselves,  Kant  named  things  as  they  appear 
phenomena^  and  things  in  and  for  themselves 
noumena.  We  can  only  know  something  of  them 
as  the  former,  nothing  of  them  as  the  latter. 
Noumena  are  purely  problematic ;  we  can  neither 
say  that  they  exist  or  do  not.  Yes,  the  word 
noumen  is  only  placed  in  antithesis  to  phcenomen, 
to  be  able  to  speak  of  things  so  far  as  they  are 
knowable  by  us  without  exercising  our  judgment 
on  things  which  are  not  to  be  known. 

Kant  therefore  has  not,  like  many  teachers 
whom  I  will  not  name,  divided  things  into  pheno- 
mena and  noumena,  into  things  which  exist  for, 
and  those  which  do  not  exist  for  us.  This  would 
be  an  Irish  bull  in  philosophy.  He  only  wished 
to  give  a  conception  of  their  limits. 

God  is,  according  to  Kant,  a  noumen.  Therefore, 
according  to  his  argument,  that  transcendental 
ideal  being  whom  we  have  hitherto  called  God  is 
nothing  but  an  invention.  It  arose  from  a  natural 
delusion.  Yes,  Kant  shows  how  we  can  know 
nothing  of  that  noumen  or  God,  and  how  all  future 
proof  of  his  existence  is  impossible.  We  write 
the  Dantean  words,  "Leave  hope  behind,"  over 
this  portion  of  the  "  Critique  of  Pure  Eeason."  ^ 

^  In  the  French  veraion  the  Italian  original,  Laseiate  ogni 
aperama,  is  given.     The  reader  may  here  observe  that  all  of 
Heine's  comments  on  German  philosophers,  as  indeed  on  all 
VOL.  L  K 


146  FROM  KANT  TO  HBOBL. 

I  believe  that  the  reader  will  willingly  ezcnse 
me  from  giving  the  popular  disquiaition  of  that 
part  where  the  author  treats  of  "  principles  of  the 
proof  of  speculative  reason  deducing  the  existence 
of  a  highest  being."  Though  the  real  refutation 
of  these  proofs  takes  small  space,  and  does  not 
occur  till  in  the  first  half  of  the  second  volume, 
it  is  introduced  from  the  first  with  the  utmost 
foresight,  and  forms  one  of  the  main  points  of 
the  book.  It  is  connected  with  the  Critique  of  all 
Speculative  Theology,  and  there  the  last  airy 
images  of  the  deists  perish.  I  must  remark  that 
Kant,  while  attacking  the  three  principal  proofs 
of  the  existence  of  God,  that  is  to  say,  the  onto- 
logical,  cosmological,  and  physico-theological,  in 
my  opinion  destroys  the  last  two,  but  not  the  first. 
I  do  not  know  whether  these  terms  are  known  here, 
and  I  give  the  passage  from  the  "  Critique  of  Pure 
Reason  "  where  Kant  formulises  their  distinction. 

"There  are  only  three  possible  proofs  of  the 
existence  of  God  by  speculative  reason.  Every 
road  which  one  can  take  with  this  intention  must 
begin  either  from  determined  experience  and 
the  thereby  recognised  special  adaptability  of  the 
world  of  sense,  and  rise  from  it  according  to  the 

writers,  are  to  be  invariably  taken  with  a  great  deal  of  the  salt 
of  caution  and  distrust.  The  majority  of  the  students  of  Kant, 
that  is  to  say,  of  men  who  are  far  more  deeply  familiar  with  his 
works  than  was  our  author,  utterly  dissent  from  this  conclusion 
of  atheism. — Translator. 


FROM  KANT  TO  HEGEL.  147 

laws  of  causality  to  the  supreme  cause  out  of 
and  above  the  world,  or  they  have  for  basis  only 
undetermined  experience,  that  is,  an  existence,  or 
else  they  make  abstraction  of  all  experience,  and 
conclude  altogether  d  priori  from  mere  ideas  as 
to  the  existence  of  a  highest  cause.  The  first 
proof  is  the  psycho-theological,  the  second  the 
cosmological,  and  the  third  the  ontological.  More 
there  are  not,  and  more  can  never  be." 

After  reading  Kant's  principal  book  several 
times,  I  thought  that  I  recognised  that  the  con- 
flict against  these  persisting  arguments  for  the 
existence  of  God  lurks  everywhere  in  them,  and 
I  would  treat  of  them  more  fully  were  I  not 
restrained  by  a  religious  feeling.  When  any  one 
begins  to  discuss  the  existence  of  God,  I  expe- 
rience at  once  such  a  painful  and  anxious  feel- 
ing, such  an  unceasing  misery  as  I  once  felt  in 
London,  in  New  Bedlam,  when  I,  surrounded  by 
lunatics,  lost  sight  of  my  guide.  "  God  is  all  which 
is,"  and  to  doubt  as  to  him  is  doubt  of  life  itself 
and  death. 

And  just  so  much  as  the  discussion  of  the 
existence  of  God  is  blamable,  so  much  the  more 
praiseworthy  is  the  meditation  on  the  nature  of 
God.  This  meditation  is  a  really  divine  service ; 
our  soul  is  abstracted  by  it  from  the  transitory 
and  finite,  and  is  rapt  away  to  a  consciousness 
of  the  primal   goodness   and    eternal    harmony. 


148  FROM  KANT  TO  HEGEL. 

This  consciousness  thrills  through  human  feelings 
in  prayer  or  in  contemplating  church  symbols; 
the  thinker  experiences  this  holy  state  of  mind 
when  practising  that  sublime  intellectual  power 
which  we  call  reason,  and  whose  highest  task  it 
is  to  seek  into  the  nature  of  God.  Peculiariy 
religious  men  occupy  themselves  with  this  task 
from  childhood ;  they  are  mysteriously  impelled 
to  it  by  the  first  stir  of  reason, ^  The  author  of 
these  pages  is  conscious  that  he  possessed  most 
genially  such  an  eariy,  original  religious  feeling, 
and  it  has  never  left  him.  God  was  ever  the 
beginning  and  the  end  of  all  my  thoughts.  If 
I  now  ask,  "  What  is  God  ?  what  is  his  nature  ?  " 
so  as  a  little  child  I  inquired,  "  How  is  God  ?  what 
does  he  look  like?"  And  then  I  could  look  all 
day  long  up  into  heaven,  and  was  much  troubled 
in  the  evening  because  I  had  never  seen  the 
holiest  face  of  God,  but  always  only  grey,  im- 
becile caricatures  of  clouds.  And  I  was  utteriy 
confused  with  fragments  of  astronomy,  which, 
during  the  rage  and  age  of  enlightenment,  even 
the  smallest  children  were  not  spared,  and  I  could 
not  suflSciently  wonder  that  all  these  thousand 
millions  of  stars  were  earth  globes  as  great  and 
as  beautiful  as  ours,  and  that  over  all  this  shining 
swarm  of  worlds  there  ruled   a  single  God.     I 

^  The  end  of  this  paragraph  and  the  whole  of  the  two  which 
follow  are  wanting  in  the  French  version.  , 


FROM  KANT  TO  HEGEL.  149 

remember  that  once  in  a  dream  I  saw  God,  far 
on  high  in  the  remotest  distance.  He  smiled 
cheerfully  out  of  a  little  heavenly  window,  a 
pious  and  aged  face  with  a  small  Jewish  beard, 
and  he  threw  out  much  seed-corn,  and  the  grains 
as  they  fell  from  heaven  out  into  the  endless 
space  extended  till  they  became  real  light-glean- 
ing, blooming,  inhabited  worlds,  every  one  as  great 
as  ours.  I  could  never  forget  that  face.  I  often 
again  in  my  dreams  saw  the  cheerful  old  man 
throwing  the  world- seed  down  from  his  little 
heavenly  window.  I  once  even  saw  him  cluck 
with  his  lips  as  our  maid  did  when  she  threw 
the  hens  their  barley.  I  could  only  see  how  the 
grains  expanded  to  great  shining  world-balls,  but 
the  great  hens,  which  perhaps  were  watching 
somewhere  with  open  beaks  to  be  fed  with  the 
world-balls,  I  could  not  see. 

You  smile,  dear  reader,  at  the  great  hens.  Yet 
this  childish  idea  is  not  too  remote  from  the  con- 
ceptions of  the  maturest  deists.  To  give  an  idea 
of  the  God  bevond  the  world,  the  East  and  West 
have  exhausted  themselves  in  childish  hyperboles, 
and  the  imagination  of  deists  has  tormented 
itself  in  vain  with  the  infinitude  of  space  and 
time.  Here  there  is  shown  all  their  weakness, 
the  nothingness  of  their  views  of  the  creation, 
and  their  ideas  of  the  nature  of  God.  It  troubles 
us  but  little  when  these  ideas  are  destroyed ;  and 


150  FROM  KANT  TO  HEQBL. 

this  suffering  Kant  really  inJBicted  on  them  by- 
destroying  their  proofs  of  the  existence  of  Grod. 

Even  the  saving  of  the  ontological  proof  would 
not  avail  deism  much,  for  it  is  as  available  for 
Pantheism.  To  make  myself  more  clearly  under- 
stood, I  remark  that  the  ontological  proof  of  it 
is  that  which  Descartes  adduces,  and  which  was 
uttered  long  ago  in  the  Middle  Age  by  Anselm 
of  Canterbury  in  a  touching  prayer.  Yes,  one 
may  say  that  St.  Augustin  gave  the  ontological 
proof  in  his  second  book  De  Lihero  Arhitrio. 

I  refrain,  as  I  have  said,  from  any  popular  ex- 
pounding of  the  Kantian  polemic  against  those 
proofs.  I  content  myself  by  declaring  that  deism 
since  then  has  vanished  from  the  realm  of  specu- 
lative reason.  This  funeral  news  will  perhaps 
require  some  centuries  to  become  generally  known, 
but  we  have  long  been  in  mourning  for  it.  De 
profundis.  1 

You  think  perhaps  that  we  can  go  home  now ! 
Not  yet ;  by  my  soul !  there  is  another  piece  to 
be  played.  After  the  tragedy  comes  the  farce. 
Immanuel  Kant  has  hitherto  appeared  as  the  grim 
inexorable  philosopher ;  he  has  stormed  heaven,  put 
all  the  garrison  to  the  sword,  the  ruler  of  the  world 
swims  senseless  ^  in  his  blood ;  there  is  no  more 

^  The  following  is  here  in  the  Freach  version  :  "  Yous  voyes 
^tendus  sans  ire  les  gardes-du-corps  ontologiques,  cosmo- 
logiqaes  et  psycoth^ologiques,  la  d^it^  elle-mdme  priv^e  de 
demonstration  a  snccomb^." 


FROM  KANT  TO  HEGEL.  151 

any  mercy,  or  fatherly  goodness,  or  fntnre  reward 
for  present  privations;  the  immortality  of  the 
soul  is  in  its  last  agonies — death  rattles  and 
groans!  And  old  Lampe  stands  by  with  his 
Tunbrella  under  his  arm  as  a  sorrowing  spectator, 
and  the  sweat  of  anguish  and  tears  run  down 
his  cheeks.  Then  Immanuel  Kant  is  moved  to 
pity,  and  shows  himself  not  only  a  great  philo- 
sopher, but  a  good  man.  He  considers,  and  half 
good-naturedly  and  half  ironically  says — 

"  Old  Lampe  must  have  a  God,  or  else  the  poor 
man  cannot  be  happy;  and  people  really  ought 
to  be  happy  in  this  world.  Practical  common- 
sense  declares  tJiat.  Well,  meinetwegen,  for  all 
I  care,  let  practical  reason  guarantee  the  exist- 
ence of  a  God." 

And  in  consequence  of  this  argument,  Kant 
distinguishes  between  theoretical  reason  and  prac- 
tical reason,  and  with  the  latter,  as  with  a  magic 
wand,  revives  the  corpse  of  deism,  which  theo- 
retical reason  had  slain.  ^ 

Did  Kant  undertake  this  resurrection  out  of 
love  to  old  Lampe  or  for  fear  of  the  pc^ce  ?  Or 
did  he  really  act  from  conviction?  Or  did  he, 
after  destroying  every  proof  of  the  existence  of 
a  God,  really  wish  to  show  us  how  dangerous 


^  French  veraion,  "  11  reisuscite  le  Dieu  que  la  raison  th^hque 
avait  tud" 


■""'.'I'XIitCXsar.j.it.iia-.yy  .  ^  ..i;> — .  ,,^,— --.■•■■    ;^-'        '  ..jMk^'«xw*^.-^   —  .±1  r -t  ^  »  .  ♦^■,  v-'^  *•<>:.■(•«*  »«-«e.v, 


1 52  FROM  KANT  TO  HEGEL. 

and  doubtful  it  is,  if  we  can  know  notliing  of 
the  existence  of  God?  Therein  he  managed  as 
wisely  as  did  my  Westphalian  friend,  who,  after 
he  had  broken  and  extinguished  all  the  street- 
lamps  in  the  Grohnderstrasse  in  Gottingen,  de- 
livered unto  us,  standing  in  darkness,  a  long 
lecture  on  the  practical  necessity  of  the  lamps 
which  he  had  theoretically  smashed,  to  show  us 
that  without  them  we  could  see  nothing. 

I  have  already  mentioned  that  the  "  Critique  of 
Pure  Reason  "  caused  no  sensation  whatever  when 
it  appeared.  It  was  not  till  several  years  had 
passed,  and  after  several  intelligent  philosophers 
had  written  regarding  it,  that  it  excited  the  atten- 
tion of  the  public.  Then,  in  1789,  nothing  else 
was  heard  of  in  Germany  save  the  Kantian  philo- 
sophy, and  it  had  in  abundance  to  redundance  its 
commentaries,  chrestomathies,  explanations,  criti- 
cisms and  defences.  It  is  enough  to  cast  a  glance 
at  the  catalogue  of  philosophical  works,  and  it  will 
be  seen  that  the  innumerable  works  which  then 
appeared  on  Kant  abundantly  indicate  the  in- 
tellectual movement  which  this  one  man  origi- 
nated. Some  show  a  foaming  enthusiasm,  others 
bitter  discontent,  many  an  open-mouthed  antici- 
pation of  the  result  of  this  spiritual  revolution. 
We  had  outbreaks  in  the  intellectual  world,  even 
as  you  had  in  the  material,  and  we  were  as  much 
fired  and  inspired  at  the  tearing  down  of  ancient 


FROM  KANT  TO  HEGEL.  153 

dogmatism  as  you  were  at  the  storming  of  the 
Bastile.  And  there  were  also  in  our  case  only  a 
few  old  invalids  who  defended  dogmatism — that 
is,  the  Wolfian  philosophy.  It  was  a  revolution 
whereunto  horrors  were  not  wanting.  In  the 
party  of  the  past,  the  really  good  Christians  were 
the  foremost  in  such  cruelty ;  yes,  they  longed 
for  still  greater  horrors,  that  the  measure  might 
be  full  to  overflowing,  so  that  the  counter-revolu- 
tion might  the  sooner  come  as  a  necessary  reac- 
tion. We  too  had  our  pessimists  in  philosophy,  as 
you  had  in  politics ;  and  as  there  were  people  in 
France  who  declared  that  Robespierre  was  only 
an  agent  of  Pitt,  many  pessimists  went  as  far 
by  us  in  self-delusion  as  to  believe  that  Kant 
was  in  secret  understanding  with  them,  and  had 
destroyed  the  hitherto  existing  proofs  of  the  exist- 
ence of  God,  so  that  the  world  might  see  that  no 
one  can  ever  attain  to  a  knowledge  of  God  by 
means  of  reason,  and  that  here,  too,  we  must 
hold  to  revealed  religion. 

Kant  brought  about  this  great  intellectual 
movement  not  so  much  by  the  contents  of  his 
writings  as  by  the  critical  spirit  which  pervaded 
them,  and  which  now  penetrated  all  science. 
Every  branch  of  learning  was  inspired  by  it; 
even  poetry  did  not  escape  the  influence.  Schiller, 
for  instance,  was  a  powerful  Kantian,  and  his 
views  of  art   are  impregnated  by  the  spirit  of 


*dt-«^  >>■-*». 


>54 


PROM  KANT  TO  HEGEL. 


the  Kantian  philosophy.*  Yet  this  philosophy 
was  very  injurious  to  belles-lettres  and  the  fine 
arts  on  account  of  its  abstract  dryness.*  For- 
tunately it  did  not  get  into  cookery. 

The  G  ermans  do  not  readily  yield  to  emotion, 
but  once  under  way  they  press  on  with  the  most 
stubborn  perseverance  to  the  end.  So  we  showed 
ourselves  in  religion ;  so  we  manifested  ourselves 
in  philosophy.  Shall  we  be  as  logically  progres- 
sive in  politics  ?  ' 

Germany  had  been  led  by  Kant  into  the  philo- 
sophic road ;  so  philosophy  became  a  national  cause. 
A  brave  array  of  great  thinkers  sprang  up  as 
if  by  magic  from  the  German  soil.  And  if,  as 
happened  in  the  French  Revolution,  German  philo- 
sophy should  ever  find  its  Thiers  and  Mignet, 
its  history  will  afford  remarkable  reading,  which 
the  German  will  peruse  with  pride  and  the  French 
with  amazement. 

Among  the  disciples  of  Kant,  Johann  Gottlieb 
Fichte  soon  distinguished  himself. 

1  Campbell,  the  EDgliah  poet,  also  felt  this  influence,  and 
went  to  Germany  for  the  purpose  of  studying  the  philosophy 
of  Kant. 

*  Where  true  poetio  genius  exists,  studies  which  severely 
discipline  perfect  it.     Heine  himself  illustrates  this. 

•  This,  when  written,  was  a  wise,  far-seeing,  or  even  deeply 
prophetic  remark,  for  there  were  few  indeed  at  the  time  who 
supposed  that  overmuch  thought  would  ever  be  followed  by 
practical  action.  Heine  took  the  idea  from  the  results  of  Saint* 
SimooiBm.  { 


■*'t  ,♦-  --, 


'  V   ,  ;i.-. 


f^  --*-» 


FROM  KANT  TO  HEGEL.  I$5 

I  almost  despair  of  being  able  to  give  a  correct 
idea  of  this  man.  In  Kant  we  had  only  to  study 
a  book.  But  here,  beside  the  book,  we  have  also 
a  man  to  consider — a  man  in  whom  thought  and 
mind  are  one  and  the  same,  and  in  such  grand 
unity  did  they  work  upon  the  world  of  his  time. 
We  have,  therefore,  not  only  a  philosophy  to  in- 
vestigate, but  also  a  character,  by  which  they  are 
equally  limited ;  and  to  understand  the  influence 
of  both,  we  need  some  sketch  of  what  were  the 
influences  of  the  time.  What  an  extensive  prob- 
lem !  Certainly  we  may  be  held  excused  should 
we  here  give  but  scanty  indication. 

To  begin  with,  it  is  very  difficult  to  give  an 
idea  of  the  thoughts  of  Fichte.  Here  we  come  at 
once  to  certain  difficulties,  which  concern  not  only 
the  content,  but  also  the  form  and  method,  both 
being  things  with  which  we  shall  gladly  make  the 
stranger  acquainted.  First  of  all,  the  Fichtean 
method.  This  was  in  the  beginning  taken  alto- 
gether from  Kant,  but  it  was  soon  changed,  from 
the  nature  of  circumstances.  Kant  produced 
only  a  critique,  that  is,  something  negative,  but 
Fichte  had  later  a  system,  and  consequently 
something  positive  to  put  forward.  On  account 
of  this  want  of  a  determined  system,  many  have 
declared  that  the  philosophy  of  Kant  has  no  daim 
to  be  called  a  philosophy.  So  far  as  Kant  him- 
Belf  is  concerned  they  were  right,  but  not  as 


.i^r'"'|'.''-'».<...-^».~i«^.»"''  ■.^'■•f.f -T-'ji  ■'»»^^/»-.v  •-''■i-»>»« .;.'- 


1 56 


FROM  KANT  TO  HEGEL. 


regards  the  Kautians,  who  deduced  from  the 
treatises  and  principles  of  their  master  an  all- 
sufficient  array  of  well-based  systems.  In  his 
earlier  writings,  Fichte,  as  I  said,  remained  true 
to  the  Kantian  method,  so  that  his  first  treatise, 
which  appeared  anonymously,  might  be  attributed 
to  Kant.  But  when  Fichte  had  later  set  forth 
a  system,  he  fell  into  a  zealous  self  willed  passion 
for  construction,  and  so  having  constructed  a 
world,  he  began  as  earnestly  and  wilfully  as  ever 
to  demonstrate  from  top  to  bottom  how  the  con- 
struction was  conducted.  In  these  processes 
Fichte  manifests  what  may  be  called  an  abstract 
passion.  Subjectivity  predominates  in  his  manner 
of  teaching  as  well  as  in  the  system  itself.  Kant, 
however,  lays  thought  before  him,  dissects  it, 
analyses  it  into  its  finest  fibres,  and  his  "  Critique 
of  Pure  Reason  "  is  at  the  same  time  an  anatomical 
theatre  of  intellect.  He  himself  always  remains 
cold  and  impassive,  like  a  true  surgeon. 

As  the  method,  so  is  the  form  of  Fichte's 
writings.  It  is  living,  but  it  has  all  the  faults  of 
life— it  is  restless  and  confusing.  In  order  to  be 
animated,  Fichte  scorned  the  usual  terminology  of 
philosophers,  which  seemed  to  him  to  be  a  dead 
thing;  but  he  is  on  this  account  all  the  more 
difficult  to  comprehend.  And  he  had  peculiar 
fancies  on  this  subject  of  comprehension.  While 
Reinhold  thought  as  he  did,  Fichte  declared  that 


'♦-♦-.','^  *  • 


■-*;.  ►-  ♦    I  .-I. ■;,♦-, -^^i,  ^, 


'  »-  .L««.    -«     ,  .^-, 


FROM  KANT  TO  HEGEL.  157 

no  one  understood  him  better  than  Reinhold; 
but  when  the  latter  left  his  school,  Fichte  de- 
clared that  the  latter  had  never  understood  him. 
When  he  differed  from  Kant,  he  put  it  into  print 
that  Kant  had  never  understood  himself.  Here 
I  touch  upon  a  comic  point  in  our  philosophers 
in  this,  that  they  incessantly  complain  that  they 
are  not  understood.  When  Hegel  lay  on  his 
death-bed  he  said,  "  Only  one  man  ever  under- 
stood me ; "  but  added  immediately  after,  "  and 
he  did  not  understand  me  either." 

As  regards  intrinsic  value  in  and  for  itself, 
the  Fichtean  philosophy  is  of  little  importance. 
It  has  furnished  society  with  no  result.*  Only 
80  far  as  it  is  one  of  the  most  remarkable  phases 
of  German  philosophy,  only  so  far  as  it  sets  forth 
the  fruitlessness  of  Idealism  in  its  last  deduc- 
tions, and  only  so  far  as  it  supplies  the  necessary 

^  As  regards  these  "  intrinsic "  valnations  of  Heine,  it  is 
almost  unnecessary  to  remark  that  from  the  Evolutionary  or 
Darwinian  standpoint  of  pure  science,  all  metaphysical  systems 
whatever,  from  those  of  Descartes,  or  as  far  back  as  we  please, 
down  to  the  latest  dregs  of  Hegelianism,  are  all  equally  value- 
less. As  regards  their  importance  in  influencing  current  thought 
and  literature  or  art,  that  is  an  entirely  different  matter.  The 
same  may  be  said  of  all  superstitions,  religious  laws,  or  any 
"spiritual"  causes  or  influences.  Heine  subsequently  very 
much  contradicts  himself  as  regards  the  assertion  that  Fichte's 
philosophy  "furnished  society  with  no  result."  Its  influence 
in  its  time  was  very  great,  and  Heine  himself  declares  that  it 
"demolished  all  the  past." — Trandatoi: 


■si  FROM  KANT  TO  HEGEL. 

transition  to  the  natural  philosophy  or  science  of 
the  present  day,  is  the  Fichtean  philosophy  of 
some  interest.  But  as  its  tenor  and  substance  is 
rather  historical  and  scientific  than  socially  im- 
portant, I  will  give  it  in  as  few  words  as  possible. 

The  problem  which  Fichte  proposed  is,  "  What 
grounds  have  we  for  assuming  that  conceptions 
{Vorstcllungen)  of  things  correspond  to  things 
out  of  us  ?  "  And  he  answers  this  by  saying, 
"All  things  only  have  reality  to  us  in  our 
mind." 

The  WissenscJiaflslehre  or  "  Doctrine  of  Science  " 
was  Fichte's  chief  work,  as  the  "  Critique  of  Pure 
Reason  "  had  been  that  of  Kant.  The  one  is  a 
continuation  of  the  other.  The  "Doctrine  of 
Science"  leads  the  soul  into  itself.  But  where 
Kant  analysed,  Fichte  constructs.  His  book  begins 
with  an  abstract  formula,  1  =  1;  it  creates  and  de- 
velops the  world  from  the  depth  of  the  soul ;  it 
brings  the  separated  parts  together ;  it  retraces  the 
path  to  abstraction  till  it  reaches  the  world  of 
phenomena.  This  world  the  mind  can  therefore 
understand  as  the  necessary  actions  or  workings 
of  intelligence. 

There  is  also  the  peculiar  difficulty  with  Fichte 
that  he  assumes  that  the  mind  observes  itself  while 
in  action.  The  "  I "  considers  its  own  intellectual 
workings  while  executing  them.  Thought  watches 
itself  while  it  thinks,  while  it  gets  warmer  and 


PROM  KANT  TO  HEQBL.  !$» 

warmer  to  the  scalding-point.*  This  operation 
reminds  us  of  the  monkey  cooking  his  own  tail  in 
a  copper  kettle.  For  he  thinks  that  the  real  art 
of  cooking  consists  not  only  in  cooking  objectively, 
but  that  he  shall  be  also  subjectively  conscious  of 
the  cooking. 

It  is  remarkable  that  the  Fichtean  philosophy 
always  had  to  endure  much  from  satire.  I  once 
saw  a  caricature  which  represented  a  Fichtean 
goose.  It  had  so  great  a  liver  that  the  poor 
creature  no  longer  knew  whether  it  was  goose  or 
liver.  On  its  belly  was  written  1  =  1.  Jean  Paul 
ridiculed  the  Fichtean  philosophy  most  cruelly  in 
a  book  entitled  Glavis  Fichteana.^  That  Idealism 
in  its  logical  deduction  should  deny  the  reality  of 

^  A  process  which  Heine  himself  very  often  unconsciously 
illustrates,  as  in  this  instance,  by  the  needless  repetition  of  an 
idea  till  it  becomes  intolerable.  Here  we  have  the  simple 
assertion  that  the  mind  observes  itself  in  action  given  three 
times  in  succession. — Trandator. 

'  Heine  never  really  comprehended  that  sparrows  and  wasps 
pick  at  the  best  and  ripest  fruit,  or  that  a  writer  who  can  sting, 
or  render  another  a  laughing-stock  for  fools,  is  not  on  that 
account  the  better  and  greater  intellect  of  the  two.  All  the 
ridicule  directed  against  Fichte  (Richter's  included)  was  of  a 
very  stupid  and  wooden  character,  not  nearly  equal  to  what 
had  been  levelled  long  before  at  Berkeley,  who  was  also  as  gene- 
rally vulgarly  misunderstood,  and  is  by  some  misunderstood  to 
this  day.  Goethe,  to  judge  by  his  jests  on  Fichte  in  Faust 
and  in  a  letter  which  Heine  quotes,  would  appear  to  have  had 
no  intelligence  of  the  latter's  method,  and  to  have  thought  that 
be  really  denied  the  reality  of  matter. — Trandator. 


i6o  FROM  KANT  TO  HEGEL. 

matter,  seemed  to  the  public  at  large  a  joke  which 
was  carried  too  far;  so  we  heartily  ridiculed  the 
Fichtean  /  which  brought  forth  the  whole  world 
of  phenomena  by  merely  thinking.  Our  jesters 
also  made  the  most  of  a  misunderstanding  which 
became  too  popular  for  me  to  pass  it  by.  The 
multitude  understood  that  the  Fichtean  /  means 
the  /  of  Johann  Gottlieb  Fichte,  and  that  this 
individual  /  ignored  all  other  existences.  "  What 
impudence!"  cried  the  good  people;  "the  man 
does  not  believe  that  we  exist — we,  who  are  far 
more  corpulent  than  he  is,  and  who  as  burgo- 
masters and  official  actuaries  are  by  far  his 
superiors."  The  ladies  asked,  "But  he  at  least 
believes  in  the  existence  of  his  wife?"  "No." 
"And  Mrs.  Fichte  puts  up  with  that ! " 

The  Fichtean  I  is,  however,  no  individual  I, 
but  the  universal  I  or  Me — ^that  is,  the  universal  I 
of  creation^  arrived  at  self -consciousness.  The 
Fichtean  thinking  is  not  the  thought  of  an  in- 
dividual or  of  a  determinate  man  who  is  called 
Johann  Gottlieb  Fichte;  it  is  rather  a  universal 
thinking  which  manifests  itself  in  an  individual. 
Thus,  as  one  says  "it  rains,"  "it  lightens,"  so 
Fichte  would  not  say  "I  think,"  but  "it  thinks," 
"the  universal  thought  thinks  in  me." 

In  a  comparison  of  the  French  Kevolution  with 
German  philosophy,  I  once,  more  in  jest  than  in 

1  "Das  zum  BevnuatBein  gekommene  allgemeine  Welt-Ich." 


FROM  KANT  TO  HEGEL.  I<l 

earnest,  likened  Fichte  to  Napoleon.  But  in  reality 
there  are  here  certain  striking  analogies.  After 
the  Kantians  had  finished  their  reign  of  terror  and 
of  destruction,  Fichte  appeared,  as  did  Napoleon 
after  the  Convention,  and  in  like  manner  demo- 
lished all  the  past  with  a  Critique  of  Pure  Reason. 
Napoleon  and  Fichte  represented  the  great  inex- 
orable /,  according  to  which  thought  and  deed  are 
one  and  the  same,  and  the  colossal  structures  which 
both  erected  indicate  colossal  wills.  But  by  the 
excesses  of  this  will  these  buildings  soon  perished, 
and  the  doctrine  of  Science  and  the  Empire  passed 
away  as  rapidly  as  they  had  risen.* 

The  Empire  has  now  a  place  only  in  history, 
but  the  impulse  which  the  Emperor  caused  in  the 
world  is  still  in  action,  and  our  present  time  lives 
in  it.  So  it  was  with  the  Fichtean  philosophy. 
It  has  quite  passed  away,  but  men's  souls  are  still 
moved  by  the  thoughts  which  Fichte  expressed, 
and  the  result  of  his  teaching  has  been  incal- 
culable. If  the  whole  transcendental  philosophy 
was  an  error,  there  still  lived  in  Fichte's  works  a 
proud  independence,  a  love  of  freedom,  a  manly 

^  The  parallel  between  France  in  material  political  develop- 
ment and  Germany  in  thought,  which  forms  the  motive  of  this 
book,  is  worked  out  with  a  skill  and  delicacy  which  could  only 
have  been  shown  by  a  poet,  and  which  would  probably  never 
have  occurred  to  any  poet  save  Heine.  And  one  of  the  most 
brilliant  and  admirable  points  of  its  appearance  is  this  com* 
parison  of  Fichte  to  Napoleon. — TrantUOor. 

VOL.  I.  L 


i6a  FROM  KANT  TO  HBQEL. 

■  \         ■        '■    ■'■'- 

dignity,  which   exerted,  especially   on  youth,   a 

wholesome  influence.     Fichte's  /  was  perfectly  in 

accordance  with  his  unbending,  stiff-necked,  iron 

cheuracter.     The  doctrine  of  such  an  almighty  / 

could  perhaps  only  spring  from  such  a  character, 

and  that  character  must,  rooting  itself  more  deeply 

in  such  a  doctrine,  become  more  inflexible,  more 

unyielding,  more  iron-like.^  I 

What  a  terror  must  this  man  have  been  to  the 
senseless  sceptics,  the  frivolous  eclectics,  and  the 
moderates  of  every  line  !  His  whole  life  was  a 
battle.  The  history  of  his  youth  is  a  series  of 
sorrows  and  anxieties,  as  it  is  with  that  of  all 
our  great  men.  Poverty  sits  by  their  cradles  and 
rocks  them  till  they  are  grown  up,  and  this  squalid 
nurse  remains  their  true  companion  through  life. 

Nothing  is  more  touching  than  to  see  how 
Fichte,  the  proud-willed  man,  tried  to  torment 
himself  along  through  life  by  private  tutorship; 
for  he  could  not  find  even  such  pitiable  daily 
bread  in  his  own  country,  and  must  go  to  Warsaw. 
There  the  old  story  repeated ;  the  tutor  does  not 
please  my  lady,  or  perhaps  her  lady's-maid;  his 
bows  and  scrapings  are  not  graceful  enough,  or 
not  sufficiently  French,  and  he  is  found  incapable 

^  These  are  true  words  well  spoken,  but,  as  I  have  remarked, 
they  are  in  fiat  contradiction  to  the  author's  previous  assertion 
that  "the  Fichtean  philosophy  is  of  little  importance,  and  has 
furnished  society  with  no  result."  No  man  ever  had  more  in- 
fluenoe  in  Germany  in  his  time  than  Fichte. — TraniUUor. 


FROM  KANT  TO  HEGEL.  I«3 

of  undertaking  the  education  of  a  small  Polish 
gentleman.  So  Johann  Gottlieb  Fichte  is  turned 
away  like  a  lackey,  and  can  hardly  get  from  his 
master  the  scanty  means  of  departure.  So  he 
leaves  Warsaw  and  wanders  to  Konigsberg,  in- 
spired by  youthful  enthusiasm  and  a  desire  to 
meet  Kant.  The  meeting  of  these  two  men  is 
in  every  respect  interesting,  and  I  do  not  think 
that  I  can  better  set  them  forth  than  by  giving 
a  fragment  from  Fichte's  diary,  which  is  con- 
tained in  a  biography  of  him  which  was  recently 
published  by  his  son. 

"On  the  25th  of  July  I  left  for  Konigsberg 
with  a  waggoner,  and  arrived  there  on  the  ist 
of  August,  without  having  met  with  anything 
remarkable.  On  the  4th  I  visited  Kant,  who 
showed  no  great  warmth  in  his  reception.  I, 
without  subscribing,  attended  his  lectures,  and 
was  somewhat  disappointed,  for  his  delivery  is 
dull  or  drowsy. 

"  Meanwhile  I  write  this  record : — 
"I  have  desired  to  have  a  serious  conference 
with  Kant,  but  found  no  means  of  effecting  it. 
At  last  it  occurred  to  me  to  write  a  'Critique  of 
all  the  Kevelations,'  and  to  send  it  to  him  as  a 
letter  of  recommendation.  I  began  it  on  the 
13th,  and  have  since  then  worked  at  it  without 
ceasing.  When  it  was  finished,  on  the  i8th  of 
August,  I  sent  the  work  to  Kiint,  and  went  on 


0^ 


164 


FROM  KANT  TO  HEGEL. 


the  25th  to  learn  his  opinion  of  it.  He  received 
me  with  great  affability,  and  seemed  to  be  very 
much  pleased  with  the  treatise.  We  did  not  have 
a  formal  philosophical  discussion ;  as  regarded  my 
doubts,  he  referred  me  to  his  '  Critique  of  Pure 
Reason,'  and  the  Court-preacher  Schultz,  whom  I 
should  at  once  visit.  On  the  26th  I  dined  at 
Kant's  with  Professor  Sommer,  and  found  my 
host  a  very  agreeable  and  witty  man ;  it  was  for 
the  first  time  to-day  that  I  recognised  in  him  the 
traits  worthy  of  the  genius  which  abounds  in  his 
writings. 

"  August  27. — I  ended  this  journal  after  having 
made  the  extracts  from  Kant's  lectures  on  An- 
thropology which  Herr  von  S.  had  lent  me.  I 
also  resolve  to  regularly  continue  this  journal 
every  evening  before  going  to  sleep,  and  to  set 
down  in  it  everything  interesting  which  I  meet, 
but  especially  traits  of  character  and  observations. 

"August  the  2Sth,  evening. — I  begun  yesterday  to 
revise  my  Critique,  and  had  some  really  good  deep 
thoughts,  but  which — more's  the  pity ! — convinced 
me  that  my  first  sketch  was  utterly  superficial. 
To-day  I  wished  to  continue  my  new  investiga- 
tions, but  my  imagination  was  so  excited,  that  I 
could  do  nothing  all  day.  In  my  present  con- 
dition this  is  nothing  strange !  I  have  reckoned 
that  I  can  subsist  here  only  fourteen  days  more. 
It  is  true  that  I  have  been  in  such  embarrass- 


FROM  KANT  TO  HEGEL.  ^ 

ments  before,  but  then  it  was  in  my  native  land, 
and  what  with  increasing  years  and  a  more 
pressing  sense  of  honour,  it  is  harder  to  endure. 
I  have  made  no  resolution,  nor  can  I  come  to  any. 
I  will  not  open  my  heart  to  Pastor  Borowski,  to 
whom  Kant  sent  me  ;  if  1  must  do  so,  it  shall  only 
be  to  Kant  himself.  .-■ 

"  On  the  29th  I  went  to  Borowski,  and  found 
him  a  really  good,  honourable  man.  He  proposed 
a  condition  which  is  not,  however,  very  certain, 
and  which  does  not  altogether  please  me,  but  his 
frank  and  open  manner  drew  from  me  the  con- 
fession that  I  was  hard  pressed  for  a  place.  He 
advised  me  to  go  to  Professor  W.  I  have  not 
been  able  to  work  to-day.  The  next  day  I  went 
to  W.,  and  then  to  the  Court-preacher  Schulz. 
Chances  by  the  first  are  not  very  favourable,  but 
he  spoke  of  a  situation  as  a  family  tutor  in  Cour- 
land,  which  only  dire  need  would  compel  me  to 
accept.  Afterwards  to  the  court-preacher,  where 
I  was,  at  first,  received  by  his  wife.  He  appeared 
afterwards,  buried  in  mathematical  circles,  but 
when  he  heard  my  name  distinctly,  he  became, 
owing  to  Kant's  recommendation,  all  the  more 
friendly.  He  has  an  angular  Prussian  face,  but 
honourable  feeling  and  good-nature  itself  gleam 
from  every  feature.  There  I  also  became  ac- 
quainted with  Herr  Braunlich  and  his  "protigis. 
Count    Danhof,   Herr  Biittner,   nephew  of   the 


'■#«V-**.t»f     |t**^'  .       >.A*'- 


i66  FROM  KANT  TO  HBQBL. 

Court-preaclier,  and  a  young  savant  from  Nnrem- 
berg,  Herr  Ehrard,  a  good  and  sensible  person, 
but  without  knowledge  of  life  or  of  the  world. 

"  On  the  ist  of  September  I  formed  a  firm  reso- 
lution which  I  would  communicate  to  Kant.  A 
situation  as  tutor,  however  unwilling  I  am  to 
accept  it,  is  not  to  be  found,  and  the  uncertainty 
of  my  position  hinders  me  from  working  at  my 
ease,  or  from  benefiting  by  social  intercourse  with 
my  friends ;  therefore,  back  again  to  my  hoine ! 
The  small  loan  which  I  need  for  that,  I  may,  per- 
haps, obtain  by  Kant's  aid.  But  on  the  way  to 
him  to  make  this  request,  my  courage  failed,  I 
determined  to  write  to  him.  In  the  evening  I 
was  invited  to  the  court- preacher's,  where  I  passed 
the  time  very  pleasantly.  On  the  2nd  I  finished 
the  letter  to  Kant,  and  sent  it."  I 

Remarkable  as  this  letter  is,  I  cannot  make  up 
my  mind  to  give  it  in  French.  I  think  I  feel 
blushes  on  my  cheeks,  and  as  if  I  were  called  on 
to  relate  the  most  delicate  family  secrets  to  stran- 
gers. Despite  my  efforts  to  live  in  the  French 
way  of  the  world,  despite  my  philosophic  cosmo- 
politanism, old  Germany  and  its  bourgeois  feeling 
is  always  in  my  heart.  Enough !  I  cannot  give 
that  letter,  and  I  merely  mention  that  Immanuel 
Kant  was  so  poor,  that  he,  notwithstanding  the 
heartrending,  touching  tone  of  that  letter,  could 
not  lend  Johann  Gottlieb  Fichte  any  money.    But 


PROM  KANT  TO  HBOBL.  167 

the  latter  was  not  in  the  least  vexed,  as  may  be 
inferred  from  the  words  of  his  journal,  which  we 
here  continae. 

"  On  the  3rd  September  I  was  invited  to  Kant's. 
He  received  me  with  his  usual  frankness,  but  said 
he  had  not  as  yet  come  to  any  determination  re- 
garding my  request,  and  that  he  would  be  quite 
unable  to  do  anything  for  fourteen  days  to  come. 
What  charming  candour!  Moreover,  he  raised 
difficulties  as  to  my  plans,  which  proved  that  he 
does  not  very  well  understand  our  position  in 
Saxony.  Now  for  days  I  have  done  nothing,  but 
I  will  work  after  this,  and  leave  the  rest  to  God. 

"On  the  6th  I  was  invited  to  Kant's  house. 
He  proposed  to  me  to  sell  the  publisher  Hartung, 
through  Pastor  Borowski,  my  manuscript  of  the 
*  Critique  of  all  the  Revelations.'  When  I  spoke  of 
revising  it  he  said,  '  It  is  well  written.'  Can  this 
be  true  ?  and  yet  Kant  says  so !  However,  he 
declined  my  first  request. 

"The  loth  I  was  at  dinner,  the  mid-day  meal, 
with  Kant.  Nothing  was  said  of  our  affairs. 
Magister  Gensichen  was  present,  and  we  had  a 
very  general  and  at  times  very  interesting  con- 
versation, Kant  being  always  the  same  to  me. 

"  The  1 3th  I  wished  to  work  and  did  nothing. 
My  disheartenment  is  too  much  for  me!  How 
will  all  this  end  ?  Where  shall  I  be  eight  days 
hence  ?     Then  all  my  money  will  be  spent ! " 


issC^; 


iM 


FROM  KANT  TO  HBQEL. 


After  mnch  wandering,  and  after  a  long  delay 
in  Switzerland,  Fichte  at  last  found  a  firm  place 
in  Jena,  and  from  this  time  his  brilliant  period 
begins.  Jena  and  Weimar,  two  Saxon  towns 
which  are  only  a  few  leagues  apart,  were  then 
the  centre  of  intellectual  life  in  Germany.  The 
Court  and  poetry  were  in  Weimar,  in  Jena  the 
University  and  philosophy ;  in  the  one  the  great 
poets,  in  the  other  the  great  scholars  of  our 
country  were  to  be  seen.  In  1794  Fichte  began 
his  course  of  lectures  in  Jena.  The  date  is  sig- 
nificant, and  explains  not  only  the  spirit  of  his 
writings  at  that  time,  but  also  the  trials  and  tribu- 
lations to  which  he  was  subsequently  exposed,  and 
to  which  he  succumbed  four  years  later.  For 
in  1798  there  rose  against  him  the  outcry  of 
atheism,  which  attracted  intolerable  persecutions, 
and  caused  him  to  leave  Jena.  This  event,  the 
most  remarkable  in  Fichte's  life,  has  a  general 
importance,  and  I  cannot  pass  it  over  in  silence. 
And  here  Fichte's  views  as  to  the  nature  of  God 
are  appropriately  in  place. 

In  the  Philosophical  Journal  which  Fichte  then 
published  he  printed  an  article  entitled  "  Develop- 
ment of  the  Idea  of  Eeligion,"  which  had  been  sent 
to  him  by  a  certain  Forberg,  who  was  a  school- 
master in  Sahlfeld.  To  this  he  added  a  short  ex- 
planatory treatise  with  the  title  "  The  foundation 
of  our  faith  in  a  divine  government  of  the  world." 


..■'*;-.r 


FROM  KANT  TO  HEQBL. 


169 


The  two  articles  were  at  once  seized  by  the 
Government  of  the  Elector  of  Saxony  ^  under  the 
accusation  of  atheism.  At  the  same  time  there 
was  sent  from  Dresden  to  the  court  of  Weimar 
a  requisition  enjoining  the  severe  punishment  of 
Professor  Fichte.  The  Court  of  Weimar  would 
not,  of  course,  let  itself  be  led  astray  by  any  such 
demand,  but  Fichte  on  this  occasion  made  the 
greatest  blunders.  For  he  addressed  an  appeal 
to  the  public  without  license  from  the  proper 
authority,  which  was  the  cause  that  the  Govern- 
ment of  Weimar,  displeased  and  under  external 
pressure,  could  not  well  avoid  inflicting  a  mild 
reprimand  on  the  professor  who  had  been  so  in- 
considerate in  his  expressions.  But  Fichte,  who 
believed  himself  to  be  altogether  in  the  right, 
would  not  calmly  submit  to  such  reprimand,  and 
left  Jena.  To  judge  by  his  letters,  he  was  very 
much  pained  by  the  conduct  of  two  men  whose 
oflicial  positions  made  them  very  influential  in 
his  affair,  and  these  men  were  His  Dignity  the 
Chief  Consistorial  Counciller  von  Herder,  and  His 
Excellence  the  Privy-Counciller  von  Goethe.  But 
both  were  abundantly  justified.  It  is  touching 
to  read  in  the  posthumous  letters  of  Herder 
how  the  poor  man  had  his  ovm  troubles  and 
trials  with  the  candidates  of  theology,  who,  after 
having    studied   in   Jena,   came    before   tiim   in 

^  Aursacbsischen  Regierang. 


^•..i_— .■--■.^^-  ---irTT-.  <.■•"  •■*'■' .''r 


w^  >■"  •  — ■•  -•t*.-;=**.    rf""**-*!*-!!^-^ 


I70 


PROM  KANT  TO  HEQEL. 


Weimar  to  undergo  examination  as  Protestant 
preachers.  He  dared  not  ask  them  a  question 
as  to  Christ  the  Son  ;  he  was  only  too  glad  when 
they  would  admit  the  existence  of  the  Father. 
As  for  Goethe,  he  expresses  himself  as  follows 
in  his  Memoirs  on  this  subject : — 

"After  the  departure  from  Jena  of  Beinhold, 
who  was  justly  regarded  as  a  great  loss  for  the 
Academy,  Fichte  was  boldly,  or  rather  audaciously, 
invited  to  take  his  place.  This  professor  had  set 
forth  his  views  with  grandeur,  but  not  always 
with  tact,  regarding  the  most  important  affairs  of 
morals,  manners,  and  state.  He  was  one  of  the 
ablest  individuals  ever  seen,  and  there  was  no- 
thing to  blame  in  his  opinions  regarded  from  a 
higher  point  of  view;  but  how  could  he  get  on 
on  equal  terms  with  a  world  which  he  regarded  as 
his  own  creation  and  possession  ?  \ 

"As  he  had  been  limited  regarding  the  time 
which  he  wished  to  appropriate  for  lecturing  on 
week-days,  he  undertook  to  deliver  them  on 
Sundays,  which  attempt  found  many  hindrances. 
The  little  and  great  annoyances  which  resulted 
from  all  this  were  hardly  allayed  and  alleviated, 
not  without  inconvenience  to  higher  authorities, 
when  his  declarations  as  to  God  and  Divine 
things,  in  which  he  had  better  have  kept  silent, 
attracted  from  without  annoying  agitation. 

"  Fichte  had  ventured  in  his  Philosophic  Jour- 


.<  > 


^■-         ■»«-- .♦-4.^'».--*#r*' 


FROM  KANT  TO  HBQBL.  ffl 

nal  to  express  himself  regarding  God  and  things 
Divine  in  a  manner  which  seemed  contradictory  to 
that  usuallj  employed.  He  was  blamed,  and  his 
defence  in  no  way  bettered  the  affair,  because  he 
went  passionately  to  work,  never  suspecting  how 
much  kind  feeling  existed  in  his  favour,  although 
people  knew  so  well  how  to  interpret  his  thoughts 
and  words.  This  they  could  not  of  course  say 
to  him  straightforwardly,  and  quite  as  little  that 
one  wished  ever  so  little  to  aid  him  out  of  the 
diflBculty.  Arguing  for  and  against,  surmising 
and  declaring,  confirmations  and  resolutions,  fluc- 
tuated in  many  uncertain  contradictory  speeches 
at  the  Academy ;  there  was  question  of  a  Minis- 
terial remonstrance,  and  of  nothing  less  than  a 
reprimand  which  Fichte  was  to  expect.  At  this, 
losing  all  self-control,  he  thought  himself  justified 
in  addressing  apassionate  memorial  to  the  Ministry, 
in  which  he,  assuming  that  the  report  of  a  repri- 
mand was  authentic,  declared  with  petulance  and 
defiance  that  he  would  never  endure  it ;  that  he 
would  rather,  without  further  delay,  leave  the 
Academy,  and  that  in  such  a  case  not  only  would 
he  resign,  but  with  him  several  other  distinguished 
professors.  ' 

"After  this,  of  course,  all  good-will  regarding 
him  was  checked — yes,  paralysed.  Here  there 
was  no  way  out,  no  intermediation  possible,  and 
the  mildest  course  was  to  give  him  without  delay 


17a  FROM  KANT  TO  HEGEL. 

his  dismissal.  And  it  was  not  till  the  matter 
was  past  mending  that  he  learned  the  turn 
which  would  gladly  have  been  given  to  it,  and  he 
was  obliged  to  regret  his  rash  haste,  as  we  did 
also." 

Is  not  all  this  the  Ministerial,  smoothing-over, 
hushing-up  Goethe  to  the  very  life  ?  All  which 
he  blames  in  his  heart  is  that  Fichte  did  not  ex- 
press himself  more  gradually.  He  does  not  blame 
the  thoughts,  but  their  words.  That  deism  had 
been  destroyed  in  the  German  world  of  thought 
since  the  time  of  Kant  was,  as  I  have  said,  a 
secret  known  to  every  one,  and  yet  a  secret  which 
must  not  be  cried  in  the  market-place.  Goethe 
was  no  more  of  a  deist  than  was  Fichte,  for  he 
was  a  Pantheist,  but  it  was  precisely  on  the  heights 
of  Pantheism  that  Goethe  could  perceive  the  inde- 
fensibility of  the  Fichtean  philosophy,  at  which  a 
smile  must  have  passed  over  his  gentle  lips.  To 
the  Jews,  who  are  in  the  end  all  deists,  Fichte 
must  have  been  a  torment ;  to  the  great  heathen 
he  was  only  a  foUy.^     The  Great  Heathen  is  the 

^  What  does  not  appear  to  have  struck  Heine  as  most  dis- 
creditable to  all  concerned  in  this  affair  of  Fichte  is  the  fact 
that,  among  all  his  dear  and  distinguished  friends,  there  was 
not  one,  according  to  Goethe's  declaration,  to  tell  him  plainlj 
bow  affairs  stood.  There  was  "too  much  delicacy  .  .  .  one  could 
not  of  course  speak  to  him  straightforwardly ; "  so  he  was 
allowed  to  believe  himself  to  be  friendless  and  oppressed,  till 
the  catastrophe  came,  "  and  then  we  were  all  ao  sorry  ! " 


1  •  '** 


♦  •— .  "•~T'» 


FROM  KANT  TO  HEOBL.  173 

name  applied  in  Germany  to  Goethe,  but  it  is  not 
altogether  appropriate.  The  heathenism  of  Goethe 
is  marvellously  modernised.  His  strong  heathen 
nature  shows  itself  in  clear  sharp  conceptions  of 
all  external  appearances,  all  colours  and  forms; 
but  Christianity  has  at  the  same  time  gifted  him 
with  deeper  intelligence ;  in  spite  of  his  struggling 
resistance,  it  initiated  him  into  the  mysteries  of 
the  spirit-world ;  he  has  drunk  the  blood  of  Christ, 
and  this  taught  him  the  most  secret  voices  in 
Nature,  like  Siegfried  in  the  Nibelungenlied,  who 
at  once  understood  the  voices  of  the  birds  when 
a  drop  of  the  dragon's  blood  had  touched  his  lips. 
It  is  wonderful  how  Goethe's  heathen  nature  was 
penetrated  by  our  most  ancient  sentimentalism, 
how  the  antique  marble  beat  with  a  modem  pulse, 
and  how  he  could  feel  the  sorrows  of  a  young 
Werther  as  vividly  as  the  joys  of  an  antique  Greek 
god.  The  Pantheism  of  Goethe  is  therefore  very 
different  from  that  of  the  heathen.  To  express 
myself  briefly,  he  was  the  Spinoza  of  poetry.  All 
of  Goethe's  poems  are  saturated  with  the  same 
spirit  which  breathes  in  the  works  of  Spinoza. 
That  Goethe  was  utterly  given  up  to  the  doctrine 
of  Spinoza  admits  of  no  doubt.  He  busied  him- 
self with  it  all  his  life ;  he  has  partly  confessed  it 
in  the  beginning  of  his  Memoirs  as  well  as  in  the 
recently  pubKshed  last  volume  of  the  same  work. 
I  do  not  remember  now  where  it  was  that  I  once 


174  FROM  KANT  TO  HEGEL. 

read  that  Herder,  vexed  at  this  endless  occupation 
with  Spinoza,  cried  one  day,  "  I  wish  that  Goethe 
would  for  once  take  some  other  Latin  book  in  hand 
than  that  of  Spinoza !  "  But  this  applies  not  only 
to  Goethe,  but  to  many  of  his  friends  who  were 
subsequently  known  more  or  less  as  poets,  and 
who  in  their  earlier  days  cultivated  Pantheism, 
and  this  flourished  in  German  art  long  ere  it  ruled 
among  us  as  a  philosophical  theory.  Even  in 
Fichte's  time,  when  Idealism  attained  its  sub- 
limest  height,  it  was  overthrown  in  the  realm 
of  art,  and  then  there  arose  that  art-revolution 
which  is  not  yet  at  an  end,  and  which  began 
with  the  strife  of  the  Romantic  and  the  old 
Classic  regime  in  the  Schlegel  uprising.^ 

In  fact,  our  first  romantic  writers  were  inspired 
by  a  Pantheistic  impulse  which  they  themselves  did 
not  understand.  The  feeling,  which  they  believed 
was  a  home-sickness  for  the  Catholic  Mother- 
Church,  had  a  deeper  source  than  they  dreamed, 
and  their  real  reverence  and  prepossession  for  the 
traditions  of  the  Middle  Age,  for  its  popular 
superstition,  devildom,  magic-work,  and  witch- 
craft, was  all  a  suddenly  awakened  but  unconscious 
yearning  again  for  the  Pantheism  of  the  old  Ger- 
mans, and  what  they  worshipped  in  the  basely 


*  The  words  mit  den  SckUgd^tchem  Bwteuten  are  omitted  in 
the  Frencli  Tenioo. 


PROM  KANT  TO  HBQBL.  175 

defiled  and  mischievously  mutilated  form  was 
really  the  ante-Christian  religion  of  their  fathers. 
Here  I  must  refer  again  to  my  first  book,  where  I 
showed  how  Christianity  absorbed  the  elements 
of  the  old  German  religion ;  how  these,  with  dis- 
graceful transformations,  were  still  retained  in 
popular  medi8Bval  belief,  so  that  the  old  worship 
of  Nature  was  regarded  as  mere  vile  sorcery,  the 
old  gods  being  changed  to  devils  of  ugliness,  and 
the  chaste  priestesses  to  wild  witches.  The  errors 
of  our  early  romantic  writers  should  from  this 
point  be  more  gently  judged  than  is  usually  done. 
They  would  fain  restore  the  Catholic  condition  of 
the  Middle  Age,  because  they  felt  that  in  it  there 
were  still  preserved  many  of  the  sacred  relics  of 
their  earliest  ancestors  and  of  the  glories  of  their 
first  nationality.  It  was  these  mutilated  and 
dishonoured  remains  which  so  sympathetically 
attracted  their  feelings,  and  they  hated  the  Pro- 
testantism and  Liberalism  which  both  strove  to 
destroy  the  entire  Catholic  past. 

Of  all  which  I  will  speak  in  another  place.  Here 
I  have  only  to  mention  that  so  soon  as  in  the  time 
of  Fichte  Pantheism  forced  itself  into  German 
art,  that  even  the  Catholic  romantic  writers  un- 
oonsciously  followed  this  course,  and  that  Goethe 
announced  it  most  distinctly.  This  is  to  be  found 
even  in  Werther,  where  he  yearns  for  a  rapt  and 
loving  identity  with  Nature.     In  Faust  he  seeks 


176 


FROM  KANT  TO  HEGEL. 


to  ally  himself  to  Nature  in  a  daringly  mystical, 
direct  manner.  He  evokes  the  secret  powers  of 
earth  by  the  magic  formulas  of  the  HoUenzwang 
or  Hell-compulsion.^  But  it  is  in  the  ballads  of 
Goethe  that  this  Pantheism  shows  itself  most 
charmingly  and  purely.  Here  the  doctrine  of 
Spinoza  has  broken  from  the  mathematical  chry- 
salis, and  flutters  round  us  as  a  Goethean  song. 
Hence  the  rage  of  our  orthodox  and  pietists 
against  these  poems.  They  grasp  with  their  pious 
bear's  paws  at  this  butterfly  which  constantly  flies 
from  them ;  it  is  so  delicately  ethereal,  so  winged 
with  perfume.  Ye  French  can  form  no  concep- 
tion of  it  unless  you  know  the  language.  These 
Goethean  songs  have  a  mocking  magic  which  is 


^  In  the  French  version  the  following  lines  are  added  : — 
"  II  conjure  lea  forces  secretes  de  la  terre  par  les  formnles  du 
Hoellenzwang,  livre  de  magie,  qu'on  m'a  montr^  un  jour  dans 
une  vielle  biblioth^ue  de  couvent,  on  il  etait  enchain^  ;  le  titre 
repr^sente  le  roi  da  feu,  aux  levres  duquel  pend  peu  d'un 
cadenas,  et  sur  sa  tdte  est  percb^  un  curbeau  tenant  dans  sor  ?c 
la  bagnette  divinatoire." 

Heine's  identification  of  Nature  and  a  belief  in  spirits  and 
fairies,  &c.,  and  Pantheism  is  so  often  repeated,  that  it  is  worth 
while  to  observe  that  Pantheism  is  properly  a  result  or  inference 
from  the  former,  and  is  not  found  at  all  in  the  earlier  stage. 
The  savage  begins  by  believing  that  a  spirit  is  in  the  tree  or 
rock  or  fountain,  and  when  this  extends  to  everything,  some 
thinker  deduces  from  the  belief  a  conclusion  that  all  is  one. 
That  is,  Polytheism  is  the  foundation  of  Pantheism, or  its  basis, 
not  simply  Pantheism  itself,  although  it  may  live  on  and  in  it 
as  a  part. — Trandator.  . 


PROM  KANT  TO  HEGEL.  177 

indescribable.  The  harmonious  verses  wind  roond 
the  heart  like  a  tender  true  love ;  the  word  em- 
braces while  the  heart  kisses  thee ! 

We  do  not  at  all  perceive  in  Goethe's  conduct 
to  Fichte  any  of  the  mean  motives  which  many 
of  his  contemporaries  set  forth  in  much  meaner 
words.  They  did  not  understand  the  different 
natures  of  the  two  men.  The  mildest  misunder- 
stood Goethe's  indifference  when  Fichte  was  subse- 
quently hard  pressed  and  persecuted ;  and  they  did 
not  see  into  Goethe's  situation.  This  giant  was 
Minister  in  a  dwarf  German  state ;  he  could  not 
move  naturally  or  freely.  It  was  said  of  the 
seated  Jupiter  of  Phidias  in  Olympia,  that  should 
he  stand  up,  he  would  burst  through  the  rool 
This  was  quite  Goethe's  situation  in  Weimar ;  if 
he  had  suddenly  risen  from  his  quietly  seated 
repose,  he  would  have  broken  through  the  state- 
gable,  or  what  was  more  likely,  would  have  hit  his 
head  against  it.  And  should  he  risk  this  for  a 
doctrine  which  was  not  merely  erroneous  but  also 
ridiculous  ?  The  German  Jupiter  remained  quietly 
seated,  and  calmly  allowed  himself  to  be  rever- 
enced and  incensed. 

It  would  lead  me  too  far  from  my  subject 
should  I,  from  the  point  of  the  art  interests  of 
those  times,  consider  more  closely  the  conduct 
of  Goethe  regarding  this  accusation  as  to  Fichte. 
In  favour  of  the  latter  it  can  only  be  said  that 

VOL.  I.  M 


iy8  FROM  KANT  TO  HBOBL. 

the  complaint  was  really  a  pretext,  and  that  poli- 
tical persecution  lurked  behind  it.  A  theologian 
may  indeed  be  indicted  for  atheism,  because  he  is 
in  duty  bound  to  teach  certain  doctrines ;  but  a 
philosopher  has  pledged  himself  to  no  such  obli- 
gations, he  cannot  thus  bind  himself,  and  his 
thoughts  are  as  free  as  the  birds  in  the  air.  It 
is  perhaps  unjust  that  I,  to  spare  my  own  feelings 
and  those  of  others,  do  not  here  cite  everything 
which  supports  and  justifies  this  accusation.  I 
will  here  give  only  one  of  the  doubtful  passages 
from  the  inculpated  essay. 

"  Living  and  working  moral  order  is  God  him- 
self ;  we  need  no  other  God,  and  can  comprehend 
no  other.  There  is  no  foundation  in  reason  for 
departing  from  that  moral  cosmos,^  and,  by  means 
of  a  deduction  from  effect  to  cause,  assume  a 
special  being  as  that  cause.  The  original  under- 
standing certainly  does  not  confirm  this  deduction 
and  knows  no  such  special  being ;  only  a  philo- 
sophy which  misunderstands  itself  can  do  so." 

As  is  peculiar  to  obstinate  men,  Fichte  in  his 
appeal  to  the  public,  and  in  his  judicial  reply, 
expressed  himself  even  more  hardly  and  harshly, 
and  indeed  with  expressions  which  wound  our 
deepest  feelings.  "We  who  believe  in  a  real  God, 
who  reveals  hims;  if  to  our  senses  in  infinite  ex- 
tension, and  to  our  souls  in  infinite  thoughts — 

*  ♦♦  Weltordnung." — "  Ordre  moral  de  raniTen." 


FROM  KANT  TO  HEGEL.  ify 

we  who  honour  and  adore  a  visible  God  in 
Nature,  and  perceive  His  invisible  voice  in  our 
own  spirit — we  are  painfully  repulsed  bj  the 
coarse  words  with  which  Fichte  declares,  even 
ironically,  that  God  is  a  mere  cobweb  of  the 
brain.  It  is  indeed  doubtful  whether  Fichte  is 
inspired  by  irony  or  mere  madness  when  he 
disengages  our  dear  God  so  absolutely  from  all 
material  attributes,  that  he  even  denies  his 
existence  because  existence  is  an  idea  of  the 
senses,  and  only  possible  as  such.  The  doctrine 
of  science,  he  declares,  knows  no  other  existence 
save  the  sensible;  and  as  a  being  can  only  be 
ascribed  to  subjects  of  experience,  this  predi- 
cate cannot  be  affirmed  of  God.  Therefore  the 
Fichtean  God  has  no  existence;  he  is  not;  he 
manifests  himself  only  as  pure  action,  as  an  order 
of  events,  as  ordo  ordinans,  as  the  world  or 
universal  law. 

In  this  wise  Idealism  filtered  the  Godhead  so 
long  through  all  possible  abstractions,  till  at  last 
nothing  of  it  remained.  From  this  time  forth,  as 
with  you  in  place  of  a  king,  so  with  us  as  regards 
God,  Law  alone  ruled  supreme. 

But  which  is  the  most  absurd,  a  loi  ath4e,  a  law 
which  has  no  God,  or  a  dieu  loi,  a  God  who  is 
only  a  law  ? 

The  Idealism  of  Fichte  is  one  of  the  most 
colossal    errors  which    the  mind  of   man  ever 


i8o 


FROM  KANT  TO  HEGEL, 


hatched  out.  It  is  more  godless  and  damnable 
than  the  coarsest  Materialism.  What  is  here 
called  in  France  the  atheism  of  the  Materialists 
would  be,  as  I  could  easily  prove,  always  some- 
thing morally  edifying,  something  of  trusting 
piety  in  comparison  to  the  results  of  the  Fichtean 
Transcendental-Idealism.  Thus  much  I  know, 
that  both  are  detestable  to  me.  Both  views  are 
anti-poetic.  The  French  Materialists  have  written 
as  much  bad  poetry  as  the  German  Transcen- 
dental-Idealists. But  Fichte's  doctrines  were 
never  dangerous  to  the  state,  and  still  less  did 
they  deserve  to  be  persecuted  as  politically 
dangerous.  To  be  misled  by  this  erroneous  doc- 
trine a  man  needs  to  be  gifted  with  a  specu- 
lative keenness  of  intelligence  such  as  is  seldom 
found.  This  theory  of  errors  was  utterly  in- 
accessible to  the  great  mob  with  its  thousands  of 
thick  heads.  The  Fichtean  view  of  God  should 
have  been  controverted  rationally,  and  not  by  the 
police.  To  be  accused  of  atheism  in  philosophy 
was  something,  too,  so  strange  in  Germany,  that 
Fichte  at  first  did  not  really  know  what  they 
wanted  of  him.  He  remarked  very  rightly,  that 
the  question  whether  a  philosophy  was  atheistic 
or  not  sounded  to  a  philosopher  as  strangely 
as  if  one  had  asked  a  mathematician  whether  a 
triangle  was  green  or  red.  I 

This  accusation  had,  therefore,  its  secret  grounds. 


".'}■ 


PROM  KANT  TO  HBQBL.  tfi 

and  these  Fichte  soon  fonnd  ont.  As  he  was  the 
most  honourable  man  in  the  world,  we  may  give 
full  credence  to  a  letter  in  which  he  addresses 
Reinhold  as  to  these  concealed  causes,  and  as  this 
letter,  dated  May  22,  1799,  sketches  the  whole 
time  and  the  whole  dire  distress  of  the  man,  we 
will  cite  something  from  it. 

"Weariness  and  disgust  determine  me,  as  I 
had  declared  to  thee  I  would  do,  to  vanish  from 
sight  for  some  years.  I  was,  according  to  the 
views  which  I  held,  convinced  that  duty  demanded 
this  conclusion,  since  I  can  never  be  heard  in  the 
present  fermentation,  while  it  would  only  be  made 
worse ;  whereas,  after  a  few  years,  when  the  first 
antipathy  shall  be  appeased,  I  can  speak  with  all 
the  greater  energy.  To-day  I  think  differently. 
I  dare  not  be  silent  now ;  should  I  do  so,  I  would 
never  be  able  to  speak  again.  Since  the  alliance 
of  Russia  with  Austria,  I  have  long  regarded  as 
probable  what  is  now  become  certain  since  the  late 
events,  and  especially  since  the  horrible  murder  of 
the  ambassadors  (over  which  people  are  rejoicing 
here,  and  regarding  which  S.  and  G.  cry  out, 
"  Quite  right !  these  dogs  should  be  killed  "). ' 
And  this  is  that  in  future  despotism  will  defend 
itself  with  desperation ;  that  it  will  attain  its  aims 
by  Paul  and  Pitt ;  that  the  basis  of  its  plans  is  to 

^  In  the  French  venion  "  ambastadenn  fran9ai8,"  and  in 
place  of  "  S.  and  G.,"  "  Schiller  et  Goethe." 


■  t'  V-*-      f-  V 


'/^-.•-^^►'««^'<«**.*,^.-.»ijl»«#««'^'-»«iirw^  ^'j^^\'^  ^Lf--'*'^  m  4AL\ 


lU 


FROM  KANT  TO  HBOBL. 


destroy  freedom  of  thought,  and  that  the  Germans 
will  not  hinder  the  execution  of  them. 

"  Do  not  imagine,  for  example,  that  the  Court 
of  Weimar  believes  that  attendance  at  the  Uni- 
versity will  be  lessened  by  my  presence;  they 
know  the  contrary  all  too  well.  It  was  obliged 
to  drive  me  away  in  consequence  of  a  general 
plan  vigorously  carried  out  by  Saxony.  Burscher 
of  Leipzig,  who  is  initiated  into  these  secrets,  laid 
BO  far  back  as  the  end  of  last  year  a  considerable 
wager  that  I  would  be  expelled  before  the  begin- 
ning of  this  twelvemonth.  Voigt  was  long  since 
won  over  by  Burgsdorff  to  take  part  against  me ; 
and  it  has  been  made  known  in  the  Department 
of  Science  {Department  der  Wissenschaften)  in 
Dresden  that  no  one  who  is  devoted  to  the  newer 
philosophy  can  be  promoted,  or,  if  he  has  already 
a  place,  can  be  advanced.  In  the  free  school  of 
Leipzig,  even  the  expoundings  of  Rosenmiiller  are 
regarded  with  distrust.  Luther's  Catechism  has 
been  again  introduced  there,  and  the  teachers  are 
once  more  confirmed  in  the  symbolic  books ;  and 
it  will  go  on  and  spread.  ...  In  short,  nothing  is 
more  certain  than  the  most  certain,  which  is,  that 
if  the  French  do  not  conquer  the  most  overwhelm- 
ing supremacy  and  achieve  a  change  in  Germany, 
or  in  a  great  portion  of  it,  within  a  few  years,  no 
man  who  is  known  to  have  ever  had  a  free  thought 
will  be  allowed  a  place  wherein  to  rest.    It  is. 


■y  <::■ 


■.  '-.if': 


■S"^* 


FROM  KANT  TO  HEGEL. 

therefore,  to  me  more  tlian  most  certain  that,  if 
I  do  find  a  small  comer,  I  shall  be  hunted  out  of 
it  in  one  or,  at  most,  two  years ;  and  it  is  dan- 
gerous to  let  oneself  be  chased  about  to  several 
places,  as  is  shown  historically  by  Bousseau's 
example. 

"  But  suppose  that  I  keep  silence,  and  do 
not  write  the  least  thing ;  will  I  be  left  in  peace 
under  such  conditions  ?  I  do  not  believe  it ;  and 
suppose  that  I  could  hope  it  from  royal  courts, 
will  not  the  clergy  wherever  I  go  excite  the  mob 
against  me  to  stone  me,  and  then  beg  their  Govern- 
ments to  banish  me  as  one  dangerous  to  the 
public  peace  ?  And  should  I  therefore  be  silent  ? 
No,  I  ought  and  will  not,  for  I  have  cause  to 
believe  that  if  anything  can  be  saved  of  the 
German  spirit,  it  will  be  done  by  my  words,  and 
that  by  my  silence  philosophy  will  prematurely 
perish.  I  have  no  confidence  that  those  who  will 
not  let  me  rest  in  silence  will  allow  me  to  speak. 

"  But  I  will  convince  them  of  the  harmlessness 
of  my  doctrine !  Dear  Reinhold,  how  can  you 
suppose  that  these  men  will  be  kind  to  me  ?  The 
brighter  I  become,  the  more  innocent  I  appear, 
the  blacker  are  they,  and  so  much  the  greater  will 
be  my  real  oflFence.  I  have  never  believed  that 
they  are  persecuting  my  alleged  atheism.  What 
they  are  hunting  down  in  me  is  a  fre&-thinker 
who  begins  to  make  himself  intelligible  (Kant's 


Fl»»;»  ^v^  -•  .V 


tU 


PROM  KANT  TO  HBOEL. 


good  luck  laj  in  his  obscurity),  and  a  decried 
democrat.  What  frightens  them  like  a  phantom 
is  the  independence  which,  as  they  dimly  foresee, 
my  philosophy  awakens." 

I  again  remark  that  this  letter  is  not  of  yester- 
day, but  bears  the  date  of  May  22,  1799.  The 
political  relations  of  those  times  have  a  disquiet- 
ing likeness  to  recent  events  in  Germany,  with 
the  difference  that  then  the  sense  of  freedom 
flourished  more  among  scholars,  poets,  and  other 
literati,  but  at  present  shows  itself  much  less 
with  them,  and  far  more  among  the  great  active 
masses,  as  of  daily  labourers  and  tradesmen. 
While  during  the  time  of  the  first  Revolution  a 
leaden,  utterly  German  drowsiness  oppressed  the 
people  and  ruled  like  brutal  repose  in  the  Ger- 
man land,  the  wildest  fermentation  and  up-boil- 
ing showed  itself  in  the  world  of  letters.  The 
loneliest  author  who  lived  in  some  remotest  nook 
of  Germany  took  part  in  this  movement,  almost 
sympathetically.  Without  being  accurately  in- 
formed of  passing  political  events,  he  felt  their 
meaning  and  expressed  it  in  his  writing.  This 
fact  reminds  me  of  the  large  sea-shells  which 
we  sometimes  place  as  ornaments  on  chimney- 
pieces,  and  which,  however  far  they  may  be  from 
the  ocean,  begin  to  murmur  whenever  the  tide 
xises  and  the  waves  beat  up  against  the  shore. 
When  the   Bevolntion    stormed  wildly  here  ia 


.»<-'»»/. 


^  f    ^T<  -|«  ».«■»■—«.•,_ 


•«      ,t- 


PROM  KANT  TO  HBOBL.  ilf 

Paris  in  the  great  Imman  sea,  when  it  raged  and 
roared,  the  German  hearts  beyond  the  Rhine 
responded  to  the  tumult.  But  they  were  so 
isolated,  among  mere  soulless  porcelain  teacups 
and  Chinese  gods,^  which  mechanically  nodded 
with  their  heads  as  if  they  knew  what  l^e  matter 
was.  Ah!  our  poor  predecessors  in  Germany 
had  to  atone  bitterly  for  that  sympathy  with  the 
Revolution.  Aristocrats  and  priests  played  them 
their  coarsest  and  vilest  tricks.  Some  of  them 
fled  to  Paris,  where  they  passed  down  and  away 
into  poverty  and  misery.  I  saw  not  long  ago 
a  blind  fellow-countryman,  who  has  been  ever 
since  those  days  in  Paris.  I  saw  him  in  the 
Palais  Royal,  where  he  had  come  to  warm  himself 
a  while  in  the  sunshine.  It  was  sad  to  see  how 
pale  and  thin  he  was,  feeling  his  way  sadly  along 
from  house  to  house.  They  told  me  it  was  the 
old  Danish  poet  Heiberg.*  And  I  have  seen  the 
garret  in  which  Citizen  George  Forster  died.  A 
far  more  cruel  fate  would  have  befallen  the  friends 
of  freedom  who  remained  in  Germany  had  not 

^  Heine  baa  pagodas,  which  he  seems  to  h»Te  conf  used  with 
josses,  or  deities  with  moving  heads. 

'  Peter  Andreas  Heiberg,  bom  in  1758  in  Denmark,  and 
father  of  the  well-known  dramatist,  having  been  banished  for 
political  writing,  went  to  Paris,  where  he  was  appointed  hy 
Napoleon  L  to  a  place  in  the  Mimstry  of  foreign  Affairs,  in 
which  he  died  in  1830.  He  wrote,  in  addition  to  many 
comedies,  a  Precis  Historique  de  la  Monarchie  Danoiu,  Paris, 
l%20.—NoU  by  tJu  German  Pviiisher. 


r'***r^«u<»r.<^  ,^^.^..*^«!  -..-y*-*'"  ■■■'.  II  ■■...>^  ^ty  it.%  J0-.  ^?»-,»^*--  VV- •.-- — ^  »* >»-^ii?^ J%»'* 


i86 


FROM  KANT  TO  HBQEL. 


Napoleon  and  his  French  conqaered  ns.  Napoleon 
certainly  never  snspected  that  he  had  been  the 
saviour  of  Ideologie}  But  for  him,  our  philoso- 
phers with  their  ideas  would  have  been  extirpated 
by  the  gallows  and  the  wheel.  Yet  the  German 
Liberals,  too  republican  to  court  Napoleon,  and 
too  magnanimous  to  ally  themselves  to  a  foreign 
mle,  wrapped  themselves  in  deep  silence.  They 
went  sadly  about  with  broken  hearts  and  closed 
lips.  When  Napoleon  fell,  they  smiled,  but 
sadly,  and  were  silent;  they  took  little  part  in 
the  popular  enthusiasm,  which  by  permission 
of  the  higher  authorities  burst  out  in  Germany. 
They  knew  what  they  knew,  and  were  silent. 
As  these  republicans  led  very  chaste  and  frugal 
lives,  they  generally  lived  to  an  advanced  age, 
and  when  the  Revolution  of  July  took  place, 
many  of  them  were  still  alive.  Then  we  wondered 
not  a  little  when  the  old  odd  fellows,  whom  we 
had  seen  straying  about  so  bent  up  and  bashful, 
all  at  once  held  up  their  heads,  smiled  gaily  at  us 
younger  folk,  pressed  our  hands,  and  began  to  tell 
merry  tales.  I  even  heard  one  of  them  sing,  and 
it  was  the  Marseillaise  Hymn,  in  a  coffee-house. 
Before  long  we  had  learned  the  melody  and  the 
beautiful  words  even  better  than  the  old  man  him- 

*  A  f»Toarite  term  with  Nupoleon  I.  Thns  Cwlyle  telli  us 
tb«t  he  pinched  the  ear  of  Professor  TeufeladrSckh,  and  called, 
or  dismissed,  him  as  an  ieUolofiu. — Trandmlor. 


''/. 


'.-n  1*^"*^  -rr^'r,  ^iA  a' 


4  ■i.i. 


'-*~**»..v4.;*'; 


■   •:■% 


FROM  KANT  TO  HEOBL:  187 

Belf,  for  he  often  laughed  like  a  fool  in  the  beit 
strophes  or  wept  like  a  child.  It  is  alwayB  well  when 
such  greyheads  remain  to  teach  us  young  ones  the 
old  songs.  We  will  not  forget  them,  and  some  of 
us  will  teach  them  to  our  grandsons,  as  yet  unborn, 
but  many  of  us  will  ere  then  have  perished  in 
German  prisons  or  in  garrets  in  exile. 

Let  us  speak  again  of  philosophy !  I  have  shown 
how  that  of  Fichte,  constructed  with  the  most 
refined  abstraction,  still  manifests  an  iron-like 
inflexibility  in  its  deductions,  which  rise  to  the 
boldest  heights.  But  all  at  once,  one  fine  morning, 
we  find  in  it  a  great  change.  It  begins  to  be 
flowery  and  make  queer  faces,^  and  becomes  tender 
and  modest.  The  ideal  Titan  who  climbed  the 
ladder  of  thought  to  heaven,  and  who  with  bold 
hand  felt  his  way  to  its  vacant  chambers,  has 
become  bowed  and  Christian-like,  and  one  who 
sighs  much  of  love.  This  is  Fichte's  second  period, 
which  little  concerns  us.  His  whole  system  now 
undergoes  the  strangest  transformation.  At  this 
time  he  wrote  a  book  which  has  been  recently  trans- 
lated into  French,  Die  Bestimmung  des  Menschen 
— "The  Destiny  of  Man."*   A  similar  work, -4n«>ei- 

1  "Das  fangt  an  za  bliimeln  und  fiennen."  In  the  French  ver- 
non,  "elle  commence  ks'aniollir,  it  deTenirdoacerexue  etmodeeta." 

*  Heine  here  quite  misrepresents  and  detracts  from  the  char- 
acter of  this  remarkable  work,  which  he  had  possibly  neyer  read. 
Many  regard  it  as  the  most  characteristic  production  of  its 
author.    It  is  also  remaricable  that  Heine,  with  all  his  ferrott 


-^^.r^  ,-.,^;g/^^..  ^ ;;,^  ^.:,  ^^^^  .,:_^  ^y-;,;.  ^.  ,  ^..;^ 


i88 


FROM  KANT  TO  HEGEL. 


sung  zum  seligen  Lehen — "  DirectioiiB  for  a  Happy 
Life  " — belongs  to  the  same  period. 

Fichte,  an  obstinate  man,  as  is  evident  enough, 
never  admitted  this  grand  transformation.  He 
declared  that  his  philosophy  was  still  the  same, 
that  his  expressions  were  changed  and  improved, 
and  that  he  was  misunderstood.  He  also  declared 
that  the  Natur-philosophie,  which  rose  at  that  time 
in  Germany,  and  was  beginning  to  supplant  Ideal- 
ism, was  fundamentally  his  own  system,  and  that 
his  pupil  Joseph  Schelling,  who  left  him  and  intro- 
duced this  philosophy,  had  only  returned  his  own 
phrases  and  enlarged  his  own  old  theory  by  un- 
edifying  flat  additions. 

We  come  here  to  a  new  phase  of  German 
thought.  We  mentioned  the  names  of  Joseph 
Schelling  and  Natur-philosophie}  and  as  the  first 
is  here  quite  unknown,  and  the  expression  Natur- 
phUosophie  or  pkilosophie  de  la  Nature  is  not 
generally  understood,  I  must  explain  the  meaning 
of  both.  Certainly  I  cannot  exhaust  the  subject 
in  these  pages,  and  we  will  dedicate  another  work 
to  the  subject.  All  that  we  will  do  here  will  bo 
to  indicate  a  few  urgent  errors,  and  call  a  little 

regard  for  piety,  leemB  to  regard  any  yielding  to  it  aa  rery 
shameful. — TratuUUor. 

^  **  Natural  philosophy  "  does  not  translate  this  word,  which 
corresponds  to  what  is  called  "science"  in  English.  On  the 
other  hand,  Witterucha/i  does  not  mean  merely  "  science,"  bok 
any  accurate  knowledge  whatever. — TrantUUor. 


^y 


■  \.  .;(..•  •'■*.1v. 


4  ■■ 


FROM  KANT  TO  HBQEL.  189 

attention  to  the  social  importance  of  the  philosophy 
in  question. 

And  firstly,  I  wonld  observe  that  Plchte  was  not 
far  wrong  when  he  declared  that  Joseph  Schel- 
ling's  system  was  really  the  same  as  his  own,  but 
otherwise  formulised  and  augmented;  for  Fichte 
taught,  as  Schelling  did ;  There  is  only  one  being, 
the  /,  the  Absolute ;  and  there  is  an  identity  of 
the  ideal  and  real.  Fichte,  in  the  "  Doctrine  of 
Science,"  attempted  to  intellectually  construct  the 
real  from  the  ideal ;  but  Joseph  Schelling  reversed 
the  process ;  he  endeavoured  to  construct  the  ideal 
from  the  real.  To  express  myself  more  clearly, 
Fichte,  proceeding  from  the  assumption  that 
thought  and  nature  are  one  and  the  same,  arrived 
by  intellectual  action  to  the  world  of  phenomena, 
creating  Nature  from  thought  and  the  real  from 
the  ideal.  With  Schelling,  on  the  contrary,  while 
he  departs  from  the  same  beginning,  the  world  of 
phenomena,  or  what  is  perceived  by  us,  becomes 
pure  ideas ;  Nature  becomes  thought  and  the  real 
the  ideal.  Both  these  tendencies  of  Fichte  and  of 
Schelling  mutually  develop  one  the  other  to  a 
certain  degree.  For  according  to  the  principle 
above  proposed,  philosophy  can  receive  two  divi- 
sions, in  one  of  which  it  may  be  shown  how  Nature 
becomes  manifest  from  the  idea,  and  in  the  other 
how  Nature  resolves  itself  into  pure  ideas.  Philo- 
sophy could  therefore  be  divided  into  Transcen- 


190 


PROM  KAST  TO  HBOBL. 


dental  Idealism  and  Nature-philoBoph  j.  Schelling 
really  recognised  these  two  directions,  and  he  pnr- 
sued  the  latter  in  his  Ideen  zu  einer  Fhilosophie 
der  NatuT — "  Ideas  for  a  Philosophy  of  Nature  " 
— and  the  former  in  his  System  dea  Transcenden- 
talen  Idealismiis — "The  System  of  Transcendental 
Idealism."^ 

These  works,  of  which  one  appeared  in  1797 
and  the  other  in  1800,  are  here  mentioned  be- 
cause this  mutually  developing  tendency  is  shown 
even  in  their  titles,  and  not  because  they  contain 
a  complete  system.  Nor  is  there  one  in  any  of 
Schelling's  works.  There  is  not  with  him,  as 
with  Kant  and  Fichte,  a  chief  work  which  can  be 
regarded  as  the  central  point  of  his  philosophy.' 


1  These  works,  and  many  more  of  the  same  kind  from  all 
countries,  were  translated  into  French,  and  extensively  read  in 
the  "  Forties."  This  was  due  to  the  influence  of  Cousin,  the 
Eclectic,  who  urged  the  necessity  of  studying  and  comparing  all 
philosophies.  He  did  much  good  thereby,  but  Heine  never  lost 
an  opportunity  to  ridicule  him.  And  it  may  be  remarked  as  a 
singular  thing,  that  Heine  never  once  alludes  tu  the  real  and 
direct,  and  in  fact  almost  the  only,  benefit  which  resulted  from 
the  study  of  metaphysics.  This  was  the  training,  exercising, 
and  disciplining  the  mind,  so  as  to  cause  men  to  think  more 
vigorously  and  intelligently  on  all  subjects,  be  they  literary, 
scientific,  or  practicaL  While  they  teach  no  scientific  truths 
or  useful  facts,  the  works  of  Kant  or  Fichte  are  of  great  value 
as  mental  gymnastics  ;  but  this  is  seldom  noted. — Translator. 

*  The  "System  of  Transcendental  Idealism  "  is,  however,  gene- 
rally regarded  as  setting  forth  in  the  main,  and  to  all  practical 
inte&ta  and  purposes,  the  philosophy  of  Schelling. — Trantlator. 


FROM  KANT  TO  HBOSL.  191 

It  would  be  anjast  to  judge  Schelling  hj  the  con- 
t^its  of  a  book  and  by  the  letter.  One  shonld 
rather  read  his  books  chronologicallj,  following 
the  gradual  development  of  his  thoaghts  in  them, 
and  then  firmly  grasp  his  leading  idea.  It  also 
seems  to  me  necessary  that  one  shall  with  him 
not  unfreqaently  decide  where  thought  ceases 
and  poetry  begins ;  for  Schelling  is  one  of  those 
creations  to  whom  Nature  has  given  more  inclina- 
tion to  poetry  than  poetic  power,  and  who,  incap- 
able of  satisfying  the  daughters  of  Parnassus,  have 
taken  refuge  in  the  forests  of  philosophy,  and  there 
carry  on  with  abstract  Hamadryads  the  most  barren 
nuptials.  Their  feelings  are  poetic,  but  the  instru- 
ment, the  word,  is  weak ;  they  seek  and  strive  in 
vain  for  form  of  art  in  which  they  may  clothe  their 
thoughts  and  knowledge.  Poetry  is  Schelling*8 
weakness  and  his  force.  By  it  he  is  distinguished 
from  Fichte,  both  to  his  advantage  and  disadvan- 
tage. Fichte  is  only  a  philosopher,  and  his  power 
lies  in  dialectics  and  his  strength  in  demonstration. 
But  this  is  the  weak  side  of  Schelling ;  he  lives 
more  in  contemplation ;  he  does  not  find  himself 
at  home  on  the  cold  and  lofty  peaks  of  logic ;  he 
gladly  flies  into  the  flowery  vales  of  symbolism, 
and  his  philosophic  strength  lies  in  construction. 
But  this  last  is  a  mental  power  which  may  be 
found  as  often  among  mediocre  poets  as  in  great 
philosophers. 


192  FROM  KANT  TO  HEOBL. 

According  to  this  last  declaration,  it  will  be 
understood  that  Schelling,  in  that  part  of  philo- 
sophy which  is  purely  transcendental  idealism,  is 
only  a  follower  of  Fichte,  and  such  must  remain ; 
but  that  in  the  philosophy  of  Nature,  where  he 
carried  on  his  business  and  housekeeping  among 
flowers  and  stars,  he  blooms  and  shines  marvel- 
lously. This  tendency  has  been  pursued  not  only 
by  him,  but  specially  by  his  sympathetic  friends, 
and  the  vehemence  with  which  this  manifested 
itself  was  also  a  poetaster-reaction  against  the 
previous  abstract  mental  philosophy.  Like  school- 
boys set  free  who  have  sighed  all  day  long  in 
stuflEy  rooms  under  the  burden  of  grammar-work 
and  ciphering,  they  swarmed  and  stormed  away 
and  out  into  Nature,  into  the  perfumed,  sunlit 
real,  and  shouted  for  joy,  and  threw  somersaults, 
and  made  a  jolly  row ! 

The  expression  "  scholars  of  Schelling  "  should 
nowhere  be  taken  in  its  exact  literal  signification. 
Schelling  himself  has  said  that  he  would  only 
form  a  school  in  the  fashion  of  the  old  poets, 
or  a  poetic  academy,  where  no  one  is  bound  to  any 
special  theory,  by  any  special  discipline,  but  where 
every  one  obeys  the  spirit,  and  reveals  it  after  his 
own  manner.  He  might  also  have  said  that  he 
founded  a  school  of  prophets  where  the  inspired 
began  to  prophesy  according  to  freak  or  fancy, 
and  in   any  language  which  they  liked.      And 


FROM  KANT  TO  HEGEL.  193 

■what  the  spirit  of  the  master  inspired,  the  youths 
carried  out ;  the  narrowest  minds  began  to  pro- 
phesy, every  one  in  an  unknown  tongue,  and  the 
result  was  a  great  Pentecost  in  philosophy. 

How  the  deepest  meaning  and  most  glorious 
conceptions  may  be  applied  to  mumming  masquer- 
ading, and  how  a  mob  of  mean  knaves  and  sad 
jack-puddings  are  capable  of  compromising  a 
great  idea,  may  be  seen  illustrated  appropriately 
by  the  philosophy  of  Nature.^  But  the  ridicule 
which  the  prophetic  or  poetic  school  of  Schelling 
attracted  to  it  was  not  deserved,  for  the  idea  of 
the  philosophy  of  Nature  is  in  reality  nothing  but 
the  idea  of  Spinoza  or  Pantheism. 

The  doctrine  of  Spinoza  and  the  philosophy  of 
Nature,  Jis  Schelling  set  them  forth  in  his  better 
days,  are  essentially  one  and  the  same.  The 
Germans,  after  they  had  rejected  the  Materialism 
of  Locke  and  carried  out  the  Idealism  of  Leibnitz 
to  its  utmost  limits,  and  found  it  as  fruitless, 
came  at  last  to  the  third  son  of  Descartes,  or 
Spinoza.     Philosophy  had  now  run  anew  a  great 

^  It  is  also  quite  as  admirably  illustrated  by  Heine's  own 
bitter  remarks  on  it,  which  give  an  extremely  distorted  and 
exaggerated,  if  not  altogether  false,  view  of  the  school  of 
Schelling,  with  its  disciples.  Here,  as  in  unfortunately  too 
many  instances,  our  author's  tendency  to  sarcasm  and  ridicule, 
makes  him  dwell  altogether  on  trifling  defects,  and  gives  us  no 
idea  of  the  real  intellectual  results  of  this  philosophy  and 
school — Trandator, 

VOL.  L  N 


«M 


PROM  KANT  TO  HEGEL. 


coarse,  and  one  may  say  it  found  itself  just  where 
it  was  two  thousand  years  before  in  Greece.  But 
by  close  comparison  of  these  two  cycles  a  great  dif- 
ference manifests  itself.  The  Greeks  had  as  bold 
sceptics  as  we;  the  Eclectics  denied  the  reality 
of  Uie  external  world  as  decidedly  as  did  our  later 
Transcendental-Idealists,  and  Plato  found  as  well 
as  Schelling  the  world  of  spirit  in  that  of  pheno- 
mena. But  we  have  an  advantage  over  the  Greeks 
as  well  as  over  the  schools  following  Descartes, 
and  that  is,  we  began  our  philosophical  cycle  by 
testing  the  sources  of  human  knowledge  with  the 
"Critique  of  Pure  Reason"  by  Immanuel  Kant. 

As  regards  Kant,  I  may  add  to  my  previous 
remarks  that  the  only  proof  of  the  existence  of 
Grod  which  he  allowed  to  remain — that  is,  the  so- 
called  moral  proof — was  destroyed  by  Schelling 
with  great  &ilat.  But  I  have  already  remarked 
that  this  proof  was  of  no  great  strength,  and  that 
Kant  probably  allowed  it  to  remain  out  of  good- 
nature. The  God  of  Schelling  is  the  God-universe 
of  Spinoza.  At  least  he  was  that  in  the  year  1801, 
in  the  second  volume  of  the  J(mmal  of  Specula- 
tive Physics.  Here  God  is  the  absolute  Identity 
of  Nature  and  of  thought,  of  material  and  of 
mind,  and  this  absolute  identity  is  not  the  cause 
of  the  universe,  but  is  also  the  universe  itself ;  it 
is  consequently  the  God-universe.  In  this,  in 
him,  there  are  no  opposing  elements  or  divisions. 


FROM  KANT  TO  HEGEL.  i»5 

The  absolute  Identity  is  also  the  absolute  Tota- 
lity. A  year  later  Schelling  developed  his  Grod 
still  more  in  a  paper  entitled  "  Bruno,  or  of  the 
Divine  and  Natural  Principle  of  Things."  This 
title  recalls  the  noblest  martyr  of  our  doctrine,^ 
Giordano  Bruno  of  Nola,  of  glorious  remembrance. 
The  Italians  declare  that  ScheUing  took  his  best 
thoughts  from  the  ancient  Bruno,  and  accuse  him 
of  plagiarism.  They  are  wrong,  for  in  philo- 
sophy there  can  be  no  plagiarism.  At  last,  in 
1804,  the  God  of  Schelling  appeared  completely 
finished  in  an  article  entitled  "Philosophy  and 
Eeligion."  Here  we  find  the  doctrine  of  the 
Absolute  in  perfection,  and  in  it  the  Absolute  is 
expressed  in  three  formulas.  The  first  is  the  cate- 
gorical. The  Absolute  is  neither  the  ideal  nor  the 
real,  neither  spirit  nor  matter,  but  it  is  the  identity 
of  both.  The  second  formula  is  the  hypothetical. 
When  a  subject  and  an  object  are  present,  the 
Absolute  is  the  essential  equality  of  both.  The 
third  formula  is  the  disjunctive.  There  is  only  one 
being,  but  this  can  at  the  same  time,  or  alter- 
natively, be  regarded  as  entirely  ideal  or  as  alto- 
gether real.  The  first  formula  is  quite  negative, 
the  second  supposes  a  condition  which  is  harder 


^  This  "our"  is  here  interesting.  Heine  has  throughout 
claimed  to  be  a  theist,  but  has  carefully  insisted  that  Kant 
utterly  destroyed  every  argument  in  favour  of  a  God,  and  now 
proclaims  himself  a  pantheist.     iVort  nobis,  Sec — Trandator. 


196  FROM  KANT  TO  HEGEL. 

to  understand  than  the  proposition  itself,  and  the 
third  is  altogether  that  of  Spinoza.  "  The  absolute 
substance  is  recognisable  either  as  thought  or  ex- 
tension." Schelling,  therefore,  could  advance  no 
further  on  the  road  of  philosophy  than  Spinoza, 
since  the  Absolute  can  only  be  understood  under 
the  form  of  these  two  attributes,  thought  and 
extension.  But  Schelling  here  abandons  the  path 
of  philosophy  and  seeks  to  arrive  at  the  perception 
of  the  Absolute  by  a  kind  of  mystical  intuition ; 
he  tries  to  penetrate  to  its  central  point,  to  its 
inmost  being,  where  there  is  neither  an3i;hing 
ideal  or  real,  neither  thought  nor  extension,  neither 
subject  nor  object,  neither  spirit  nor  matter,  but — 
well,  I  really  do  not  know  what. 

Here  the  philosophy  of  Schelling  comes  to  an 
end,  and  his  poetry,  or  rather  folly,  begins.  But 
it  is  here  that  he  meets  with  most  sympathy  from 
a  multitude  of  silly  fellows,  whom  it  suits  admirably 
to  give  up  calm  thought  and  imitate  those  whirl- 
ing dervishes  who,  as  our  friend  Jules  David 
relates,  spin  round  in  a  circle  till  both  the  sub- 
jective and  objective  world  vanish  and  blend  in  a 
blank  nothing,  which  is  neither  real  nor  ideal; 
till  they  see  the  invisible,  hear  the  inaudible, 
or  till  they  hear  colours  and  see  tones,  and  con- 
ceive the  Absolute. 

I  believe  that  the  philosophic  career  of  Schelling 
ends  with  this  attempt  to  intellectually  perceive 


FROM  KANT  TO  HEGEL.  197 

the  Absolute.  A  greater  thinker  now  comes 
before  us,  who  has  developed  the  philosophy  of 
Nature  to  a  perfected  system,  explained  by  its 
synthesis  the  whole  world  of  phenomena,  enlarged 
the  great  ideas  of  his  predecessors  by  still  greater, 
carried  them  through  every  form  of  discipline,  and 
has  therefore  given  them  a  scientific  foundation. 
He  is  a  pupil  of  Schelling,  but  a  pupil  who 
gradually  usurped  in  the  realm  of  philosophy  all 
the  might  of  his  master,  and,  ambitious  of  rule, 
outgrew  and  finally  cast  him  into  darkness. 
This  is  the  great  Hegel,  the  greatest  philosopher 
whom  Germany  has  produced  since  Leibnitz. 
There  can  be  no  doubt  that  he  far  surpasses 
Kant  and  Fichte.  He  is  as  acute  as  the  one 
and  as  strong  as  the  other,  and  has,  withal,  a  calm 
power  of  construction,  a  harmony  of  thought, 
such  as  we  do  not  find  in  Kant  and  Fichte, 
because  in  them  a  mere  revolutionary  spirit  pre- 
vails. Nor  is  it  possible  to  compare  this  man 
with  Joseph  Schelling,  for  Hegel  was  a  man  of 
character,  and  if  he  did,  like  Schelling,  give  the 
constituted  authorities  in  Church  and  State  certain 
too  significant  justifications,  it  was  at  least  done 
for  a  State  which,  theoretically  at  least,  advocates 
the  principle  of  progress,  and  for  a  Church  which 
regards  that  of  free  examination  as  its  vital 
element.  This  he  did  not  conceal;  he  freely 
avowed  his  views;  but  Schelling  winds  his  way 


^^^^«^l,^^-fi,',■^  ji^:,^MAyjli>iim-^^-ff*^iiZT^f^^  ^^^gr^'^-^J'J^ 


198 


FROM  KANT  TO  HEGEL. 


worm-like  into  the  ante-diamber  of  a  practical 
as  well  as  theoretical  Absolntism,  and  he  lends  a 
helping  hand  in  the  Jesuit  cave  where  chains  for 
the  mind  are  forged ;  and  with  all  that  will  impose 
it  on  ns  that  he  is,  all  unchanged,  the  same  Child 
of  light  which  he  always  was ;  he  denies  his  denial, 
and  to  the  infamy  of  the  renegade  he  adds  the 
cowardice  of  the  liar.  I 

We  cannot  conceal  it,  neither  from  reverence 
or  prudence.  We  will  not  be  silent ;  we  say  that 
the  person  who  once  most  boldly  preached  in 
Germany  the  religion  of  Pantheism;  who  pro- 
claimed most  boldly  the  sanctification  of  Nature 
and  the  rehabilitation  of  man  in  his  divine  rights 
— this  teacher  became  an  apostate  to  his  own 
doctrine ;  he  left  the  altar  which  he  had  himself 
consecrated ;  he  has  slunk  back  into  the  stall  of 
the  faith  of  the  past ;  he  is  now  a  good  Catholic, 
and  preaches  an  extra-mundane  personal  God, 
"who  had  the  folly  to  create  a  world."  Let  the 
old  believers  ring  away  with  their  bells,  and  sing 
Kyrie  eleison  over  such  a  conversion !  It  proves 
nothing  for  their  doctrine ;  it  only  proves  that  man 
turns  to  Catholicism  ^  when  he  is  weary  and  old, 
when  he  has  lost  his  physical  and  mental  strength, 
and  can  no  longer  think  and  enjoy.     So  many  free- 


1  Instead  of  "Catholicism,"  the  French  version  has  "que 
Thomme  tonme  k  la  religion  quand  il  est  vieux  et  fatiga^"^ 
quite  as  Heine. himself  did. 


FROM  KANT  TO  HEGEL.  199 

thinkers  have  been  converted  on  their  death-beds 
— but  do  not  boast  of  it !  These  tales  of  conver- 
sions belong  at  best  to  pathology,  and  give  but 
indifferent  witness  for  your  cause.  They  only 
prove,  after  all,  that  it  was  not  possible  to  con- 
vert those  free- thinkers  while  they  wandered  with 
sound  minds  under  God's  free  heaven  and  were  as 
yet  in  full  possession  of  their  intellects.* 

I  believe  that  Ballanche  says  that  it  is  a  natural 
law  that  initiators  must  die  as  soon  as  the  work  of 
initiation  is  completed.  Ah !  my  good  Ballanche, 
that  is  only  half-true,  and  I  would  sooner  assert 
that  when  the  work  of  initiatioit  is  at  an  end  the 
initiator  dies  or — becomes  a  renegade.  And  so  it 
may  be  that  we  can  somewhat  soften  the  severe 
judgment  which  intellectual  Germany  has  passed 
on  Schelling ;  we  may  convert  into  calm  pity  the 
severe  and  strong  contempt  which  lies  heavy  on 
him,  and  explain  his  apostasy  from  his  own  doctrine 
as  a  consequence  of  that  law  of  Nature  that  he 
who  exhausted  all  his  forces  on  the  expression  or 
execution  of  a  thought  must,  after  he  has  spoken 
or  acted  it  out,  sink  exhausted,  either  into  the 
arms  of  death  or  those  of  his  former  foes. 

By  such  explanation  we  may  understand  even 
more  startliug  phenomena  of  the  time  which  deeply 

^  According  to  a  medisval  Latin  adage  thus  Englished  : — 
"  The  devil  fell  ill,  the  devil  a  monk  would  be ; 
The  devil  got  well,  and  the  devil  a  monk  was  be." 


■'*>».-fl*V-*  ,;^f:.\'*::**-/,y^  _i;r^..,^^.it~f^.y.-.A.'^JS^^^  >.:.-^»; ,•!,/>. 


soo 


FROM  KANT  TO  HEGEL. 


disturb  us.  Through  it  we  may  comprehend  why 
men  who  have  sacrificed  everything,  and  battled 
and  suffered  for  their  opinions,  even  after  victory 
have  abandoned  their  principles  and  gone  over  to 
the  enemy.  After  this  declaration  I  may  call  atten- 
tion to  the  fact  that  not  only  Joseph  Schelling,  but 
to  a  certain  degree  also  Fichte  and  Kant,  have  been 
guilty  of  apostasy.  Fichte  died  betimes,  ere  his 
falling  off  from  his  own  philosophy  became  too 
startling,  and  Kant  was  also  untrue  to  the 
"Critique  of  Pure  Reason,"  since  he  wrote  the 
"Critique  of  Practical  Reason."  The  initiator 
dies  or  renegades 

I  know  not  how  it  comes,  but  this  last  sen- 
tence acts  upon  my  soul  so  subduingly  that  I  am 
not  just  now  in  the  mood  to  utter  certain  other 
harsh  truths  regarding  Schelling.  Let  us  rather 
praise  the  Schelling  of  by-gone  days,  whose  me- 
mory blooms  for  ever  in  the  annals  of  German 
thought;  for  the  former  Schelling  represents,  as 
did  Kant  and  Fichte,  one  of  the  great  phases  of 
our  philosophical  revolution,  which  I  have  in  these 
pages  compared  to  the  political  Revolution  of 
France.  In  fact,  if  one  can  find  in  Kant  the 
terrorist  Convention,  and  in  Fichte  the  newer 
Empire  of  Napoleon,  we  may  see  in  Schelling  the 
restoring  reaction  which  followed  it.  But  it  was 
above  all,  a  Restoration  in  a  better  sense,  for 
Schelling  restored  to  Nature  its  legitimate  rights ; 


■  *■.'■/>■■ 


!Uf«A»<4«  ■ 


FROM  KANT  TO  HEGEL. 


Mt 


he  strove  to  recondle  Spirit  and  Nature;  lie 
would  unite  both  in  the  eternal  World-Soul. 
He  restored  that  great  philosophy  of  Nature 
which  we  find  among  the  old  Greek  philosophers, 
which  was  first  led  by  Socrates,  more  into  in- 
vestigating the  human  soul  itself,  and  which 
afterwards  ran  into  the  Ideal.^  He  restored 
that  great  philosophy  of  Nature,  which,  secretly 
sprouting  from  the  ancient  pantheistic  religion 
of  Germany,  promised  in  Paracelsus  the  most 
beautiful  flowers,  but  which  was  crushed  by  the 
advent  of  Cartesianism.  And — more's  the  pity ! 
— ^he  at  last  restored  things  in  which  he  may  be 
compared  in  evil  sense  to  the  French  Revolution. 
But  then  public  reason  would  no  longer  endure 
him,  and  he  was  shamefully  cast  down  from  the 
throne  of  thought.  Hegel,  his  majordomo,  took 
the  crown  from  his  head,  and  it  was  shorn,  and 
the  deposed  Schelling  lives  sinuc  then  like  a 
monkling  in  a  city  which  shows  its  Popish- 
parson  character  in  its  name,  and  is  called  in 
Latin  Monacho-Monachorum.*  There  I  saw  him 
wandering  about  ghost-like,  with  his  great  pale 


^  In  the  French  version,  "II  restaura  cette  grande  philosophie 
de  la  nature  que  noua  trouvons  d^jk  chez  les  anciens  philosophes 
grecs  avant  Socrate." 

^  Munich.  Its  coat  of  arms  represents  a  monk  bearing  a  book 
— probably  the  Decretals.  Schelling  subsequently  went  to 
Berlin. — Translator. 


*  ■  •<*  ■•««  4!>Vfe-#k*.»«i  4k«««**-  J^****  ■; 


►"■-"^r^.-fk  *  ij^yxv't'' 


»:.  ^  *  ...y,^*.^*.  jXjj,  V^*^  - 


ao8 


FROM  KANT  TO  HEQSI*. 


eyes  and  his  down-cast  apathetic  ^  face,  a  pitiful 
picture  of  fallen  glory.  Hegel  let  himself  be 
crowned,  and — more's  the  pity ! — also  oiled  a  little 
in  Berlin,  and  since  then  has  reigned  in  the  land 
of  German  philosophy. 

Our  philosophical  revolution  is  ended.  Hegel 
completes  the  grand  cydus.  We  have  seen  since 
then  only  the  development  and  perfectioning  of 
the  doctrine  of  the  philosophy  of  Nature.  This  has, 
as  I  said,  penetrated  into  all  learning  and  science, 
and  has  produced  the  most  extraordinary  and  grand- 
est results ;  and,  as  I  have  indicated,  much  that 
was  not  pleasant  has  also  to  come  to  light  These 
facts — or  failures — are  so  numerous  that  it  would 
require  a  book  to  recount  them ;  and  this  is  the 
really  interesting  and  most  highly  coloured  part  of 
our  history  of  philosophy.  And  yet  I  am  convinced 
that  it  will  be  better  for  the  French  to  know  nothing 
about  it  all,  for  such  information  could  only  tend 
to  bewilder  the  heads  of  the  French.  Many  pas- 
sages of  the  philosophy  of  Nature  torn  from  their 
connection  might  do  you  much  harm.^   This  much 

*  "Mit  seinem  abgestumptten  Gesichte."  Abgettvmpftheit, 
apathy,  dolness,  bluntedneu,  from  «tump/,  a  itump,  a  snobbed 
or  short  end.  Heine  hints  here  at  the  snub-noae  and  peculiar 
physiognomy  of  Sobelling.  One  writer  declares  that  he  was  a 
perfect  facsimile  of  Socrates  ;  an  American  friend  of  mine  who 
attended  bis  lectures  insisted  that  the  great  philosopher  looked 
exactly  like  a  frog  I — TrandaXor. 

*  The  danger  here  was  not,  however,  that  the  heads  of  the 
French  would  be  bewildered,  as  that  Heine's  own  would  have 


>,iv., •>♦...  yVj^ 


»»»*I^»»4    *    «'. -.^l*.. 


FROM  KANT  TO  HEOEL.  203 

I  kiK)w,  that  had  you  been  familiar  fonr  years  ago 
(in  1830)  with  the  German  philosophy  of  Nature, 
you  would  never  have  had  the  Revdution  of  July. 
There  was  needed  for  such  a  deed  such  a  concentra- 
tion of  thought  and  power,  such  a  noble  partiality, 
a  certain  virtue,  and  a  certain  degree  of  reckless- 
ness, such  as  only  your  old  school  allows.  Philo- 
sophical perversities  which  might  be  employed  to 
plead  for  Legitimacy  and  the  Catholic  doctrine  of 
the  Incarnation  would  have  chilled  your  inspira- 
tion and  checked  your  courage.  I  regard  it,  there- 
fore, as  important  for  the  history  of  the  world  that 
your  great  Eclectic,  who  then  wished  to  teach  you 
German  philosophy,  did  not  understand  it  in  the 
least  His  providential  ignorance  was  salutary  for 
France  and  for  all  mankind.^ 

Alas !  the  philosophy  of  Nature,  which  brought 
forth  such  glorious  fruit  in  many  regions  of 
science,  especially  in  the  strictly  natural  sciences, 

been  sadly  turned  by  snch  a  task.  Nataral  philosophy  or  physics 
was  certainly  not  his  forU.  Bnt  the  excuse  is  exquisitely  Heine- 
like. "  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  I  would  gladly  explain  for  you 
the  problems  of  science,  but  I  really  fear  they  would  be  too 
much  for  your  weak  minds.  Poutont  I  the  band  will  now  play 
the  Marseillaise  !  " — TVaniZotor. 

^  This  is  in  allusion  to  Victor  Cousin,  whom  Heine  never 
missed  an  opportunity  to  ridicule.  In  the  Frendi  version  this 
is  quite  changed,  not  to  give  offence  to  the  French,  and  reads  a« 
follows  :  "  Je  regarde  done  comme  un  fait  tr^-important  dans 
I'histoire  du  monde,  que  certains  mi$»ionaira  aUememdt  qui 
vinrent  alors  k  Paris  pour  vous  enseigner  la  philosophie  alle- 
mande,  n'en  aient  compris  le  premier  mot." — Trantlator. 


■*'-*«"  >*-i^..»-*^...*-«i^^^-     *'  ■   ^      .'**-^    ',*■,-.     V  .*^.--^   w.^ 


204 


FROM  KANT  TO  HEOEL. 


produced  in  others  only  the  most  noxious  weeds. 
While  Oken,  the  most  genial  thinker  and  one  of 
the  great  citizens  of  Germany,  discovered  his  new 
"  World  of  Ideas,  "^  and  inspired  our  German  youth 
for  the  first  principles  of  humanity,  for  freedom 
and  equality, — ah !  at  the  same  time  Adam  Miiller 
was  teaching  the  stall-feeding  of  nations  like 
cattle,  according  to  natural  philosophical  prin- 
ciples, and  Gorres  preached  the  obscurantism  of 
the  Middle  Age  according  to  the  natural  scientific 
view  that  the  state  is  a  tree,  and  that  it  should  in 
its  organic  distribution  also  have  a  trunk,  branches, 
and  leaves,  as  is  so  admirably  set  forth  in  the  hier- 
archy of  the  corporations  of  the  Middle  Ages. 
About  this  time  Mr.  Steffens  proclaimed  as  philo- 
sophic law  that  the  peasant  class  were  distinguished 
from  the  noble  in  this,  that  the  peasant  was  meant 
by  Nature  to  work  without  enjoying  himself,  and 
the  noble  privileged  to  enjoy  himself  without 
working.  Yes,  a  few  months  since,  as  I  am  told, 
an  ignorant  country  squire  in  Westphalia,  a  jack- 
fool,  I  believe,  with  the  name  of  Haxthausen,' 

^  In  the  French  version,  "d^uvrait  de  nouveaux  mondes 
d'id^es."  "Like  cattle,"  in  the  next  sentence,  occurs  only  in 
the  French  text. — Trandator. 

*  "Ein  Krantjanker  in  Weatphalen,  ein  Hans  Narr,  ich  glaube 
mit  dem  Zunamen  Haxthausen."  Hazthansen  was  indeed  an 
aristocrat,  but  he  was  not  an  ignorant  boor  or  maitre-»ot,  or  even 
a  fooL  His  great  work  on  Russia  fully  deserves  to  be  ranked 
and  read  with  that  of  Wallace,  and  it  certainly  indicates  that 
the  author  was  a  man  of  the  world  and  a  scholar. — TraTulator. 


*^.  «  K    t    -^  *. 


.*t  i^.»-  ,*««»4-*'<**V*-*'*'«*C>^i««*irT' 


FROM  KANT  TO  HEGEL.  205  ;  / 

published  a  work  in  which  he  petitions  the  royal 
Prussian  Government  to  consider  the  parallelism 
and  its  results  which  philosophy  proves  in  the  whole 
organism  of  the  world,  and  to  draw  the  political 
lines  closer;  for  as  there  are  four  elements,  fire, 
air,  water,  and  earth,  so  there  are  four  analogous 
elements  in  society — the  nobility,  clergy,  citizens, 
and  peasants. 

When  such  dire  follies  were  seen  to  burgeon  on 
the  tree  of  philosophy  and  shoot  into  poisonous 
flowers,  especially  when  it  was  observed  that  the 
German  youth,  lost  in  metaphysical  abstractions, 
passed  unnoticed  the  most  urgent  questions  of 
the  time,  and  became  unfit  for  practical  life, 
the  patriots  and  friends  of  freedom  felt  a  right- 
eous indignation  against  philosophy,  and  many 
went  so  far  as  to  give  it  a  death-sentence  as  a 
vain,  worthless  beating  the  air.^ 

We  will  not  be  so  foolish  as  to  seriously  con- 
fute these  malcontents.  German  philosophy  is  a 
serious  affair,  which  concerns  all  mankind,  and 
our  remote   descendants  will   alone   be  able   to 

^  "  Einige  gingen  so  weit  ifar  als  einer  miissigen  mitzlosen 
Lnftfechterei  ganzs  den  Stab  zu  brechen."  In  alluBion  to  the 
old  custom  of  breaking  a  stick  when  prononncing  a  sentence  of 
death.  Alluding  to  Korte  (Spriehworter  der  Deuttehen),  this 
was  establijBhed  by  Charles  Y.,  and  meant  death  without  hope 
of  pardon  or  reprieve.  Heine's  French  translator,  not  under- 
standing the  expression,  gives  it  as  "  quelques  uns  ont  ii4  jusqu*^ 
rompre  avec  elle  ! " — TrantUUor. 


..* 


•OS  FROM  KANT  TO  HEQBL. 

judge  whether  we  are  to  praiae  or  blame  for  having 
first  worked  out  our  philosophy,  and  after  that  our 
revolution.  It  seems  to  me  that  such  a  methodical 
race  as  ours  must  begin  with  the  Reformation, 
then  busy  ourselves  with  philosophy,  and  finally, 
after  finishing  with  it,  pass  on  to  political  revolu- 
tion. I  find  this  series  of  succession  all  in  order. 
The  heads  which  philosophy  has  used  for  reflection, 
the  revolution  may  hereafter  chop  ofiE  as  may 
suit  its  purposes;  but  philosophy  could  have  no 
earthly  use  for  heads  which  a  preceding  revolu- 
tion had  decapitated.  Let  not  your  hearts  be 
disquieted,  ye  German  republicans ;  your  German 
revolution  will  be  none  the  gentler  and  milder 
because  the  "Critique"  of  Kant,  the  Fichtean 
Transcendental-Idealism,  and  even  the  philosophy 
of  Nature,  preceded  it.  These  doctrines  have 
developed  revolutionary  forces  which  only  await 
the  day  to  break  forth  and  fill  the  world  with  terror 
and  astonishment.  There  will  be  Kantians  forth- 
coming who  in  the  new  world  to  come  will  know 
nothing  of  reverence  for  aught,  and  who  will 
ravage  without  mercy,  and  riot  with  sword  and 
axe  through  the  soil  of  all  European  life  to  dig 
out  the  last  root  of  the  past.  There  will  be  well- 
weaponed  Fichteans  on  the  ground,  who  in  the 
fanaticism  of  the  Will  are  not  to  be  restrained  by 
fear  or  self-advantage,  for  they  live  in  the  Spirit. 
They  defy  matter,  like  the  early  Christians,  who 


FROM  KANT  TO  HEGEL.  mf 

were  not  to  be  influenced  by  bodily  torture 
or  worldly  delights;  nay,  such  Transcendental- 
Idealists  would  be  in  a  social  revolution  more 
inflexible  than  those  Christians,  for  they  endured 
earthly  martyrdom  that  they  might  thereby  at- 
tain to  heavenly  bliss,  while  the  Transcendental 
Idealist  regards  martyrdom  itself  as  mere  ap- 
pearance, and  is  inaccessible  in  the  citadel  of  his 
own  thought.  But  the  philosophers  of  Nature 
would  be  more  terrible  than  all  of  these,  should 
they  practically  engage  in  a  German  revolution, 
and  identify  themselves  with  the  work  of  destruc- 
tion. For  if  the  hand  of  the  Kantian  strikes 
strongly  and  surely,  it  is  because  his  heart  is 
moved  by  no  traditional  regard  or  respect ;  if  the 
Fichtean  dares  all  dangers  because  for  him  they 
do  not  exist  in  reality,^  and  the  philosopher  of 
Nature  will  be  terrible  because  he  will  appear  in 
alli£ince  with  the  primitive  powers  of  Nature,  able 
to  evoke  the  demoniac  energies  of  old  Germanic 
Pantheism — doing  which  there  will  awake  in  him 
that  battle-madness  which  we  find  among  the 
ancient  Teutonic  races  who  fought  neither  to 
kill  nor  conquer,  but  for  the  very  love  of  fighting 
itself.     It  is  the  fairest  merit  of  Christianity  that 

^  Heine  here  falls  into  the  error,  which  he  at  one  time 
pointed  out,  of  believing  that  Fichte  taught  the  absolute  non- 
existence of  things  in  relation  to  the  Me,  in  which  error  he  was 
fully  equalled  by  Goethe,  Disraeli,  and  all  who  have  attempted 
to  be  funny  at  Fichte's  expense. — Translator. 


208 


FROM  KANT  TO  HEGEL. 


it  somewhat  mitigated  that  brutal  German  gaudium 
ceriaminis  or  joy  in  battle,  but  it  could  not 
destroy  it.  And  should  that  subduing  talisman, 
the  Cross,  break,  then  will  come  crashing  and 
roaring  forth  the  wild  madness  of  the  old 
champions,  the  insane  Berserker  rage,  of  which 
Northern  poets  say  and  sing.  That  talisman  is 
brittle,  and  the  day  will  come  when  it  will  pitifully 
break.^  The  old  stone  gods  will  rise  from  long- 
forgotten  ruin,  and  rub  the  dust  of  a  thousand 
years  from  their  eyes,  and  Thor,  leaping  to  life 
with  his  giant  hammer,  will  crush  the  Gothic 
cathedrals!  But  when  those  days  shall  come, 
and  ye  hear  the  stamping  and  ring  of  arms,  guard 
ye  well,  ye  neighbours'  children,  ye  French,  and 
put  not  forth  your  hands  into  what  we  are 
doing  in  Germany,  for  verily  evil  will  come  upon 
you  for  that.  Beware  lest  ye  blow  the  fire,  and 
take  good  heed  that  ye  do  not  quench  it ;  ye  can 
in  so  doing  all  too  easily  bum  your  fingers.  And 
laugh  not  at  my  advice,  the  advice  of  a  dreamer 
who  warns  you  against  Kantians,  Fichteans,  and 
philosophers  of  Nature,  nor  at  the  fantastist  who 
awaits  in  the  world  of  things  to  be  seen  that 
which  has  been  before  in  the  realm  of  shadows. 
Thought  goes  before  the  deed  as  lightning 
precedes  thunder.     German  thunder    is  indeed 

^  Thia  sentence  is  wanting  in  the  French  version.     It  appears 
to  have  been  left  by  oversight  in  the  original — TrantUUor. 


FROM  KANT  TO  HBOEL.  209 

German,  and  not  in  a  hurry,  and  it  comes  rolling 
slowly  onward;  but  come  it  will,  and  when  ye 
hear  it  crash  as  nanght  ever  crashed  before  in  the 
whole  history  of  the  world,  then  know  that  der 
deutsche  Donner,  onr  German  thnnder,  has  at  last 
hit  the  mark.  At  that  sonnd  the  eagles  will  fall 
dead  from  on  high,  the  lions  in  remotest  deserts 
in  Africa  will  draw  in  their  tails  and  creep  into 
their  royal  caves.  There  will  be  played  in 
Germany  a  drama  compared  to  which  the  French 
Revolution  will  be  only  an  innocent  idyL  Just 
now  all  is  tolerably  quiet,  and  if  here  and  there 
some  one  behaves  in  a  lively  manner,  do  not 
believe  for  that  that  the  great  actors  have  as  yet 
appeared  on  the  stage.  They  are  only  the  little 
dogs  who  run  round  in  the  amphitheatre,  and 
bark  and  bite  one  another,  before  the  hour  begins 
when  the  great  array  of  gladiators  will  enter,  and 
war  to  the  death  or  for  life. 

And  the  hour  will  come.  As  on  the  benches 
of  an  amphitheatre,  the  races  will  group  round 
Germany  to  behold  the  great  battle-play.  I  warn 
ye  then.  Frenchmen,  keep  very  quiet,  and  for  your 
lives  do  not  applaud.  We  might  easily  misunder- 
stand it,  and  in  our  rude  manner  teach  you  roughly 
to  keep  quiet;  for  if  we  long  ago,  when  in  our 
weary,  worn,  and  servile  state,  were  able  to  subdue 
you,  we  shall  have  still  greater  power  to  do  so 
when  in  the  haughty  pride  of  youthful  intoxication 

VOL.  L  O 


£io  FROM  KANT  TO  HEGEL. 

of  freedom.*  You  yourselves  know  what  a  man 
can  do  in  such  condition,  and  you  are  no  longer 
in  that  state.  And  so  beware !  I  mean  you  well, 
and  so  speak  bitter  truth.  You  have  more  to  fear 
from  Germany  set  free  than  from  all  the  Holy 
Alliance  with  all  the  Croats  and  Cossacks.  For, 
firstly,  you  are  not  much  beloved  in  Grermany, 
which  is  almost  incomprehensible,  for  you  are 
really  very  amiable,  and  while  you  were  in  Ger- 
many gave  yourselves  great  trouble  to  please,  at 
least  the  better  and  more  beautiful  half  of  our 
people ;  but  then,  if  that  half  did  love  you,  un- 
fortunately it  is  the  one  which  does  not  bear  arms, 
and  whose  good-will  would  bring  you  little  gain. 
What  it  is  with  which  they  really  reproach  you  I 
could  never  really  understand.^  Once  in  a  beer- 
cellar  in  Gottingen  a  young  Old  German  declared 
that  Germany  should  take  revenge  on  the  French, 
for  Conradin  von  Hohenstaufen,  whom  they  had  be- 
headed at  Naples.  You  have  forgotten  about  that, 
long,  long  ago.    But  we  forget  nothing.    You  will 

*  "  Wenn    wir   fniherhin  .  .  .  euch   manchmal  iiberwdltigen 
konnten  "  in  the  original  is  judiciously  changed  in  the  French 
version  to  "si  adis  nous  avons  pu  nous  mesurer  avec  vous."- 
Trandator. 

*  Twenty-two  invasions  of  Germany,  the  last  within  the 
memory  of  thousands  who  were  living  when  Heine  wrote, 
accompanied  by  every  excess  of  murder  and  ravage,  was  one  of 
the  causes  of  reproach  which  he,  as  he  says,  "could  never 
really  understand. " — Translator.  i 


FROM  KANT  TO  HEGEL.       .  an 

find  that  when  we  shall  desire  to  grapple  with  you, 
there  will  be  no  want  of  sound  and  solid  reasons. 
In  any  case,  I  counsel  you  to  be  well  on  your  guard. 
Let  happen  in  Germany  what  may,  whether  the 
Prince  Koyal  of  Prussia  ^  or  Doctor  Wirth  be  dic- 
tator, keep  your  armour  on,  remain  quietly  at  your 
posts,  weapon  on  arm.  I  have  kindest  feeling  for 
you,  and  I  was  almost  alarmed  when  I  read  lately 
that  your  Minister  proposed  to  disarm  France. 

As,  despite  your  present  Romanticism,  you  are 
bom  classics,  you  know  well  Olympus.  Among 
the  naked  gods  and  goddesses  who  there  make 
merry  over  nectar  and  ambrosia,  you  may  see  one 
goddess  who,  though  surrounded  by  such  festivity 
and  gaiety,  ever  wears  a  coat  of  mail  and  bears 
helmet  on  head  and  spear  in  hand. 

It  is  the  Goddess  of  Wisdom. 


*  In  the  first  manuscript  this  is  given  as   "the  Prince  of 
Kyritz." — Oerman  PvUisher, 


LETTERS    ON    GERMANY. 


LETTER  L 


•        • 


•        • 


You,  Sir,  not  long  ago,  in  the  Reoue  des  Deux 
Mondes,  apropos  of  a  criticism  against  yonr 
Frankfort  fellow-conntrywoman  Bettina  AmTnim, 
alluded  with  enthusiasm  to  the  authoress  of 
"Oorinne,"  which  was  certainly  sincere,  since  you 
attempted  to  show  how  far  she  surpassed  the 
women- writers  of  to-day,  that  is,  the  Mdres  d^^glise 
and  the  Mh'es  des  comjpagnons.  I  do  not  share 
your  opinions  in  this  respect,  which,  however,  I 
will  not  here  controvert,  and  which  I  shall  every- 
where respect,  where  they  do  not  contribute  to 
spread  in  France  erroneous  views  as  to  Ger- 
many, its  affairs  and  representatives  It  was  only 
with  these  views  that  I  twelve  years  ago  opposed 
the  work  De  VAllemagne  of  Madame  de  Stael  in 
one  of  my  own,  which  bore  the  same  title.     To 


LETTERS  ON  GERM ASY.  213 

this  book  I  attached  a  series  of  letters,  the  first  of 
which  shall  be  dedicated  to  yon. 


Yes,  woman  is  a  dangerous  being.  I  can  sing 
a  song  abont  that  Other  people  have  had  tius 
bitter  experience,  and  only  yesterday  a  friend  told 
me  thereanent  a  terrible  tale.  He  had  met  in 
the  Church  St  M^ry  a  young  German  artist, 
who  said  to  him  mysteriously,  "  You  have  attacked 

Madame  la  Comtesse  de in  a  German  article, 

and  you  are  doomed  to  death  should  you  do  so 
again.  Elle  a  quatre  hommes,  qui  ne  demandent 
pas  mieux  que  d'ob^r  a  ses  ordres."  Is  not  that 
terrible  ?  Does  it  not  sound  like  a  shudder-and- 
midnight  piece  by  Anne  Badcliffe  ?  Is  not  this 
woman  a  kind  of  Tour-de-Nesle  ?  She  only  needs 
nod,  and  four  assassins  spring  out  on  you  and 
give  you  a  death-blow,  if  not  physically,  at  least 
morally.  But  how  did  this  lady  gain  this  awful 
power?  Is  she  so  beautiful,  so  aristocratic,  so 
virtuous,  so  full  of  talent  that  she  should  exercise 
such  boundless  influence  on  her  slaves,  and  that 
these  should  so  blindly  obey  her  ?  No !  she  does 
not  possess  these  gifts  of  nature  or  of  fortune 
to  any  too  great  an  extent.  I  will  not  say  that 
she  is  ugly,  for  no  woman  is  that;  but  I  can 
with  right  and  reason  declare  that  if  Helena  of 
Troy  had  looked  like  this  lady,  the  whole  Trojan 


'♦•  «•:*,<«»   1^   III"     rfcmi^^fc-.wni  ^ 


214 


LETTERS  ON  GERMANY. 


war  would  never  have  been,  the  citadel  of  Troy 
would  never  have  been  burned,  and  Homer  would 
never  have  sung  the  wrath  of  Pelides  Achilles. 
Nor  is  she  of  such  noble  family,  and  the  egg  from 
which  she  crawled  was  not  begotten  by  a  god  nor 
hatched  out  by  a  queen — that  is,  in  birth  she 
matches  not  with  Helen,  being  simply  sprung 
from  a  citizen  shopman  in  Frankfort.  Nor  are 
her  treasures  so  great  as  those  which  the  Queen 
of  Sparta  had  as  dower  when  Paris,  who  the 
cithern  sweetly  played — pianos  had  not  been 
invented  then — took  her  away  from  home.  On 
the  contrary,  the  tradesmen  of  the  lady  sadly  sigh ; 
her  dentist  says  she  owes  him  for  her  teeth.  Only 
as  regards  virtue  can  she  be  compared  to  the 
famous  Madame  Menelaus. 

Yes,  women  are  dangerous ;  but  I  must  remark 
by  the  way  that  the  beautiful  in  this  respect  are  as 
nothing  to  the  ugly  ones ;  for  the  former  are  accus- 
tomed to  have  men  run  after  them,  but  the  latter 
run  after  the  men,  and  thereby  accumulate  a  mighty 
gang  of  retainers.  This  is  especially  the  case  in 
literature.  And  here  I  would  observe  that  all  the 
most  prominent  French  women-writers  of  to-day 
are  very  pretty.  There  is  George  Sand,  author  of 
the  ^ssai  sur  le  DSveloppement  du  Dogme  Catholique, 
and  Delphine  Girardin,  Madame  Merlin,  and  Louis 
Collet,  who  all  put  to  shame  all  the  shabby  witti- 
cisms as  to  the  gracelessness  of  those  daughters 


••  '.A*«(  C- 


LETTERS  ON  GERMANY.  »I5 

of  the  Graces,  the  blue-stockings,  and  who,  when 
we  read  their  writings  by  night  alone  in  bed,  make 
us  long  to  be  able  to  personally  testify  our  admira- 
tion and  respect  for  their  genius !  How  beautiful 
George  Sand  is,  and  how  gentle  even  for  those 
spiteful  tabby  cats  who  smooth  her  with  one  paw 
and  scratch  with  the  other,  or  even  for  the  dogs 
who  most  furiously  bay  and  bark  at  her ;  like  the 
moon  in  her  fulness  and  glory,  she  shines  down  on 
them !  And  the  Princess  Belgiojoso,  this  beauty 
who  yearns  for  truth,  any  man  may  slander  her  un- 
harmed ;  anybody  may  throw  mud  on  a  Madonna 
by  Raffaele;  she  will  not  defend  herself.  And 
Madame  Merlin,  of  whom  not  only  her  enemies, 
but  even  her  friends  always  speak  well,  she  too, 
accustomed  to  respect  and  honour,  hardly  knows 
what  the  language  of  rudeness  means,  and  when 
she  hears  it,  stares  in  amazement.  The  beautiful 
Muse  Delphine,  when  abused,  grasps  her  lyre,  and 
her  anger  is  poured  out  in  a  burning,  glowing 
stream  of  Alexandrines.  Say  anything  insolent 
of  Madame  Collet,  and  she  will  catch  up  a  kitchen- 
knife  as  if  to  stab  you ;  but  there  is  no  real  danger. 

But  don't  abuse  the  Countess !    That  done, 

thou  art  a  child  of  death,  doomed  and  damned ! 
Four  masked  ruffians  leap  out  on  thee ;  four 
souteneurs  littSraires  ^ — that  is  the  Tour-de-Nesle 

^  A  terribly  severe  bit.     A  souteneur  is  a  prostitute's  bally, 


i^.f .  »^»^^','»«^.*-r-^--  -  .-  ^  •  .... -i.  k^-*^;  •---••4i^»,v.»« 


si6 


LETTERS  ON  GERMANY, 


— thou  art  stabbed,  strangled,  drowned ;  the  nert 
morning  thy  corpse  will  be  found  in  the  JSntre- 
fiUts  of  La  Presse.  \ 

I  retnm  to  Madame  de  Stael,  who  was  not 
beautiful,  and  who  made  much  trouble  for  the 
great  Emperor  Napoleon.  She  did  not  limit  her- 
self to  writing  books  against  him,  but  sought  to 
wreak  vengeance  by  non-literary  means.  She  was 
for  a  time  the  soul  of  diplomatic  intrigues,  which 
always  anticipated  the  Emperor,  and  she  well 
knew  how  to  throw  assassins  at  the  throat  of  her 
foe,  only  that  these  were  not  valets,  like  the 
champions  of  the  lady  whom  I  have  mentioned, 
but  kings.  Napoleon  was  conquered,  and  Madame 
de  Stael  entered  Paris  in  triumph,  with  her  book 
J)e  VAUtmagne  and  several  hundred  thousand 
ducats  which  she  also  brought  as  a  living  illus- 
tration of  her  work. 

Since  that  time  the  French  have  become  Chris- 
tians and  Romanticists  and  Counts ;  all  of  which 
concerns  me  not,  and  a  race  has  well  the  right  to 
become  as  wearisome  and  lukewarm  as  it  pleases, 
and  all  the  more  because  it  was  once  the  most 
brilliant  in  soul  and  the  most  heroic  which  ever 


the  lowest  and  vilest  of  mankind,  who  lives  by  the  earnings 
of  a  pablio  woman,  and  in  return  intimidates  or  extorts  money 
from  her  victims.  It  was  such  passages  which  earned  for  Heine 
among  his  enemies  the  tobriquet  of  the  Pietro  Aretino — the 
fiagtUum  priiMtpKfli — of  the  nineteenth  century. 


LETTERS  ON  GERMANY.  aijr 

fortdJGed  and  battled  here  on  earth.  And  still  I 
am  somewhat  interested  in  this  transformation, 
for  when  the  French  renounced  Satan  and  all  his 
glory,  they  also  abandoned  the  Rhenish  provinces, 
and  I  became  by  this  a  Fmssian.  Yes,  hnmbly  as 
the  word  sounds,  I  am  it — I  am  a  Prussian,  by  the 
power  of  conquest.  Only  by  compulsion,  when  I 
could  no  longer  endure  it,  did  I  succeed  in  breaking 
my  ban,  since  which  time  I  live  as  Prussien  libera 
here  in  Paris,  where  at  once  after  my  arrival  it 
became  one  of  my  chief  employments  to  make  war 
on  the  prevailing  book  of  Madame  de  Stael. 

I  did  this  in  a  series  of  articles  which  I  soon 
published  as  a  complete  book  under  the  title  De 
VAllemagne.  I  did  not  intend,  by  choosing  this 
title,  to  enter  into  literary  competition  with  the 
work  of  this  distinguished  lady.  I  am  one  of  the 
chief  admirers  of  her  intellectual  ability ;  she  has 
genius,  but  unfortunately  this  genius  has  a  sex, 
and — ^more's  the  pity ! — it  is  a  feminine  one.  It 
was  my  duty  as  a  man  to  oppose  that  brilliant 
cancan  or  gossiping,  which  was  the  more  danger- 
ous because  she  in  her  revelations  as  to  Germany 
brought  forward  a  mass  of  matters  which  were 
unknown  in  France,  and  which  fascinated  many 
by  the  charm  of  novelty.  I  did  not  dwell  on 
casual  errors  and  falsifications ;  I  confined  myself 
to  showing  the  French  what  was  the  real  meaning 
of  that  Homantic  school  which  was  so  exalted 


-♦-  -*'.«-i»*-»...i'rT^  ■*^*'^^•^  r-*  ■-  >--..-^.    *.     k- — *.    y-»-*iW. .  .*^  fir^  »  .  yi^y  ^-^ 


2l8 


LETTERS  ON  GERMANY. 


and  praised  by  Madame  de  Stael.  I  showed  that 
it  consisted  only  of  a  handful  of  worms,  which  the 
Holy  Fisherman  at  Rome  knew  very  well  how  to 
use  to  bait  souls  withal.  Since  which  time  many 
Frenchmen  have  had  their  eyes  opened  in  this 
respect,  and  even  many  good  Christian  souls  have 
seen  how  much  I  was  in  the  right  to  show  in  a 
German  mirror  the  intriguing  which  is  slinking 
and  slipping  about  in  France,  and  which  now 
raises  its  shorn  head  more  boldly  than  ever. 

I  also  wished  to  give  sound  and  true  information 
as  to  German  philosophy,  and  I  believe  that  I 
have  done  it.  I  have  candidly  and  frankly  told 
the  secret  story  out  of  school  which  was  only 
known  to  the  scholars  in  the  highest  class,  and 
here  in  France  people  strutted  and  plumed  them- 
selves not  a  little  even  this  revolution.  I  re- 
member how  Pierre  Leroux  ^  met  me  and  frankly 
confessed  that  he  had  always  believed  that  German 
philosophy  was  a  kind  of  mystical  fog,  and  the 
German  philosophers  a  species  of  pious  seers  who 
only  breathed  in  the  fear  of  God.  I  have  not,  of 
course,  been  able  to  give  the  French  any  detailed 
description  of  our  different  systems ;  I  loved  them 
too  well  to  bore  them  to  such  an  extent,  but  I 
have  betrayed  to  them  the  very  last  and  deepest 


^  A  very  learned  antiquarian  and  bibliographer,  well  known 
M  author  of  several  works  od  the  Middle  Age,  &c. — Trarulator. 


.Jt"  nf^,  ' 


LETTERS  ON  GERMANY.  219 

thoughts  which  lie  at  the  bottom  of  all  these 
systems,  and  which  are  the  very  opposite  of  every- 
thing which  we  have  ever  regarded  as  religion. 
Philosophy  has  carried  on  against  Christianity  in 
Germany  the  same  war  which  it  once  waged  in 
the  Greek  world  against  the  older  mythology,  and 
here  again  it  won  the  victory.  In  theory  the 
religion  of  to-day  is  also  knocked  on  the  head ; 
it  is  killed  as  to  the  idea,  and  it  leads  only  a 
mechanical  life  like  a  fly  which  has  had  its  head 
cut  off,  yet  does  not  seem  to  mind  it,  and  goes 
flying  about  as  contented  as  ever.  How  many 
centuries  the  great  fly  Catholicism  may  still 
have  in  its  belly — ^to  borrow  a  phrase  from 
Cousin — I  know  not,  but  the  question  is  not  of 
it.  It  refers  far  more  to  our  poor  Protestantism, 
which,  to  drag  out  its  existence,  has  made  all  con- 
cessions conceivable,  and  withal  must  die.  It  availed 
naught  that  it  purified  its  God  of  all  anthropo- 
morphism, that  by  much  phlebotomy  it  pumped 
all  the  sensual  or  sensible  blood  from  his  veins, 
and  also  filtered  him  down  to  a  pure  spirit  con- 
sisting of  nothing  but  love,  justice,  wisdom,  and 
virtue ;  'twas  all  in  vain,  and  a  German  Porphy- 
rins named  Feuerbach  (an  English  Fire-brook,  in 
French  Fleuve-de-flamme)  mocks  not  a  little  this 
attribute  of  God,  pure  spirit,  whose  love  deserves 
little  laudation  since  he  lacks  human  gall,  and 
who  cannot  cost  justice  much,  having  no  stomach. 


•*^ 


tso 


LETTERS  ON  GERMANY. 


which  must  be  fed  per  fas  et  nefas  ;  whose  wisdom 
should  not  be  rated  too  highly,  since  he  never  has 
a  cold  in  the  head  to  interfere  with  meditation,  and 
cannot  be  un-virtuous,  having  no  body.  Yes,  not 
only  the  Protestant  Rationalists,  but  even  the  Deists 
are  struck  down  in  Grermany  since  Philosophy 
brings  all  its  catapults  to  bear  on  the  idea  of  God, 
as  I  have  shown  in  my  book  De  VAllemagne. 

I  have  been  blamed  on  many  sides  for  tearing 
away  the  canopy  from  the  German  heaven,  and 
showing  to  all  that  every  deity  of  the  old  faith  has 
vanished,  and  that  now  there  only  sits  there  one 
old  virgin  with  leaden  hands  and  sorrowing  heart 
— Necessity.  Ah!  I  only  said  long  ago  what 
every  one  must  suffer,  and  that  which  then  sounded 
so  strangely  is  now  re-echoed  from  every  roof  yon 
side  the  Rhine.  And  in  what  fanatic  tones  are 
the  anti-religious  sermons  often  preached?  We 
now  have  monks  of  atheism  who  would  bum  Vol- 
taire alive  for  being  an  irreclaimable,  hardened 
deist.  I  must  confess  this  music  does  not  please 
me,  but  neither  does  it  alarm,  for  I  stood  behind 
the  great  Maestro  while  he  composed  it,  certainly 
in  very  illegible  and  entangled  characters,  so  that 
every  one  might  not  decipher  it.  I  observed  how 
he  often  looked  round  anxiously,  as  if  in  fear  he 
might  be  understood.  He  loved  me  well,  for  he 
was  very  sure  I  would  not  betray  him ;  indeed,  I 
sometimes  thought  him  servile.    Once  when  I  was 


.  ,   ■>,..,  ,yy.  ,  -.|,„^.-„L  •jy»-i; »»»— 


LETTERS  ON  GERMANY.  221 

out  of  patience  over  the  saying,  "  All  which  is,  is 
reasonable,"  he  smiled  strangely  and  remarked, 
**  It  might  also  be  said  that  all  which  is  reasonable 
must  be."  He  looked  about  hurriedly,  b«t  was 
at  once  at  ease,  for  only  Henry  Beer  had  heard 
the  words.  It  was  not  till  later  that  I  understood 
such  expressions.  And  so  I  also  understood  why 
he  had  declared  in  the  "  Philosophy  of  History  " 
that  Christianity  was  a  progress  because  it  had 
taught  a  God  who  died,  while  the  heathen  gods 
knew  nothing  of  death.  What  a  step  forward  it 
is,  therefore,  if  God  has  never  existed  at  all ! 

With  the  overthrow  of  the  old  doctrines  of  faith, 
that  of  ancient  moraKty  is  involved.  The  Germans 
will  long  hold  to  the  latter.  It  is  with  them  as 
with  certain  ladies  who  were  virtuous  to  their 
fortieth  year,  and  then  did  not  really  think  it 
worth  their  whUe  to  practise  or  begin  delightful 
vices  even  though  their  morals  had  grown  slack. 
The  destruction  of  faith  in  heaven  has  not  only  a 
moral  but  a  political  power ;  the  masses  will  bear 
no  longer  with  Christian  patience  their  earthly 
sufferings,  and  yearn  for  the  blessings  and  joys  of 
this  life.  Communism  is  a  natural  consequence 
of  this  changed  view  of  the  world,  and  it  is  spread- 
ing all  over  Germany.  And  it  is  also  quite  natural 
that  the  proletaries  (radical  agrarians),  in  their 
war  against  existing  institutions,  should  have  the 
most  advanced  intellects,  the  philosophers  of  the 


-^i.  '■ . 


232 


LETTERS  ON  GERMANY. 


great  school  as  leaders.  These  go  from  doctrine 
to  deed,  to  the  last  aim  of  all  thought,  and  for- 
malise the  programme.  How  does  it  read?  I 
dreamed  it  long  ago  and  spoke  it  in  these  words, 
"  We  will  be  no  sans-culottists,  no  frugal  citizens, 
no  cheap  economical  presidents;  we  found  a  de- 
mocracy of  equally  lordly,  equally  holy,  equally 
happy  gods.  You  demand  simple  costumes,  austere 
manners,  and  cheap  unseasoned  pleasures ;  we,  on 
the  contrary,  demand  nectar  and  ambrosia,  purple 
garments,  costly  perfumes,  luxury  and  splendour, 
dances  of  laughing  nymphs,  music  and  comedies. 
Be  not  angered,  0  virtuous  republicans !  To  your 
censuring  reproaches  we  reply  what  the  fool  in 
Shakespeare  has  already  said,  'Dost  thou  think 
because  thou  art  virtuous  there  shall  be  no  more 
cakes  and  ale  ? '  " 

These  words  are  in  my  book  De  VAllemagne, 
in  which  I  distinctly  predicted  that  the  political 
revolution  of  the  Germans  would  proceed  from 
that  philosophy  whose  systems  had  been  so  often 
denied  and  depreciated  as  mere  Scholasticism.  It 
was  easy  prophesying.  I  also  foresaw  how  the 
armoured  and  armed  men  would  arise,  who  would 
fill  the  world  with  the  crash  of  weapons — yes,  and 
alas !  fight  fiercely  among  themselves. 

Since  that  often-mentioned  book  has  appeared, 
I  have  given  the  public  no  more  on  Germany. 
If  I  to-day  break  my  long  silence,  it  is  less  to 


LETTERS  ON  GERMANY.  nj 

satisfy  the  longings  of  my  own  heart  than  the 
pressing  entreaties  of  my  friends.  They  have 
been  many  a  time  more  than  I  indignant  at  the 
brilliant  ignorance  which  prevails  here  as  regards 
all  German  intellectual  history,  an  ignorance  which 
our  enemies  have  exploited  to  great  advantage. 
I  say  our  enemies,  not  meaning  thereby  those 
pitiful  beings  who  go  peddling  about  from  one 
editorial  oflSce  to  another,  offering  for  sale  coarse 
slanders,  and  take  with  them  certain  so-called 
patriots  as  allumeurs.  Such  men  can  in  the  long 
run  do  no  harm ;  they  are  too  stupid,  and  they 
will  at  last  bring  it  so  far  as  to  cause  the  French 
to  doubt  whether  we  Germans  really  invented 
gunpowder.  No ;  our  really  dangerous  enemies 
are  those  familiars  of  the  European  aristocracy 
who  glide  after  us  in  all  disguises,  even  in 
women's  garments,  to  murder  our  good  reputa- 
tion in  the  dark.  The  Men  of  Freedom,  who 
fortunately  escaped,  in  their  native  land,  the 
dungeon  or  secret  execution,  or  any  of  those 
little  writs  and  warrants  which  make  travelling 
so  uncomfortable,  would  find  no  rest  here  in 
France,  and  those  who  cannot  be  injured  in  the 
body  shall  at  least  have  their  names  daily  cursed 
and  crucified. 


VOLUME 


10 


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are  reasons  for  disciplinary  action  and  may 
result  in  dismissal  from  the  University. 

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HEINRICH    HEINE 


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MADAME    DE  ST  A  EL 
From  Uk  Poi  trait  by  Gerard 


H^tnrkhf  Hein^ 


The    Works    of 

11  einrich    Heine 

Translated  by 

Charles    Godfrey    Leland 


GERMANY 


I 


VOLUME   TEN 


ILLUSTRATED  WITH  PORTRAITS 


Printed  for  Subscribers  only  by 

CEOSCUP  AND  STERLING  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK 


CONTENTS 

VOLUME  TEN 

GERMANY 

Second  Part— 

rxcB 

The  Romantic  School   .        .       .       ...  225 

Preface  by  the  German  Publisher    .       .  227 

Author's  Preface  to  the  First  Edition  .  229 

Preface  to  the  Second  Edition  .       .       .  235 

Book  1 237 

.       >       •       .  314 

.       .341 

•  •       •  359 

•  •       .  375 


Book 

II.— Chapter  I. 

)m' 

>» 

II. 

M 

*> 

III. 

M- 

»* 

IV. 

LIST   OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 

Madame  de  Stael Frontispiece 

From  the  Portrait  by  Gerard. 

Sir  William  Jones To  face  page  320 

From  the  Painting  by  Sir  JOSHUA  Reynolds. 

Moscow ;,      328 

From  a  Photograph. 

Shakespeare      .        .        .        .        .        .        „        „       356 

From  the  Bust  at  Stratford-on-Avon. 


\^ 


SECOND  PART. 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


VOL.  I. 


PREFACE 

BY  THE  GERMAN  PUBLISHER. 


-M- 


A  GREAT  part  of  the  present  volume  first  appeared 
in  French  in  1833  in  the  Europe  Litt&aire,  and 
was  published  in  the  same  year  in  German  with 
the  title  Zur  Geschichte  der  neueren  schonen  LitercUur 
in  Deutschland.  Zwei  TheUe.  Paris  und  Leipzig  : 
Heideloff  <So  Campe.  ["Contributions  to  the  History 
of  the  Later  Elegant  Literature  in  Germany.  Two 
Parts.  Paris  and  Leipzig :  Heideloff  &  Campe."] 
The  first  French  edition  of  the  book  De  rAllemagne, 
Paris,  Eugene  Renduel,  1835,  does  not  contain  the 
later  enlargements  of  the  third  book.  These  were, 
much  amended,  first  added  to  the  second  German 
edition,  which  appeared  in  1836,  with  the  title  of 
"  The  Romantic  School."  The  new  edition  was 
needed  in  consequence  of  a  decision  of  the  Bund 
or  Diet  of  July  5,  1832,  by  which  almost  uncon- 
querable hindrances  were  put  in  the  way  to 
prevent  works  published  abroad  from  circulating 


337 


aa8  PUBLISHER'S  PREFACE. 

in  the  Bundesstaaten,  or  States  of  the  Diet. 
Everything  politically  suspicions  was  struck  ont 
by  the  red  pencil  of  the  censor,  and  now,  for  the 
first  time,  are  the  many  gaps  or  missing  passages 
thns  expunged  restored,  after  most  careful  compari- 
son with  the  still  existing  original  manuscripts. 
[The  German  publisher  adds  to  these  remarks  a 
list  of  these  corrected  readings,  which  it  is  need- 
less to  supply,  as  they  are  given  in  the  text.  He 
remarks  that  in  the  latest  French  edition  the 
diatribe  against  Victor  Cousin,  and  the  severe 
allusion  to  him  in  the  first  volume  of  "  Germany," 
are  omitted.  He  also  adds  that  a  tolerably  com- 
plete or  perfect  English  translation  of  the  first 
German  edition  of  this  work  appeared  in  1836  in 
Boston  (James  Munroe  &  Co.),  under  the  title, 
"  Letters  Auxiliary  to  the  History  of  Modem 
Polite  Literature  in  Germany,  by  Heinrich  Heine, 
translated  from  the  German  by  G.  W.  Haven." 
The  first  translation  of  the  BeisehUder  into  English, 
followed  by  the  "Book  of  Songs,"  by  Charles 
Godfrey  Leland,  appeared  in  America,  in  Phila- 
delphia, in  1856.  There  was  also  published 
in  Philadelphia  an  admirable  translation  of  the 
"Florentine  Nights"  by  Simon  Stem. — Trans- 
lator.'l 


AUTHOR'S  PREFACE  TO  THE 
FIRST  EDITION. 


Although  these  pages,  which  I  wrote  for  the 
Europe  Litter  aire,  a  journal  published  here  Ib 
Paris,  form  an  introduction  to  other  articles,  I 
hasten  to  give  them  to  the  public  of  my  native 
land,  lest  some  other  person  should  do  me  the 
honour  of  translation  from  French  into  German. 

Certain  passages  are  wanting  in  the  Europe 
LitUraire,  which  I  now  print  in  full ;  the  manage- 
ment of  the  pubUcation  required  certain  trifling 
omissions.  In  typographical  errors  the  German 
compositor  is  not  one  whit  behind  his  French 
brother.  The  book  here  thoroughly  examined, 
which  is  by  Madame  de  Stael,  is  called  De  VAIU- 
magne.  And  here  I  cannj&t  refrain  from  correct- 
ing a  remark  with  which-^^e  editor  of  Europe 
LUUraire  accompanied  these  contributions.  For 
he  wrote  that  "to  Catholic  France  German  litera- 
ture must  be  presented  from  a  Protestant  point 

339 


33© 


AUTHOR'S  PREFACE. 


of  view."  I  objected  in  vain  that  there  was  no 
Catholic  France ;  that  I  did  not  write  for  a  Catholic 
France ;  it  was  all-sufficient  should  I  mention  that 
I  myself  belonged  in  Germany  to  the  Protestant 
Church.  This  mention,  while  it  only  expressed  the 
fact  that  I  have  the  pleasure  to  be  paraded  in  a 
Lutheran  Church  book  as  an  evangelical  Christian, 
still  left  me  free  to  express  in  books  of  learning  or 
science  any  opinion,  even  if  it  contradicted  the 
Protestant  dogma — against  which  the  editor's 
assertion  that  I  wrote  my  essays  from  a  Pro- 
testant point  of  view  must  lay  dogmatic  fetters 
on  me.  All  in  vain.  The  editor  of  Europe  could 
not  grasp  subtle  Tudesque  distinctions,  and  they 
went  for  nothing.  I  mention  this,  partly  lest  I 
should  be  accused  of  inconsistency,  partly  too  lest 
I  incur  the  ridiculous  suspicion  of  attaching  any 
value  to  clerical-religious  distinctions. 

Since  the  French  do  not  understand  the  lan- 
guage of  our  schools,  I  have  in  some  expressions 
as  to  the  existence  of  God  used  the  same  words 
as  those  with  which  they  have  been  familiarised 
by  the  apostolic  zeal  of  the  Saint-Simonians, 
and  as  these  phrases  set  forth  my  meaning  quite 
nakedly  and  distinctly,  I  have  preserved  them  in 
the  German  version.  Aristocrats  and  priests,  who 
have  of  late  dreaded  more  than  ever  the  power  of 
my  word,  and  have  on  that  account  sought  to 


AUTHOR'S  PREFACE.  ^ 

depopnlarise  *  me,  may  distort  and  falsify  those 
expressions,  so  as  to  make  me  appear  gnUty  of 
Materialism,  or  even  of  atheism ;  they  may  make 
me  out  a  Jew  or  a  Saint-Simonian,  they  may  accuse 
me  of  all  conceivable  heresies  to  their  mob,  but  no 
cowardly  retrospection  shall  ever  lead  me  astray  to 
disguise  my  views  of  divine  things  with  common 
ambiguous  phrases.  And  my  friends  too  may 
blame  because  I  do  not  more  ingeniously  disguise 
my  thoughts,  that  I  reveal  without  mercy  the  most 

delicate  subjects ;  that  I  thereby  irritate But 

neither  the  ill-will  of  my  foes  nor  the  email  cunning 
folly  of  my  friends  shall  ever  restrain  me  from 
expressing  myself  straightforwardly  as  to  that 
weightiest  question  of  mankind,  the  Being  of 
God. 

I  do  not  belong  to  the  Materialists  who  embody 
the  spirit ;  I  give,  far  more,  the  spirit  back  unto 
bodies.     I  spiritualise  it  again — I  sanctify  it. 

I  do  not  belong  to  the  atheists  who  deny — ^I 
affirm.  '-'./  :'i'-' ''..'■: .''. 

The  Indifferentists  and  so  called  clever  folk,  who 
will  not  express  themselves  plainly  as  to  God,  are 
the  real  deniers  of  him.  Such  tacit  denial  is  now 
actually  becoming  a  social  offence,  since  through 


^  Depopularisiren,  quite  as  barojue  a  word  in  Grerman  am  in 
EogliBb. — Tran$UUor. 


t'!n^V(isj 


»3«  AUTHOR'S  PREFACE. 

it  false  conceptions  are  made  to  do  dnty  which 
hitherto  have  always  served  despotism  as  a 
support.  I 

The  beginning  and  end  of  all  things  is  in  Gk)d. 

Heinbich  Heine. 

Written  in  P»ris,  the  2nd  of  April  1833. 


n. 

The  Preface  of  the  first  part  of  this  book  may 
also  justify  the  appearance  of  the  second.  That 
promised  the  history  of  the  Romantic  School  in 
general ;  this  specially  offers  accounts  of  its  leaders. 
In  third  and  fourth  divisions  I  shall,  in  addition, 
discuss  the  other  heroes  of  the  Schlegel  cycle  of 
legends,  then  the  magic  poets  of  Goethe's  time, 
and  finally  the  authors  of  my  own  day.  ' 

But  I  earnestly  beg  the  kind  reader  not  to 
forget  that  these  pages  were  written  for  the 
Europe  Littiraire,  and  that  the  limits  which  that 
journal  prescribed,  for  political  reasons,  must  be 
also  borne  in  mind.  j 

As  I  personally  attended  to  the  correction  of 
this  book,   I  beg  pardon  for  too  many  typo- 


AUTHOR'S  PREFACE.  =jj| 

graphical  errors.  Even  a  casual  glance  at  my 
advertisements  indicates  that  there  are  many 
such  oversights.  Here  I  must,  seriously  indeed, 
point  out  that  the  Emperor  Henry  was  not  a 
descendant  of  Barbarossa,  and  that  Mr.  August 
Wilhelm  Schlegel  is  a  year  younger  than  I  have 
made  him;  and  the  year  of  Amim's  birth  is 
incorrectly  given.  And  if  I  have  also  asserted 
in  these  pages  that  the  higher  criticism  in 
Grermany  never  occupied  itself  with  Hoffmann, 
BO  I,  exceptionally,  forgot  to  mention  that 
Willibald  Alexis,  the  poet  of  Cabanis,  also  wiote 
a  "  characteristic  "  of  Hoffmann. 

Heinrich  Heine. 

Pmu,  the  30th  of  June  1833, 


PREFACE  TO  THE  SECOND 
EDITION. 


The  most  important  portion  of  these  pages,  whicli 
were  originally  composed  in  French  and  addressed 
to  the  French  people,  have  been  placed  before  the 
public  of  my  native  land  in  a  German  version 
entitled  Zur  Geschichte  der  Tieiteren  schonen  Litera- 
tur  in  Deutschland — "  Contributions  to  a  History 
of  the  Later  Polite  Literature  in  Germany."  In 
the  present  enlarged  form  the  book  may  deserve  the 
new  title  Die  Bomantische  Schvle — "  The  Roman- 
tic School " — for  I  believe  that  it  illustrates,  in  the 
most  accurate  manner,  the  chief  points  of  the 
literary  movement  which  that  school  developed. 

It  was  my  intention  to  also  discuss  the  later 
periods  of  our  literature  in  a  similar  form,  but 
more  pressing  occupation  and  personal  affairs  pre- 
vented me  from  continuing  the  work.  Moreover, 
the  manner  of  treatment  and  the  form  of  publica- 
tion in  my  last  mental  efforts  has  been  more  and 

»35 


236        PREFACE  TO  THE  SECOND  EDITION. 


more  limited  by  circumstances.  Therefore  I  have 
been  obliged  to  publish  my  communications  on 
the  "History  of  Religion  and  Philosophy  in 
Germany  "  as  a  second  part  of  the  Salon,  and  yet 
this  work  should  really  be  the  general  introduction 
to  German  literature.  I  have  already  published 
in  the  daily  press  the  details  of  a  peculiar  mis- 
chance which  befell  me  in  the  second  part  of  this 
Salon.  My  publisher,  whom  I  accused  of  having, 
on  his  own  authority,  mutilated  my  book,  has 
denied  this  accusation  in  the  same  journal,  de- 
claring the  mutilation  in  question  of  the  glorious 
work  to  be  that  of  a  jurisdiction  above  all  censure. 
I  commend  to  the  pity  of  the  eternal  gods  the 
safety  of  my  native  land  and  the  defenceless 
thoughts  of  its  authors.  , 

Heinrich  Heine. 


Written  in  Paris  in  the  Aatmnn  of  1835. 


BOOK  THE  FIRST. 

Madame  de  Stael's  work  De  I'Allemagne  is  the 
only  comprehensive  source  of  information  which 
the  French  possess  as  to  the  intellectual  life  of 
Germany.  And  yet  since  this  book  appeared  a 
long  time  has  elapsed,  and  an  entirely  new  litera- 
ture has  meanwhile  developed  itself  in  that  country. 
Is  this  only  a  transitional  literature  ?  has  it  attained 
its  height?  is  it  already  faded?  As  to  which 
opinions  differ.  The  majority  opine  that  with  the 
death  of  Goethe  a  new  literary  period  began  in 
Germany,  that  in  him  old  Deutschland  went  down 
to  its  grave,  the  aristocratic  age  of  literature  came 
to  its  end,  and  the  democratic  began;  or,  as  a 
French  journalist  recently  expressed  it,  "  Que  la 
democratie  littdraire  commence  ou  I'esprit  des  in- 
dividus  b.  cess^  pour  faire  place  k  I'esprit  de  tons  " — 
"  The  spirit  of  all  has  begun  where  that  of  single 
individuals  ceased." 

As  for  me,  I  cannot  take  it  on  myself  to  decide 
in  so  determined  a  manner  as  to  the  future  evolu- 
tions of  the  German  mind.  I  had,  however,  pre- 
dicted for  many  years  the  end  of  the  Goethean 

»37 


«3« 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


Art-era  (Kunstperiode),  which  name  I  first  gave  it. 
The  prophesying  was  not  diflBcult  Well  did  I 
know  the  ways  and  means  of  those  malcontents 
who  would  fain  put  an  end  to  the  great  Art-empire 
of  Goethe ;  and  it  is  said  that  I  myself  was  seen 
figuring  in  the  emeutes  of  those  days  against  him. 
Now  that  he  is  dead,  the  recollection  gives  me 
bitter  pain.  I 

While  I  announce  these  pages  as  a  continuation 
of  Madame  de  Stael's  De  V Allemagne,  I  must,  while 
praising  the  knowledge  which  can  be  gathered 
from  that  book,  still  advise  great  caution  in 
consulting  it,  and  stamp  it  as  the  work  of  a 
coterie.  Madame  de  Stael,  of  glorious  memory,  has 
here,  in  the  form  of  a  book,  opened  a  Salon  in 
which  she  received  German  writers  and  gave  them 
opportunity  to  become  known  to  the  civilised  world 
of  France ;  but  in  all  the  babble  of  many  and  most 
varied  voices  which  resound  from  this  book,  one 
always  hears  most  distinctly  the  fine  treble  of 
August  Wilhelm  von  Schlegel.  Where  she  is  all 
herself,  wherever  this  woman,  so  gifted  with  feeling, 
expresses  herself  freely,  with  all  her  flaming  heart 
and  all  the  fireworks  of  her  sky-rockets  of  wit, 
and  sparkling  extravagancies,  there  the  book  is 
good  and  admirable.*  I 


^  In  the  French  yenion,  "  Lorsqn'elle  se  livre  &  sa  chaleur 
natarelle,  quand  elle  abandonne  k  sea  radieuses  explosions  tout 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

But  as  soon  as  she  obeys  the  influences  of  others, 
whenever  she  pays  homage  to  some  school  the 
spirit  of  which  is  to  her  strange  and  incompre- 
hensible, or  as  soon  as  the  laudation  of  this  school 
calls  for  Ultramontane  tendencies  directly  contra- 
dictory to  her  Protestant  clear-headedness,  then 
the  book  becomes  pitiable  and  unpleasant.  Add 
to  this  that  besides  her  unconscious  party-spirit, 
she  exercises  a  very  conscious  one,  because  by  prais- 
ing the  spiritual  life  and  idealism  in  Germany  she 
means  blame  of  the  realism  of  France  and  the 
material  splendour  of  the  Empire.  Her  book  De 
VAllemagne  is  in  this  respect  Kke  the  Germania 
of  Tacitus,  who,  perhaps,  by  his  eulogy  of  the 
Germans  meant  indirect  satire  of  his  Roman 
fellow-countrymen. 

When  I  before  spoke  of  a  school  to  which 
Madame  de  Stael  was  devoted,  and  whose  tend- 
ency she  aided,  I  meant  that  which  is  called  the 
Romantic.  It  will  be  made  clear  in  this  work 
that  this  was  very  different  in  Germany  from 
what  is  known  by  the  same  name  in  France,  and 
that  its  tendency  was  quite  other  than  that  of  the 
French  Romanticists. 

But  what  was  the  Romantic  School  in  Germany  ? 

It  was  nothing  else  but  the  reawakening  of  tJie 

cette  pyrotechnic  aentimentale  qu'elle  dirige  si  bien,  son  livre  est 
earieux  et  digne  d'admiration." 


240 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


poetry  of  the  Middle  Age,  as  it  had  shown  itself  in 
its  songs,  images,  and  architectnre,  in  art  and  in 
life.  But  this  poetry-  had  risen  from  Christianity ; 
it  was  a  passion-flower  which  had  sprung  from 
the  blood  of  Christ.  I  do  not  know  whether  the 
melancholy  passion-flower  of  Germany  is  known 
by  that  name  in  France,  and  whether  popular 
legend  attributes  to  it  the  same  mystical  origin. 
It  is  a  strange  unpleasantly  coloured  blossom,  in 
whose  calyx  we  see  set  forth  the  implements  which 
were  used  in  the  cruciflxion  of  Christ,  such  as  the 
hammer,  pincers,  and  nails — a  flower  which  is  not 
so  much  ugly  as  ghostly,  whose  sight  even  awakes 
in  our  soul  a  shuddering  pleasure,  like  the  con- 
vulsively agreeable  sensations  ^  which  come  from 
pain  itself.  From  this  view  the  flower  was  indeed 
the  fittest  symbol  for  Christianity  itself,  whose 
most  thrilling  chain  was  in  the  luxury  of  pain.* 


^  Kramphaft  tuMten  £mpfindungen.  In  the  French  version 
$en»ationt  doucu. — TrandcUor. 

*  In  the  French  version  the  sentences  which  follow  are  very 
much  softened  down,  to  snit  a  separate  circle  of  less  advanced 
readers,  as  follows  : — 

"  II  m'importe  de  faire  remarquer  qu'en  disant  Christianisme 
je  ne  parle  ni  d'une  de  ses  ^lises  ni  d'un  sacerdoce  quelconqne, 
mais  bien  de  la  religion  en  olle-meme,  de  oette  religion  dont  les 
premiers  dogmes  renferment  une  condamnation  de  tout  oe  qui 
est  chair,  de  sorte  que  non  seulement  elle  accorde  h,  I'esprit  une 
supreme  puissance  sur  la  chair,  mais  qu'elle  voudrait  encore 
detruire  celle-ci  pour  glorifier  I'autre  sublime  et  divine  dans  son 
princJpe,  mais  h^las  1  trop  d^sinteress^  pour  oe  monde  impar> 


"         ^        THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.       i  241 

'  Though  in  France  only  Roman  Catholicism  is 
understood  by  the  word  Christianity,  I  must 
specially  preface  that  I  only  speak  of  the  latter. 
I  speak  of  that  religion  in  whose  first  dogmas  there 
is  a  damnation  of  all  flesh,  and  which  not  only 
allows  the  spirit  power  over  the  flesh,  but  will 
also  kill  this  ixt  glorify  the  spirit.  I  speak  of  that 
religion  by  whose  unnatural  requisitions  sin  and 
hypocrisy  really  came  into  the  world,  in  this  that 
by  the  condemnation  of  the  flesh  the  most  inno- 
cent sensual  pleasures  became  sins,  and  because  the 
impossibility  of  becoming  altogether  spiritual 
naturally  created  hypocrisy.  I  speak  of  that  re- 
ligion which  by  teaching  the  doctrine  of  the  casting 
away  of  all  earthly  goods,  and  of  dog-like-abject 
humility  and  angelic  patience,  became  the  most 
approved  support  of  despotism.  Men  have  found 
out  the  real  life  and  meaning  (Wesen)  of  this 
religion,  and  do  not  now  content  themselves  with 
promises  of  supping  •  in  Paradise ;  they  know 
that  matter  has  also  its  merits,  and  is  not  all  the 


fftit,  une  pareille  religion  devint  le  plus  ferme  soatien  dee 
despotes  qai  ont  sa  exploiter  k  leur  profit  oe  rejet  absola  dee 
biens  terrestres,  cette  naive  homilit^,  cette  b^te  patience,  cette 
cAeste  r^ignation  prSch^  par  lea  saints  apdtres.  Des  pr^. 
catenrs  moins  bonaces  ont  surgi  depois,  et  dans  leurs  paraboles 
terribles ;  lis  d^montrent  les  difficult^  pratiques  et  les  dangers 
sociaux  des  doctrines  nazar^nnes :  ils  ne  se  laissent  plus 
degoliter  da  banquet  de  la  vie  par  cee  appels  aa  del  qn'on  leur 
fait." 

VOL.  I.  ■■■;./ ^, ;  ■ 


343  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

devil's,  and  they  now  defend  the  delights  of  tins 
world,  this  beautiful  garden  of  God,  our  inalien- 
able inheritance.  And  therefore,  because  we  have 
grasped  so  entirely  all  the  consequences  of  that 
absolute  spiritualism,  we  may  believe  that  the 
Christian  Catholic  view  of  the  world  has  reached 
its  end.  Every  age  is  a  sphinx,  which  casts 
itself  into  the  abyss  when  man  has  guessed  its 
riddle.  1 

Yet  we  do  in  no  wise  deny  the  good  results 
which  this  Christian  Catholic  view  of  the  world 
established  in  Europe.  It  was  necessary  as  a 
wholesome  reaction  against  the  cruelly  colossal 
materialism  which  had  developed  itself  in  the 
Roman  realm,  and  threatened  to  destroy  all  spiri- 
tual human  power.^  As  the  lascivious  memoirs 
of  the  last  century  form  the  piSces  justificatives 
of  the  French  Revolution,  as  the  terrorism  of  a 
comity  du   saltU  public    seems  to  be   necessary 

'  It  iB  hardly  worth  while  to  indicate  the  inconsistencies  of 
Heine,  but  it  may  be  observed  that  these  remarks  are  in  direct 
contradiction  to  the  Hellenism  which  be  generally  professes  • 
the  leading  doctrine  of  which  is,  that  the  perfect  culture  of  the 
body  alone  implies  aesthetic  perfection,  which  in  turn  involves 
true  moral  culture.  Roman  corruption  was  caused  not  by  the 
preponderance  of  materialism,  but  by  excessive  importation  of 
Oriental  vice,  which  was  surcharged  with  every  form  and  phase 
of  spiritualism  and  supernaturalism,  as  Heine  himself  has  else- 
where shown.  It  was  by  abandoning  its  early  "  materialism  " 
for  spiritualism  that  Rome  fell,  so  far  as  any  moral  cause  can 
be  assigned  for  ita  decay. — Trandator. 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  Pif 

physic  when  we  read  the  confessions  of  the 
aristocratic  worid  of  France,*  so  we  recognise 
the  wholesomeness  of  ascetic  spiritualism  when 
we  read  Petronius  or  Apuleius,  which  are  to  be 
regarded  as  the  pitces  justificatives  of  Christi- 
anity. The  flesh  had  become  so  arrogant  in  this 
Roman  worid  that  it  required  Christian  discipline 
to  chasten  it.  After  the  banquet  of  a  Trimal- 
chion  such  a  hunger-cure  as  Christianity  was 
a  necessity.  ■;:■.■"::';- 

Or  was  it  that  as  lascivious  old  men  seek  by 
being  whipped  to  excite  new  power  of  enjoyment, 
80  old  Home  endured  monkish  chastisement  to 
find  more  exquisite  delight  in  torture  and  volup- 
tous  rapture  in  pain  ? 

Evil  excess  of  stimulant !  it  took  from  the  body 
of  the  state  of  Home  its  last  strength.  It  was 
not   by   division    into    two    realms    that    Rome 

^  An  error  which  has  been  chiefly  originated  and  disseminated 
by  Protestants.  French  society  was  "immoral"  to  vileness, 
that  is  to  say,  a  portion  of  it— not  nearly  all ;  but  this  was  only 
a  drop  in  the  ocean  compared  to  other  causes  of  the  Revolution, 
the  chief  of  which  was  a  mass  of  civil  and  ecclesiastical  mediae- 
val laws,  abuses,  and  privileges,  which  ground  the  masses  into 
poverty,  while,  on  the  other  hand,  reformers  were  busy  in 
teaching  everywhere  the  rights  of  man.  Heine  was  the  last 
man  living  who  should  have  taken  this  view,  which  perhaps 
accounts  for  his  taking  it.  In  these  passages,  he,  without  any 
questioning  or   examining  into  historical  facts,  yields  to  his 

opponents  all  the  principle  for  which  he  generally  contends. 

Trantlator. 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


perished.  On  the  Bosphoms,  as  by  the  Tiber, 
Borne  was  devoured  by  the  same  Jewish  spiri- 
tnalism,  and  here,  as  there,  Koman  history  was 
that  of  a  long  dying  agony,  which  lasted  for 
centuries.  Did  murdered  Judea,  in  leaving  to 
Rome  its  spiritualism,  wish  to  revenge  itself 
on  the  victorious  foe,  as  did  the  dying  centaur 
who  craftily  left  to  the  son  of  Hercules  the  deadly 
garment  steeped  in  his  own  blood  ?  Truly  Rome, 
the  Hercules  among  races,  was  so  thoroughly 
devoured  by  Jewish  poison  that  helm  and  harness 
fell  from  its  withered  limbs,  and  its  imperial  war- 
voice  died  away  into  the  wailing  cadences  of 
monkish  prayer  and  the  soft  thrilling  of  castrated 
boys. 

But  what  weakens  old  age  strengthens  youth. 
That  spiritualism  had  a  healthy  action  on  the 
too  sound  and  strong  races  of  the  North ;  *  the 
too  full-blooded  barbarous  bodies  were  Christianly 
spiritualised,  and  European  civilisation  began. 
The  Catholic  Church  has  iu  this  respect  the 
strongest  claims  on  our  regard  and  admiration. 


^  French  venion,  "  le  lion  de  Juda  d^menrtr^  en  gratifiant  lea 
Bomains  de  son  spiritualisme." 

*  "  Die  ttbergesunden  Volker  des  Nordens."  French  Terrion, 
"les  peuples  tranimigranU  du  Nords.  Ce«  corps  de  borbares, 
tmp  vigoreux  et  trop  charges  de  sang,"  ko.  The  decay  of  the 
Scandinavian  races  as  conquerors  dates,  however,  from  their 
eonveraion  to  Christianity. — Trandator. 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  ai^ 

It  sncceeded  by  subduing  with  its  great  genial 
institutions  the  bestiality  of  Northern  barbarians 
and  mastering  brutal  matter. 

The  Art-work  of  the  Middle  Age  manifests  thaa 
mastery  of  mere  material  by  mind,  and  it  is  very 
often  its  only  mission.  The  epic  poems  of  this 
period  may  be  easily  classed  according  to  the 
degree  of  this  subjection  or  influence. 

There  can  be  no  discussion  here  of  lyrical  and 
dramatic  poems,  for  the  latter  did  not  exist,  and 
the  former  are  as  like  in  every  age  as  are  the 
songs  of  nightingales  in  spring. 

Although  the  epic  poetry  of  the  Middle  Age 
was  divided  into  sacred  and  profane,  both  kinds 
were  altogether  Christian  according  to  their  kind ; 
for  if  sacred  poesy  sang  of  the  Jewish  race  and 
its  history,  which  was  regarded  as  the  one  which 
alone  was  holy,  or  the  heroes  and  legends  of  the 
Old  and  New  Testaments,  its  legends,  and,  in  brief, 
the  Church,  still  all  the  life  of  the  time  wag 
reflected  in  profane  poetry  with  its  Christian 
views  and  action.  The  flower  of  the  religious 
poetic  art  in  the  German  Middle  Age  is  perhaps 
"  Barlaam  and  Josaphat,"  in  which  the  doctrine 
of  abnegation,  of  abstinence,  and  the  denial  and 
contempt  of  all  worldly  glory,  is  set  forth  most 
consistently.  Next  to  this  I  would  class  the 
Zobgesang  aufden  heUigen  Anno — "  The  Enlogium 
of  St.  Hanno  " — as  the  best  of  the  religious  kind. 


.^ 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


But  this  latter  is  of  a  far  more  secular  character. 
It  differs  from  the  first  as  the  portrait  of  a  Byzan- 
tine saint  differs  from  an  old  German  one.  As  in 
those  Byzantine  pictures,  so  we  see  in  "  Barlaam 
and  Josaphat "  the  utmost  simplicity ;  there  is  no 
perspective  side- work,*  and  the  long  lean  statue-like 
forms  and  the  idealistic  serious  faces  come  out 
strongly  drawn,  as  if  from  a  mellow  gold  ground.* 
But  in  the  song  of  praise  of  St.  Hanno,  the  side- 
work  or  accessories  are  almost  the  subject,'  and, 
notwithstanding  the  grandeur  of  the  plan,  the 
details  are  treated  in  the  minutest  manner,  and 
we  know  not  whether  to  admire  in  it  the  concep- 
tion of  a  giant  or  the  patience  of  a  dwarf.  But 
the  evangel-poem  of  Ottfried,  which  is  generally 
praised  as  the  masterpiece  of  sacred  poetry,  is 
not  by  far  so  admirable  as  the  two  which  I  have 
mentioned. 

In  profane  poetry  we  find,  as  I  have  already 
signified,  first  the  cycle  of  sagas  of  the  Nibelungen 
and  the  Heldenbuch  or  Book  of  Heroes.  In  them 
prevails  all  the  pre-Christian  manner  of  thought 
and  of  feeling :  in  them  rude  strength  has  not  as 
yet  been  softened  by  chivalry.    There  the  stem 


*  French  yenion,  "  point  d'acceasoires  enjoliv^." 

'  French  version,  "  "  lea  figures  d'un  serieux  id^,  ressortent 

Tigooreasement  comme  s'il  ^taient  points  sur  ces  fends  d'or  mftt 

qui  decoraient  les  ^lises  de  rempire  d'orient." 

'  French  version,  "  comme  dftns  les  tableaux  gothiqaas." 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  Mff 

Kempe-warriors  of  the  North  stand  like  stone 
images,  and  the  gentle  gleam  and  the  more  refined 
breath  of  Christianity  has  not  as  yet  penetrated 
their  iron  armonr.  But  little  by  little  a  light 
dawns  in  the  old  Teutonic  forest;  the  ancient 
idolatrous  oak-trees  are  felled,  and  we  see  a 
brighter  field  of  battle  where  Christ  wars  with 
the  heathen.  This  appears  in  the  saga-cy^cle  of 
Charlemagne,  in  which  that  which  we  really  see 
is  the  Crusades  reflecting  themselves  with  their 
religious  influences.  And  now  from  the  spiritual- 
ising power  of  Christianity,  chivalry,  the  most 
characteristic  feature  of  the  Middle  Age,  unfolds 
itself,  and  is  at  last  sublimed  into  a  spiritual 
knighthood.  This  secular  knighthood  appears 
most  attractively  glorified  in  the  saga-cycle  of 
King  Arthur,  in  which  the  sweetest  gallantry,  the 
most  refined  courtesy,  and  the  most  adventurous 
passion  for  combat  prevail.  Among  the  charm- 
ingly eccentric  arabesques  and  fantastic  flower- 
pictures  of  this  poem  we  are  greeted  by  the 
admirable  Iwain,  the  all- surpassing  Lancelot  du 
Lac,  and  the  bold,  gallant,  and  true,  but  somewhat 
tiresome,  Wigalois.  Nearly- allied  and  interwoven 
with  this  cyclus  of  sagas  is  that  of  the  Holy  Grail, 
in  which  the  spiritual  knighthood  is  glorified; 
and  here  we  meet  three  of  tJie  grandest  poems  of 
the  Middle  Age,  the  Titurel,  the  Parcival,  and  the 
Lohengrin.     Here  we  indeed  find  ourselves  face 


«48 


THB  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


to  face  with  Bomantio  Poetry.  We  look  deeply 
into  her  great  sorrowing  eyes ;  she  twines  around 
us,  unsuspecting  it,  her  fine  scholastic  nets,  and 
draws  us  down  into  the  bewildering,  deluding 
depths  of  medisBval  mysticism. 

At  last,  however,  we  come  to  poems  of  that  age 
which  are  not  unconditionally  devoted  to  Christian 
spiritualism ;  nay,  it  is  often  indirectly  reflected 
on,  where  the  poet  disentangles  himself  from  the 
bonds  of  abstract  Christian  virtues,  and  plunges 
delighted  into  the  world  of  pleasure  and  of  glori- 
fied sensuality ;  and  it  is  not  the  worst  poet  by 
any  means  who  has  left  us  the  principal  work 
thus  inspired.  This  is  "  Tristan  and  Isolde ; "  and 
I  must  declare  that  Godfrey  of  Strasburg,  the  com- 
poser of  this  most  beautiful  poem  of  the  Middle 
Age,  is  perhaps  also  its  greatest  poet,  towering  far 
above  all  the  splendour  of  Wolfram  von  Eschilboch, 
whom  we  so  admire  in  "  Parcival,"  and  the  frag- 
ments of  "  Titurel."  It  may  now  be  permitted  to 
praise  Master  Godfrey  unconditionally,  though  in 
his  own  time  his  book  was  certainly  regarded  as 
godless ;  and  similar  works,  among  them  the  "  Lan- 
celot," considered  as  dangerous.  And  some  very 
serious  things  did  indeed  result.  The  fair  Francesca 
da  Polenta  ^  and  her  handsome  friend  had  to  pay 

1  In  the  French  Tenimi  the  usual  and  more  beautiful  name 
of  Francesca  da  Rimini  Lb  retained.  Franoesca  da  Polenta,  or 
"Fanny  Mush,"  is  as  unpoetioal  in  English  as  Beatrice  Cenci 
when  translated  to  "  Bettj  Rags." — Tran$lator. 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  249 

dearly  for  the  pleasure  of  reading  on  a  summer 
day  in  such  a  book;  but  the  trouble  came  not 
from  the  reading,  but  from  their  suddenly  ceasing 
to  read. 

There  is  in  all  these  poems  of  the  Middle  Age 
a  marked  character  which  distinguishes  them  from 
those  of  Greece  and  Rome.  We  characterise  this 
difference  by  calling  the  first  Romantic  and  the 
other  Classic.  Yet  these  appellations  are  only  un- 
certain rubrics,  and  have  led  hitherto  to  the  most 
discouraging,  wearisome  entanglements,  which  be- 
come worse  since  we  call  antique  poetry,  instead 
of  classic,  Plastic.  Here  was  the  cause  of  much 
misunderstanding;  for  justly,  all  poets  should 
work  their  material  plastically,  be  it  Christian  or 
heathen ;  they  should  set  it  forth  in  clear  outlines ; 
in  short,  plastic  form  should  be  the  main  thing 
in  modem  Romantic  art,  quite  as  much  as  in  the 
ancient.  And  are  not  the  figures  in  the  Divina 
Commedia  of  Dante  or  in  the  pictures  of  Raphael 
as  plastic  as  those  in  Virgil  ?  The  difference  lies 
in  this,  that  the  plastic  forms  in  ancient  art  are 
absolutely  identical  with  the  subject  or  the  idea 
which  the  artist  would  set  forth,  as,  for  example, 
that  the  wanderings  of  Ulysses  mean  nothing  else 
but  the  joumeyings  of  a  man  named  Odysseus, 
who  was  son  of  Laertes  and  husband  of  Penelope ; 
and  further,  that  the  Bacchus  which  we  see  in  the 
Louvre  is  nothing  else  than  the  graceful,  winsome 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


son  of  Semele,  with  andacions  melanclioly  in  his 
eyes  and  sacred  volnptnonsness  on  his  soft  and 
arching  lips.  It  is  all  otherwise  in  Romantic  art, 
in  which  the  wild  wanderings  of  a  knight  have 
ever  an  esoteric  meaning,  symbolising  perhaps  the 
erring  course  of  life.  The  dragon  whom  he  over- 
comes is  sin ;  the  almond  which  from  afar  casts 
comforting  perfume  to  the  traveller  is  the  Trinity, 
God  the  Father,  God  the  Son,  and  God  the  Holy 
Ghost,  which  are  three  in  one,  as  shell,  fibre,  and 
kernel  make  one  nut.  When  Homer  describes 
the  armour  of  a  hero,  it  is  a  good  piece  of  work, 
worth  so  or  so  many  oxen ;  but  when  a  monk  of 
the  Middle  Age  describes  in  his  poems  the  gar- 
ments of  the  Mother  of  God,  one  may  be  sure 
that  by  this  garb  he  means  as  many  virtues,  and 
a  peculiar  meaning  lies  hidden  under  this  holy 
covering  of  the  immaculate  virginity  of  Maria, 
who,  as  her  son  is  the  almond-kernel,  is  naturally 
Bung  as  the  almond-flower.  That  is  the  character 
of  the  mediasval  poetry  which  we  call  Romantic.^ 

^  This  distinction  and  description  are  admirable  beyond  praiae, 
and  it  is  not  to  negative  it,  but  to  add  as  a  very  curious  fact 
that  I  mention  that  among  the  Greeks  the  almond  was  the  sub- 
ject of  a  mass  of  mystical  symbolism  and  allegorical  legends 
even  deeper  and  stranger  than  those  of  the  Middle  Age,  which 
latter  were  indeed  derived  from  them.  Such  was  the  story  of 
the  dream  of  Jupiter,  the  begetting  of  Agdistis,  the  growth  of 
the  almond,  and  the  blessing  of  Atys,  as  given  by  Pausanins, 
(▼ii.  7),  also  the  equally  occult  story  of  Phyllis  and  Demophoon 


.'^      1  ,^-M*^*    »*■---' 


<:«-•«  t'«  •'~"i''-\  tt.^\t,*f^'L„^^^^,fmf^^,i^    „ 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.      :  ijl 

Classic  art  had  only  to  represent  the  finite  or 
determined,  and  its  forms  could  be  one  and  the 
same  with  the  idea  of  the  artist.  Romantic  art 
had  to  set  forth,  or  rather  signify,  the  infinite  and 
purely  spiritual,  and  it  took  refuge  in  ^  a  system 
of  traditional,  or  rather  of  parabolistic  symbols, 
as  Christ  himself  had  sought  to  render  clear  his 
spiritualistic  ideas  by  all  kinds  of  beautiful  parables. 
Hence  the  mystical,  problematic,  marvellous,  and 
transcendental  in  the  art- work  of  the  Middle  Age, 
in  which  fantasy  makes  her  most  desperate  efforts 
to  depict  the  purely  spiritual  by  means  of  sensible 
images,  and  invents  colossal  follies,  piling  Pelion 
on  Ossa  and  Parcival  on  Titurel  to  attain  to  heaven. 

Among  other  races  where  poetry  attempted  to 
display  the  infinite,  and  where  monstrous  fancies 

(Friedrich,  Symboltk  der  Natw,  Wurzburg,  1859,  p.  216).  From 
one  of  the  most  ancient  German  hymns,  also  from  Conrad  von 
Wurzburg  {Die  gdldene  Schmiede),  it  appears  most  manifest  that 
the  Christian  symbolism  of  the  ahnond  came  from  the  classic  ori- 
ginal, from  the  allusion  to  the  rod.  It  is  as  follows  :  "  Aaron  laid 
a  rod  in  the  earth,  which  bore  the  almond-nut,  noble  beyond  all 
measure :  that  didst  thou  bear,  mother,  without  man's  aid, 
Sancta  Maria!"  The  almond-rod  was  the  Greek  symbol  of 
generation  (Friedrich).  The  truth  is,  that  there  was  a  much 
greater  amount  of  occult,  curious,  and  poetical  symbolism  (re- 
sembling that  of  the  Middle  Age)  among  the  Bomans  than  is 
generally  imagined  even  among  scholars. — TrantUUor. 

^  French  version,  *'et  il  ^tait  oUig^  de  puiaser  sea  moyens 
dans  nn  syst^me  de  symboles  traditionelB."  Thia  is  preferable 
to  the  original. — TrandeOor. 


t^ttmmm^^t^S^Sa^ia^^mi^aiuiBAM^ 


•$• 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


appeared,  as,  for  instance,  among  tlie  Scandinavians 
and  Indians,^  we  iSnd  poems  which,  being  romantic, 
are  also  called  such. 

We  cannot  say  mnch  as  to  the  mnsic  of  the  Middle 
Age,  for  original  documents  as  to  it  are  wanting. 
It  was  not  till  late  in  the  sixteenth  century  that 
the  masterpieces  of  Catholic  church-mnsic,  which 
cannot  be  too  highly  praised,  appeared.  Tliese 
express  in  the  most  exquisite  manner  pure  Christian 
spiritualism.  The  recitative  arts,  which  are  spiritual 
from  their  very  nature,  could  indeed  flourish  fairly 
in  Christianity,  yet  it  was  less  favourable  to  those 
of  design,  for  as  these  had  to  represent  the  victory 
of  mind  over  matter,  and  yet  must  use  matter  as 
the  means  wherewith  to  work,  they  had  to  solve  a 
problem  against  Nature.  Hence  we  find  in  sculp- 
ture and  painting  those  revolting  subjects  martyr- 
doms, crucifixions,  dying  saints,  and  the  flesh  crushed 
in  every  form.  Such  themes  were  martyrdom  for 
sculpture ;  and  when  I  contemplate  those  distorted 
images  in  which  Christian  asceticism  and  renun- 
ciation of  the  senses  is  expressed  by  distorted, 
pious  heads,  long  thin  arms,  starveling  legs,  and 
awkwardly  fitting  garments,  I  feel  an  indescrib- 


^  This  if  quite  m  applicable  to  the  Red  Indians  of  America 
as  to  those  of  Asia,  since  the  former  also  possess  stupendous 
mythologies,  in  which  may  also  be  found  elementary  spirits  and 
elves  like  those  of  Paraoelsos,  heroic  sagaa,  and  highly  imagi- 
natire  legends  and  songs. — Tramlator. 


THE  ROMANTIC^SCHOOL.  453 

able  compassion  for  the  artists  of  that  time.  The 
painters  were  indeed  more  favoured,  for  the  mate- 
rial for  their  work  or  colour  did  not  in  its  uncon- 
trollablity,^  in  its  varied  play  of  colour,  resist 
spiritualism  so  obstinately  as  the  material  of  the 
sculptors,  and  yet  they  were  obliged  to  load  the 
sighing  canvas  with  the  most  repulsive  forms  of 
suffering.  In  truth,  when  we  regard  many  galleries 
which  contain  nothing  but  scenes  of  bloodshed, 
scourging,  and  beheading,  one  might  suppose  that 
the  old  masters  had  painted  for  the  collection  of 
an  executioner. 

But  human  genius  can  transform  and  glorify 
even  the  unnatural;  many  painters  solved  th^ 
problem  of  making  what  was  revolting  beautiful 
and  elevating,  and  the  Italians  especially  succeeded 
in  sacrificing  to  beauty  at  the  expense  of  spiritual- 
ism, and  in  rising  to  that  ideality  which  attained 
perfection  in  so  many  pictures  of  the  Madonna. 
As  regards  this  subject  the  Catholic  clergy  always 
made  some  concession  to  sensuality.  This  image 
of  immaculate  beauty  which  is  glorified  by  maternal 
love  and  suffering  had  the  privilege  of  being  made 
famous  by  poets  and  painters,  and  adorned  with 


^  Unerfcutbarkeit,  nngraspability.  In  French,  "jets  de  ooa- 
lenr  insaissisibles, "  the  next  claose  being  omitted.  Here,  aa 
in  all  instances  where  there  are  any  difficulties,  the  French 
translator  skips  or  slurs  them  over  in  the  most  airy  nuumer.— 
Tmndator. 


aS4 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


all  charms  of  the  sense.  For  it  was  a  magnet 
which  could  attract  the  great  multitude  to  the  lap 
of  Christianity.^  Madonna  Maria  was  the  beauti- 
ful dame  du  comptoir  of  the  Catholic  Church,  who 
attracted  with  her  beautiful  eyes,  and  held  fast  its 
customers,  especially  the  barbarians  of  the  North.* 
Architecture  had  in  the  Middle  Age  the  same 
character  as  the  other  arts,  as  indeed  all  the 
manifestations  of  life  then  harmonised  so  marvel- 
lously with  one  another.  The  tendency  to  parable 
shows  itself  here  as  in  poetry.  When  we  now 
enter  a  Gothic  cathedral,  we  hardly  suspect  the 
esoteric  sense  of  its  stone  symbolism;  only  a 
general  impression  pierces  our  soul ;  we  realise 
an  elevation  of  feeling  and  mortification  of  the 
flesh.  The  interior  is  a  hollow  cross,  and  we 
wander  among  the  instruments  of  martyrdom 
itself;  the  variegated  windows  cast  on  us  red 
and  green  light,  like  blood  and  corruption ;  funeral 
songs  waU  around;  under  our  feet  are  mortuary 
tablets  and  decay,  and  the  soul  soars  with  the 
colossal  columns  to  a  giddy  height,  tearing  itself 
with  pain  from  the  body,  which  falls  like  a  weary 
worn-out  garment  to  the  ground.  But  when  we 
behold  the  exteriors  of  these  Gothic  cathedrals, 


^  The  French  version  here  wisely  omits  the  word  "  magnet" 
*  French  version,  "  la  Vierge  Marie  ^tait  la  dame  ch&telaine 
de  I'^Iise  catholiqae,  et  qui  attirait  et  retenait  les  chevaliers 
du  Nord  par  son  doox  et  ofleste  sourire." — Translator. 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.      r  Jff 

these  enonnons  buildings  which  are  worked  so 
aerially,  so  finely,  delicately,  transparently,  cut  as 
it  were  into  open  work,  that  one  might  take  them 
for  Brabant  lace  in  marble,  then  we  feel  truly  the 
power  of  that  age  which  could  so  master  stone 
itself  that  it  seems  spectrally  transfused  with 
spiritual  life,  and  thus  even  the  hardest  material 
declares  Christian  spiritualism. 

But  arts  are  only  the  mirror  of  life,  and  as 
Catholicism  died  away,  so  its  sounds  grew  fainter 
and  its  lights  dimmer  in  art  During  the  Re- 
formation Catholic  song  gradually  disappeared  in 
Europe,  and  in  its  place  we  see  the  long-perished 
poetry  of  Greece  coming  to  life.  It  was  indeed 
only  an  artificial  spring,  a  work  of  the  gardener, 
not  of  the  sun,  and  the  trees  and  flowers  were  in 
close  pots  and  a  glass  canopy  protected  them  from 
cold  and  northern  wind.^  ^ 

In  the  world's  history  every  event  is  not  the 
direct  result  of  another ;  all  events  rather  exert  a 
mutual  influence.  It  was  by  no  means  due  only 
to  the  Greek  scholars  who  emigrated  to  Europe 
after  the  fall  of  Byzantium  that  a  love  for  Grecian 
culture  and  the  desire  to  imitate  it  became  so 
general  among  us,  a  similar  Protestantism  pre- 
vailed then  in  art  as  well  as  in  life.  Leo  X., 
that   splendid   Medicis,    was  as  zealous   a    Pro- 

^  Gkuihimmd,   literally  a  glass  heaven,  applied  to  green- 
hoosea.  . 


?>• 


256  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

-      ■  1        .     .. 

teetant  as   Luther,  and   as  there  was   a  Latin 

prose  protest  in  Wittenberg,  so  they  protested 
poetically  in  Rome  in  stone,  colour,  and  oUaverime. 
And  do  not  the  mighty  marble  images  of  Michael 
Angelo,  the  laughing  nymphs  of  Giulio  Komano, 
and  the  joyous  intoxication  of  life  in  the  verses 
of  Master  Ludovico  Ariosto  form  a  protesting 
opposition  to  the  old,  gloomy,  worn-out  Catho- 
licism? The  painters  of  Italy  waged  a  polemic 
against  priestdom  which  was  perhaps  more  prac- 
tical than  that  of  the  Saxon  theologian.  The 
blooming  rosy  flesh  in  the  pictures  of  Titian  is 
all  Protestantism.  The  limbs  of  his  Venus  are 
more  thorough  theses  than  those  which  the  German 
monk  pasted  on  the  church  door  of  Wittenberg. 
Then  it  was  that  men  felt  as  if  suddenly  freed 
from  force  and  pressure  of  a  thousand  years ;  most 
of  all  the  artists  again  breathed  freely  as  the 
nightmare  of  Christianity  seemed  to  spin  whirling 
from  their  breasts;^  they  threw  themselves  with 
enthusiasm  into  the  sea  of  Greek  joyousness,  from 
whose  foam  rose  to  them  goddesses  of  beauty. 
Painters  once  more  painted  the  ambrosial  joys  of 
Olympus;  sculptors  carved  with  the  joy  of  yore 

^  "Der  Alp  des  Christenthuma  von  der  Brnst  gewalzt  scbien." 
The  Alp,  a  nightmare  (from  Elb,  a  witch's  child  by  an  imp,  or 
same  root  as  Mf)  is  supposed,  like  the  Irrwiteh,  to  go  spinning 
or  waltzing  away.  According  to  Martinius,  Alp  is  from  the 
Alba,  a  dancing  white  spectre  or  white  lady,  the  same  as  the 
Vila  of  the  Slavonians. — Tranilator. 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  257 

old  heroes  from  the  marble ;  poets  again  sang  the 
house  of  Atreos  and  Laius ;  and  so  the  age  of 
new  classic  poetry  began. 

As  modem  life  was  most  perfectly  developed  in 
France  under  Louis  XIV.,  the  new  classic  poetry 
also  received  there  its  most  finished  perfection,  and 
in  a  measure  an  independent  originality.  Through 
the  political  influence  of  the  great  king  this  poetry 
spread  over  Europe ;  in  Italy,  its  home,  it  assumed  a 
French  colour ;  the  heroes  of  French  tragedy  went 
with  the  Anjous  to  Spain ;  it  passed  with  Madame 
Henrietta  to  England,  and  we  Grermans  of  course 
built  our  clumsy  temples  to  the  powdered  Olym- 
pus of  Versailles.  The  most  famous  high-priest 
of  this  religion  was  Grottsched,  that  wonderful 
long  wig  whom  our  dear  Goethe  has  so  admirably 
described  in  his  memoirs. 

Lessing  was  the  literary  Arminius  who  delivered 
our  theatre  from  this  foreign  rule.  He  showed 
us  the  nothingness,  the  laughableness,  the  flat 
and  faded  folly  of  those  imitations  of  the  French 
theatre,  which  were  in  turn  imitated  from  the 
Greek.  But  he  became  the  founder  of  modem 
German  literature,  not  only  by  his  criticism,  but 
by  his  own  works  of  art.  This  man  pursued  with 
enthusiasm  and  sincerity  art,  theology,  antiquity, 
and  archaeology,  the  art  of  poetry,  history;  jJl 
with  the  same  zeal  and  to  the  same  purpose. 
There  lives   and  breathes  in  all   his  works  the 

VOL.  I.  jj 


2S8 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


same  great  social  idea,  the  same  progressive 
humanity,  the  same  religion  of  reason,  whose 
John  he  was,  and  whose  Messiah  we  await.  This 
religion  he  always  preached,  but  alas!  too  often 
alone  and  in  the  desert.  And  there  was  one  art 
only  of  which  he  knew  nothing — ^that  of  changing 
stones  into  bread,  for  he  consumed  the  greatest 
part  of  his  life  in  poverty  and  under  hard  pres- 
sure,— a  curse  which  clings  to  nearly  all  great 
German  geniuses,  and  will  last,  it  may  be,  till 
ended  by  political  freedom.  Lessing  was  more 
inspired  by  political  feelings  than  men  supposed, 
a  peculiarity  which  we  do  not  find  among  his 
contemporaries,  and  we  can  now  see  for  the  first 
time  what  he  meant  in  sketching  the  duo-despo- 
tism in  Emilia  Galotti.^  He  was  regarded  then 
as  a  champion  of  freedom  of  thought  and  against 
clerical  intolerance ;  for  his  theological  writings 
were  better  understood.  The  fragments  "  On  the 
Education  of  the  Human  Race,"  which  Eugene 
Rodrigue  has  translated  into  French,  may  give 
an  idea  of  the  vast  comprehensiveness  of  Less- 
ing's  mind.  The  two  critical  works  which  exer- 
cised the  most  influence  on  art  are  his  Hamhurgische 
Dramaturgie — "  Hamburg  Dramatic  Art  " — and 


^  Jhu>dezdetj>Qti»mut.  A  joke  fearfully  and  wouderfullj 
made,  to  which  the  French  translator  succumbs  by  meekly 
calling  it  detpotisme. — Trantlator. 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  259 

his  "Laocoon,  or  the  Limits  of  Painting  and 
Poetry."  His  most  remarkable  theatrical  pieces 
are  "Emilia  Galotti,"  "Minna  von  Bamhelm," 
and  "Nathan  the  Wise." 

Gotthold  Ephraim  Lessing  was  bom  at  Camenz 
in  Lausitz,  the  22nd  January  1729,  and  died  in 
Brunswick  the  15th  of  February  1781.  He  was  a 
man  out  and  out,  who,  when  he  destroyed  some- 
thing old  in  a  battle,  at  the  same  time  always 
created  something  new  and  better.  "He  was," 
says  a  German  author,  "  like  those  pious  Jews,  who 
during  the  second  building  of  the  Temple  were 
often  troubled  by  attacks  of  the  enemy,  and  so 
foDght  with  one  hand  while  with  the  other  they 
worked  at  the  house  of  God."  This  is  not  the 
place  where  I  can  say  more  of  Lessing,  but  I 
cannot  refrain  from  remarking  that  he  is,  of  all 
who  are  recorded  in  the  whole  history  of  litera- 
ture, the  writer  whom  I  love  best. 

I  will  here  mention  another  author  who  worked 
in  the  same  spirit,  with  the  same  object  as 
Lessing,  and  who  may  be  regarded  as  his  suc- 
cessor. It  is  true  that  his  eulogy  is  here  also 
out  of  place,  since  he  occupies  an  altogether 
peculiar  position  in  Kterature,  and  his  relation 
to  his  time  and  to  his  contemporaries.  It  is 
Johann  Gottfried  Herder,  bom  in  1744  at 
Morungen,  in  East  Prussia,  and  who  died  at 
Weimar  in  the  year  1803. 


26o 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


Literary  history  is  the  great  Morgue  where 
every  one  seeks  his  dead,  those  whom  he 
loves  or  to  whom  he  is  related.  When  I  see 
there,  among  so  many  dead  of  little  interest,  a 
Lessiug  or  a  Herder,  with  their  noble  manly 
countenances,  my  heart  throbs;  I  cannot  pass 
them  by  without  hastily  kissing  their  dead 
lips.  I 

Yet  if  Lessing  did  so  much  to  destroy  the  imi- 
tating of  French  second-hand  Greekdom,  he  still, 
by  calling  attention  to  the  true  works  of  art  of 
Greek  antiquity,  gave  an  impulse  to  a  new  kind 
of  ridiculous  imitations.  By  his  battling  with  re- 
ligious superstition  he  advanced  the  sober  search 
for  clearer  views  which  spread  widely  in  Berlin, 
and  had  in  the  late  blessed  Nicolai  its  chief  organ, 
and  in  the  General  German  Library  its  arsenal.^ 
The  most  deplorable  mediocrity  began  to  show 
itself  more  repulsively  than  ever,  and  flatness  and 
insipidity  blew  themselves  up  like  the  frog  in 
the  fable. 

It  is  a  great  mistake  to  suppose  that  Goethe, 
who  had  already  come  before  the  world,  was  gene- 
rally known  then  in  the  true  sense.  His  Gotz  von 
Berlichingen  and  his  Werther  were  received  with 
enthusiasm :  but  so  too  were  the  works  of  common 


^  This  reference  to  Nicoisi  and  the  Library  is  omitted  in 
the  French  version.  t 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  l6x 

bunglers,!  and  Goethe  had  but  a  small  niche  in  the 
temple  of  literature.  As  I  have  said,  Gotz  and 
Werther  had  a  spirited  reception,  but  more  on 
account  of  the  subject-matter  than  of  their  artistic 
merits,  which  very  few  appreciated  in  these  master- 
works.  Gotz  was  a  dramatised  romance  of  chivalry, 
and  such  writings  were  then  the  rage.  In  Werther 
the  worid  saw  the  reproduction  of  a  true  story, 
that  of  young  Jerusalem,  who  shot  himself  dead 
for  love,  and  thereby,  in  those  dead-calm  days, 
made  a  great  noise.  People  read  with  tears  his 
touching  letters;  some  shrewdly  observed  that 
the  manner  in  which  Werther  had  been  banished 
from  aristocratic  society  had  increased  his  weari- 
ness of  Ufe.  The  discussion  of  suicide  caused  the 
book  to  be  still  more  discussed;  it  occurred  to 
several  fools  on  this  occasion  to  shoot  themselves, 
and  the  book,  owing  to  its  subject,  went  off  like  a 
shot.*  The  novels  of  August  Lafontaine  were  just 
as  much  read,  and  as  this  author  wrote  incessantly, 
he  was  more'  famous  than  Wolfgang  Goethe. 
Wieland  was  the  great  poet  then,  with  whom  per- 
haps might  be  classed  the  ode-maker,  Ramler  of 
Berlin.     Wieland  was  honoured  idolatrously,  far 

^  Stamper.  In  America  the  same  word  ttumper  is  sometimes 
nsed  in  the  same  sense. — Translator. 

'  "  Das  Buch  maohte  durch  seinen  Stoff  einen  bedeotenden 
Knalleffekt."  French  version,  "I'oavrage  fit  alora  un  effet 
complet" — Translator. 


Ste  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

more  at  that  time  than  Goethe.  Iffland  ruled  the 
theatre  with  his  dreary  bourgeois  dramas,  and 
Kotzebue  with  his  flat  and  frivolously  witty  jests.^ 
It  was  in  opposition  to  this  literature  that  there 
sprung  up  in  Germany,  at  the  end  of  the  last 
century,  a  school  which  we  call  the  Romantic,  and 
of  which  Messrs.  August  Wilhelm  and  Friedrich 
Schlegel  have  presented  themselves  as  managing 
agents.  Jena,  where  these  and  many  other  souls 
in  like  accord  found  themselves  "off  and  on,"  was 
the  centre  from  which  the  new  SBsthetic  doctrine 
spread.  I  say  doctrine,  for  this  school  began  with 
judgments  of  the  art  works  of  the  past  and  giving 
recipes  for  art  works  of  the  future,  and  in  both 
directions  the  Schlegel  school  rendered  great  ser- 
vice to  aesthetic  criticism.  By  judging  of  such 
works  of  art  as  already  existed,  either  their  faults 
and  failures  were  indicated,  or  their  merits  and 
beauties  brought  to  light.  In  controversy  and  in 
thus  indicating  artistic  shortcomings,  the  Messrs^ 
Schlegel  were  entirely  imitators  of  old  Lessing; 
they  obtained  possession  of  his  great  battle-blade, 

*  In  the  older  G-ermao  version  the  word  bUrgerlich  (bourgeois) 
is  wanting,  and  instead  of  banal  there  is  trivial  (6.  P.).  In  the 
French  version  the  passage  is  as  follows :  "  Cependant  il  faut 
avoaer  que  I'auteur  de  TOberon  et  d'Aristippe  a  bien  m^rit^  ses 
8ucc^  ;  il  a  dot^  I'Allemagne  de  chefs-d'oeavre  aussi  beaux 
qu'utiles,  c'^tait  un  g^nt  k  cdt^  de  Iffland  qui  dominait  le 
tb^tre  avec  ses  drames  bourgeois,  et  Kotzebue  avec  sea  innom- 
brables  commies." — Trandator.  .,      . 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  fS] 

but  the  arm  of  Angast  William  Schlegel  was  too 
tenderly  weak,  and  the  eyes  of  his  brother  Friedrich 
too  mystically  clouded  for  the  former  to  strike  so 
strongly  and  the  latter  so  keenly  and  accurately  as 
Lessing.  True,  in  descriptive  criticism,  where  the 
beauties  of  a  work  of  art  are  to  be  set  forth — where 
it  came  to  a  delicate  feeling  out  of  its  character- 
istics, and  bringing  them  home  to  our  intelligence 
— ^then,  compared  to  the  Schlegels,  old  Lessing  was 
nowhere.^  But  what  shall  I  say  as  to  their  recipes 
for  preparing  works  of  art?  There  we  find  in 
the  Messrs.  Schlegel  a  weakness  which  we  think 
may  also  be  detected  in  Lessing;  for  he  is  as 
weak  in  affirming  as  he  is  strong  in  denying.  He 
rarely  succeeds  in  laying  down  a  fundamental 
principle,  still  more  seldom  a  correct  one.  He 
wants  the  firm  basis  of  a  philosophy  or  of  a 
philosophical  system.  And  this  is  still  more  sadly 
the  case  with  the  brothers  Schlegel. 

Much  is  fabled  as  to  the  influence  of  Fichtean 
Idealism  and  Schelling's  philosophy  of  Nature  on 
the  Romantic  school,  which  is  even  declared  to 
have  sprung  from  it.  But  I  see  here  at  the  most 
only  the  influence  of  certain  fragments  of 
thoughts   from   Fichte   and   Schelling,    but    not 

^  "Da  rind  die  Herrn  Schlegel  dem  alten  Leasing  ganz 
tiberlegea"  Quite  as  familiar  a  phrase  as  the  one  which  I  hare 
employed.  In  American  parlance  it  would  be  literally  trans- 
lated as  "  old  Lessing  is  laid  out  flat." — Trandator. 


264 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


at  all  that  of  a  philosophy;  and  this  may  be 
explained  on  the  simple  ground  that  Fichte's 
philosophy  had  lost  its  hold,  and  Fichte  himself 
had  made  it  lose  its  interest  by  a  mingling  of 
tenets  and  ideas  from  Schelling ;  and  because,  on 
the  other  hand,  Schelling  had  never  set  forth  a 
philosophy,  but  only  a  vague  philosophising,  an 
unsteady  vacillating  improvisation  of  poetical 
philosophemes.  It  may  be  that  it  was  from  the 
Fichtean  Idealism — that  deeply  ironical  system, 
where  the  I  is  opposed  to  the  not-I  and  annihilates 
it — that  the  Romantic  school  took  the  doctrine  of 
irony  which  the  late  Solger  especially  developed, 
and  which  the  Schlegels  at  first  regarded  as  the 
soul  of  art,  but  which  they  subsequently  found 
to  be  fruitless,  and  exchanged  for  the  more 
positive  axioms  of  the  Theory  of  Identity  of 
Schelling.  Schelling,  who  then  taught  in  Jena, 
had  indeed  a  great  personal  influence  on  the 
Bomantic  school:  he  is,  what  is  not  generally 
known  in  France,  also  a  bit  of  a  poet ;  and  it  is 
said  that  he  was  in  doubt  whether  he  should  not 
deliver  all  his  philosophical  doctrines  in  a  poetic 
or  even  metrical  form.  This  doubt  characterises 
the  man.^  I 

But  if  the   Messrs.    Schlegel   could    not    lay 

^  All  of  the  preceding  paragraph,  from  the  words  "  mnch  is 
fabled,"  are  omitted  in  the  French  version,  and  the  greater 
part  is  only  to  be  found  in  the  first  German  edition. — Trandator. 


/ 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  tf6i 

down  any  definite  system  for  the  great  works 
which  they  prescribed  to  the  poets  of  their  school, 
they  made  up  the  defect  by  recommending  the 
best  productions  of  the  past  as  patterns,  and  by 
making  them  accessible  to  their  scholars.  These 
were  chiefly  the  works  of  the  Christian-Catholic 
school  of  the  Middle  Age.  The  translation  of 
Shakespeare,  who  stands  on  the  border  of  this  art, 
and  smiles  with  Protestant  clearness  into  our 
modem  time,  was  intended  for  controversial 
purposes,  which  it  would  require  too  much  space 
to  explain  here;*  and  this  translation  was 
undertaken  by  August  Wilhelm  von  Schlegel  at  a 
time  before  people  had  quite  enthused  themselves 
back  into  the  Middle  Age.  Later,  when  this 
came  to  pass,  Calderon  was  translated  and  exalted 
far  above  Shakespeare,  because  it  was  found  that 
in  him  the  piety  of  the  Middle  Age  was  most 
clearly  and  purely  impressed,  and  that  in  its  two 
leading  motives,  chivalry  and  monachism.  The 
pious  comedies  of  the  Castilian  priestly  poet, 
whose  flowers  of  fable  are  sprinkled  with  holy 
water  and  ecclesiastically  incensed,  were  imitated 
with  all  their  holy  grandeza,  all  their  sacerdotal 
luxury,  all  their  consecrated  conceits  and  craziness, 
and  we  saw  flourishing  in  Germany  those  chequered- 

^  Vide  "Shakespeare's  Maidens  and  Women"  for  this  ex- 
planation.— Trcmilator. 


266  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

faithed,  insanely  profound  poems  in  which  hearts 
were  mystically  enamonred,  as  in  the  Andacht 
zum  Kreutz — "  Adoration  of  the  Cross  " — or  beat 
in  honour  of  the  Virgin  Mary,  as  in  Der  standhafte 
Prim — "  The  Constant  Prince  " — and  Zacharias 
Werner  carried  matters  in  this  direction  as  far 
as  they  could  well  go  without  being  shut  up  by 
the  proper  authority  in  a  madhouse. 

"Our  poetry,"  said  the  brothers  Schlegel,  "is 
old ;  our  Muse  is  an  old  wife  with  a  distafiE ;  our 
Cupid  is  not  a  blonde  boy,  but  a  shrunk  and 
shrivelled  dwarf  with  grey  hair ;  our  feelings  are 
faded,  our  imagination  is  dry ;  we  must  re-freshen 
ourselves,  we  must  seek  again  the  fiUed-up  foun- 
tains of  naive,  simple  poesy  of  the  Middle  Age, 
and  then  there  will  sparkle  up  again  for  us 
the  waters  of  youth."  ^  It  was  not  necessary  to 
speak  thus  twice  to  a  dried-up,  arid  people,  especi- 
ally to  those  poor  souls  with  thirsty  throats  who 
dwelt  in  the  Prussian  sands,  who  longed  to  become 
youthful  and  blooming,  and  they  rushed  to  the 
wondrous  springs,  and  swilled,  swallowed,  and 
swigged  with  immoderate  desire.  But  it  hap- 
pened to  them  as  it  did  to  the  old  lady's-maid 
of  whom  this  tale  is  told.     She  had  observed  that 


^  Here  the  French  version  has  a  better  word  than  the  original, 
"  la  ruisseller  a  poor  nous  I'eau  de  Jouvenoe,"  in  reference  to 
a  Trouveur  lai  by  that  name. — Trandator. 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  M7 

her  mistress  had  a  magic  elixir  which  restored 
youth,  and  one  day  when  her  dame  had  departed, 
she  took  the  vial  of  the  elixir  from  her  toilette 
table,  but  instead  of  sipping  a  few  drops,  she  took 
such  a  tremendous  pull,  that  owing  to  the  greatly 
concentrated  marvellous  strength  of  the  rejuvenat- 
ing reviver,  she  became  not  merely  young,  but  a 
very  little  child.  And  so  indeed  it  happened  to 
our  admirable  Tieck,  one  of  the  best  poets  of  the 
school,  that  he  became  almost  a  babe,  and  bloomed 
into  that  babbling  simplicity  which  Madame  de 
Stael  had  so  much  trouble  to  admire.  She  herself 
admits  that  it  seemed  very  singular  to  her  when 
a  character  came  forth  in  a  drama  making  his 
debut  with  the  words,  "  I  am  the  bold  Bonifacius, 
and  I  come  to  let  you  know,"  et  ccetera. 

Ludwig  Tieck  had  in  his  novel  Steinhald's 
Wanderungen — "The  Travels  of  Steinbald" — 
and  in  "The  Outpourings  of  the  Heart  by  an 
art-loving  Monk,"  by  a  certain  Wackenroder, 
which  he  published,  commended  to  artists  the 
naive  rude  beginnings  of  art  as  models.  The 
pious  and  childlike  feeling  which  appears  even 
in  their  unskilfulness  was  advised  for  imita- 
tion. Of  Raphael  they  would  not  hear  a  word, 
and  indeed  cared  little  for  Perugino,  his  teacher, 
who  was,  however,  far  more  prized,  and  in  whom 
they  discovered  remains  of  those  excellences 
whose  entire  perfection  they  so  piously  admired 


auar: 


•fi  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

in  the  immortal  master-works  of  Fra  Giovanno 
Angelioo  da  Fiesole.  To  form  a  conception  of  the 
taste  of  the  art-enthnsiasts  of  those  times,  one 
should  go  to  the  Louvre,  where  the  best  pictures 
which  were  so  absolutely  admired  are  to  be  seen. 
To  get  an  idea  of  the  mob  of  poets  who  imitated 
the  bards  of  the  Middle  Age  in  all  possible  metres, 
he  should  visit  the  madhouse  of  Charenton.  ! 

And  yet  I  think  that  those  pictures  in  the  first 
hall  of  the  Louvre  are  far  too  graceful  to  give  an 
idea  of  the  taste  of  those  days  in  art  in  Germany. 
One  should  think  of  these  old  Italian  pictures  as 
translated  into  old  German ;  for  they  regarded  the 
works  of  the  old  German  painters  as  far  more 
simple  and  childlike,  therefore  more  worthy  of 
imitation,  than  the  old  Italian.  It  was  declared 
that  the  Germans  with  their  Gemiith  (a  word 
for  which  there  is  no  equivalent  in  French  ^) 
could  feel  Christianity  more  deeply  than  other 
nations;  and  Friedrich  Schlegel  and  his  friend 
Joseph  Gorres  rooted  and  rummaged  in  all  the 
old  towns  on  the  Rhine  for  the  remains  of  old 
German  pictures  and  carvings,  which  were  adored 
with  blind  faith  as  holy  relics. 

I  have  compared  the  German  Parnassus  of  those 

^  OemiUh,  defined  as  soul,  spirit,  state  of  mind,  disposition, 
mood.  OemiUkvoU,  full  of  cheerful  or  kindly  feeling,  genial. 
It  may  generally  be  rendered  in  English  by  "feeling,"  if  we 
allow  to  our  word  all  its  true  meanings. — Trantlator.       i 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  269 

days  with  Charenton,  but  I  beliere  it  is  too  little 
said.  A  French  lunacy  is  far  behind  a  German 
one,  for  in  this  latter  madness,  as  Polonius  said, 
there  is  method;  and  that  German  lunacy  was 
carried  out  with  a  pedantry  surpassing  all  belief, 
with  a  terrible  conscientiofis  scrupulousness,  with 
a  thoroughness  of  which  a  superficial  French  mad- 
man cannot  even  form  an  idea. 

The  political  condition  of  Germany  was  then 
peculiarly  favourable  to  a  Christian  Old-German 
movement.  "Poverty  teaches  prayer,"  says  the 
proverb,^  and  truly  poverty  or  dire  need  was  never 
greater  in  Germany,  and  therefore  the  people  were 
specially  inclined  to  prayer,  piety,  and  Christianity. 
There  is  no  race  more  devoted  to  its  princes  than 
ours;  and  what  grieved  them  more  than  the 
mournful  condition  to  which  their  country  had 
been  reduced  by  war  and  foreign  rule  was  the 
melancholy  sight  of  their  conquered  rulers  creep- 
ing to  the  feet  of  Napoleon.  The  whole  nation 
were  like  those  true-hearted  old  servants  whom 
we  pity  in  plays,  the  retainers  in  great  families, 
who  feel  the  humiliations  which  their  masters 
suffer  more  than  the  masters  themselves;  who 
weep  their  bitterest  tears  in   secret   when   the 

1  "Noth    lehrt    beten,"    also   "Noth  lehrt    rufeii,"  "Noth 
bricht  eisen,"  "  Noth  iat  Meiater,"  &a     There  are  nearly  thirty 

German  proverbs  on  the  word  "  Noth,"  all  to  the  same  effect 

Trandaior. 


270 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


family  plate  must  be  sold,  and  even  apply  their 
own  poor  savings  that  noble  vrax-tapers,  and  not 
plain  tallow-candles,  may  appear  on  the  gentle- 
folk's table.  The  universal  unrest  and  depression 
found  relief  in  religion,  and  there  sprung  up  a 
pietistic  yielding  to  the  will  of  God,  from  whom 
alone  help  was  hoped  for.  And  indeed  none  other 
save  God  could  help  against  Napoleon.  There  could 
be  no  more  reliance  on  earthly  armies,  and  eyes 
must  be  raised  in  hope  only  to  Heaven.  | 

And  so  we  could  also  have  borne  peacefully 
enough  with  Napoleon.  But  our  princes,  while 
they  hoped  that  God  would  free  them  from  him, 
also  indulged  the  thought  that  the  united  forces 
of  their  people  might  also  be  of  great  assistance, 
and  they  sought  with  this  intention  to  awaken  a 
common  feeling  among  the  Germans;  and  even 
the  most  eminent  personages  now  spoke  of  German 
nationality,  of  a  common  German  Fatherland,  of 
the  union  of  the  Christian- German  races,  and  of 
the  unity  of  Germany.  We  were  ordered  to  be- 
come patriots,  and  patriots  we  became  ;  for  we  do 
everything  which  our  princes  command. 

But  one  should  not  here  understand  by  patriot- 
ism quite  the  same  feeKng  which  the  word  implies 
in  France.  The  patriotism  of  the  Frenchman 
consists  in  this,  that  his  heart  is  thereby  warmed ; 
by  this  warmth  it  expands,  spreads,  and  no  longer 
embraces  his  nearest  emotions,  but  all  France  and 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  rft 

all  the  realm  of  civilisation.  The  patriotiflm  of 
the  German,  however,  is  shown  by  his  heart  be- 
coming narrower  and  shrinking  up  and  drawing 
in  like  leather  in  a  frost ;  by  hating  everything 
foreign,  and  being  no  longer  European  or  cosmo- 
polite, but  only  a  closely-cramped  Deutscher.  So 
we  saw  the  ideal  churl  and  clownishness  reduced 
to  system  by  Jahn,  the  beginning  of  a  shabby, 
clumsy,  unwashed  opposition  to  the  sentiment 
which  is  the  very  highest  and  holiest  which  Ger- 
many ever  brought  forth,  namely,  that  humanity, 
that  universal  fraternisation  of  mankind,  that 
cosmopolitanism  to  which  our  great  minds,  Lessing, 
Herder,  Schiller,  Goethe,  and  Jean  Paul,  were 
ever  devoted. 

What  happened  soon  after  in  Germany  is  too 
well  known  to  you  all.  When  God,  the  snow,  and 
the  Cossacks  had  destroyed  the  better  portion  of 
Napoleon's  forces,  we  Germans  received  the  all- 
superior  command  to  free  ourselves  from  foreign 
yoke,  and  we  flamed  up  in  manly  rage  at  the 
slavery  too  long  endured,  and  we  inspired  our- 
selves with  the  good  tunes  and  bad  verses  of 
Komer's  songs,  and  we  conquered  our  freedom ; 
for  we  do  everything  which  our  princes  com- 
mand. 

During  a  time  when  men  were  arming  for  such 
a  strife,  a  school  most  unfriendly  to  all  that  was 
French,  and  which  exalted  with  enthusiasm  every- 


i'--.' 


S7S  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

thing  which  was  German  in  life,  art,  and  letters, 
naturally  found  vigorous  support  The  Romantic 
school  then  went  hand  in  hand  with  the  eflForts 
of  our  Governments  and  the  secret  societies,  and 
August  Wilhelm  Schlegel  conspired  against  Racine 
with  the  same  object  as  that  with  which  Minister 
Stein  conspired  against  Napoleon.  The  school 
swam  with  the  stream  of  the  time,  which  was 
a  stream  running  back  to  its  source.  When  at 
last  German  patriotism  and  German  nationality 
thoroughly  triumphed,  there  triumphed  too  as 
decidedly  with  it  the  popular  German-Christian 
Romantic  school,  and  the  "New  German  Religious- 
Patriotic  Art."  Napoleon,  the  great  classic — even 
as  classic  as  Alexander  and  CsBsar — fell,  and 
Messrs.  August  Wilhelm  and  Friedrich  Schlegel, 
who  were  quite  as  romantic  as  Tom  Thumb  and 
Puss-in- Boots,  arose — ^rose  as  victors. 

But  here  too  came  the  reaction  which  follows 
on  the  heels  of  every  excess.  As  spiritualistic 
Christendom  was  a  reaction  against  the  brutal  rule 
of  Imperial  Roman  materialism;  as  the  renewed 
love  for  joyous  Greek  art  and  learning  was  the  same 
against  the  Christian  spiritualism,  deteriorated  to 
imbecile  asceticism ;  as  the  awakening  of  mediffival 
romance  was  a  counter-action  against  the  prosaic 
imitation  of  old  classic  art;  so  we  now  see  also 
a  recoil  against  the  restoration  of  that  Catholic- 
feudal  thought,  and  that  knighthood  and  priest- 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL,  273 

hood  which  had  been  preached  in  form  and  lan- 
goage  under  the  greatest  contrarieties. 

When  these  highly-praised  models,  the  art- 
masters  of  the  Middle  Age,  were  so  extolled  and 
exalted,  their  excellence  was  explained  by  the  fact 
that  those  men  believed  in  the  subjects  which  they 
set  forth,  and  that  they  in  their  artless  simplicity 
could  do  more  than  the  later  artists  without  faith, 
who  had  advanced  so  much  further  in  technique  or 
practical  execution,  and  that  this  faith  had  wrought 
miracles  in  them.  And,  in  faith,  how  could  one 
otherwise  explain  the  glories  of  a  Fra  Angelica  da 
Fiesole  or  the  poem  of  Brother  Ottfried  ?  There- 
fore, the  artists  who  were  in  earnest,  and  would  fain 
reproduce  the  divine  distortions  of  those  marvellous 
pictures  and  the  holy  awkwardness  of  those  mar- 
vellous poems,  and,  in  short,  the  inefifable  mysticism 
of  all  the  old  works,  made  up  their  minds  to  repair 
to  the  same  Hippocrene  where  the  old  masters  had 
imbibed  their  miraculous  inspiration.  They  pil- 
grimed  to  Rome,  where  the  Vicegerent  of  Christ 
could  revive  and  strengthen  consumptive  German 
art  with  the  milk  of  his  she-ass ;  they  went  to  the 
bosom  of  the  only  beatifying  Roman  Catholic 
Apostolic   Church.^      No   formal   transition   was 


1  French  version,  "ils  se  dirig^rent  vers  le  b^nitier  de  I'^lise  qui 
seule  bedtifie."    This  ia  better  than  the  German,  as  affording  a  fit 
antithesis  to  Hippocrene,  or  the  fountain  of  youth. — Trandator. 
VOL.  I.  S 


974  r//E  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

needed  for  many  hangers-on  of  the  Romantic 
school ;  they  were — as  for  example — Gorres  and 
Clemens  Brentauo,  bom  Catholics,  and  they  only 
renounced  the  free-thinking  views  which  they  had 
formed.  But  others  were  born  and  brought  up  as 
Protestants — ^for  instance,  Friedrich  Schlegel,  Lud- 
wig  Tieck,  Novalis,  Werrer,  Schiitz,  Carov^,  and 
Adam  Miiller,  and  their  conversion  required  a 
public  confirmation.  Here  I  have  only  mentioned 
writers — the  number  of  painters  who  abjured  in 
shoals  the  evangelical  faith,  and  with  it  reason 
and  common-sense,  was  much  greater.^ 

When  the  world  saw  how  these  young  people 
stood  in  a  queue  pressing  for  tickets  of  admission 
to  the  Roman  Catholic  Church,  and  crowded  again 
into  the  old  prison-house  of  the  soul,  from  which 
their  fathers  had  with  such  might  and  pain  delivered 
themselves,  it  shook  its  head,  in  Germany,  very  sig- 
nificantly. But  when  it  was  found  that  a  propa- 
ganda of  priests  and  gentlemen  who  had  conspired 
against  the  religion  and  political  freedom  of  Europe 
had  a  hand  in  the  game,  and  that  it  was  really 
Jesuitism  which  was  enticing  German  youth  to  ruin 
with  the  soft  melodies  of  romance,  as  did  the  rat- 

^  It  is  simple  truth,  that  the  Catholic  Church  owed  its  prac- 
tical morality  after  the  Reformation,  and  its  revival  of  mediaeval 
art  in  later  times,  almost  entirely  to  Protestant  influence  and 
action.  The  word  Vemunft,  here  implying  both  reason  and  sense, 
is  omitted  in  the  French  version.  —  Translator. 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  vi$ 

catcher  the  children  of  Haraeln,  great  displeasure 
and  flaming  rage  burst  up  among  the  friends  of 
intellectual  freedom  and  of  Protestantism.^ 

I  have  classed  freedom  of  thought  and  Protes- 
tantism together,  but  I  hope  that  though  I  belong 
in  Germany  to  the  Protestant  Church,  I  shall  not 
be  accused  of  partisan  feeling  for  it.  I  have  truly 
classed  freedom  of  thought  and  Protestantism  to- 
gether without  partisan  feeling,  2  and  indeed  there 
is  in  Germany  a  friendly  relation  between  them. 
In  any  case  they  are  closely  connected ;  in  fact, 
like  mother  and  daughter.  And  if  we  can  reproach 
the  Protestant  Church  with  many  fearful  in- 
stances of  narrow-mindedness,  it  must  be  admitted, 
to  its  immortal  credit,  that  it  permitted  free  in- 
quiry into  Christianity,  and  freed  minds  from  the 
yoke  of  authority,  so  that  bold  research  could 
strike  forth  roots,  especially  in   Germany,    and 

^  The  allusion  to  the  rat-catcher  of  Hameln  is  omitted  in 
the  French  version,  probably  because  it  would  not  have  been 
generally  understood.  The  poem  by  Browning  on  the  subject 
is  known  to  all  my  readers.  I  can  remember  once  a-sking  the 
late  Mr.  Browning  if  he  had  ever  read  the  old  Latin  or  old 
German  poems  on  the  subject,  when  he  informed  me  he  had 
never  heard  of  them.  It  was  from  these  poems,  as  well  as 
what  else  is  given  by  Kommann  (Curiosa),  that  Heine  learned 
the  story. — Tranglator. 

2  One  of  Heine's  very  frequent  instances  of  mere  repetition 
without  point,  such  as,  when  indulged  in  by  an  orator  before  an 
American  audience,  once  elicited  the  remark,  "  Sit  down  ;  you're 
going  back  into  the  same  hole  you  came  out  of." — Trandator. 


276  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.       ^ 

learning  and  Bcitmce  develop  themselves  inde- 
pendently. Gorman  philosophy,  though  it  now 
ranks  itself  equal  with  the  Protestant  Church,  and 
will  even  take  precedence  of  it,  is  always  its 
daughter ;  as  such,  it  always  owes  it  respect  and 
regard,  and  the  interests  of  affinity  demand 
alliance  between  them  when  both  are  threatened 
by  their  common  enemy,  Jesuitism.  All  the 
friends  of  freedom  of  thought,  sceptics  as  well  as 
orthodox,  rose  simultaneously  against  the  restorers 
of  Catholicism,  and,  as  may  be  understood,  the 
Liberals,  who  were  not  interested  either  in  philo- 
sophy or  the  Protestant  Church,  but  for  the  cause 
of  municipal  freedom,  also  joined  the  opposition. 
But  in  Germany  the  Liberals  were,  and  still  are, 
at  once  professors  of  philosophy  and  theologians, 
and  it  is  always  for  the  idea  of  freedom  which 
they  fight,  whether  they  treat  of  a  subject  which 
is  purely  political  or  a  philosophical  or  theo- 
logical theme.  This  is  shown  most  plainly  in 
the  life  of  a  man  who  undermined  the  Romantic 
school  in  Germany  from  its  very  beginning,  and 
who  did  most  to  overthrow  it.  I  mean  Johann 
Heinrich  Voss.  I 

This  man  is  quite  unknown  in  France,  and  yet 
there  are  few  to  whom  the  Germans  are  so  deeply 
indebted  as  regards  intellectual  progress.  He 
is,  perhaps,  after  Lessing,  the  greatest  citissen  of 
German  literature.     In  any  case,  he  was  a  great 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  277 

man,  and  deserves  that  I  do  not  speak  too  scantily 
of  him. 

His  biography  is  that  of  almost  all  German 
writers  of  the  old  school.  He  was  bom  in 
Mecklenburg  territory  in  175 1,  of  poor  parents, 
studied  theology,  neglected  it  for  poetry  and 
Greek  letters,  occupied  himself  very  earnestly 
with  both,  became  a  teacher  that  he  might  not 
die  of  hunger,  was  schoolmaster  at  Ottemdorf  in 
Hadeln,  translated  the  ancients,  and  lived  poor, 
frugally,  and  industriously  till  his  seventy-fifth 
year.  He  had  a  great  name  among  the  poets  of 
the  old  school,  but  the  new  Romantic  singers  con- 
tinually plucked  and  puUed  at  his  laurels,  and 
mocked  the  old-fashioned,  honest  Voss,  who,  in 
true-hearted,  and  often  almost  Platt-Deutsch  dia- 
lect, sung  the  small  middle-class  life  on  the  Lower 
Elbe — a  poet  who  selected  as  his  subject,  not 
mediaeval  knights  and  Madonnas,  but  a  plain  Pro- 
testant parson  and  his  virtuous  family, — all  of 
which  was  sound  to  the  core,  citizen-like,  and 
natural,  whUe  the  new  Troubadours  were  as  som- 
nambulistic-sickly, chivalrously-aristocratic,  and 
genially  unnatural.  To  Friedrich  Schlegel,  the 
intoxicated  singer  of  the  loosely-lascivious  roman- 
tic Lucinda,  how  exasperating  must  the  moral 
John  Voss  have  seemed  with  his  "  chaste  Louisa  " 
and  his  "  old  and  venerable  pastor  of  Griinan  "  ? 
August  Wilhelm,  who  had  never  given  himself 


tfi 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


over  80  utterly  heart  and  soul,  in  all  faith,  to  licen- 
tiousness and  Catholicism  as  his  brother,^  could 
harmonise  with  Voss  much  better,  and  the  only 
rivalry  which  rose  between  them  was  one  of  trans- 
latorship,  which  was  of  great  advantage  to  the 
German  language.  Voss  had,  before  the  rise  of 
the  new  school,  published  a  version  of  Homer ;  he 
now,  with  unparalleled  industry,  did  the  same  for 
all  the  heathen  poets  of  antiquity,  while  August 
Wilhelm  Schlegel  translated  the  Christian  poets 
of  the  Romantic  Catholic  time.  Both  labours  were 
inspired  by  a  secret  controversial  aim ;  Voss  would 
advance  classic  poetry  and  manner  of  thought  by 
these  works,  while  August  Wilhelm  von  Schlegel 
would  make  the  Christian  Romantic  poets  acces- 
sible to  the  public  in  good  translations  for  imita- 
tion and  culture.  And  this  antagonism  showed 
itself  even  in  the  forms  of  speech  employed  by 
the  rivals ;  for  while  Schlegel  polished  his  words 
more  sweetly,  primly,  and  prettily,  Voss  became 
in  his  versions  ruder  and  cruder,  till  at  last,  from 
his  rough  rasping,  they  were  almost  unpronounce- 
able ;  so  that,  if  one  slipped  on  the  shining, 
polished  mahogany  floor  of  the  Schlegel  verses, 
he  stumbled  as  badly  over  the   metric  marble 


^  "  Herr  August  Wilhelm  von  Schlegel,  der  es  mit  der  Lieder- 
licbkeit  und  dem  Catholicismus  nie  bo  ehrlich  gemeint  hat  wie 
sein  Bruder."  In  the  French  version  softened  to  "  lui  n'avait 
pouss^  lea  chases  aussi  loin  que  son  fr^re." — Translator.  < 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  279 

blocks  of  old  Voss.  At  last,  the  latter,  out  of 
rivalry,  translated  Shakespeare,  which  Schlegel 
had  during  his  first  period  rendered  so  admirably 
into  German ;  but  this  turned  out  badly  for  old 
Voss,  and  worse  for  his  publisher ;  the  transla- 
tion failed  out  and  ont.^  Where  Schlegel  trans- 
lates too  weakly  and  softly,  as  it  were,  into  whipped 
cream,  which  people  are  in  doubt  whether  they 
should  eat  or  drink,  there  Voss  is  as  hard  as  stone, 
so  that  one  is  in  fear  of  breaking  the  jawbone  in 
pronouncing  his  verses.  But  what  distinguishes 
old  Voss  is  the  strength  and  pluck*  with  which 
he  overcame  all  obstacles ;  and  he  fought  not  only 
with  the  German  language,  but  also  with  the 
Jesuitical-aristocratic  monster  who  in  those  days 
stretched  out  his  misshapen  head  from  the  forest- 
darkness  of  German  literature ;  and  Voss  struck 
him  hard  and  wounded  him  sore. 

Wolfgang  Menzel,  a  German  writer,  who  is 
known  as  one  of  the  bitterest  foes  of  Voss,  calls 
him  a  Low-Saxon  peasant ;  and,  in  spite  of  the 
abusive  meaning,  the  appellation  is  very  appro- 
priate, for  Voss  is  really  a  Low-Saxon  peasant, 

^  Gam  und  gar. 

^  Kraft.  Germans  boast  a  great  deal  of  their  word  Otm,iiih, 
but  say  nothing  at  all  of  Kraft,  out  of  which,  however,  they  get, 
now  and  then,  much  more  than  we  do  out  of  "  strength,"  which 
is  our  own  fault.  Herein  we  owe  a  great  debt  of  gratitude  to 
Carlyle,  who  taught  us  to  make  the  most  of  what  we  have  in 
Saxon-Qerman  words. — Translator. 


■.-'N«t4%ii /A/^.^iL;^  jIaamJ' 


28o  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

as  was  Luther.  He  was  wanting  in  all  that  was 
chivalric,  courteous,  or  graceful ;  he  belonged  alto- 
gether to  that  hard  and  strong,  vigorous  and 
manly  race  to  whom  Christianity  had  to  be 
preached  with  fire  and  sword,  who  did  not  sub- 
mit to  it  till  they  had  been  beaten  in  three 
battles,  yet  who  always  kept  in  manners  and 
customs  much  Northern  heathen  stubbornness,  and 
showed  themselves  in  matter-of-fact  or  moral 
conflicts  as  brave  and  obstinate  as  their  own 
old  gods.  And  when  I  consider  Johann  Heinrich 
Voss  in  his  controversies  and  in  all  his  reality, 
it  seems  to  me  as  if  I  saw  old  one-eyed  Odin 
himself  who  left  Asgard  to  become  a  school- 
master in  Otterndorf  in  the  land  of  Hadeln, 
tx)  teach  the  blonde  Holsteiners  Latin  declension 
and  the  Christian  catechism,  and  who  in  his 
leisure  hours  translated  Greek  poets  into  German, 
and  borrowed  the  hammer  of  Thor  to  beat  their 
verses  into  shape,  and  who  at  last,  weary  of  the 
tiresome  work,  hit  poor  Fritz  Stolberg  a  finishing 
blow  on  the  head.  I 

And  that  was  a  fine  story.  Friedrich  Count 
of  Stolberg  was  a  poet  of  the  old  school,  very 
famous  indeed  in  Germany,  perhaps  less  for  his 
poetic  talents  than  from  his  title  of  Count,  which 
went  for  more  in  those  days  in  German  literature 
than  it  would  now.  But  Fritz  Stolberg  was  a 
liberal  man  of  noble  heart,  and  he  was  a  friend 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  281 

of  the  citizjen-youth  who  had  formed  a  poetic 
school  in  Gottingen.  I  recommend  French  literary 
men  to  read  the  preface  to  the  poems  of  Holty 
in  which  Johann  Heinrich  Voss  sketches  the 
idyllic  life  in  common  of  that  band  of  poets  to 
which  he  and  Frit2!  Stolberg  had  belonged.  At 
last  these  two  were  all  that  remained  of  the  old 
company;  and  when  Fritz  Stolberg  went  over 
with  ^lat  to  the  Catholic  Church,  and  abjured 
reason  and  the  love  of  freedom,  and  became  an 
ally  to  obscurantism,  and  by  his  illustrious  ex- 
ample enticed  many  weaklings  to  follow,  Johann 
Friedrich  Voss,  the  old  man  of  seventy  years, 
publicly  opposed  the  friend  of  his  youth  and 
wrote  the  little  work  Wie  ward  Fritz  Stolberg  ein 
Un/reier — "  How  it  was  that  Fitz  Stolberg  became 
a  serf."  In  it  he  analysed  all  the  life  of  his 
subject;  how  the  aristocratic  nature  had  always 
lurked  in  the  fraternised  Count ;  how  it  came  out 
more  and  more  after  the  events  of  the  French 
Eevolution ;  how  Stolberg  secretly  allied  himself 
to  the  so-called  Adelskette,  or  chain  of  nobles  who 
worked  against  the  French  principles  of  freedom  ; 
how  these  nobles  combined  with  the  Jesuits ;  how 
it  was  hoped  that  by  restoring  Catholicism  the 
interests  of  the  nobility  would  be  advanced,  and 
how,  principally,  the  restoration  of  the  Christian- 
Catholic  Middle  Age,  and  the  destruction  of  Pro- 
testant freedom  of  thought  and  political  middle- 


282 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


class  privileges,  could  be  brought  about.  So  Grer- 
man  democracy  and  German  aristocracy,  which 
had  fraternised  so  unthinkingly  before  the  Revolu- 
tion, when  the  former  hoped,  and  the  latter  feared 
nothing,  now  stood,  as  old  men,  face  to  face 
in  mortal  combat.  I 

That  portion  of  the  German  public  who  did 
not  understand  the  terrible  necessity  of  this  com- 
bat, blamed  poor  Voss  for  his  merciless  exposure 
of  domestic  events  and  little  incidents  of  life, 
which  formed,  however,  in  their  connection,  a 
series  of  proofs.  There  were,  of  course,  so-called 
noble  souls,  who,  in  all  sublimity,  above  such 
small-minded  raking  into  rubbish,  accused  poor 
Voss  of  vulgar  gossiping.  Others,  small  citizen- 
folk,  who  feared  lest  the  curtain  might  be  drawn 
from  before  their  own  miserable  affairs,  mani- 
fested indignation  at  this  violation  of  literary 
custom,  according  to  which  all  personalities  and 
all  revelations  of  private  life  should  be  strictly  for- 
bidden. And  as  Fritz  Stolberg  died  just  at  this 
time,  and  as  his  death  was  attributed  to  grief  and 
trouble,  and  as  after  his  death  there  appeared  the 
Ziebesbitchlein  or  "  Little  Book  of  Love,"  in  which 
he  with  piously-affected,  forgiving,  true  Jesuitical 
tones  spoke  of  his  poor  deluded  friend,  then  the 
tears  of  German  pity  flowed  fast ;  German  Michel 
wept  his  biggest  drops ;  much  soft-hearted  wrath 
rose  in  a  storm  against  old  Voss,  and  the  bitterest 


-1A*»_^««' 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  283 

curses  which  he  had  to  endure  came  from  the 
very  men  for  whose  spiritual  and  temporal  welfare 
he  had  most  bravely  combated. 

One  may  hopefully  rely  in  Germany  on  the 
sympathy  and  rising  tears  of  the  multitude  when 
one  is  hardly  handled  in  a  debate.  The  Germans 
are  like  old  women,  who  never  neglect  to  attend  an 
execution,  where,  crowding  in  as  the  most  eager 
spectators,  seeing  the  poor  sinner,  they  bewail  most 
bitterly  his  sufferings,  and  even  defend  him.  But 
these  female  mourners,  who  wail  so  vigorously  at 
literary  hangings  and  decapitations,  would  be  direly 
disappointed  if  the  poor  sinner  whose  chastisement 
they  await  should  be  suddenly  reprieved,  and  they 
be  obliged  to  trot  home  without  having  seen  any- 
thing ;  in  such  a  case  their  increased  wrath  falls 
on  the  one  who  deceived  their  hopes.^ 

But  altogether  the  Voss  trouble  had  a  great 
effect,  and  checked  in  public  opinion  the  epidemic 
of  passion  for  the  Middle  Age.  For  the  controversy 
had  excited  all  Germany ;  a  great  part  of  the  public 
decidedly  approved  of  Voss,  a  greater  portion  only 
of  his  principles.  So  there  were  writings  and 
refutations,  and  the  last  days  of  the  life  of  the  old 
man  were  not  a  little  embittered  by  the  business. 
He  had  to  deal  with  the  very  worst  of  foes,  with 


^  All  of  the  preceding,  from  the  words  "  The  Germana  are 
like  old  women,"  is  omitted  ia  the  French  version. 


i-—rr-m...,-t„ ■  ..  . 


a84 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


priests,  who  attacked  him  in  every  guise ;  and  not 
only  the  crypto-CathoKcs,  but  also  the  pietists,  the 
quietists,  the  Lutheran  mystics,  and  all  the  super- 
naturalistics  of  the  Protestant  Church,  who  have 
so  many  differences  among  themselves,  all  united 
with  great  common  hatred  against  Johann  Heinrich 
Voss  the  Kationalist.  This  is  a  term  applied  in 
Germany  to  those  who  give  to  reason  a  place  even 
in  religion,  in  opposition  to  the  Spiritualists,  who 
have  to  a  greater  or  lesser  degree  renounced  all 
recognition  of  it.  The  latter,  in  their  hatred  of 
the  poor  Rationalists,  being  not  unlike  the  lunatics 
of  an  asylum,  who,  though  afiSicted  by  the  most 
contrary  or  conflicting  follies,  get  on  tolerably  well 
together,  but  who  are  inspired  with  bitterest  hatred 
against  the  man  whom  they  regard  as  their  common 
enemy,  and  who  is  no  other  than  the  hospital 
doctor,  who  would  gladly  give  them  all  their  senses. 
But  if  the  Romantic  school  found  itself  utterly 
condemned  in  public  opinion  by  the  revelation  of 
its  intrigues  with  the  Papacy,  it  suffered  at  the  same 
time  in  its  own  temple  an  annihilating  condemna- 
tion, and  that  too  from  the  mouth  of  one  of  the 
gods  whom  its  leaders  themselves  had  set  up.  For 
Wolfgang  Goethe  came  down  from  his  pedestal, 
and  uttered  sentence  of  condemnation  of  the 
Schlegels,  of  the  same  high-priests  who  had  per- 
fumed him  with  their  incense.  This  voice  dispersed 
the  whole  spectral  apparition;  the  ghosts  of  the 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  s8$ 

Middle  Age  fled,  the  owls  retreated  into  their  dusky 
mined  castles,  the  ravens  fluttered  back  to  the 
ancient  belfries.  Friedrich  Schlegel  went  to  Vienna, 
where  he  heard  mass  every  day  and  ate  roasted 
chickens,  while  August  Wilhelm  Schlegel  retired 
into  the  pagoda  of  Brahma. 

But,  to  speak  plainly,  Goethe  played  in  all  this 
a  very  equivocal  part,  and  one  by  no  means  de- 
serving unequivocal  praise.  It  may  be  true  that 
the  Schlegels  did  not  act  altogether  in  a  straight- 
forward way  with  him,  perhaps  because  in  their 
warfare  with  the  old  school  they  found  it  expedient 
to  set  up  a  living  poet  as  an  example,  and  found 
none  better  fitted  for  it  than  Goethe,  and,  hoping 
that  he  would  help  them  on,  built  him  an  altar, 
and  burnt  incense  before  him,  and  made  the  multi- 
tude kneel  to  him.  And  they  had  him  just  at 
hand.  There  is  an  avenue  of  beautiful  plum-trees 
which  leads  from  Jena  to  Weimar — ^those  plums 
taste  deliciously  when  one  is  thirsty  in  the  summer 
heat — £ind  the  Schlegels  often  walked  that  way, 
and  had  many  an  interview  with  Goethe  the  Privy 
Councillor,  who  was  always  a  great  diplomatist, 
and  who  calmly  listened  to  the  Schlegels  and  inci- 
dentally smiled  at  their  discourse,  and  invited  them 
to  his  table,  and  otherwise  made  himself  agreeable, 
and  so  on.  And  they  made  overtures  to  Schiller ; 
but  he  was  a  straightforward  man,  and  would  have 
nothing  to  do  with  them.     The   correspondence 


fl86  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

between  him  and  Goetlie,  which  was  published 
three  years  ago,  throws  much  light  on  the  rela- 
tions between  these  two  poets  and  the  Schlegels. 
Goethe  smiles  them  away  with  an  air  of  supe- 
riority ;  Schiller  is  vexed  at  their  impertinent 
craving  for  scandal  and  calls  them  puppy-dandies.* 

But  however  grandly  Goethe  bore  it  off,  he  all 
the  same  owed  the  greater  part  of  his  renown  to 
the  Schlegels.  They  had  introduced  and  advanced 
the  study  of  his  works,  and  the  despicable,  abusive 
manner  in  which  he  finally  cast  them  off  smells 
of  ingratitude.  Perhaps  the  very  sagacious  Goethe 
was  vexed  that  the  Schlegels  only  wished  to  use 
him  as  a  means  for  their  own  ends ;  perhaps  these 
ends  threatened  to  compromise  him  as  Minister 
of  a  Protestant  state;  perhaps  it  was  the  old 
heathen  wrath  of  the  gods  which  awoke  in  him 
when  he  understood  their  dull  Catholic  impulses ; 
for  just  as  Voss  resembled  the  hard,  grim,  one- 
eyed  Odin,  so  Goethe  was  like  Jupiter  in  thought 
and  form.  The  one  struck  mightily  with  Thor's 
hammer;  Goethe  had  only  to  shake  indignantly 
his  ambrosial  locks,  and  the  Schlegels  trembled 
and  slunk  away.  i 

A  public  document  embodying  this  judgment  of 
Goethe's  appeared  in  the  second  number  of  his  jour- 

^  Laffen,  French  version  itoumeaux.  In  modern  English, 
"  dudes,"  dandies,  puppies,  silly  fellows.  "  Dudes  "  is  from  duds, 
clothes.     Provincial  English,  scarecrows. — TraruHator. 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  ^ 

nal,  Kunst  und  Alterthum — "Art  and  Antiquity" — 
bearing  the  title  "  On  the  Christian  Patriotic  New 
German  Art."  With  this  article  Goethe  caused 
an  Eighteenth  of  Brumaire  in  German  literature, 
for  while  he  in  it  so  roughly  drove  the  Schlegels 
out  of  the  temple,  and  attracted  so  many  of  their 
most  zealous  youthful  followers  to  himself,  and 
was  applauded  by  the  public,  to  whom  the  Schlegel 
Directory  had  become  a  curse,  he  founded  his  own 
autocracy  in  German  literature.  From  that  time 
the  Schlegels  were  no  longer  thought  of ;  people 
spoke  of  them  only  now  and  then,  as  they  speak 
now  of  Barras  or  Gohier;  nothing  was  heard  of 
Romantic  and  Classic  poetry ;  all  was  Goethe  and 
nothing  but  Goethe.  It  is  true  that  certain  poets 
came  meanwhile  on  the  stage,  who  were  little 
inferior  to  him  in  power  and  imagination,  but 
from  courtesy  they  recognised  him  as  their  chief ; 
they  surrounded  him  in  homage,  they  kissed  his 
hands  and  knelt  before  him ;  but  these  grandees 
of  Parnassus  differed  from  the  common  crowd  in 
this,  that  they  kept  their  laurel  crowns  on  their 
heads  in  his  presence.  Sometimes  they  found 
fault  with  him,  but  were  always  vexed  when  a 
lesser  light  presumed  to  do  so.  However  irritated 
the  aristocracy  may  be  with  their  monarch,  they 
are  still  more  angered  when  the  plebs  rise  against 
him ;  and  the  intellectual  aristocrats  in  Germany 
had  during  the  last  twenty  years  good  cause  to 


s 


288  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

be  out  of  temper  with  Goethe.  As  I  myself  said 
many  a  time  in  those  days  with  abundant  bitter- 
ness: "Goethe  was  like  Louis  XL,  who  sup- 
pressed the  nobility  and  raised  the  tiers  itat." 

This  was  repulsive.  Goethe  was  afraid  of  every 
independent  and  original  writer,  and  lauded  and 
extolled  every  insignificant  intellect,  and  carried 
it  so  far  that  it  at  last  came  to  be  a  patent  of 
mediocrity  to  be  praised  by  him. 

I  shall  speak  in  another  place  of  the  recent 
poets  who  appeared  during  the  empire  of  Goethe. 
It  is  a  new  forest,  whose  trees  are  only  now 
showing  full  growth  since  the  fall  of  the  century 
oak  which  so  widely  grew  beyond  and  over- 
shadowed them.  i 

As  I  have  said,  there  was  not  wanting  an  op- 
position to  this  great  tree,  or  Goethe,  and  it 
raged  against  him  bitterly.  Men  of  the  most 
varied  views  united  in  this  opposition.  The  Old 
Believers  and  the  Orthodox  took  it  ill  that  in 
the  trunk  of  the  great  tree  was  no  niche  with 
a  holy  image  to  be  found,  and  that,  in  fact,  the 
naked  Dryads  of  old  heathen  days  worked  evil  or 
witchcraft  round  it,  and  they  would  gladly,  like 
St.  Bonifacius,  have  laid  a  consecrated  axe  to  the 
roots  of  the  magic  oak.  The  New  Believers,  the 
professors  of  Liberalism,  were,  on  the  contrary, 
ill-tempered  because  it  could  not  be  turned  to 
a  Tree  of  Liberty,  or,  least  of  aU,  be  made  into  a 


^^ 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  289 

barricade.  In  fact,  the  tree  was  too  high  for  this, 
no  one  could  stick  a  red  flag  on  its  summit  But 
the  great  public  honoured  this  tree  because  it 
was  so  independent  and  grand,  because  it  filled 
the  world  so  sweetly  with  perfume,  because  its 
branches  rose  so  broadly  and  boldly  to  heaven,  so 
that  it  seemed  as  if  the  stars  were  its  golden  fruit. 
The  opposition  to  Goethe  began  with  the  pub- 
lication in  the  year  1821  of  the  so-called  false 
Wanderjahre,  which  appeared  under  the  title  of 
Wilhelm  Meisters  Wanderjahre  (the  years  of  wan- 
dering or  of  travelling  apprenticeship  of  Wilhelm 
Meister),  that  is,  soon  after  the  fall  of  the  Schle- 
gels.  It  was  printed  by  Gottfried  Basse  in 
Quedlinberg.  Goethe  had  previously  announced 
that  he  would  publish  under  this  title  a  continua- 
tion of  WUhdm  Meisters  Lehrjahren — "WUhelm 
Meister's  Years  of  Apprenticeship" — and  singu- 
larly enough  this  continuation  appeared  at  the  same 
time  as  its  literary  wraith.^  In  it  not  only  was 
Goethe's  style  imitated,  but  the  hero  of  the  origi- 
nal romance  set  forth  as  main  actor.  This  aping 
did  not  so  much  indicate  great  wit  as  great  tact, 
and  as  the  author  kept  himself  anonymous  for 
some  time,  and  was  sought  for  in  vain,  the  in- 
terest of-jtiie  public  was  artificially  kept  up.     It 

1  Doppdg&nger,  wraith,  fetch,  alter-ego,  double,  doable- 
goer.  One's  own  ghost,  or  second  apparition.  French  version, 
"parodie  litt^raire." — Trandator. 

VOL.  L  :       T 


290 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


appeared  at  last  that  the  anthor  was  a  country 
clergyman,  who  had  been  before  utterly  unknown. 
His  name  was  Pustkuchen,  which  in  French  means 
omelette  soufflAe}  a  name  which  exactly  indicates 
the  character  of  the  man.  It  was  only  the  old 
pietistic  leaven  which  had  puffed  itself  up  eestheti- 
cally.  Goethe  was  reproached  in  this  book  be- 
cause his  poems  had  no  moral  aim ;  that  he  could 
shape  no  noble  forms,  but  only  vulgar  figures, 
while  Schiller,  having  set  forth  the  noblest  ideal 
characters,  was  therefore  a  greater  poet. 

This  last  point,  that  Schiller  was  greater  than 
Goethe,  was  the  great  subject  of  controversy  which 
called  forth  this  book.  People  fell  into  a  fashion 
of  comparing  the  productions  of  both  poets,  and 
opinions  were  divided.  The  Schillerites  vaunted 
the  moral  grandeur  of  a  Max  Piccolomini,  a  Thecla, 
a  Marquis  of  Posa,  and  other  characters  in  their  re- 
pertoire, declaring  that  Goethe's  Philina,  Katchen, 
Clarchen,  and  other  beautiful  creatures  were  im- 
moral wretches.  The  Goetheans  admitted,  smiling, 
that  these  personages,  and  perhaps  others,  did  not 
appear  to  be  "moral,"  but  that  the  propagation 
of  morality — as  required  of  these  poems — was  not 
at  all  the  aim  of  art,  because  in  art  there  are  tw 
aims,  as  in  the  construction  of  the  universe,  into 


^  Rather  dough-nuta  or  pancakes  than  an  omelette,  as  Heine 
indicates  in  the  next  sentence,  by  using  the  word  Sauerteig.^- 
Translator. 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.      :  291 

which  man  has  forced  his  ideas  of  end  and  aim. 
Art,  like  the  world,  exists  for  itself  alone.  So, 
they  argued,  as  the  world  must  ever  be  the  same, 
though  men  incessantly  vary  in  their  opinions,  so 
art  should  be  quite  independent  of  the  temporal 
views  of  humanity.  Art  should  therefore  be  free 
from  morality,  which  is  ever  changing  in  the 
world,  so  often  as  a  new  religion  displaces  an  old 
one.  In  fact,  since  after  a  few  centuries  have  flown, 
a  new  religion  always  appears  in  the  world,  and 
passing  into  its  manners,  assumes  power  as  a  new 
system  of  morality ;  so  in  every  corresponding  age 
the  art-works  of  the  past  are  declared  to  be  im- 
moral and  heretical,  if  they  are  judged  according 
to  the  current  standard  of  morals.  As  we  our- 
selves have  seen,  good  Christians,  who  condemn 
the  flesh  as  diabolical,  suffer  pangs  at  seeing  Greek 
statues  of  the  gods ;  chaste  monks  have  tied  nap- 
kins round  an  antique  Venus;  we  have  beheld 
very  recently,  ridiculous  fig-leaves  stuck  to  naked 
statues,  and  a  pious  Quaker  sacrificed  all  his 
wealth  to  buying  up  and  burning  the  most  beauti- 
ful pictures  of  GiuUo  Romano ;  tnily  he  deserved 
to  go  to  heaven  for  it,  and  there  be  thrashed  every 
day  with  rods !  A  religion  which  placed  God  in 
the  material,  and  which  consequently  regarded 
only  the  flesh  as  divine,  must,  when  it  passed  into 
manners,  develop  a  morality  according  to  which 
only  those  works  of  art  are  to  be  prized  which 


iie^. 


292 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


exalt  the  flesh,  and  according  to  which,  on  the 
contrary.  Christian  works  of  art,  which  only  set 
forth  the  nothingness  of  the  flesh,  should  be  re- 
jected as  immoral.  Indeed,  the  works  of  art  which 
are  perfectly  moral  in  one  country  are  regarded 
as  the  contrary  in  another,  where  another  religion 
has  passed  into  manners  and  customs.  Thus,  for 
example,  our  plastic  arts  excite  the  horror  of  a 
pious  Mahometan,  while,  on  the  other  hand,  many 
things  which  are  extremely  innocent  in  an  Eastern 
harem  are  disgusting  to  a  Christian.  In  India, 
where  the  profession  of  a  bayadere  is  not  ofiEensive 
to  morals,  the  drama  of  Vasantasena,  whose  hero- 
ine is  a  venal  prostitute,  is  not  regarded  as  im- 
moral, but  should  one  dare  to  give  it  in  the  Th^tre 
Frangaise,  all  the  parterre  would  scream  out  "  Im- 
morality!" the  same  parterre  which  sees  daily 
with  delight  dramas  of  intrigue,  in  which  the 
heroines  are  young  widows,  who  end  by  gaily 
marrying,  instead  of  burning  themselves  with 
their  deceased  husbands,  as  Indian  morals  re- 
quire.^ 

Therefore  the  Goetheans,  from  this  point  of 
view,  regard  art  as  an  independent  second  world, 
which  they  place  so  high  that  all  efforts  or  works 

1  All  of  which  did  not  prevent  Le  Dieu  et  la  Bayadire,  which 
Bets  forth  the  plot  of  Vasantasena,  from  becoming  a  very  popular 
ballet  in  Paris  and  all  over  the  world  in  the  Thirties.  Goethe 
has  embodied  it  in  a  ^otxc—Trandator. 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  293 

of  mankmd,  their  religion  and  morals,  move  and 
pass  far  below  it,  shifting  and  changing.  But  I 
cannot  nnconditionally  worship  it.  The  Goetheans 
let  themselves  be  led  by  it  to  proclaim  art  itself 
as  the  highest,  and  turn  aside  from  the  require- 
ments of  the  real  world,  to  which  precedence 
is  due. 

Schiller  attached  himself  much  more  closely 
than  Goethe  to  this  world,  and  for  this  he  deserves 
praise.  The  spirit  of  his  age  took  firm  and  fast 
hold  of  Friedrich  Schiller ;  it  struggled  with  him, 
was  conquered  by  him,  followed  him  to  the  field, 
bore  his  banner;  and  it  was  the  same  banner 
under  which  they  fought  so  enthusiastically  in 
those  days  yon  side  the  Rhine,  and  for  which  we 
are  always  ready  to  shed  our  best  blood.  Schiller 
wrote  for  the  great  ideas  of  the  Revolution ;  he 
destroyed  the  intellectual  Bastiles;  he  built  at 
the  Temple  of  Liberty,  and  indeed  at  that  great 
temple  which  should  enclose  all  races  like  a 
brotherly  community,  for  he  was  cosmopolite. 
He  began  with  that  hatred  of  the  past  which 
we  see  in  his  "  Robbers,"  where  he  is  like  a  little 
Titan  who  has  played  truant  from  school,  and 
drunk  schnapps,  and  smashed  in  Jupiter's  windows, 
and  ended  with  that  love  for  the  future  which  we 
already  see  blooming  in  "  Don  Carlos  "  like  a  forest 
of  flowers,  he  himself  being  the  Marquis  of  Posa, 
who  is  at  once  prophet  and  soldier,  and  who  under 


294  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL, 

a  Spanish  cloak  bears  the  noblest  heart  which 
ever  loved  and  suffered  in  all  Germany. 

The  poet,  the  lesser  after-creator,  is  like  our 
dear  Lord  in  this,  that  he  makes  his  men  after 
his  own  image.  If  Karl  Moor  and  the  Marquis 
Posa  are  all  Schiller  himself,  so  Goethe  resembles 
his  own  Werther,  Wilhelm  Meister,  and  Faust,  in 
whom  we  can  study  all  the  phases  of  his  life.  If 
Schiller  throws  himself  headlong  into  history, 
becomes  enthusiastic  for  the  social  progress  of 
mankind,  and  sings  universal  history,  Goethe 
plunges  into  individual  feelings,  art  or  nature. 
Goethe  the  Pantheist  finally  took  up  the  history  of 
Nature  as  his  chief  occupation,  and  gave  us  the 
results  of  his  researches,  not  only  in  poems,  but 
in  scientific  works.  His  indifferentism  was  like- 
wise a  result  of  his  Pantheism. 

It  is — more's  the  pity! — ^true,  that  Pantheism  has 
not  unfrequently  made  men  into  indifferentists. 
"  If  everything  is  God,"  they  said,  "  it  is  all  one 
whether  a  man  busies  himself  with  clouds  or  with 
antique  gems,  popular  ballads  or  monkeys'  bones, 
mankind  or  comedians."  But  just  there  lies  the 
error :  all  is  not  God,  but  God  is  all.  Grod  does 
not  manifest  himself  in  equal  measure  in  every- 
thing ;  he  manifests  himself  far  more  in  different 
degrees  in  different  things,  and  everything  feels 
in  itself  the  impulse  to  attain  a  higher  grade  of 
divinity ;  and  that  is  the  great  law  of  progress  in 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  295 

Nature.  The  knowledge  of  this  law,  which  was 
most  profoundly  set  forth  by  the  Saint-Simonists, 
elevates  Pantheism  to  a  view  of  the  universe 
which  does  not  at  all  conduce  to  indifferentism, 
but  to  the  most  self-sacrificing  eflfort.  No,  God 
did  not  manifest  himself  equally  in  all  things,  as 
Wolfgang  Goethe  believed,  who  thereby  became 
an  indifferentist,  and  instead  of  occupying  him- 
self with  the  highest  interests  of  mankind,  devoted 
life  to  artistic  play,  anatomy,  theory  of  colours, 
botany,  and  meteorology.  God  manifests  himself 
more  or  less  in  things ;  he  lives  in  this  constant 
manifestation.  He  is  in  movement,  action,  in 
time.  His  holy  breath  inspires  and  waves  the 
leaves  of  history ;  this  is  the  real  Book  of  God,  and 
that  Friedrich  Schiller  divined  and  felt,  and  he 
became  a  "  retrospective  prophet,"  and  he  wrote 
the  "  Fall  of  the  Netherlands,"  the  "  Thirty  Years' 
War,"  and  the  "Maid  of  Orleans "  and  "Tell."i 
It  is  true  that  Goethe  also  sang  of  several  great 

^  There  are  here  important  omiBsions  and  a  transposition  in 
the  French  text,  as  also  a  rariation.  The  following  material 
alteration  is  to  be  found  in  the  first  German  edition. 

"  If  God  is  contained  in  all  things,  it  is  indifferent  wherewith 
man  busies  himself,  be  it  with  clouds  or  antique  gems,  or 
popular  ballads  or  monkeys'  bones,  or  mankind  or  comedians. 
But  Grod  is  not  only  in  the  "Substance,"  as  the  ancients  under- 
stood him,  but  also  in  the  "  Process,"  as  Hegel  expresses  it,  and  as 
be  is  alsoconceivedbytheSaint-Simonists.  ThisGodof  theSaint- 
Simonists,  who  not  only  directs  progress,  but  is  progress  itself 


M0S  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

histories  of  emancipation,  but  he  sang  them  as 
an  artist.  As  he  discontentedly  rejected  Christian 
enthusiasm,  which  was  contrary  to  his  whole  nature, 
and  did  not,  or  did  not  wish,  to  understand  the 
philosophic  enthusiasm  of  our  time,  because  he 
feared  lest  he  should  be  thereby  disturbed  in  his 
serene  tranquillity  of  soul,  he  handled  enthusiasm 
historically  as  something  given,  as  stuff  to  be 
worked  up.  So  spirit  was  treated  as  if  it  were 
matter,  and  he  gave  it  a  beautiful  and  pleasing 
form.  And  so  he  became  the  greatest  artist  in 
our  literature,  and  everything  which  he  wrote  was 
a  gracefully  turned  work  of  art. 

The  model  of  the  master  makes  the  man,  and 
so  there  sprung  up  in  Germany  that  literary  epoch 
which  I  once  designated  as  the  Kunst-periode  or 
period  of  art,  and  to  which  I  attributed  the  most 
deplorable  influence  on  the  political  development 
of  the  German  people.  But  in  this  relation  I 
never  denied  the  intrinsic  value  of  the  works  of 
Goethe.  They  adorn  our  dear  Fatherland  as 
beautiful  statues  adorn  a  garden,  but  they  are 
statues.     One  may  fall  in  love  with  them,  but 


and  differs  from  the  old  heathen  god  imprisoned  in  substance 
just  as  much  as  from  the  Christian  JHeu  pur-etprii,  who  from 
heaven  governs  the  world  with  a  loving,  flute-like  voice  ;  this 
Dieu-progris  gives  to  Pantheism  a  view  of  the  universe  which 
by  no  means  conduces  to  indifferentism,  but  to  the  most  self* 
sacrificing  efforts  to  advance. — Trandator, 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  197 

they  are  sterile.  The  Goethean  poems  do  not 
develop  action,  like  those  of  Schiller.  The  deed 
is  the  child  of  the  word,  and  the  beautiful  words  of 
Goethe  are  childless,  which  is  the  curse  of  all  which 
is  bom  only  of  art.  The  statue  which  Pygmalion 
made  was  of  a  beautiful  woman ;  even  the  master 
fell  in  love  with  her,  and  she  was  inspired  with 
life  by  his  kisses ;  but,  so  far  as  I  know,  she 
never  had  any  children.^  I  believe  that  Charles 
Nodier  has  said  something  of  the  kind  in  the 
same  relation,  and  it  occurred  to  me  yesterday, 
while  wandering  through  the  lower  halls  of  the 
Louvre,  I  looked  at  the  ancient  statues  of  the 
gods.  There  they  stood  with  their  silent  white 
eyes,  a  mysterious  melancholy  in  them,  perhaps 
a  mournful  memory  of  Egypt,  that  land  of  the 
dead  whence  they  took  origin,  or  sadly  yearning 
for  the  life  of  yore  whence  other  deities  have 
driven  them,  or  pain  for  perished  immortality; 
they  seemed  to  await  the  word  which  should  re- 
store them  to  life,  and  stir  them  from  their  cold 
stiff  immovability.  Strange  these  antiques  re- 
minded me  of  Goethe's  poems,  which  are  quite  as 
gracefuUy  modelled,  as  grand  and  as  tranqml,  and 
which  seemed  also  to  feel  with  sorrow  that  their 
stiflfness  and  cold  kept  them  from  our  warm  life ; 


^  For  a  note  on  this  favourite  subject  of  reference  with  Heine^ 
Me  the  translation  of  the  "  Florentine  Nights." — Trandator. 


a9>  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

that  they  do  not  suffer  and  rejoice  with  ns,  and 
that  they  are  no  human  beings,  but  unfortunate 
mixtures  of  divinity  and  stone. 

These  few  hints  which  I  have  given  explain  the 
ill-feeling  of  the  different  parties  which  spoke 
out  in  Germany  against  Goethe.  The  orthodox 
were  indignant  at  the  Great  Heathen,  as  he  was 
generally  termed,  for  they  feared  his  influence  on 
the  people,  in  whom  he  inspired  his  views  of  the 
world  and  all  things  by  his  laughing  poems,  and 
even  in  the  most  apparently  light  and  airy  songs. 
They  saw  in  him  a  dangerous  foe  to  the  Cross, 
which  he  confessed  was  to  him  as  antipathetic  as 
bugs,  garlic,  and  tobacco ;  at  least,  that  is  pretty 
nearly  as  he  expresses  it  in  the  JTenia,  which  he 
did  not  fear  to  publish  in  Germany,  where  such 
vermin,  garlic,  tobacco,  and  the  Cross  rule  every- 
where in  a  holy  alliance.  Yet  it  was  not  exactly 
this  in  Goethe  which  displeased  us,  the  men  of 
agitation.  What  we  did  not  like  and  blamed  was 
the  barrenness  of  his  works,  and  that  art-spirit 
which  was  through  him  disseminated  through 
Germany,  exercising  a  quietising  influence  on 
German  youth  which  worked  in  opposition  to  a 
political  regeneration  of  our  native  land.  So  the 
indifferent  Pantheist  was  attacked  by  the  most 
opposing  factions.  To  speak  French,  the  extreme 
Bight  and  Left  united  against  Goethe,  allied  them- 
selves against  him,  and,  while  the  black  priest 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  21^9 

beat  him   with  the   crucifix,    an   enraged   sans- 
culottist  attacked  him  with  a  pike. 

Wolfgang  Menzel,  who  led  the  attack  against 
Goethe  with  a  display  of  cleverness  and  wit 
which  was  worthy  of  a  better  cause,  ^  did  not 
oppose  him  as  spiritual  Christian  or  discontented 
patriot ;  he  rather  based  his  battling  partially  on 
the  last  utterance  of  Friedrich  Schlegel,  who,  after 
his  faU,  wailed  over  Goethe  with  the  words,  "  He 
has  no  central  point."  Menzel  went  still  further, 
and  explained  that  Goethe  was  no  genius,  only 
a  talent,  and  praised  Schiller  for  opposition.  This 
was  some  time  before  the  Eevolution  of  July. 
Menzel  was  then  the  greatest  devotee  of  the 
Middle  Age  in  art  as  well  as  institutions;  he 
scorned  with  ceaseless  wrath  Johann  Heinrich 
Voss,  and  praised  with  unheard-of  zeal  Joseph 
Gorres.  Therefore,  his  hatred  of  Goethe  was 
sincere,  and  he  wrote  against  him  from  convic- 
tion, and  not,  as  many  thought,  to  make  himself 
known.  And  though  I  myself  was  then  an 
opponent  of  Goethe,  I  was  displeased  with  the 

^  Id  the  French  version  we  have,  "  Un  ^crivain  Allemand, 
qui  avait  public  une  collection  de  bons-mota  intitule  Streckverte, 
et  qu'on  nommait  le  Sapbir  chr^tden  ponr  le  distinguer  de 
M.  Saphir,  le  spirituel  bon-motiste  de  Vienne,  M.  Wolfgang 
Menzel."  The  allusion  here  is  to  the  fact  that  Saphir  was  a 
Jew.  I  once  was  his  via-d-via  every  day  for  a  week  at  a  table- 
d'bdte  in  Munich.  I  thought  him  clever,  but  rather  ooarae. 
But  that  was  in  1847.    Tempora  tnutantur. — Trandator. 


30O  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

bitterness  with  which  Menzel  criticised  him,  and 
I  regretted  this  want  of  respect  and  regard.^  I 
remarked  that  Goethe  was  always  the  king  of 
our  literature,  and  that  when  the  critical  scalpel 
was  applied  to  such  a  subject,  one  should  never 
fail  to  do  so  with  proper  respect  and  courtesy, 
like  the  executioner,  who,  when  about  to  decapi- 
tate Charles  I.,  knelt  before  the  king  and  begged 
his  sovereign  pardon. 

Among  the  foes  of  Goethe  we  must  class  the 
Court-Councillor  Milliner,  and  the  one  friend  who 
remained  true  to  him,  Professor  Schiitz,  son  of  the 
elder  Schiitz ;  and  certain  others  who  were  less  dis- 
tinguished ;  as,  for  instance,  Spaun,  who  was  long 
imprisoned  for  political  offences;  belonged  to 
these  publicly  declared  enemies.  Among  us,  in 
confidence,  it  was  a  very  mixed  society.  What 
was  done  among  them  I  have  declared  in  detail ; 
it  is  much  harder  to  indicate  the  particular  motive 
which  inspired  every  one  to  publish  his  anti- 
Goethean  feelings.  I  only  know  the  real  impulse 
of  one  person  accurately,  and  as  that  one  is  I 
myself,  I  will  candidly  confess  that  it  was  envy.* 
But  to  my  credit  be  it  said,  that  in  Goethe  I  never 

1  In  the  French  version,  "  Quoique  j'euBse  puis  rang  parmi  1m 

adversaires  de  Goethe,   je  n'etais  pas  moins  m^oontent  de  la 

rudesse  de  pareilles  diatribes,  et  dans  ane  critique  que  je  fia 

de  leurs  auteurs,  je  me  plaignis  de  leur  manque    de  pi6t6." — 

t^    Tramilator. 

'  This  is  a  very  ingenious  tour  de  force.    Heine  might  as  well 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  301 

attacked  the  poet,  but  the  man.  I  have  never 
been  able  to  see  faults  in  his  poems  like  those 
critics  who,  with  their  finely  polished  glasses, 
have  detected  spots  in  the  moon.  Sharp  and 
clever  folk !  what  they  took  for  blemishes  were 
blooming  forests,  silver  streams,  sublime  moun- 
tains, and  smiling  valleys. 

Nothing  is  more  absurd  than  the  depreciation 
of  Goethe  in  favour  of  Schiller,  which  was  not 
honourably  meant  as  to  the  latter,  because  he 
was  praised  only  in  order  to  degrade  Goethe. 
Did  not  people  know  that  those  highly-lauded, 
high-ideal  forms,  those  altar-pictures  of  virtue 
and  morality  which  Schiller  produced,  were  far 
easier  to  make  than  those  sinful,  petty-worldly, 
soiled  doves  whom  Goethe  gives  us  in  his  works  ? 
Do  they  not  know  that  mediocre  painters  gene- 
rally depict  saints  the  size  of  life  on  their  can- 
vases, but  that  it  requires  a  great  master  to 
paint  a  Spanish  beggar-boy  hunting  vermin,  a 
drunken  Dutch  boor  or  one  whose  tooth  is  being 
drawn,  and  ugly  old  women  true  to  life  and 
technically  perfect,  as  we  see  them  in  small 
Dutch  cabinet  pictures  ?  The  great  and  terrible 
is  much  easier  to  set  forth  in  art  than  the  little 

have  declared  that  he  was  envious  of  Napoleon  as  Goethe,  but 
by  so  doing  be  directs  suspicion  from  the  envy  which  he  really 
felt  as  to  Madame  de  Stael,  the  Schlegels,  Cousin,  and  others. 
— Trantlator. 


9M  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.        i 

and  neat.*  The  Egyptian  sorcerers  conid  imitate 
many  of  the  feats  of  Moses,  such  as  the  miracle 
of  the  snakes,  the  blood,  and  even  the  frogs,  but 
when  he  produced  what  seemed  to  be  much  easier 
magic-work,  that  is,  vermin,  they  confessed  their 
weakness,  saying,  "  It  is  the  finger  of  God."  Rail 
if  you  will  at  the  vulgarities  in  Fatist,  at  the 
scene  on  the  Brocken,  in  the  Auerbach-cellar, 
scold  at  the  looseness  of  Wilhelm  Meister,  but 
you  cannot  imitate  them — ^it  is  the  finger  of 
Goethe.  But  you  would  not  imitate  them  if  you 
could,  and  I  hear  you  say  with  disgust,  "We 
are  not  conjurors,  but  good  Christians."  And 
that  you  are  no  conjurors  I  well  know. 

Goethe's  greatest  merit  is  the  perfection  of  all 
which  he  sets  forth ;  in  it  one  part  is  never  weak 
and  another  strong,  one  portion  well  painted  while 
others  are  only  sketched,  no  entanglements  or 
inequalities,  no  preference  for  details.  Every 
character  in  his  romances  and  dramas  is  treated 
as  thoroughly  as  a  leading  personage.  So  it  is 
with  Homer  and  Shakespeare.  And  in  the  works 
of  all  great  poets  there  are  really  no  secondary 
characters ;  every  one  is  leader  for  the  time  in  his 
part.     Such  poets  are  like  absolute  princes,  who 

*  This  is  ingenious,  but  untrue.  According  to  it,  Teniers  is 
a  greater  artist  than  Michael  Angelo.  Very  few  artists  have 
ever  succeeded  in  the  great  and  terrible,  while  the  number  of 
very  clever  pttits-maitra  is  very  great. — Translator. 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  303 

do  not  allot  to  men  any  independent  value,  but 
esteem  them  according  to  their  own  will,  or  their 
sovereign  approval.^  Once,  when  a  French  am- 
bassador remarked  to  the  Czar  Paul  of  Russia 
that  a  very  influential  Prussian  statesman  was 
interested  in  a  certain  affair,  the  Emperor  inter- 
rupted him  by  saying  with  emphasis,  "There  is 
in  this  country  no  man  of  importance  save  the 
one  to  whom  I  speak,  and  so  long  as  I  converse 
with  him  he  is  important."  An  absolute  poet, 
who  had  also  received  his  power  by  divine  grace, 
regards  in  the  same  manner  as  the  one  of  greatest 
weight  any  one  whom  he  for  the  time  causes  to 
speak  or  who  exists  from  his  pen,  and  from  such 
art-despotism  resulted  the  wondrous  perfection  of 
the  most  insignificant  characters  in  the  works  of 
Homer,  Shakespeare,  and  Goethe. 

But  if  I  have  spoken  rather  hardly  of  Goethe's 
enemies,  I  should  treat  even  more  harshly  his 
apologists,  for  most  of  them  have  been  guilty  of 
even  greater  follies.  One  of  them,  Eckermann, 
who  is  really  not  wanting  in  cleverness,  approaches 
in  this  respect  the  ridiculous.  In  the  war  against 
Pustkuchen,  Karl  Immermann,  who  is  now  really 
our  first  dramatic  poet,  won  his  spurs  as  a  critic 
by  publishing  an  admirable  little  work.    The  men 


^  The  conclusion  of  this  passage  is  omitted  in  the  French 
version. 


304  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

I      ■  /: 

of  Berlin  distinguished  themselves  mostly  on  this 
occasion.  Goethe's  boldest  champion  was  Vam- 
hagen  von  Ense,  a  man  who  has  in  his  heart 
thoughts  as  great  as  the  world,  and  who  expresses 
them  in  words  which  are  as  precious  as  finely-cut 
gems.  His  was  a  great  mind,  to  whose  opinion 
Goethe  ever  attached  the  greatest  value.  And  I 
may  here  mention  that  Wilhelm  von  Humboldt 
had,  some  time  before,  written  a  very  admirable 
work  on  Goethe. 

Within  the  last  ten  years  every  book-fair  at 
Leipzig  has  produced  works  on  Goethe.  The 
researches  of  Schubart  on  this  subject  belong 
to  the  best  works  of  higher  criticism,  and  what 
Haring,  who  writes  under  the  name  of  Willi- 
bald  Alexis,  in  several  publications,  has  said  of 
Goethe  was  as  valuable  as  intelligent.  Professor 
Zimmermann  of  Hamburg  has  in  oral  lectures 
uttered  the  most  admirable  criticisms  of  the  great 
poet,  the  best  of  which  appear,  scantily,  yet  all 
the  more  earnest  and  profound  in  his  "Drama- 
turgic Leaves."  Li  several  German  universities 
courses  of  lectures  on  Goethe  are  read,  and  it  was 
Faust  with  which  the  public  chiefly  busied  itself. 
It  was  in  many  ways  continued  and  commented 
on ;  it  became  the  secular  Bible  of  the  Germans.^ 

*  There  are  men  who  collect  every  work  on  Fatut,  or  in  which 
there  is  any  reference  to  it.  I  have  a  catalogue  of  books  on  this 
Bubject  alone. — Translator. 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


I  should  not  be  a  German  if  I  did  not  here 
offer  Bome  elucidations  of  Faust,  since  from  the 
greatest  thinker  down  to  the  smallest  tinker  in 
literature,  from  the  philosopher  to  the  doctor  of 
philosophy,  every  one  tries  his  talents  on  this 
book.  But  it  is  really  as  vast  as  the  Bible,  and, 
like  it,  embraces  heaven  and  earth  with  man  and 
his  exegesis.  The  subject  is  here  again  the  reason 
why-  Fatcst  is  so  popular,  because  the  author  drew 
his  material  from  popular  legend,  which  testifies 
to  the  unconscious  depth  of  perception  of  his 
genius,  since  he  always  grasped  what  was  nearest 
and  fittest.  I  may  assume  that  Fatcst  is  known 
to  the  reader,  for  the  work  has  become  celebrated 
in  France  of  late  years;  but  I  do  not  know 
whether  the  old  popular  tradition  itself  is  as  fami- 
liar, and  whether  there  is  sold  at  your  country  fairs 
or  markets  a  book  of  grey  blotting-paper,  badly 
printed,  and  adorned  with  coarse  woodcuts,  in 
which  may  be  read  in  detail  how  the  arch-sorcerer 
Johannes  Faustus,  a  learned  doctor,  who  had  mas- 
tered all  the  sciences,  at  last  threw  away  his  books 
and  made  a  compact  with  the  devil,  by  which  he 
was  to  enjoy  all  the  pleasures  of  earth,  but  give  in 
return  his  soul  to  infernal  ruin.  The  men  of  the 
Middle  Age,  whenever  they  perceived  in  any  man 
great  intellectual  power,  at  once  ascribed  it  to  a 
compact  with  the  devil;  and  Albertus  Magnus, 

KaimondLullius,  Theophrastus  Paracelsus,  Agrippa 
VOL.  I.  u 


3o6  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

von  Nettesheim,  and  in  England,  Roger  Bacon,  all 
passed  for  magicians,  black-artists,  and  invokers  of 
demons.  But  far  stranger  things  were  said  and 
sung  of  Doctor  Faustus,  who  demanded  of  the 
devil  not  only  knowledge  but  substantial  enjoy- 
ments. This  is  also  the  Faust  who  invented 
printing,  and  lived  at  a  time  when  people  began 
to  preach  against  power  and  Church  authority 
and  seek  into  all  things  with  freedom,  so  that 
with  Faust  the  mediaeval  period  of  faith  ends,  and 
the  modem  critical  era  of  science  begins.  It  is, 
in  fact,  deeply  significant  that  when,  according 
to  popular  opinion,  Faust  lived,  the  Reformation 
began,  and  that  he  discovered  the  art  which  gave 
knowledge  the  victory  over  faith — I  mean  print- 
ing— an  art,  however,  which  took  from  us  our 
Roman  Catholic  peace  of  mind,  and  cast  us  into 
doubts  and  revolutions,  or,  as  some  others  would 
say,  handed  us  over  to  the  devil.  But  no !  know- 
ledge, the  true  understanding  of  things  by  means 
of  reason,  will  at  last  give  us  those  pleasures 
which  Catholic  Christianity  has  so  long  cheated 
US  out  of.  We  recognise  that  men  are  destined 
not  only  to  a  heavenly,  but  also  to  an  earthly 
equality.  The  political  brotherhood  which  is 
preached  to  us  by  philosophy  is  more  beneficent 
than  the  purely  spiritual  fraternity  to  which 
Christianity  has  called  us,  and  knowledge  will 
become  the  word,  and  the  word  deed,  so  that  we 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  307 

may,  during  our  lives,  be  happy  here  on  earth ; 
and  if,  over  and  above  this,  we  are  also  to  have 
heavenly  happiness  after  death,  as  Christianity 
expressly  declares,  it  will  certainly  be  very  accep- 
table and  agreeable. 

All  of  this  the  German  people  had  long  sur- 
mised, for  it  is  itself  that  learned  Dr.  Faust ;  it  is 
that  same  spiritualist  who  by  the  spirit  perceived 
the  insufficiency  of  the  spirit,  and  longed  for 
material  pleasures  and  rehabilitation  of  the  flesh. 
But,  bound  as  we  still  were  in  the  symbolism  of 
Catholic  poetry,  where  God  was  regarded  as  repre- 
senting the  spirit  and  the  devil  the  flesh,  that 
rehabilitation  was  regarded  as  a  falling  from  God 
and  an  alliance  with  Satan. 

Yet  it  will  be  some  time  before  that  will  be 
fulfilled  in  Germany  which  is  prophesied  so  signifi- 
cantly in  this  poem,  ere  we  perceive  the  usur- 
pations of  the  spirit,  and  vindicate  the  rights  of 
the  flesh.  That  will  be  the  Eevolution — the  great 
daughter  of  the  Reformation. 

Less  known  in  France  than  Fav^t  is  the  West- 
Oestlicher  Divan — "The  Divan  of  the  Western 
Orient " — a  later  work,  unknown  to  Madame  de 
Stael,  and  which  we  must  here  especially  mention. 
It  contains  the  manners  of  thought  and  feeling 
of  the  East,  expressed  in  flower-like  songs  and 
sententious  sayings,  in  which  all  is  perfumed,  and 
glows  like  a  harem  full  of  amorous  odalisques  with 


!^\' 


30I  THB  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

gazelle-like  eyes  darkened  with  koJU,  and  yearning 
snow-white  arms.  Over  it  the  reader  trembles 
with  desire,  as  did  the  happy  Gaspar  Debureau, 
when  he  in  Constantinople  stood  on  the  ladder 
and  saw  de  haut  en  has  what  the  Commander  of 
the  Faithful  only  saw  de  has  en  haut.  At  times 
the  reader  feels  as  if  he  lay  comfortably  stretched 
out  on  a  Persian  carpet,  smoking  from  a  long- 
tubed  narghileh  the  yellow  tobacco  of  Turki- 
stan,  while  a  black  slave-girl  cools  him  with  a 
fan  of  peacock-feathers,  and  a  beautiful  boy  holds 
out  to  him  a  cup  of  Mocha  coffee  ;  for  Goethe  has 
here  put  into  verse  the  most  intoxicating  joys  of 
life,  and  these  are  so  light,  so  charming,  so  softly 
inspired,  so  etherial,  that  we  wonder  that  it  could 
be  done  in  German.  Withal  he  gives  in  prose  the 
most  delightful  explanations  of  manners  and  life 
in  the  East,  as  of  the  patriarchal  life  of  the  Arabs ; 
and  there  Goethe  is  ever  smiling  and  innocent 
as  a  child,  yet  wise  as  a  grey  old  man.  This  prose 
is  as  transparent  as  the  green  sea  in  a  summer 
noon,  and  calm,  when  one  can  see  far  down  into 
the  deep,  and  perceive  sunken  cities  with  their 
long-perished  magnificence ;  and  again  it  is  often 
as  magical,  as  mysteriously  full  of  meaning  as  the 
heavens,  when  twilight  gathers  o'er  them,  and 
the  great  thoughts  of  Goethe  come  forth  one 
by  one,  pure  and  golden  as  the  stars.  The  en- 
chantment of  this  book  is  indescribable:  it  is  a 


■•^;  ,^  ■yj'.r;  7,r,l  ^  •-.  -^'-r.^,: 


THB  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  309 

salaam  which  the  East  sends  to  the  West ;  there 
are  in  it  fantastic  flowers,  sensuous  red  roses,  hor- 
tensias  like  the  bare  white  breasts  of  beautiful  girls, 
delightful,  merry  dandelions,  purple  digitalis  like 
long  fingers,  curling  crocuses,  and  hiding  among 
them  quiet  German  violets.^  But  this  salaam 
signifies  that  the  West,  weary  of  its  meagre,  freez- 
ing Spiritualism,  would  fain  refresh  itself  from  the 
sound  bodily  world  of  the  East.  Goethe,  after  ex- 
pressing in  Faust  his  discontent  with  the  abstractly 
spiritual  and  his  longing  for  real  pleasures,  threw 
himself  with  all  his  soul  into  the  arms  of  sensuality 
when  he  wrote  the  "  Western  Oriental  Divan." 

It  is,  therefore,  a  significant  fact  that  this  book 
appeared  soon  after  Faust.  It  was  Goethe's  last 
phase,  and  his  example  had  a  great  effect  on  our 
literature.  Our  lyric  poets  now  sang  the  East. 
And  it  may  be  remarked  that  while  Goethe  sang 
so  joyously  of  Persia  and  Arabia,  he  always  mani- 
fested the  most  decided  dislike  of  India.  The 
bizarre,  bewildered,  and  obscure  elements  of  this 
country  repelled  him,  and  it  may  be  that  his 
aversion  was  partly  due  to  his  suspecting  that  the 
Sanskrit  studies  of  the  Schlegels  and  their  friends 
had  a  Eoman  Catholic  hidden  meaning.     These 


^  "  Puritan  pansies,"  as  Edgar  A.  Poe  expressed  it.  In  conneo- 
tion  with  the  "  Western  Oriental  Divan  "  I  would  mention  • 
modest  but  most  agreeable  little  work — "  Poets  and  Poetry  of  the 
Eant,"  by  William  RounBevilld  Alger  of  Boai(m.—Trantlator. 


■,«-.r»;*7«t'.,  #"'  ••■•<•■  ^j 


T^Tv'PJ.i-V 


310  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

gentJemen  indeed  regarded  Hindostan  a3  the  cradle 
of  the  Catholic  organisation  of  the  universe ;  they 
saw  in  it  the  pattern  of  their  hierarchy ;  they  found 
in  it  their  trinity,  their  penances,  their  expiations, 
and  all  their  favourite  hobbies.  Goethe's  repug- 
nance for  India  annoyed  these  people  not  a  little, 
and  for  this  reason  Wilhelm  Schlegel  called  him 
"  a  heathen  converted  to  Islam." 

Among  the  books  on  Goethe  which  appeared 
during  the  past  year,  there  is  a  posthumous  work 
by  Johannes  Falk — Goethe  aus  ndherem  person- 
lichen  Umgange  dargestellt  (Goethe  Depicted  from 
Personal  Intimacy) — which  deserves  the  best  men- 
tion. In  it  the  author  has,  in  addition  to  a  detailed 
analysis  of  Faust  (which  of  course  could  not  be 
wanting),  given  us  the  most  admirable  views  as  to 
Goethe,  and  has  shown  him  in  all  the  phases  of 
life,  truly  and  impartially,  with  all  his  virtues  and 
failings.  Here  we  see  Goethe  in  relation  to  his 
mother,  whose  nature  was  so  wonderfully  re- 
flected in  her  son ;  then  as  the  natural  historian 
studying  a  caterpillar  which  has  spun  itself  into 
a  cocoon  and  will  reappear  as  a  butterfly ;  again 
conversing  with  the  great  Herder,  who  seriously 
reproves  him  for  the  indifferentism  with  which 
he  regards  the  rising  of  the  human  race  from 
its  chrysalis ;  or  we  behold  him  at  the  court  of 
the  Grand  Duke  of  Weimar,  merrily  improvising 
among  blonde  maids  of  honour,  like  Apollo  amid  the 


■  -ZJ.M-^f^iJfii^---  _■ 


•^T^^TTTJ 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  311 

sheep  of  King  Admetus,  or  yet  again  refusing,  with 
the  pride  of  a  Dalai-Lama,  to  recognise  Kotzebue, 
and  how  the  latter,  to  take  him  down,  institutes  a 
public  festival  in  honour  of  Schiller — and  every- 
where the  same  clever,  handsome,  amiable,  charm- 
ingly refreshing  form  like  that  of  an  ancient  god. 
And  in  truth  one  finds  to  perfection  in  Goethe 
that  union  of  personality  with  genius  such  as  we 
wish  to  have  in  remarkable  men.  His  exterior 
was  as  deeply  impressive  and  significant  as  the 
word  which  lived  in  his  works,  and  his  form  was 
harmonious,  clear,  cheerful,  nobly  proportioned, 
and  one  could  study  Greek  art  in  him  as  in  an 
antique.  This  dignified  body  was  never  bent  by 
Christian  worm-like  humility,  the  features  of  his 
face  never  distorted  by  Christian  wretchedness, 
his  eyes  were  never  shy,  like  those  of  a  Christian 
sinner,  never  inspired  cantingly,  rantingly,  or 
with  celestial  gleams.  No ;  his  eyes  were  calm  as 
those  of  a  god ;  and  it  is  the  sign  by  which  the 
gods  are  known  that  their  glance  is  steady  and 
that  their  eyes  never  vacillate.  Therefore,  when 
Agni,  Varuna,  Yama,  and  Indra  assume  the  form 
of  Nala  at  the  wedding  of  Damayanti,  the  bride 
recognises  her  beloved  by  the  winking  of  his  eyes, 
since,  as  I  have  said,  the  eyes  of  the  gods  are 
always  immovable.  The  eyes  of  Napoleon  had 
this  peculiarity;  therefore  I  am  persuaded  that 
he  was  a  god.     Goethe's  eyes  were  as  divine  in 


JM  THB  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

old  age  as  in  his  youth.*  Time  conld  cover  his 
head  with  snow,  but  never  bend  it.  He  also  held 
it  proudly  and  highly;  and  when  he  spoke,  he 
became  greater,  and  when  he  put  forth  his  hand, 
it  was  as  though  he  would  show  unto  the  stars  in 
heaven  their  appointed  course.  It  was  thought 
that  there  played  about  his  mouth  a  cold  expression 
of  egoism,  but  this  trait  is  peculiar  to  the  eternal 
gods,  2  and  even  to  the  great  Jupiter,  the  father 
of  the  gods,  with  whom  I  have  before  compared 
Goethe.  In  truth,  when  I  visited  him  at  Weimar 
and  stood  before  him,  I  glanced  involuntarily  to 
one  side  to  see  whether  there  was  not  the  eagle 
holding  the  lightning  in  his  beak.  I  was  about 
to  address  him  in  Greek,  but  observing  that  he 
understood  German,  I  remarked  to  him  in  the 
latter  that  the  plums  on  the  road  between  Jena 
and  Weimar  tasted  deliciously.  During  many  a 
winter  night  had  I  reflected  what  sublime  and 
profound  things  I  would  say  to  Goethe,  should 
I  ever  meet  him ;  and  when  I  at  last  saw  him,  I 
told  him  that  the  Saxon  plums  were  good.  And 
Groethe  smiled — smiled  with  the  same  lips  which 

^  It  is  worth  observing  that  W.  von  Humboldt,  Von  Briigsch, 
the  great  egyptologist  of  Berlin,  and  to  a  certain  degree 
Bismarck,  had  or  have  an  expression  like  that  of  Goethe. — 
Trandator. 

'  Lactantius  (Div.  InntxL  de  Falsa  Rdigione,  lib.  Lap)  goe« 
further  than  Heine,  for  he  adds  to  this  trait  all  the  other  vices 
M  constituting  the  character  of  a  classic  deity. — Tramlator. 


~''l'.T^™3?^S    -' 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  313 

had  kissed  the  beautiful  Leda,  Europa,  Danae, 
Semele,  and  so  many  other  princesses,  or  even 
common  nymphs.  ^ 

Les  dieux  s^en  vont.  Goethe  is  dead.  He  died 
on  the  22nd  of  March  1832,  that  significant  year 
in  which  our  world  lost  its  greatest  celebrities. 
It  seems  as  if  in  that  year  Death  had  suddenly 
become  aristocratic,  and  would  distinguish  the 
notable  men  of  earth  by  sweeping  them  into  the 
grave.  Perhaps  he  wished  to  found  there  in  the 
realm  of  shadows  a  house  of  peers,  and  in  this 
case  th&fourrUe  (batch)  was  very  well  selected.  Or 
did  Death  desire,  on  the  contrary,  to  favour  the 
Democrats,  by  destroying  with  the  men  of  renown 
also  their  authority,  and  thereby  aid  intellectual 
equality?  Was  it  respect  or  insolence  which 
made  him  spare  our  kings?  In  a  moment  of 
forgetfulness  he  raised  his  scythe  once  over  the 
king  of  Spain,  but  he  recalled  himself  betimes  and 
let  him  live.^  Not  a  single  king  died  in  that  year. 
Les  dieiLX  s'en  vont — but  we  keep  the  kings. 

1  '*  Boy,"  said  a  Western  senator  to  an  urchin,  "  do  you  know 
who  I  am?"  "Yes,  sir,"  replied  the  boy;  "you  are  the  great 
senator  from  Illinois."  "True,"  replied  the  dignitary,  "but 
remember  that,  great  as  I  am,  there  is  One  still  greater."  As 
G^the  thought  very  little  of  the  One,  and  as  he  was  over^ 
whelmed  with  such  inordinate  flatteries  as  this  of  Heine,  it  is 
not  remarkable  that  there  should  have  played  about  his  month 
an  expression  of  egoism. — Translator. 

*  This  sentence  is  omitted  in  the  French  Tenion. 


,^  -    »"  '«f'>».**-^-*~-f"=--'~»>.^v.-»v""  •  -  '--«*-«.,>»;-y-'----S',^^:^..  •-• 


*IW.  ■ 


BOOK   THE    SECOND. 


CHAPTEE  U 

In  accordance  with  the  conscientiousness  to  which 
I  have  strictly  adhered,  I  must  mention  that 
many  French  persons  have  complained  that  I 

^  It  is  as  well  to  forewarn  the  reader  that  all  which  Heine  has 
written  in  this  book  in  reference  to  the  brothers  Schegel,  and 
especially  August  Wilhelm,  must  be  taken  with  every  allowance 
of  distrust.  Heine  wished  to  appear  as  the  first  person  who  had 
made  Germany  known  to  France  or  the  world ;  therefore  he 
did  all  he  could  to  discredit  the  work  of  Madame  de  Stael,  of 
which  Schlegel  had  been,  so  to  speak,  the  engineer.  But  what 
was  bitterest  to  Heine  was  the  aristocratic  position,  the  worldly 
success,  the  elegance  of  the  Schlegels,  matters  which,  as  we 
see  through  all  his  works,  were  far  dearer  to  him  than  to  most 
men  of  letters  :  and  believing  himself  to  be  intellectually  their 
superior,  it  aroused  all  the  envy  of  his  nature  to  think  of  them. 
As  it  was  patent  to  the  world  that  the  Schlegels  had  rendered 
immense  service  to  scholarship  and  literature  in  many  ways — 
services  which  could  by  no  possibility  be  belittled  or  denied 
without  injury  to  the  critic — our  author,  not  very  willingly, 
admits  them  as  if  it  were  very  generous  to  do  so  ;  but,  on  the 
other  hand,  he  rakes  up  all  the  petty,  personal,  chamber- 
maid gossip  which  he  can  think  of  relative  to  August  W.   von 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  315 

epoke  too  severely  of  the  Schlegels,  especially  of 
August  Wilhelm.  But  I  do  not  think  that  such 
reproaches  would  have  been  uttered  if  the  literary 
history  of  Germany  were  better  known  here. 
Many  people  are  only  familiar  with  the  name  as 
they  find  it  in  the  works  of  Madame  de  Stael,  his 
noble  protectress.  But  the  greater  portion  know 
nothing  of  him  but  the  name,  which  rings  in  their 
memories  as  something  honourable,  or  venerable, 
or  admirable,  like  that  of  Osiris,  of  whom  all  that 
we  can  say  is,  that  he  was  a  queer  old  fellow  of  a 
god  who  was  worshipped  in  Egypt.^  What  other 
likeness  there  may  be  between  August  Wilhelm 
Schlegel  and  Osiris  is  best  known  to  them.^ 

Schlegel,  as  if  this  were  a  complete  negative  to  his  rank  as 
scholar.  Fortunately  for  Heine,  his  own  enemies  have  not 
treated  him  in  this  manner.  His  reproach  of  "Lucinda"  for 
indecency,  when  compared  to  much  of  his  own  "free-flying,"  is 
a  miracle  of  audacity.  And  it  may  be  said  truly  that  Heine,  in 
the  hands  of  a  Heine,  treated  as  he  treated  the  Schlegels, 
Cousin,  and  others  whom  he  envied,  might  have  been  made  to 
appear  to  many  to  be  the  most  worthless,  abject,  or  contemptible 
figure  in  German  literature.  Yet  for  those  who  can  make 
these  allowances,  this  chapter  will  still  remain  an  admirable 
contribution  to  literature ;  and,  apart  from  its  unfairness, 
brilliant,  ingenious,  and  erudite. — Translator. 

1  "  Wovon  sie  nur  wissen  das  ea  ein  wunderlicher  Kauz  von 
Gott  ist."  Kauz,  as  an  odd  fellow  and  a  screech-owl,  may  be 
very  accurately  though  vulgarly  rendered  as  "  a  rum  old  boy." 
Among  American  slangists,  "one  of  the  owls"  has  all  the 
expressiveness  of  the  German  word. — TrantUttor. 

^  The  following  passage  is  omitted  in  the  German  version, 
and  it  would  have  been  more  to  Heine's  credit  if  it  had  been 


r»- 


3i6  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

As  I  was  once  one  of  the  university  pupils  of 
the  elder  Schlegel,  it  is  possible  that  some  cle- 
mency was  due  from  me  to  him.  But  did  August 
Wilhelm  Schlegel  spare  his  literary  father,  old 
BUrger  ?  No !  and  in  this  he  acted  according  to 
custom  and  descent;  for  in  literature,  as  in  the 
forests  of  the  North  American  Indians,  the  fathers 
are  killed  by  the  sons  when  they  become  old  and 
weak. 

I  have  already  remarked  that  Friedrich  Schlegel 
was  of  more  importance  than  August  Wilhelm, 
and  in  fact  the  latter  only  lived  upon  the  ideas 
of  his  brother,  and  knew  no  art  save  that  of 
working  them   up.^      Friedrich   Schlegel  was  a 

spared  from  the  French.  After  speaking  of  Osiris  and  Schlegel, 
he  remarks  that  "  the  French  know  as  much  of  the  one  as  of  the 
other,  and  little  suspect  the  great  resemblance  which  there  is 
between  them,"  adding:  "Bien  qu'il  existe  aujourd'hui  un 
grand  nombre  d'ecrivains  allemands  qui  meritent  bien  plus  que 
lea  Schlegels  une  mention  ^tendue,  je  me  vols  oblig^  de  consacrer 
encore  quelques  lignes  h  ces  derniers  pour  repondre  au  reproche 
de  dur^te  qui  m'a  ^t^  adress^.  Malheureusement,  ces  non- 
velles  reflexions  ne  ressemblerent  plus  k  un  pan^gyrique." — 
Trandator. 

^  "Und  Verstand  nur  die  Kunst  sie  auszuarbeiten."  In 
the  French  version,  "  qu'il  s'entendait  k  ^laborer  artistement" 
Here  the  insult  in  German  is  turned  to  a  compliment  in 
French.  But  these  petty  differences  of  only  a  few  words  in 
the  French  work  are  too  numerous  to  notice.  That  August 
Wilhelm  von  Schlegel  "only  lived  upon  the  ideas  of  his 
brother  "  is  a  reckless  slander,  as  will  appear  plainly  enough 
from  Heine's  own  admission  in  several  places  of  the  different 
directions  of  the  two  brothers. — Trantiator. 


>.<■  — •;^*-« 


YyT'^-f'^'f-.^^Tf^- 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  317 

profound  thinker;  he  knew  the  glories  of  the 
past  ages  and  felt  the  pains  of  the  present,  but 
he  did  not  understand  the  sanctity  of  these 
sorrows,  and  that  they  were  needed  for  the  future 
well-being  of  the  world.  He  saw  the  sun  set, 
and  gazed  sadly  at  the  place  where  it  had 
vanished,  and  wailed  over  the  darkness  as  it 
drew  over  the  heaven,  and  never  noticed  that 
Aurora  was  dawning  on  the  other  side.  Friedrich 
Schlegel  once  called  the  investigator  into  history 
"a  prophet  reversed."  This  remark  perfectly 
characterises  himself.  He  hated  the  present,  he 
was  terrified  by  the  future,  and  it  was  only  into 
the  beloved  past  that  the  revealing  glances  of  the 
seer  penetrated. 

In  the  agonies  of  our  age  poor  Friedrich 
Schlegel  did  not  see  the  pangs  of  a  new  birth, 
but  only  the  agony  of  death ;  he  had  no  idea 
why  the  curtain  of  the  temple  was  rent  in  twain, 
and  the  earth  did  quake,  and  the  rocks  shivered, 
and  in  deadly  fear  he  fled  into  the  trembling 
ruins  of  the  Roman  ChurcL  This  was  certainly 
the  fittest  refuge  for  one  in  his  state  of  mind.^ 
He  had  during  his  life  indulged  in  much  gaiety 
and  pride,  now  he  regarded  it  all  as  sinfulness, 
deserving  the  long-delayed  penitence ;  therefore 


^  French  version,  "I'autear  de  Lucinda  trouva  oe  lieu  ap- 
propri^  ^  la  dUpoBition  de  son  kme."— Translator. 


3i8  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

the  anthor  of  "  Lucinda  "  must  necessarily  become 
Catholic. 

Lucinda  is  a  novel,  and,  with  the  exception  of 
his  poems  and  a  drama  entitled  "  Alarcos,"  which 
is  imitated  from  the  Spanish,  that  novel  is  the 
only  original  composition  which  Friedrich  Schlegel 
left.  There  was  in  his  time  no  lack  of  admirers 
of  this  romance.  The  now  highly  honourable 
and  reverend  Schleiermacher  once  published  en- 
thusiastic letters  on  it.  There  were  even  critics 
who  extolled  it  as  a  master-piece,  and  who  abso- 
lutely prophesied  that  it  would  be  regarded  as 
the  best  book  in  German  literature.  They  should 
have  been  imprisoned  by  the  authorities,  as  pro- 
phets in  Bussia  who  foretell  great  public  disasters 
are  confined  in  jail  till  their  predictions  are  ful- 
filled. No ;  the  gods  have  preserved  our  literature 
from  such  a  misfortune ;  the  romance  of  Schlegel 
was  soon  rejected  on  account  of  its  indecent 
worthlessness,  and  it  is  now  forgotten.  Lucinda 
is  the  name  of  its  heroine,  and  she  is  a  sensually 
witty  woman,  or  rather  a  mixture  of  sensuality 
and  wit.  Her  fault  is  that  she  is  not  a  woman, 
but  a  dull  unedifying  compound  of  the  two  ab- 
stractions. The  Holy  Virgin  may  forgive  him  for 
having  written  this  book,  but  the  Muses  never. 

A  similar  novel,  called  "Florentin,"  has  been 
wrongly  attributed  to  the  late  Schlegel.  This 
book,   people   say,   was   written   by   his   wife,    a 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  319 

daughter  of  the  celebrated  Moses  Mendelssohn, 
whom  he  had  abducted  from  her  first  husband, 
and  who  went  over  with  him  to  the  Roman 
Catholic  Church. 

I  believe  that  Friedrich  Schlegel  was  sincere  in 
his  Catholicism,  but  I  do  not  believe  it  of  many 
of  his  friends.  Here,  however,  it  is  very  difficult 
to  get  at  the  truth.  Religion  and  hypocrisy  are 
twin  sisters,  and  are  so  much  alike  that  they 
often  cannot  be  distinguished  from  one  another. 
They  have  the  same  form,  dress,  and  language. 
Only  that  the  latter  sister  drawls  a  little  more, 
and  repeats  oftener  the  word  "love."  I  speak 
of  Germany.  In  France  one  of  the  sisters  is 
dead,  and  we  see  the  other  still  in  deepest 
mourning. 

Since  the  appearance  of  the  work  Be  FAlle- 
magne  by  Madame  de  Stael,  Friedrich  Schlegel 
has  presented  the  public  with  two  great  works, 
which  are  perhaps  his  best,  and  which  merit  at 
all  events  the  most  favourable  mention.^  These 
are  his  Weisheit  und  Sprache  der  Indier — "  Wisdom 

'  Heine  did  not  previously  include  these  in  his  very  brief 
aummary  of  all  that  was  "  original "  by  Schlegel.  The  "  Lectures 
on  the  Philosophy  of  History  "  form,  in  the  highest  and  best 
sense  of  the  word,  an  original  work,  nor  is  the  "  Wisdom  and 
Language  of  the  Indians,"  inferior  to  it.  According  to  Heine's 
use  of  the  word,  limiting  it  to  works  of  the  imagination,  there 
is  nothing  original  in  most  of  bis  own  writings,  any  more  thao 
in  those  of  Carlyle  or  Darwin. — Trandaior. 


3*0  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  i 

and  Langaage  of  the  Indians  " — and  his  Vorlesvmr 
yen  iiber  die  Geschichte  der  Liter atur — "  Lectures 
on  the  History  of  literature."  By  this  first  work 
he  not  only  introduced  the  study  of  the  Sanskrit 
into  Germany,  but  really  founded  it.  He  became 
for  our  country  what  Sir  William  Jones  had  been 
for  England.  He  had  learned  Sanskrit  in  the 
most  genial  manner,^  and  the  few  fragments  which 
he  has  given  in  the  "  Wisdom  "  are  admirably 
translated.  By  his  profound  perceptive  faculty 
he  grasped  all  the  meaning  of  the  epic  metre,  the 
doka,  which  flows  as  widely  in  their  poetry  as 
that  divinely  dear  flood  the  Ganges.  How  petty 
and  poor  in  comparison  appears  August  Wilhelm 
Schlegel,  who  translated  some  fragments  from  the 
Sanskrit  into  hexameters,  and  could  not  while 
so  doing  boast  sufficiently  that  he  had  not  let  any 
trochees  slip  in,  and  had  so  neatly  cut  and  copied 
so  many  material  art-bits  of  the  Alexandrines.* 
As  Friedrich  Schlegel's  work  on  India  is  certainly 
translated  into  French,  I  can  spare  further  praise. 
What  I  have  to  blame  is  the  arrive  pens^  or 
hidden  meaning  of  the  book.      It  is  written  in 


^  "  Id  der  genialsten  Weise,"  French  version,  "  de  la  mani^re 
la  plus  originale." — Translator. 

'  A  double  allusion  to  Alexandrine  work  and  the  measure. 
This  passage  in  reference  to  A.  W.  Schlegel  is  omitted  in  the 
French  version,  as  it  might  very  well  have  been  from  the 
German. — Trarulator. 


»'  . 


•'I 


•l 


1  ' 


I 


^m 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  313 

tHe  elder  brother,  August  Wilhelm  von  Schlegel. 
Should  I  do  so  in  Grermany,  they  would  stare  at 
me  in  amazement. 

Who  talks  about  the  giraffe  now  in  Paris  ? 

Wilhelm  August  Schlegel  was  bom  in  Hanover, 
September  5,  1767.  I  do  not  know  this  from 
himself  personsilly.  I  was  never  so  impolite  as  to 
ask  him  his  age.  I  found  that  date,  if  I  am  not 
mistaken,  in  Spindler's  "Lexicon  of  Learned 
German  Women."  August  Wilhelm  von  Schlegel 
is,  therefore,  sixty-four  years  of  age.  Alexander 
von  Humboldt  and  other  investigators  into  natural 
history  declare  that  he  is  older.  Champollion  was 
also  of  this  opinion.  To  describe  his  literary  merits, 
I  must  again  praise  him  as  a  translator.  As  such  he 
has  done  work  which  is  really  extraordinary.  His 
translation  of  Shakespeare  into  German  is  masterly 
and  unsurpassable.  August  Wilhelm  Schlegel  is, 
with  the  exception  perhaps  of  Gries  and  Count 
Platen,  the  greatest  master  of  metre  in  Germany. 
In  all  other  capacities  or  works  he  is  entitled  to  only 
a  second  or  third  place.  In  aesthetic  criticism  he 
lacks  the  basis  of  a  philosophy,  and  in  this  branch 
he  h  far  surpassed  by  other  critics,  such  as  Solger. 
In  old  German  studies  Jacob  Grimm  towers  far 
above  him — Grimm,  whose  German  grammar  freed 
us  from  the  superficiaKty  with  which  old  German 
monuments  of  our  language  were  once  explained 
by  the  Schlegels.     Schlegel  could  perhaps  have 


3t4  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  j 

gone  far  in  the  study  of  old  German  had  he  not 
thrown  himself  into  Sanskrit;  but  old  German 
had  gone  out  of  fashion,  and  with  Sanskrit  there 
might  be  a  new  sensation.  But  even  in  this  study 
he  remained  to  a  degree  an  amateur ;  he  owed  the 
beginning  of  his  ideas  to  his  brother  Friedrich, 
and  what  is  scientific  and  real  in  his  Sans-critical 
contributions  he  owes,  as  every  one  knows,  to 
his  learned  collaborator,  Lassen.  Franz  Bopp  of 
Berlin  is,  in  Germany,  the  true  Sanskritic  scholar, 
and  the  first  in  his  specialty.  He  once  wished  to 
bring  himself  into  notice  by  attacking  the  fame 
of  Niebuhr,  but  when  he  is  compared  to  this 
great  investigator,  or  to  a  Johannes  von  Mliller,  a 
"Heeren,  a  Schlosser,  and  similar  historians,  we 
can  only  shrug  our  shoulders.  But  what  are  his 
merits  as  a  poet  ?    This  is  hard  to  decide.    I 

The  violin-player  Solomons,  who  gave  instruction 
in  his  art  to  King  George  IV.  of  England,  said 
once  to  his  august  pupil,  "  Players  on  the  violin 
are  divided  into  three  classes ;  to  the  first  belong 
those  who  cannot  play  at  all ;  to  the  second,  those 
who  play  very  badly ;  and  to  the  third,  those  who 
play  welL  Your  Majesty  has  got  so  far  as  the 
second  class." 

Does  August  Wilhelm  Schlegel  belong  to  the 
first  or  second  class?  Some  declare  that  he  ifl 
no  poet ;  others,  that  he  is  a  very  bad  one.  So  far 
as  I  know,  he  is  no  Faganim. 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  jaj 

August  Wilhelm  Ton  Schlegel  gained  his  cele- 
brity chiefly  by  the  unparalleled  audacity  or  im- 
pudence, with  which  he  assailed  preceding  literary 
authoritie&i  He  tore  the  laurels  from  the  old  wigs, 
and  thereby  set  flying  much  dust  into  the  eyes 
of  the  public*  His  fame  is  a  natural  daughter 
of  scandal. 

As  I  have  several  times  observed,  the  criticism 
with  which  Schlegel  attacked  the  literary  authori- 
ties of  his  time  is  by  no  means  based  on  any 
philosophy.  When  we  have  recovered  from  the 
amazement  into  which  his  audacity  has  thrown 
Hs,  we  perceive  the  utter  and  entire  emptiness  of 
the  so-called  Schlegelian  criticism.  For  example, 
when  he  wishes  to  depreciate  the  poet  Burger,  he 
compares  his  songs  with  the  old  English  ballads 
which  Percy  collected,  and  shows  that  the  latter 
were  more  naive,  more  in  the  ancient  spirit,  and 
consequently  more  poetically  conceived.  Schlegel 
had  fairly  well  appreciated  the  spirit  of  the  past, 


^  Thia  accusation  ia  an  exceedingly  ingenious  dflTioe  to  torn 
attention  from  tbe  fact  that  Heine  himself  is  here  treating  Schlegel 
ia  precisely  tbe  same  manner  as  that  of  which  he  accuses  tbe 
latter — that  is,  by  means  of  "scandal"  and  mere  abuse.  At 
present,  we  bare  but  few  critics  left  who  speak  of  the  manner 
of  writing  of  an  opponent,  d  la  Heine,  as  "rigmarole,"  and  who 
abuse  books  without  honestly  explaining  what  is  in  them.— 
Trundator. 

'  This  expression  is  given  in  full  only  in  th*  I'rench  reniaa, 
"  D  fit  voler  beaaooiip  de  poodre  utm  fWHS  tic  saisjwiMsgtM." 


■•«' 


3a6  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

especially  of  the  Middle  Age,  and  he  therefore 
succeeded  in  pointing  out  this  spirit  in  its  works  of 
art,  and  in  demonstrating  their  beauties  from  this 
historical  point  of  view.  But  he  understood  no- 
thing of  the  present  time ;  at  best,  he  only  caught 
something  of  the  physiognomy  or  a  few  external 
traits  of  our  time,  and  these  were  by  far  not  the 
best  or  most  beautiful ;  and  as  he  did  not  com- 
prehend the  spirit  which  inspired  them,  so  he  saw 
in  all  our  modem  life  only  a  prosaic  absurdity. 
On  the  whole,  only  a  great  poet  can  seize  the  full 
meaning  of  the  poetry  of  his  own  time ;  that  of 
the  past  reveals  itself  much  more  readily,  and  it  is 
easier  to  impart  to  others.^  Therefore  Schlegel 
succeeded  in  exalting  in  great  numbers,  poems 
in  which  the  past  lies  coflSned,  at  the  expense  of 
those  in  which  our  modern  present  breathes  and 
lives.  But  death  is  not  more  poetic  than  life.* 
The  relics  of  ancient  poetry  collected  by  Percy 
set  forth  the  spirit  of  their  own  time,  and  Biir- 
ger's  that  of  ours.  Schlegel  did  not  understand 
this  spirit,  else  he  would  have  heard  in  the 
vehemence  with  which  it  sometimes  breaks  out  in 
Burger's  poems,  not  the  rude  cry  of  an  untrained 


'  A  great  truth  well  expressed,  but  it  ■bonld  be  remembered 
that,  aa  Heine  has  shown,  the  spirit  of  the  present  in  Scblegel's 
time  consisted  of  revivals  of  the  past. — Trandator. 

*  This  line  is  wanting  in  the  French  version. 


"^'ti 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  327 

tutor,^  but  rather  the  powerful  cry  of  pain  of  a 
Titan  who  was  goaded  to  death  by  an  aristocracy 
of  Hanoverian  nobles  and  school  pedants.  Such 
was  the  case  with  the  author  of  "Lenore,"  as 
well  as  that  of  many  other  men  of  genius,  who  as 
poor  petty  professors  starved  in  Gottingen,  lived 
wretchedly,  and  died  in  misery.  How  could  the 
aristocratic  chevalier,  August  Wilhelm  von  Schle- 
gel,  protected  by  aristocratic  patrons,  appointed, 
revived,  baronised,  and  ribboned,  understand  those 
verses  in  which  Burger  cried  aloud,  that  an  hon- 
ourable man,  sooner  than  beg  favours  from  the 
great,  should  die  of  hunger  ? 

The  name  Burger  means  in  German  eitoyen — 
citizen — a  man  of  the  middle  class. 

The  fame  of  Schlegel  was  greatly  increased  by 
the  attention  which  he  attracted  when  he,  some- 
what later  here  in  France,  attacked  the  literary 
authorities  of  the  French.  "We  saw  with  joy  and 
pride  how  our  fellow-countryman,  yearning  for 
the  prey,  showed  the  French  that  all  their  classic 
literature  was  naught,  that  Moli^re  was  a  buffoon 
and  not  a  poet,  that  Eacine  was  equally  worthless, 
and  that,  on  the  other  hand,  we  Grermans  must  be 
regarded  as  the  kings  of  Parnassus.  His  refrain 
ever  was  that  the  French  were  the  most  prosaic 
people  in  the  world,  and  that  there  was  no  poetry 

^  Magister,  a  mere  Master  of  Arts,  an  ordinary  teacher. 


is^j:: 


3a8  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

in  France.  The  man  said  this  at  a  time  when  he 
had  passing  before  his  very  eyes  and  in  the  body, 
so  many  chiefs  of  the  Convention  of  that  great 
titanic  tragedy ;  at  a  time  when  Napoleon  im- 
provised a  good  epic  every  day,^  when  Paris 
swarmed  with  gods,  heroes,  and  kings.  But 
Schlegel  saw  nothing  of  all  this;  while  he  was 
here  he  was  contemplating  himself  continually  in 
a  mirror,  for  which  reason  it  is  easy  to  understand 
why  he  saw  no  poetry  in  France. 

But  Schlegel,  as  I  have  said,  never  understood 
any  poetry  save  that  of  the  past;  the  present 
escaped  him.  Everything  in  modem  life  seemed 
to  him  prosaic,  and  that  of  France,  the  maternal 
soil  of  modern  life,  was  out  of  his  sphere  of  vision. 
Racine  was  accordingly  the  first  whom  he  could 
not  comprehend;  for  this  great  poet  appears 
as  herald  of  the  modem  age,  with  the  great  king 
with  whom  it  begins.  Bacine  was  the  first 
modem  poet,  as  Louis  XIV.  was  the  first  modem 
king.  In  Comeille  there  is  still  the  inspiration 
of  the  Middle  Age.  In  him  and  in  the  Fronde 
we  still  hear  the  death-rattle  of  ancient  chivalry ; 
therefore  he  is  often  called  Bomantic.  But  in 
Bacine  the  mediaeval  manner  of  thinking  is  utterly 
extinguished ;  new  feelings  awake  in  him ;  he  is 


^  In  the  French  version,  "  improviaait  cbaque  jour  une  Bablime 


i  :..';■;■-.■;'••■'  •K<v.-,^*%;,-'4*  A*''«^;*f^ 


-  -  r*u«i.'  t  -' 


\ 


:i 


!,' 


i  : 


'■  I 


\l 


r 


M 


I 


i! 


J 


i 


VS^ 


-r-^V.' 


.'.■% 


Aij 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  33! 

multittide,  as  they  with  these  views  made  war 
with  scorn  and  slander  on  the  Protestant  Ration- 
alists, the  enlightened  ones,  and  on  the  true 
rather  than  the  false;  as  they  cherished  the 
grimmest  antipathy  for  men  who  required  an 
honest  citizen-like  equality  in  literature ;  as  they 
ridiculed  this  spirit  of  equality  as  a  Philistine- 
like  petty  vexation,  and,  on  the  other  hand, 
exalted  and  extolled  the  great  chivalric  life  of 
the  feudal  Middle  Age;  so  also  Aristophanes, 
who  mocked  the  gods  themselves,  still  hated 
the  philosophers  who  prepared  the  road  to  ruin 
for  all  Olympus.  So  too  he  hated  the  ration- 
alistic Socrates,  who  preached  a  higher  morality ; 
he  hated  the  poets,  who  had  likewise  begun  to 
announce  a  more  modem  life,  which  differed 
from  the  earlier  period  of  Greek  gods  and  heroes 
and  kings  just  as  our  own  age  differs  from  that 
of  feudal  times;  and  finally  he  hated  Euripides, 
who  was  no  longer  intoxicated,  as  ^schylus  and 
Sophocles  had  been,  with  the  Greek  Middle  Age, 
but  had  begun  to  approach  the  tragedy  of  middle- 
class  life.  I  doubt  whether  Schlegel  himself 
knew  the  real  motives  which  inspired  him  to 
so  decry  and  degrade  Euripides  in  comparison 
with  iEschylus  and  Sophocles.  I  believe  that  he 
was  guided  by  an  unconscious  instinct  to  scent 
in  the  old  tragedian  that  modem  democratic  and 
Protestant  element  which  was  already  so  deeply 


►fc  »'^»*vi-t'-.    «-v'-'^'****^*''-*'."*-->*'«-_^-'« 


332  THS  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

hated  by  the  chiyalric  and  Olympic  Catholic 
Aristophanes.^ 

Yet  it  may  be  that  I  do  Aagnst  Wilhelm 
Schlegel  an  undeserved  honour  in  attributing  to 
him  any  decided  sympathies  and  antipathies.  It 
is  possible  that  he  had  none.  In  his  youth  he  was 
a  Hellenist,  and  later  a  Romanticist.  He  became 
the  choir-leader  of  the  new  school ;  it  was  named 
after  him  and  his  brother ;  and  of  all  who  were  in 
the  school,  he  perhaps  was  the  one  who  was  least 
in  earnest  as  regarded  it.  He  upheld  it  with  his 
talents,  he  studied  himself  into  it,  he  enjoyed  it 
while  it  was  a  success,  and  when  it  came  to  a  bad 
end  he  worked  himself  into  new  literary  pursuits. 

But  though  the  school  came  to  grief,  the  efforts 
of  August  Wilhelm  Schlegel  bore  good  fruit  for 
onr  literature;  for  he  showed  how  scientific 
or  learned  subjects  can  be  treated  in  elegant 
language.  Before  his  time  few  German  authors 
dared  to  write  a  learned  book  in  a  clear  and 
attractive  style.*     They   wrote   a  confused   dry 

^  It  is  amusing,  in  reading  this,  to  recall  the  fact  that  Heine 
himself  is  now  so  generally  known  as  the  modem  Aristophanes. 
Their  political  motives  may  have  differed,  but  their  method  of 
dealing  with  characters  was  identical — Trantlator. 

*  If  Heine  reached  the  acme  of  unjust  sarcasm  in  the  previous 
sentence  by  denying  to  August  Wilhelm  Schlegel  any  sincerity, 
h*  atones  for  it  in  this  admission  that  he  improved  German 
literary  style.  As  be  well  might,  for  it  was  in  a  very  great 
mearare  tiae  infinenoa  of  Schlegel  which  led  him  to  write 


■JLi:-  A  ;...-t»-f-. ^v ..,..,..  ^     ^    ,     I      -         ■-■     fttilJIjL,  t  I,)      Tf    '"*" 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  333 

German,  which  smelt  of  tallow-candles  and  tobacco. 
,  Schlegel  himself  was  one  of  the  few  Germans 
V  who  never,  smoked  tobacco,  a  yirtue  which  he 
owed  to  the  society  of  Madame  de  Stael;  and 
he  owed,  in  fact,  to  this  lady  that  external  polish 
which  he  turned  to  such  good  account  in  Germany. 
In  this  respect  the  death  of  the  admirable  Madame 
de  Stael  was  a  great  loss  for  this  German  savant, 
who  found  in  her  salon  so  many  opportunities  to 
become  familiar  with  the  latest  fashions,  and  who, 
as  her  companion  in  all  the  chief  cities  of  Europe, 
could  see  the  world  and  acquire  the  most  elegant 
manners.  Such  refining  influences  had  become 
such  a  delightful  necessity  to  him,  that  after  the 
death  of  his  noble  protectress  he  was  not  dis- 
inclined to  offer  to  accompany  the  celebrated 
Catalani  in  her  travels.  ■      -  . 

As  I  have  said,  the  promotion  of  elegance  is  the 
principal  merit  of  Schlegel,  and  thanks  to  him 
there  came  more  civilisation  into  the  lives  of 
Grerman  poets.^  Goethe  had  already  given  the 
most  influential  example  that  a  man  could  be  a 

German  clearly,  concisely,  and  brilliantly,  aa  no  one  had  ever 
4  done  before  him.  There  is  an  allusion  to  "  tallow-candles  "  in 
•  the  next  sentence,  which  was  probably  suggested  by  remember- 
ing what  he  has  elsewhere  told  us,  that  Schlegel  had  at  his 
lectures  vxxx  tapers,  which  were  snuffed  by  a  servant  in  elegant 
livery. 

^  In  the  French  venion,  "  grioe  k  lui,  11  se  gliua  on  pea  da 
dvilisation  dans  la  via  6m  poetes  de  rAilemagne." 


334  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

Gennan  poet  and  yet  show  something  of  external 
decency.  In  earlier  times  German  poets  despised 
all  conventional  forms,  and  the  very  name,  or 
even  that  of  "poetic  genius,"  awoke  most  dis- 
agreeable associations.  A  German  poet  was  a 
man  who  wore  a  shabby  ragged  coat,  who  wrote 
christening  and  wedding  odes  for  a  thaler  a  piece, 
who,  instead  of  good  society,  enjoyed  far  more 
good  liquor,  and  often  lay  of  nights  drunk  in  the 
gutter,  tenderly  kissed  by  Luna's  gentle  rays. 
When  such  men  grew  old,  they  generally  plunged 
still  deeper  into  misery.  True  it  was  a  misery 
without  much  affliction  or  care,  since  all  they 
cared  for  was  to  know  where  they  could  get  the 
most  schnapps  for  the  least  money. 

Like  this  I  had  always  conceived  a  German 
poet.  How  delighted  and  astonished  was  I  when, 
as  a  youth,  I  studied  at  the  University  of  Bonn, 
and  there  had  the  honour  to  see  face  to  face 
August  Wilhelm  Schlegel,  the  poetic  geniua  He 
was,  with  the  exception  of  Napoleon,  the  first 
great  man  whom  I  had  ever  beheld,  and  I  shall 
never  forget  the  sublime  sight.  To  this  very  day 
I  feel  the  holy  shuddering  awe  which  crept  over 
my  soul  when  I  stood  before  his  chair  and  heard 
hvm  speak.  In  those  days  I  wore  a  coarse  white 
cut-a-way  coat,^  a  scarlet  cap,  long  blonde  locks, 

'  Flaxiachrock,  a  short  coat  once  peculiar  to  Grerman  students ; 
alio  Flaxn,  a  thick  shaggy  coab — Trandator, 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  u$ 

and  no  gloves.  Bnt  Herr  August  Wilhelm  Schlegel 
had  gants  glac^,  fine  kid-gloves,  and  was  dressed 
in  the  last  Paris  fashion ;  perfectly  perfumed  with 
good  society  and  eau  de  mille  Jleurs,  he  was  neat- 
ness and  refinement  itself,  and  when  he  spoke 
of  "the  Lord  Chancellor  of  England,"  he  added 
"my  friend,"  while  by  him  stood  a  lackey  in  the 
most  baronial  livery  of  the  house  of  Schlegel,  who 
snuffed  the  tapers  in  the  silver  candelabras,  while 
on  the  desk  before  the  marvellous  man  was  a  glass 
of  eau  sucrS.  Wax  tapers!  silver  candelabras! 
servants  in  livery!  my  friend  the  Lord  Chan- 
cellor of  England !  kid  gloves !  ea7t  sucri ! — what 
unheard  of  things  in  the  lecture-room  of  a  German 
professor !  This  splendour  dazzled  us  young  folks 
not  a  little — ^me  especially — and  I  composed  three 
odes  to  Herr  Schlegel  all  beginning  with — 

"0  thou,  thou — who" — 

and  so  on — et  cetera.  But  it  was  only  in  poetry 
that  I  dared  to  thou  so  distinguished  a  man.^  His 
external  appearance  was  really  imposing.  On  his 
small  head  shone  a  few  silver  hairs,  and  his  form 
was  so  slender,  so  wasted  and  transparent,  that 
he  seemed  to  be  all  soul  and  almost  a  symbol  of 
spiritualism. 

However,  he  had  married,  and  though  the  chief 


^  DuUm;  French,  ttUoger. 


33* 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


of  the  Romanticists,  had  wedded  the  daughter  of 
the  church  coTincillor,  Paulus  of  Heidelberg,  the 
leader  of  the  German  Rationalists.  It  was  a  sym- 
bolical espousal ;  Romanticism  indeed  allied  itself 
to  Rationalism,  but  the  union  was  barren.*  On 
the  contrary,  the  separation  between  Romance 
and  Rationalism  became  all  the  greater,  and  the 
very  next  morning  after  the  nuptials  Rationalism 
returned  to  its  home,  and  would  have  nothing 
more  to  do  with  Romance ;  for  Rationalism  being 
always  reasonable,  did  not  wish  to  be  merely  sym- 
bolically married,  and  as  soon  as  it  recognised  the 
wooden  nothingness  of  Romantic  art,  ran  away. 
I  know  that  I  here  speak  enigmatically,  and 
will  try  to  explain  myself  as  clearly  as  possible. 
Typhon,  the  Evil,  hated  Osiris,  (who,  as  you  know, 
is  an  Egyptian  god),  and  when  he  had  him  in  his 
power,  tore  him  to  pieces.  Isis,  the  poor  wife  of 
Osiris,  sought  with  pain  and  fatigue  the  frag- 
ments, and  succeeded  in  putting  them  together 
again.  But  one  important  part  was  wanting,  and 
this  was  replaced  with  a  substitute  of  wood.  But 
alas !  poor  Isis ;  wood  is  only  wood.     Hence  arose 


1  When  I  was  a  student  in  Heidelberg,  1S46-7,  I  lived  for 
six  months  next  door  to  Paulus,  who  was  then  ninety-four  yean 
of  Age.  He  remained  in  a  comatose  condition  every  day  until 
about  noon,  when  he  became  intelligent  and  lively,  and  conversed 
well,  and  then  relapsed  into  drowsiness.  The  winter  of  bis  age 
bad  arctic  days. — Trmmdmtor. 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  337 

in  Egypt  a  scandalous  myth,  and  in  Heidelberg 
a  mysterions  scandal.'^ 

From  that  time  August  Wilhelm  Schlegel  passed 
quite  out  of  sight.  He  had  vanished.  Discontent 
at  being  so  forgotten  drove  him,  after  long  years 
of  absence,  again  to  Berlin,  once  the  capital  of  his 
literary  renown,  and  there  he  delivered  some  public 
lectures  on  aesthetics.  But  he  had  meanwhile 
learned  nothing  new,  and  he  now  addressed  a 
public  which  had  gained  from  Hegel  a  philosophy 
of  art  and  a  science  of  aesthetics.  His  hearers 
jested  and  shrugged  their  shoulders.  It  was  with 
him  as  with  some  old  actor,  who,  after  twenty 
years  of  retirement,  visits  the  scene  of  his  early 
success,  and  does  not  understand  why  the  public 
laugh  instead  of  applauding.  The  man  had 
changed  terribly,  and  he  delighted  Berlin  for  four 
full  weeks  by  the  display  of  his  absurdities.  He 
had  become  an  old  coxcomb,  who  made  of  himself 
everywhere  a  fool  of  which  the  most  incredible 
things  are  narrated. 

1  "A  mythical  scandal"  would  perhaps  come  nearer  to  the 
truth  of  a  story  which  is  most  discreditable  to  Heine.  French 
version,  "  De  Ik  vint  une  grande  culte  en  Egypte  et  k  Heidelberg 
tin  grand  scandale.  C'est  un  vieux  mythe  qui,  dans  son  temps,  a 
produit  une  joyeuse  sensation."  And  even  more  discreditable 
is  the  manner  in  which  he  mercilessly  drags  to  light  and  pub- 
lishes the  details  of  the  old  age  of  one  who  had  done  great  work 
in  his  day,  and  to  whom  he  owed  at  least  the  gratitude  due  to 
all  early  teachers. — Translator. 

VOL.  L  Y 


338 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


I  had  the  sorrow  to  see  August  Wilhelm 
Schlegel  again  in  person  here  in  Paris.  I  truly 
had  no  idea  of  this  change  till  I  was  convinced 
by  my  own  eyes.  It  was  little  more  than  a  year 
ago,  just  before  my  arrival  in  the  capital.  I  was 
going  to  see  the  house  in  which  Moli^re  had 
dwelt,  for  I  honour  great  poets,  and  seek  every- 
where for  traces  of  their  earthly  career :  it  is  a 
culttis — a  religion.  On  my  way,  not  far  from 
that  sacred  dwelling,  I  saw  a  being  in  whose 
played-out  and  worn-away  ^  features  I  saw  some 
likeness  to  the  former  August  Wilhelm  Schlegel. 
I  thought  I  saw  his  spirit,  but  it  was  only  his 
body.  The  soul  is  long  dead,  and  his  body  ghosts 
about  and  haunts  the  earth,  and  has  meantime 
grown  plump ;  flesh  had  attached  itself  to  those 
slender  spiritual  legs ;  there  was  even  a  stomach 
visible,  over  which  hung  a  number  of  ribbons  of 
orders.  The  little  head,  once  so  grey,  now  bore  a 
golden  yellow  wig.  He  was  clad  in  the  latest 
fashion  of  the  year  in  which  Madame  de  Stael 
died  ( 1 8 1 8) ;  and  he  smiled  in  a  manner  so 
sweetly  superannuated,  like  an  old  lady  with  a 
piece  of  sugar  in  her  mouth,  and  moved  as 
youthfully  as  a  coquettish  child.  A  strange 
rejuvenation  had  actually  come  over  him,  as  if 
he  had  got  into  a  comic  second  edition  of  his 


*  Vtiteebten  Zugen. 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  339 

youth ;  he  seemed  to  be  in  full  bloom  once  more, 
and  I  even  suspected  that  the  red  of  his  cheeks  was 
not  due  to  rouge,  but  to  a  healthy  irony  of  Nature. 
At  that  instant  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  I  saw  the 
late  Moli^re  ^  standing  at  the  window,  and  as  if 
he  smiled  down  at  me,  indicating  the  melancholy 
dull  apparition.      All  that   was   ridiculous  in  it 
flashed  upon  me  all  at  once.     I  understood  all  the 
depth  and  fulness  of  the  joke  in  it;  I  compre- 
hended the  farcical  character  of  that  fabulously 
ridiculous  man,  who — more's  the  pity ! — has  never 
found  any  great  comedian  to  put  him  properly  upon 
the  stage.    Moli^re  himself  was  the  man  who  could 
work  up  such  a  figure  for  the  Th^tre  Fran^ais ; 
he  only  had  the  talent  needed ;  and  that  August 
Wilhelm  von  Schlegel  felt,  and  so  hated  Moli^re 
for  the  same  reason  which  made  Napoleon  hate 
Tacitus ;  for  as  he,  the  French  Caesar,  well  knew 
that  the  Republican  writer  of  history  would  not 
have  painted   him   with   rosy   hues,    so   August 
Wilhelm  Schlegel,  the  German  Osiris,  had  long 
felt  that  he  would  never  have  escaped  Moli^re, 
the   great  comic  writer,   had  the    latter  lived. 
Napoleon  said  of  Tacitus  that  he  was  the  slanderer 
of  Tiberius,  and  August  Wilhelm  Schlegel  said 
of  Moli^re   that    he   was  no   poet,    but   only   a 
buffoon. 

^  French  veraioo,  Poquelin. 


340 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


August  Wilhelm  Schlegel  soon  after  this  left 
Paris,  having  received  from  His  Majesty  Louis 
Philippe  I.,  King  of  the  French,  the  decoration  of 
the  legion  of  honour.  The  Moniteur  has  to  this 
day  hesitated  to  properiy  announce  this  fact; 
but  Thalia,  the  Muse  of  Comedy,  hurriedly  jotted 
it  down  in  her  notebook  of  jests.*  | 

*  The  words  "  from  His  Majesty  Louis  Philippe  I.,  King  of 
the  French,"  are  judiciously  omitted  from  the  French  version. 
Heine  was  at  this  time  working  for  a  pension  from  His  Majesty, 
and  doing  all  in  his  power  to  please  his  French  public,  which 
partially  accounts  for  the  bitterness  of  his  remarks  on  Schlegel, 
whom  he  puts  forth  as  the  foe  of  France.  | 


~^ 


''■■v: 


X- 


CHAPTER  IL 

After  the  Schlegels,  Ludwig  Tieck  was  the  moa 
effective  author  of  the  Romantic  school.  For  it 
he  fought,  thought,  and  sang.  He  was  a  poet, 
a  name  which  neither  of  the  Schlegels  deserved ; 
for  he  was  a  true  son  of  Phoebus  Apollo,  and,  like 
his  ever-youthful  father,  he  bore  not  only  the 
lyre  but  the  bow,  with  a  quiver  full  of  rattling, 
ringing  arrows.  He  was,  like  the  Delphian  god, 
intoxicated  with  lyrical  fire  and  critical  cruelty. 
And  when,  like  him  too,  he  had  pitilessly  flayed 
alive  some  literary  Marsyas  he  merrily  grasped 
with  bloody  fingers  the  golden  chords  of  his  lyre 
and  sang  a  sweet  song  of  love. 

The  poetical  polemic  which  Tieck  waged  in 
dramatic  form  against  the  adversaries  of  the 
school  belongs  to  the  most  remarkable  curiosities 
of  our  literature.  They  are  satirical  plays,  which 
are  generally  compared  with  the  comedies  of 
Aristophanes.  Yet  they  differ  from  the  latter 
almost  as  much  as  a  tragedy  by  Sophocles  differs 
from  one  by  Shakespeare.    If  the  ancient  comedies 

34« 


343 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


had  the  same  cut  and  style,*  the  strictly  drilled 
step,  and  the  exquisitely  metrical  language  of 
ancient  tragedies,  so  that  they  might  pass  for 
parodies,  so  are  the  dramatic  satires  of  Tieck 
cut  in  as  original  and  strange  a  manner,  just 
as  Anglicanly  irregular  and  as  metrically  capri- 
cious as  the  tragedies  of  Shakespeare.  Was 
this  form  invented  by  Tieck  ?  No ;  for  it  existed 
already  among  the  people  in  Italy.  He  who 
understands  Italian  may  get  a  tolerably  correct 
idea*  of  the  dramas  of  Tieck  if  he  will  dream 
himself  into  the  chequered-bizarre,  Venetian- 
fantastic  fairy-tale  comedies  of  Gozzi,  mixed 
with  a  little  German  moonshine.  In  fact,  Tieck 
took  most  of  his  masks  from  this  merry  child 
of  the  Lagunes.  Following  his  example,  many 
German  poets  have  mastered  the  same  form; 
hence  we  have  had  comedies  whose  comic  effects 
were  not  produced  by  a  single  fanciful  character 
or  a  gay  intrigue,  but  where  we  are  transported 
at   once  into    a   wild   and   merry  world,   where 


'  EinheiUichen  Zutehnitt,  as  of  the  uniforms  of  soldiers. 
French  version,  toute  FuniM  d'aetion.  In  the  same,  the  words 
engliteh  tmregdmiUtig,  which  I  render  Anglicanly  or  Englishly- 
irregular,  are  not  translated. — Ttxmdator. 

^  "  Kann  sich  einen  ziemlich  richtigen  Begriff  verschaffen." 
In  the  French  version,  vne  juste  idde,  which  implies  a  perfect 
intelligence.  These  differences,  though  trifling,  indicate  care- 
lessness, and  they  often  occur  several  times  in  a  page. — 
Trandator. 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  343 

animals  talk  and  act  like  men,  and  where  chance 
and  caprice  take  its  place  in  the  natural  order 
of  things.  This  we  also  find  in  Aristophanes. 
But  the  latter  chose  this  form  to  reveal  to  us 
his  profoundest  views  of  the  worid,^  as,  for  in- 
stance, in  the  "Birds,"  where  the  maddest  efforts 
of  mankind,  their  desire  to  build  the  grandest 
castles  in  the  air,  their  defiance  of  the  eternal 
gods,  and  the  vain  joy  of  their  triumphs,  are 
set  forth  in  the  most  ludicrous  caricatures.  And 
it  was  that  which  made  Aristophanes  so  great, 
because  his  views  of  the  world  were  so  great, 
because  they  were  grander  and  more  tragic  than 
the  tragedian  himself,  because  his  comedies  were 
really  jesting  tragedies.  Take,  for  example,  his 
Paisteteros,  who  is  not  shown  up  in  his  ridiculous 
worthlessness  at  the  end  of  the  play,  as  a  modem 
poet  would  have  planned  it  On  the  contrary,  he 
woos  and  wins  the  beautiful,  marvellously  mighty 
Basilea ;  he  soars  with  this  heavenly  bride  to  his 
city  in  the  air ;  the  gods  are  compelled  to  obey 
him,  folly  celebrates  its  marriage  with  power,  and 
the  play  ends  with  joyous  marriage-hymns.  Can 
there  be,  for  a  reasonable  man,  anything  more 
cruelly  tragic  than  this  victory  and  triumph  of 
folly?     Our  German   Aristophanes    do   not  rise 

'  Wdtansehaungen.     French  version,  set  vuet  tur  la  soeUU. 
Welt  implies  here  rather  the  universe  or  all  things. 


342  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

had  the  same  cut  and  style,*  the  strictly  drilled 
step,  and  the  exquisitely  metrical  language  of 
ancient  tragedies,  so  that  they  might  pass  for 
parodies,  so  are  the  dramatic  satires  of  Tieck 
cut  in  as  original  and  strange  a  manner,  just 
as  Anglicanly  irregular  and  as  metrically  capri- 
cious as  the  tragedies  of  Shakespeare.  Was 
this  form  invented  by  Tieck  ?  No ;  for  it  existed 
already  among  the  people  in  Italy.  He  who 
understands  Italian  may  get  a  tolerably  correct 
idea*  of  the  dramas  of  Tieck  if  he  will  dream 
himself  into  the  chequered-bizarre,  Venetian- 
fantastic  fairy-tale  comedies  of  Gozzi,  mixed 
with  a  little  German  moonshine.  In  fact,  Tieck 
took  most  of  his  masks  from  this  merry  child 
of  the  Lagunes.  Following  his  example,  many 
German  poets  have  mastered  the  same  form; 
hence  we  have  had  comedies  whose  comic  effects 
were  not  produced  by  a  single  fanciful  character 
or  a  gay  intrigue,  but  where  we  are  transported 
at  once  into    a   wild   and  merry  world,   where 


^  EinheiUichen  Zutchnitt,  as  of  the  uniforms  of  soldiers. 
French  version,  toute  Vtiniti  d'aetion.  In  the  same,  the  words 
engluch  unregdtndsaig,  which  I  render  Anglicanly  or  Englishly- 
irregular,  are  not  translated. — Tra/ndator. 

*  "  Kann  sich  einen  ziemlich  richtigen  BegriflF  verschaffen." 
In  the  French  version,  vne  jutte  id4e,  which  implies  a  perfect 
intelligence.  These  differences,  though  trifling,  indicate  care- 
lessness,  and  they  often  occur  several  times  in  a  page. — 
Trandator. 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  343 

animals  talk  and  act  like  men,  and  where  chance 
and  caprice  take  its  place  in  the  natural  order 
of  things.  This  we  also  find  in  Aristophanes. 
But  the  latter  chose  this  form  to  reveal  to  us 
his  profoundest  views  of  the  world,^  as,  for  in- 
stance, in  the  "Birds,"  where  the  maddest  efforts 
of  mankind,  their  desire  to  build  the  grandest 
castles  in  the  air,  their  defiance  of  the  eternal 
gods,  and  the  vain  joy  of  their  triumphs,  are 
set  forth  in  the  most  ludicrous  caricatures.  And 
it  was  that  which  made  Aristophanes  so  great, 
because  his  views  of  the  world  were  so  great, 
because  they  were  grander  and  more  tragic  than 
the  tragedian  himself,  because  his  comedies  were 
really  jesting  tragedies.  Take,  for  example,  his 
Paisteteros,  who  is  not  shown  up  in  his  ridiculous 
worthlessness  at  the  end  of  the  play,  as  a  modem 
poet  would  have  planned  it  On  the  contrary,  he 
woos  and  wins  the  beautiful,  marvellously  mighty 
Basilea ;  he  soars  with  this  heavenly  bride  to  his 
city  in  the  air ;  the  gods  are  compelled  to  obey 
him,  folly  celebrates  its  marriage  with  power,  and 
the  play  ends  with  joyous  marriage-hymns.  Can 
there  be,  for  a  reasonable  man,  anything  more 
cruelly  tragic  than  this  victory  and  triumph  of 
folly?     Our  German   Aristophanes    do   not  rise 


'  Wdtatuekawngen.     French  version,  ses  vtiet  sur  la  toeOU. 
Welt  implies  here  rather  the  aniverse  or  all  things. 


••»  .  #•- 


344  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

80  high;  they  refrain  from  such  lofty  views  of 
life ;  they  manifest  the  utmost  modesty  as  regards 
discussing  those  very  important  relations  of  man, 
politics,  and  religion;  they  only  venture  on  the 
theme  which  Aristophanes  himself  has  treated 
in  the  "  Frogs  "  as  a  subject  of  satire — the  stage 
itself — and  they  have  mocked  with  more  or  less 
cleverness  its  failings. 

Still  we  must  consider  the  politically  enslaved 
condition  of  Germany.  Our  wits,  restrained  from 
ridiculing  real  princes,  made  up  for  it  by  attacking 
kings  of  the  theatre  and  queens  of  the  coulisses. 
We,  who  were  almost  destitute  of  political  journals 
which  discussed  public  affairs,  were  all  the  more 
blessed  with  countless  aesthetic  journals,  contain- 
ing nothing  but  idle  tales  and  theatrical  criticisms, 
so  that  any  one  who  saw  our  newspapers  might 
well  suppose  that  the  whole  German  race  consisted 
of  chattering  nursery-maids  and  theatrical  critics. 
And  yet  it  would  have  been  unjust.  How  little 
content  we  were  with  such  miserable  scribbling 
appeared  immediately  after  the  Revolution  of  July, 
when  it  seemed  as  if  free  and  bold  words  might 
be  uttered  in  our  own  dear  native  land.  There 
sprung  up  all  at  once  newspapers  which  criticised 
the  good  or  bad  acting  of  real  kings,  and  many 
of  them  who  had  forgotten  their  parts  were  hissed 
in  their  own  capitals.  Our  literary  Scheherazades, 
who   had   hitherto   put  the   public,  that  plump 


■-A.. 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  345 

Sultan,  to  sleep  with  their  little  tales,  were  now 
silent;  the  actors  saw  with  amazement  the  pit 
empty,  however  divinely  they  played,  and  even 
the  reserved  seats  of  the  terrible  town-critics  were 
very  often  vacant.  Once  the  good  heroes  of  the 
boards  always  complained  that  they  were  con- 
tinually subjects  of  public  conversation,  and  that 
even  their  domestic  affairs  were  discussed  in  the 
journals.  But  what  was  their  horror  when  the 
awful  truth  flashed  upon  them  that  nobody  now 
cared  what  they  did ! 

In  fact,  when  the  Revolution  broke  out  in  Ger- 
many,^ there  was  an  end  of  theatres  and  dramatic 
criticism,  and  the  terrified  feuilletonists,  actors, 
and  critics  apprehended — and  justly — that  "Art 
was  going  to  the  dogs."  But  this  great  calamity 
was  fortunately  averted  from  our  native  land  by 
the  wisdom  and  power  of  the  Frankfort  Diet. 
There  will  be,  let  us  hope,  no  revolution  in  Ger- 
many. We  are  protected  from  the  guillotine  and 
all  the  terrors  of  freedom  of  the  press,  even  the 
Chamber  of  Deputies,  whose  competition  so  greatly 
injured  the  regularly  licensed  theatres,  is  done  away 
with,  and  art  is  saved !  Just  now  they  are  doing 
aU  they  can  for  art,  especially  in  Prussia.  The 
museums  gleam  with  all  the  splendours  of  colour. 


^  French  version,  "£n  effet,  quand  le  soleil  de  juillet  nous 
^claira. "— Tratu2ator. 


346  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

the  orchestras  sound,  the  ballet-girls  leap  their 
loveliest  and  liveliest  entrechats,  and  a  thousand 
and  one  novels  enrapture  the  public,  and  theatrical 
criticism  blooms  again. 

Justinus  relates  in  his  "Histories,"  that  when 
Cyrus  had  quieted  the  revolt  of  the  Lydians,  he 
succeeded  in  taming  their  stubborn,  liberty-loving 
spirit  by  inducing  in  them  an  interest  in  the  fine 
arts  and  other  pleasant  things.  So  there  was  no- 
thing more  heard  of  Lydian  liberty  or  rebellion, 
but  all  the  more  famously  did  the  Lydian  restau- 
rant-keepers, panders,  and  artists  flourish. 

Now  there  is  in  Germany  rest  and  repose. 
Theatrical  criticism  and  novels  are  to  the  fore, 
and  as  Tieck  excels  in  both,  all  friends  of  art 
pay  him  the  tribute  due.  He  is,  in  fact,  the 
best  novelist  in  Germany.  Yet  all  his  works  are 
not  of  equal  worth  or  of  the  same  kind.  We  can 
distinguish  in  him,  as  in  painters,  many  manners. 
His  first  was  altogether  that  of  the  old  school. 
Then  he  wrote  to  order,  and  by  command  of  a 
bookseller,  who  was  no  other  than  the  late  Nicolai 
himself,  the  most  self-willed  of  champions  of  en- 
lightenment and  humanity,  the  greatest  enemy 
of  superstition,  mysticism,  and  romance.  Nicolai 
was  an  indifferent  writer,  a  prosaic  old  wig,  who 
often  made  himself  ridiculous  by  scenting  Jesuit- 
ism. But  we,  the  later  bom,  must  admit  that  old 
Nicolai  was  a  thoroughly  honest  man,  who  meant 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  $i^ 

well  for  the  German  racje,  and  who  in  the  holy 
cause  of  liberty  did  not  dread  that  cnielleBt  of  all 
martyrdoms,  ridicule.  I  was  told  in  Berlin  that 
Tieck  once  lived  in  Nicolai's  house,  one  storey 
above  the  latter,  and  so  the  modem  time  walked 
over  the  head  of  the  old. 

The  works  which  Tieck  wrote  in  his  first  style, 
mostly  tales  and  long  novels,  among  which  "William 
Lovell "  is  the  best,  are  very  insignificant  and  with- 
out poetry.  It  would  seem  as  if  the  rich  poetic 
nature  of  this  man  was  frugal  or  stinted  in  his 
youth,  and  that  he  saved  up  all  his  spiritual  wealth 
for  a  later  time.  Or  was  Tieck  himself  ignorant 
of  the  treasure  which  was  in  him,  and  were  the 
Schlegels  needed  to  discover  it  with  their  divining- 
rod?  For  as  soon  as  he  came  into  touch  with 
them,  all  the  riches  of  his  imagination,  his  deep 
feeling  and  his  wit,  at  once  showed  themselves. 
Diamonds  gleamed,  the  purest  pearls  rolled  out  in 
streams,  and  over  all  flashed  the  ruby,  the  fabulous 
carbuncle  gem  of  which  romantic  poets  have  often 
said  and  sung.  This  rich  breast  was  the  real 
treasury  whence  the  Schlegels  drew  the  funds  for 
their  literary  campaigns.  Tieck  had  to  write  for 
the  school  the  satirical  comedies  which  I  have 
mentioned,  and  prepare  according  to  the  new 
aesthetic  recipes  many  poems  of  every  kind.  This 
is  his  second  style.  BKs  best  productions  in  it  are 
"The  Emperor  Octavian,"  "The  Holy  Genofeva," 


348  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL, 

and  "  Fortunatus,"  three  dramas  which  take  their 
names  from  popular  chapbooks.  The  poet  has 
given  to  these  old  tales,  which  have  ever  been 
dear  to  the  German  world,  new  and  costly  cloth- 
ing. Honestly  speaking,  I  prefer  them  in  their 
old  naive,  true-hearted  form.  Beautiful  as  Tieck's 
"Genofeva"  may  be,  I  love  far  better  the  old 
Volksbuch,  very  badly  printed  at  Cologne  on  the 
Rhine,  with  its  rude  woodcuts,  in  which  it  is 
touching  to  see  the  poor  naked  Countess  Palatine, 
with  only  her  long  hair  for  chaste  clothing,  while 
her  little  Schmerzenreich  is  nursed  at  the  teats  of 
a  pitying  doe.^ 

Far  more  precious  than  those  dramas  are  the 
novels  which  Tieck  wrote  in  this,  his  second 
manner.  These  too  are  mostly  taken  from  old 
popular  legends.  The  best  are  "The  Blonde 
Eckbert"  and  "The  Eunenberg."  In  these  com- 
positions *  we  feel  a  mysterious  depth  of  meaning, 
a  marvellous  union  with  Nature,  especially  with 
the  realm  of  plants  and  stones.  The  reader  seems 
to  be  in  an  enchanted  forest ;  he  hears  subterranean 
springs  and  streams  rustling  melodiously,  and  his 


^  In  the  French  version  the  Pfalzgrafin  is  promoted  to  a 
princette,  while  the  name  of  Sohmerzenieioh,  "full  of  sorrow," 
is  omitted. — TrantltUor. 

'  In  diesen  Diehtungen,  carelessly  rendered  in  the  French 
version  as  dan$  set  po6tiea,  in  which  we  have  two  errors  in  three 
w  ords. — Translator. 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  349 

own  name  whispered  by  the  trees.     Broad-leaved 
clinging  plants  wind  vexingly  abont  his  feet,  wild 
and  strange  wonder-flowers  look  at  him  with  vari- 
coloured longing  eyes,  invisible  lips  kiss  his  cheeks 
with   mocking   tenderness,  tall  mushrooms   like 
golden  bells  grow  singing  about  the  roots  of  trees, 
great  silent  birds  cradle  themselves  on  the  boughs, 
and  nod  adown  with  their  cunning  ^  long  bills.    All 
breathes — ^lurks — ^is    thrilling    with   expectation, 
when  suddenly  the  soft  tune  of  a  hunter's  horn  is 
heard,  and  a  beautiful  lady  with  waving  plumes 
on  her  cap,  a  falcon  on  her  wrist,  rides  past  on  a 
white  palfrey.     And  this  fair  dame  is  as  bright 
and  blonde  and  violet-eyed,  as  smiling  and  yet 
serene,  as  true  and  yet  as  ironic,  as  chaste  and 
yet  as  passionate,   as    the    imagination    of    our 
glorious  Ludwig  Tieck.     Yes!    his  fantasie  is  a 
wondrous  winsome  damoiselle  of  high  degree,  who 
in  an  enchanted  forest  hunts  fabulous  creatures 
— perhaps  the  rare  unicorn  which  can  be  caught 
only  by  a  pure  maid. 

But  now  a  strange  change  takes  place  in  Tieck, 
which  is  shown  in  his  third  manner.  Having 
been  silent  for  a  long  time  after  the  fall  of  the 

^  "M  ihrenklagen  langen  Schnabeln."  I  translate  this  by 
the  American  word  "cunning,"  which  is  used  in  the  same 
sense  in  Kent,  implying,  as  in  the  German,  that  which  is 
dainty,  or  mignonne  with  a  shade  of  cleverness.  The  French 
version  gives  it  as  "  leurs  longs  bees  pensifs  "1 


3|0  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

Schlegels,  he  again  appeared  in  public,  and  that 
in  a  manner  which  was  little  expected  of  him. 
The  former  enthusiast,  who  had  once  in  visionary 
zeal  thrown  himself  on  the  breast  of  the  Roman 
Catholic  Church,  who  had  fought  enlightenment 
and  Protestantism  with  such  power,  who  breathed 
nothing  but  feudality  and  the  Middle  Age,  and 
who  only  loved  art  in  naive  outpourings  of  the 
heart,  now  appeared  as  the  foe  of  what  was 
visionary,  as  a  depicter  of  modern  middle-class 
life,  as  an  artist  who  required  in  art  the  clearest 
self-consciousness — in  short,  as  a  reasonable  man. 
Thus  has  he  shown  himself  in  a  series  of  recent 
novels,  some  of  which  are  known  in  France.  A 
deep  study  of  Goethe  is  visible  in  them,  and  it  is 
specially  this  Goetheism  which  characterises  his 
third  style.  There  is  the  same  artistic  clearness, 
cheerfulness,  repose,  and  irony.  As  the  school  of 
the  Schlegels  did  not  succeed  in  drawing  Goethe 
into  it,  now  we  see  how  it,  represented  by  Tieck, 
went  over  to  him.  This  reminds  us  of  a 
Mahometan  tale.  The  Prophet  had  said  to  the 
mountain,  "  Come  to  me ! "  but  it  did  not ;  and 
lo  !  the  great  miracle  was  worked,  for  the  Prophet 
went  unto  it ! 

Tieck  was  bom  in  Berlin,  the  31st  May  1773. 
For  many  years  he  has  lived  in  Dresden,  where 
he  is  chiefly  busied  with  the  theatre,  and  he 
who  in  his  earlier  writings  always  ridiculed  the 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  351 

court-councillor  as  a  type  of  the  ridiculoms,  has 
himself  been  made  such  a  Royal  Saxon  dignitary. 
God  is  sometimes  a  greater  satirist  than  Tieck. 

And  now  a  strange  misunderstanding  has 
come  between  the  reason  and  the  imagination  of 
this  author.  The  former,  or  the  reason  of  Tieck, 
is  an  honest,  sober,  plain  citizen,  who  worships 
practical  economy  and  abhors  the  visionary.  The 
other,  that  is,  the  Tieck  imagination,  is  still,  as 
of  yore,  the  chevalresque  lady  with  the  flowing 
feather  on  her  cap,  the  falcon  on  her  fist.  The 
pair  lead  a  curious  wedded  life,  and  it  is  often 
sad  to  see  how  the  poor  dame  of  high  nobility 
must  help  the  sober  citizen  spouse  in  his  house- 
hold or  in  his  cheese-shop.  But  often  in  the 
night,  when  the  good  man,  with  his  cotton  night- 
cap on,  snores  peacefully,  the  noble  lady  rises 
from  the  matrimonial  bed  of  durance  vile,  and 
mounts  her  white  horse  and  hunts  away  as 
merrily  as  of  yore  into  the  enchanted  forest  of 
romance. 

But  I  cannot  refrain  from  remarking  that  of 
late  the  Tieckian  reason  in  romance  has  become 
sterner  than  ever,  and  that  at  the  same  time  his 
imagination  pays  penance  more  and  more  for  her 
romantic  nature,  so  that  when  the  nights  are  cold 
she  lies  comfortably  yawning  in  the  marriage- 
bed,  and  hugs  up  to  her  meagre  husband  almost 
lovingly. 


3Sa  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  \ 

And  yet  Tieck  is  always  a  great  poet,  for  he  can 
create  living  forms,  and  words  burst  from  his  heart 
which  move  our  own.  But  a  faint-heartedness, 
something  undecided  and  uncertain,  or  a  certain 
f  eeble-mindedness,  is,  and  ever  was,  to  be  observed 
in  him.  This  want  of  decision  is  only  too  per- 
ceptible in  all  that  he  did  or  wrote.  Certainly 
there  is  no  independent  character  in  his  works. 
His  first  manner  shows  him  as  a  mere  nothing,  his 
second  as  a  true  and  trusty  squire  of  the  Schlegels, 
his  third  as  an  imitator  of  Goethe.  His  theatrical 
criticisms,  which  he  published  under  the  title  of 
"Dramaturgic  Pages,"  constitute  his  most  original 
work  ;  but  they  are  theatrical  criticisms. 

In  order  to  represent  Hamlet  as  an  altogether 
weak-minded  man,  Shakespeare  makes  him,  in  his 
conversation  with  the  comedians,  appear  as  an 
admirable  theatrical  critic.^  , 


^  Of  which  it  may  be  well  said  that  it  is  a  very  weak-minded 
remark,  "  manufactured  to  point. "  Hamlet  is  not  weak ;  he  is 
crushed  by  the  force  of  circumstance,  and  resists  to  the  last  with 
strange  reflective  philosophy,  but  without  the  howling  and 
"acting"  which  are  in  certain  minds — eg.  Carlyle's  and  Heine's 
— inseparable  from  "  heroism,"  and  even  from  strength  of  mind. 
The  problem  which  Shakespeare  proposed  to  set  forth  in  Hamlet 
was  this  apparent  paradox,  which  was,  however,  far  beyond 
Heine's  comprehension.  Shakespeare's  object  in  making  Hamlet 
give  wise  counsel  to  the  players  was  the  very  reverse  of  what 
Heine  declares  it  to  have  been,  for  it  indicates  very  great 
strength  of  character  and  culture  that  a  man  under  such 
terrible  suffering  could  control  himself  so  as  to  converse  as 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  353 

l^eck  never  troubled  himself  with  serious  studies; 
his  work  of  this  kind  was  limited  to  modem  lan- 
guages and  the  older  documents  of  German  poetry. 
As  a  true  Romanticist  he  was  always  a  stranger 
to  classic  studies;  nor  did  he  ever  busy  himself 
with  philosophy,  which  seems  to  have  been  alto- 
gether repugnant  to  him.  From  the  fields  of 
philosophy  Tieck  gathered  only  flowers  and  switches 
— ^the  first  for  the  noses  of  his  friends,  and  the 
latter  for  the  backs  of  his  foes.  With  serious 
culture  or  scientific  agriculture  he  had  naught  to 
do.  His  writings  are  bouquets  and  bundles  of 
rods,  but  never  a  sheaf  with  ears  of  com.^ 

Next  to  Goethe,  Tieck  chiefly  imitated  Cervantes. 
The  humoristic  irony,  or,  as  I  may  say,  the  ironic 
humour,  of  these  two  modem  poets  spreads  its 
perfume  in  the  novels  written  in  Tieck's  third 
style.  Irony  and  humour  are  therein  so  blended 
as  to  seem  but  one.  There  is  much  said  now 
among  us  as  to  this  humorous  irony ;  the  men  of 
the  Goethean  school  of  art  praise  it  as  a  special 
glory  of  their  master,  and  it  plays  a  great  part 
in  German  literature.     But  it  is  only  a  sign  of 

Hamlet  doe*.  Refined  self-control  is  the  acme  of  cultored 
strength.  The  idea  that  all  life  is  a  play  and  a  dream  inspires 
the  whole  of  "  Hamlet,"  and  it  was  dear  to  Shakespeare  himself, 
as  many  passages  prove. — Trcmdator. 

^  The  moral  of  which  b  that  all  men  should  be  farmers.    But 
poets  rather  rank  as  gatherers  of  fiowers  or  gardeners.     Tieck 
is  here  bunted  down  because  he  had  bunted  with  the  Scblegels. 
VOL.  I.  Z 


354 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


political  servitude,  and  as  Cervantes  in  the  days 
of  the  Inquisition  took  refuge  in  humorous  irony 
to  set  forth  his  thoughts  without  giving  a  chance 
to  catch  hold  to  the  familiars  of  the  Holy  Office, 
so  Goethe  expressed  with  it  that  which  he,  as 
Minister  of  State  and  a  courtier,  could  not  directly 
utter.  Goethe  never  suppressed  truth,  but  where 
he  could  not  show  her  naked,  he  clad  her  lightly 
in  humour  and  irony.  The  honest  Germans,^  who 
pine  under  censorship  and  spiritual  oppression  of 
every  kind,  and  yet  never  can  suppress  what  the 
heart  inspires,  have  specially  taken  to  the  ironic 
and  humorous  form.  It  was  the  only  means  of 
exit  which  was  left  to  their  nobler  feelings,  and  in 
this  form  German  honourableness  is  most  touchingly 
shown.  This  again  reminds  me  of  the  marvellous 
Prince  of  Denmark.  Hamlet  is  the  most  honour- 
able fellow  who  ever  wore  a  skin.  His  dissimula- 
tion only  serves  as  an  offset  to  what  oppresses  from 
without ;  he  is  peculiar  and  odd  because  such  con- 
duct is  less  offensive  to  court  etiquette  than  open 
breach  of  it.  But  in  all  his  humorous  ironical 
jests  he  lets  it  be  distinctly  perceived  that  he  is 
acting ;  in  all  he  does  and  says  his  real  meaning 
is  visible  for  all  who  can  see,  even  to  the  king,  to 
whom  he  cannot  speak  the  plain  truth  (for  that 

^  SehrifUtelUr,  or  writers,  in  the  last  German  edition ;  die 
ehrliehen  De\U$ehen  in  the  first.  French  version,  U*  honntUa 
ailenumd*. — Trandator. 


.^^-£i^^t 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  355 

he  is  too  weak),  and  yet  from  whom  he  will  by- 
no  means  hide  it.  Hamlet  is  through  and  through 
honourable ;  only  the  most  honourable  man  could 
say,  "  We  are  arrant  knaves  all ; "  and  while  he 
plays  the  lunatic  he  will  not  deceive  us,  and  is  in 
his  heart  conscious  that  he  is  really  mad. 

I  have  still  to  praise  two  works  by  Tieck,  for 
which  he  specially  deserved  the  commendation  of 
the  German  public.  One  of  these  is  a  transla- 
tion of  a  series  of  English  dramatists  anterior  to 
Shakespeare,  and  his  version  of  "  Don  Quixote." 
Among  the  former  are  several  which  bear  the 
same  names  and  treat  of  the  same  subjects  as 
the  Shakespeare  plays.  We  find  in  them  the 
same  intrigues  and  scenic  development;  in  a 
word,  all  the  Shakespearean  tragedy  except  the 
poetry.  Some  commentators  have  expressed  it  as 
their  opinion  that  these  are  the  first  sketches  of 
the  great  poet,  as  it  were  his  dramatic  cartoons, 
and  if  I  err  not,  Tieck  himself  has  declared  that 
"  King  John,"  one  of  these  old  plays,  is  a  work  by 
Shakespeare,  or,  so  to  speak,  a  prelude  of  the  great 
masterpiece  known  to  us  by  this  name.  But 
that  is  an  error.  These  tragedies  are  nothing 
more  than  old  plays  on  hand,  which  Shakespeare, 
as  we  know,  worked  over  again,  partly  or  wholly, 
as  they  were  required  by  the  managers,  who  paid 
him  for  such  work  from  twelve  to  sixteen  shillings 
each.     And  so  a  poor  hack  of  an  adapter  of  other 


•*•«• 


3S6  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

men's  plays  outweighs  the  proudest  literary  kings 
of  our  time. 

The  other  great  poet,  Miguel  de  Cenrantes, 
played  as  modest  a  part  in  the  real  world.  These 
two  men,  the  composer  of  "  Hamlet "  and  that  of 
"  Don  Quixote,"  are  the  greatest  poets  of  modem 
times.*  I 

The  translation  of  "Don  Quixote"  is  a  special  suc- 
cess. No  one  has  so  exquisitely  hit  off  the  insane 
dignity  of  the  ingenious  hidalgo  of  La  Mancha, 
and  set  it  forth  so  accurately,  as  our  admirable 
Tieck.'    The  book  reads  almost  like  a  German 

^  In  the  French  version  the  following  words  are  here  added  : 
"  Mais  Cervantes  encore  plus  que  le  doux  William,  ezerce  but 
inoi  on  charme  ind^finnisable.  Je  I'aime  jusqn'anz  lannet. 
Cet  amour  date  de  tr^s-long  temps."  After  this  follows  the 
sixteenth  chapter  from  the  Heisebilder,  or  "The  City  of  Luoca," 
and  the  preface  to  the  first  volume,  p.  36  (Crerman  edition  of 
1876).  When  we  consider  the  remarkable  amount  of  prefacing 
and  comment  by  Heine  as  regards  his  care  in  compiling  and 
editing  this  work,  the  extraordinarily  careless  manner  in  which 
it  was  pitchforked  together  seems  like  a  mad  joke.  £t  plu$ 
ultra.   .  .  . 

"  The  German  editor  (ed.  1876)  here  remarks  : —  i 

"  I  found  in  the  earlier  German  editions  the  following  passage, 
which  I,  according  to  the  French  edition,  must  place  at  the  end 
of  this  section,  in  order  to  bring  the  previous  supplement  into 
Hb  proper  place  : — 

" '  It  is  droll  enough  that  the  Romantic  school  has  given  us 
the  best  translation  of  a  work  in  which  its  own  folly  is  most 
amusingly  ridiculed.  For  this  school  was  bitten  by  the  same 
madness  which  inspired  the  noble  knight  of  La  Mancha  to  all 
his  follies ;  like  him,  it  would  fain  restore  mediaeval  chivalry, 
and  call  a  perished  past  into  the  present.     O    did  Miguel  de 


SHAKESPEARE 
From  the  Bust  at  Stratjoi  d-m-Avon 


ii: 


1-  • 


.<;i 


! 

; 
•i 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  357 

original,  and  forms  next  after  "Hamlet"  and 
"  Faust "  the  favourite  reading  of  Germans.  The 
cause  of  this  is,  that  in  these  two  astonishing  and 
profound  works  we  have  found,  as  in  "  Don 
Quixote,"  the  tragedy  of  our  own  nothingness. 
German  youth  love  "  Hamlet "  because  they  feel 
with  him  that  "  the  time  is  out  of  joint."  They 
sigh  in  the  same  way  to  think  that  they  are  called 
to  set  it  right,  feel  also  their  own  incredible  weak- 
ness, and  declaim,  "To  be  or  not  to  be."  Men  of 
mature  age,  on  the  contrary,  prefer  "  Faust."  Their 
mental  condition  attracts  them  to  the  bold  in- 
vestigator who  makes  a  compact  with  the  invisible 
world  and  who  fears  not  the  devil.  But  those 
who  have  seen  that  all  is  vain,  and  that  all  human 
efforts  are  useless,  prefer  the  romance  of  Cervantes, 
for  they  see  all  inspiration  satirised  in  it,  and  all  of 
our  knights  of  the  present  who  fight  and  suffer  for 
ideas  appear  to  them  as  so  many  Don  Quixotes, 

Did  Miguel  de  Cervantes  suspect  what  applica- 
tion a  later  age  would  make  of  his  work  ?  Did  he 
really  parody  idealistic  inspiration  in  his  tall  lean 
knight,  and  common  sense  in  his  fat  squire  ?  Any- 
how, the  latter  is  always  the  most  ridiculous,  for 
plain  common  sense,  with  all  its  trite  and  every- 
day proverbs,  must  all  the  same  trot  along  after 

Cervftntes  Saavedra  wish  to  ridicule  other  knights  in  his  wild 
heroic  poem,  that  ia  to  say,  all  men  who  fight  and  suffer  for  an 
idea.' "— rrofwiafor. 


^I.'.l  l«    -*  ^   «fc,.     V 


^•f.3(*-*.y       ^     t, 


36o 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


way,  play  an  important  part  in  our  literature; 
and  Hans  Sachs,  a  shoemaker,  who  was  bom  in 
the  year  1454  in  Nuremberg,  and  who  there 
|)assed  his  life,  was  praised  by  the  Romantic 
school  as  one  of  our  best  poets.  I  have  read 
him,  and  I  must  confess  that  I  doubt  whether 
M.  Sakoski  ever  made  such  excellent  verse  as 
our  old  and  admirable  Hans  Sachs.*  , 


a  theosophist  to  reoogniae  in  Bohme  a  grand  genius  straggling 
to  find  tnith,  and  overcome  the  obstacles  caused  by  want 
of  education.  The  influence  which  he  has  had  on  many  great 
minds  in  all  countries,  and  in  the  development  of  several 
sects,  and  on  the  German  language,  deserves  more  important 
mention  in  a  work  which,  its  author  declares,  is  far  superior 
to  any  other  as  a  clear  and  intelligible  exposition  of  German 
literature,  and  especially  of  its  philosophy  and  motives.  He 
remarks  that  those  who  had  read  Bohme  always  made  up  their 
most  serious  grimaces  when  his  name  is  mentioned.  He  might 
have  added,  with  equal  truth,  that  it  is  usual  among  those  who 
know  nothing  about  him  to  grin  on  such  occasions  and  make 
small  jokes,  as  may  be  seen  from  Butler  to  Byron,  and  so  on  to 
Heine  himself.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Boardman,  an  American  writer, 
derives  Quakerism  entirely  from  the  influence  of  Bohme  on 
Greorge  Fox :  and  the  results  of  the  style  and  manner  of 
thought  of  the  "  inspired  shoemaker  of  Gorlitz  "  may  be  found 
"  broad  and  deep  "  in  G«rman  literature. — Trandator. 

^  By  comparing  this  sentence  with  what  Heine  says  of  Hans 
Sachs  at  the  end  of  the  first  part,  it  will  be  very  apparent  that 
this  perusal  of  the  poems  of  the  latter  must  have  taken  place 
subsequently  to  the  earlier  comment.  It  is  probable  that  after 
the  remarkable  abuse  of  the  shoemaker  of  Nuremberg  had  been 
published,  some  German  remonstrated  with  Heine,  and  induoed 
him  to  look  over  some  works  of  Sachs.  This  is  the  only 
explanation  which  occurs  for  such  a  singular  oontradiction.     It 


S.^- 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL,  jii 

I  have  already  mentioned  Schelling's  influence 
on  the  Romantic  school.^  As  I  intend  to  speak 
of  him  in  another  place,  I  may  here  be  spared 
from  a  detailed  comment  on  him.  In  any  case, 
he  deserves   oar  marked   attention,    for    at   an 

may  be  observed  that  in  the  French  version  the  compliment  is 
limited  to  "notre  vienz  et  laborieaz  Hans  Sachs."  But  as 
Sachs  is  very  popular  in  Germany,  the  German  edition  has 
"unser  alter,  vortrefflicher  Hans  Sachs."  The  vrai  uprit  de 
Heine  is  here  "  double  distilled."  The  allusion  to  M.  Sakoski 
here  turns  upon  the  resemblance  of  Vene,  or  verses,  to  Ferte — 
heels. 

1  The  following  is  here  given  in  the  French  version  : — 
"H  residait  alors  k  J^na,  qui  ^tait  le  quartier  g^n^ral  de 
I'^le.  M.  J.  Schelling,  ce  que  le  publiqne  ignore,  a  aussi 
fcrit  des  p6esies  sous  le  nom  de  Bonaventura  ;  entre  autres,  una 
pitee  intitul^e  Leg  Demi^res  Paroles  dn  pasteur  de  Drontheim. 
Cette  pi^  n'est  pas  mal ;  elle  est  myst^rieuse,  sinistre  et 
saissisant.  O'est  I'histoire  d'un  ministre  protestante  qui  est 
enlev^  a  minuit  de  chez  lui  par  des  cavaliers  masques ;  il  est 
conduit,  les  yeuz  bandds,  dans  une  ville  ^glise,  oh  on  lui 
commando  de  donner  la  b^n^ction  nuptiale  i^  deuz  jeunes  gens 
qui  sont  agnouill^  devant  I'auteL  La  fianc^  est  d'une  rare 
beauts  mais  triste  et  p&le  comme  la  mort.  Aussi  &  peine  la 
o^monie  est  elle  finie  que  les  cavaliers  masqu^  lui  tranchent 
la  tdte.  Le  pasteur  est  reconduit  chez  lui,  aprte  avoir  prdte  ser- 
ment  de  ne  jamais  d^voiler  oe  qu'il  a  vu ;  aussi  n'a-t-il  divulgu^ 
oe  secret  qu'k  son  lit  de  mort.  .  .  .  J'ai  d^jii  parl^  de  I'importance 
pbilosophique  de  M.  Schelling ;  j'ai  montr^  sa  splendeur  d'aatre 
fois,  et  j'avais,  helas  1  ik  rapporter  aussi  son  ^tat  actuel,  sa  de- 
plorable alliance  avec  le  parti  du  pass^  la  d^ch^ance  de  cette 
royaute  pbilosophique." 

From  this  point  there  are  given  in  the  German  edition  three 
and  a  half  pages  on  Schelling,  which  are  omitted  from  the 
French  version — that  is  to  say,  all  which  I  have  translated,  to  the 
words  "  hatred  and  envy." — Trandator. 


»i/l>,    >^''l#iLlHW 


362 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


earlier  time  he  caused  a  great  revolution  in  the 
German  intellectual  world ;  and  in  later  times  he 
changed  so  much,  that  the  inexperienced  fall 
into  the  greatest  errors  when  they  compare  the 
earlier  Schelling  with  the  one  of  to-day.  The 
former  was  a  bold  Protestant  who  protested 
against  Fichtean  Idealism.  This  Idealism  was 
a  strange  system,  which  must  be  extremely 
foreign  to  a  Frenchman.  For  while  there  rose 
in  France  a  philosophy  which  embodied  the 
spirit  or  recognised  spirit  as  only  a  form  of 
matter — in  short,  while  Materialism  here  took 
the  upper  hand,  there  sprung  up  m  Germany  a 
philosophy  which,  to  the  contrary,  explained  all 
matter  as  a  modification  of  spirit,  and  which 
even  denied  the  existence  of  matter.  It  would 
seem  as  if  the  spirit  sought  beyond  the  Bhine 
revenge  for  the  injuries  which  it  had  here  en- 
dured. When  men  repudiated  spirit  in  France, 
it  emigrated  at  once  to  Germany,  and  there 
repudiated  matter.  Fichte  may  be  regarded  in 
this  relation  as  the  Duke  of  Brunswick  of 
Spiritualism,  and  his  ideal  philosophy  was  no- 
thing but  a  protest  against  French  Materialism. 
But  this  philosophy,  which  really  forms  the  highest 
pinnacle  of  Spiritualism,  could  not  endure,  any 
more  than  did  the  coarse  Materialism  of  the 
French;  and  Schelling  was  the  man  who  an- 
nounced the    doctrine  that   matter,    or,    as   he 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  363 

called  it,  Nature,  might  exist  not  only  in  our 
soul  but  in  reality,  and  that  our  perception  of 
things  is  identical  with  the  things  themselves. 
This  is  the  Schelling  doctrine  of  the  identity,  or, 
as  it  is  also  called,  the  philosophy  of  Nature 
{Niaturphilosophie). 

All  of  this  took  place  in  the  beginning  of  this 
century.  Schelling  was  then  a  great  man.  Mean- 
while Hegel  appeared  on  the  philosophic  stage, 
and  Schelling,  who  in  later  times  wrote  almost 
nothing,  was  overshadowed  ;  in  fact,  he  lapsed  into 
oblivion,  or  only  retained  a  name  in  the  history  of 
literature.  Hegel  became  sovereign  in  the  realm 
of  spirit,  and  poor  Schelling,  a  decayed  mediatised 
philosopher,  wandered  sadly  about  among  the 
mediatised  gentlemen  of  Munich.  There  I  saw 
>iiTn  once,  and  could  have  almost  wept  over  the 
wretched  sight.  And  what  he  uttered  was  utterly 
rubbishy  and  wretched,  or  the  envious  abuse  of 
Hegel,  who  had  supplanted  him.  As  one  shoe- 
maker speaks  of  another  whom  he  accuses  of  having 
stolen  his  leather  and  made  shoes  of  them,  so  I 
heard  Schelling,  when  I  saw  him  by  chance,  speak 
of  Hegel,  who  had  taken  "his  ideas,"  and  "  They 
were  my  ideas  which  he  took,"  and  yet  again 
"  My  ideas  "  was  the  running  refrain  of  the  poor 
man.  Indeed,  if  the  shoemaker  Jacob  Bohme 
once  spoke  like  a  philosopher,  the  philosopher 
Schelling  now  speaks  like  a  shoemaker. 


^  •-  "  "■     i      "I     ..     ■'—"■■'   .»li^«„  11  Wi  ,.)>,,'  lili  >.    I]  ■  ■'>i»' .'I-     "i  I         —1"    I.."'.  •*»■  ».<-— ^.».  ».«.■  ,»-«  4t  *«   <— •    *Y*    '■*   ■ 


364 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


Nothing  is  more  ridioaloas  than  reclaiming 
property  in  stolen  ideas.  Hegel  did  indeed  use 
very  many  of  Schelling's  in  his  philosophy,  but 
the  latter  never  knew  what  to  do  with  them.  He 
always  philosophised,  but  could  never  make  a  philo- 
sophy. And  again,  it  might  be  said  that  Schelling 
took  more  from  Spinoza  than  Hegel  took  from 
him.  Could  Spinoza  be  freed  from  his  stiff  old 
Descartesian  mathematical  form  and  made  more 
accessible  to  the  public,  it  will  perhaps  come  to 
light  that  he,  above  all  others,  has  cause  to  com- 
plain of  robbery  of  ideas.  All  of  our  modem  philo- 
sophers, perhaps  unconsciously,  see  through  the 
glasses  which  Baruch  [Benedict]  Spinoza  ground.* 

Hatred  and  envy  caused  the  fall  of  angels,  and 
it  is,  alas !  too  true  that  anger  at  Hegel's  ever- 
rising  greatness  drove  poor  Schelling  to  where 
we  now  see  him,  into  the  snares  of  the  Catholic 
Propaganda,^  whose  headquarters  is  in  Munich. 

^  In  alluaion  to  the  fact  that  Spinoza  gained  his  living  by 
polishing  optical  glasses,  spectacles,  telescopes,  Sec,  thereby 
enabling  mankind  to  see  further  to  heaven,  and  indeed  around 
them  here  on  earth,  as  well  aa  to  get  clearer  insight  into  books, 
as  he  also  did  by  his  writings.  These  last  three  paragraphs 
are  condensed  into  five  lines  in  the  French  version,  of  which 
version  I  have  been  told  that  it  is  the  most  perfect  and  admir- 
able translation  of  any  modem  work. — Translator. 

'  "  Dans  les  rets  de  cette  triste  propagsmde  "  (French  version). 
Schelling  was  succeeded  at  Munich  by  Prof.  Bechers,  whose 
lectures  on  Schelling  I  attended.  Schelling  himself  was  then 
(1847)  in  Berlin.— Translator. 


-5.*^.1P>< 


y  vT'^"'^  *^'''  ^^ 


r,35*rr»»  v^,.<m  iK-rj^i  '  ^■'«<'i'f,,.«n^>fWM'» 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  365 

Schelling  betrayed  philoBophy  to  the  Catholic 
religion.  All  witnesses  agree  therein,  and  it  was 
evident  long  before  that  it  must  come  to  this.  I 
had  often  heard  from  the  months  of  certain 
magnates  in  Munich,  "We  must  combine  faith 
with  knowledge."  This  phrase  was  as  innocent 
as  a  bed  of  flowers,  and  under  it  lurked  a  serpent. 
Now  we  know  what  ye  would  have!  Schelling 
must  now  employ  all  his  abilities  to  justify  the 
Catholic  religion,^  and  all  that  which  he  teaches 
as  philosophy  is  nothing  but  a  defence  of  Catholi- 
cism. At  the  same  time  it  was  speculated  as  an 
extra  advantage  that  the  celebrated  name  of 
Schelling  would  attract  German  youth  thirsting 
for  wisdom  to  Munich,  and  that  they  might  be  the 
more  easily  imposed  on  by  Jesuitical  lies  in  the 
garb  of  philosophy.  And  the  youth  knelt  piously 
before  the  man  whom  they  esteemed  as  the  high- 
priest  of  truth,  and  without  suspicion  took  from 
his  hands  the  poisoned  sacramental  wafer.' 

Among  the  pupils  of  Schelling  Germany  greatly 

^  The  word  Catholic  is  here  again  omitted  from  the  French 
version,  as  it  was  in  the  last  sentence  save  one  ;  also  in  the  next, 
where  it  appears  as  la  foi.     Sie  umper.  — Trandator. 

'  It  is  most  improbable  that  Schelling's  teaching  ever  con- 
verted a  single  Protestant  to  Catholicism.  On  the  other  band, 
it  is  unquestionable  that  familiarity  with  speculation  in  the  New 
Philosophy  created  among  German  Catholics  a  spirit  of  inde- 
pendence which  has  troubled  the  Vatican  oi  late  far  more  than 
Protestantiim. — Trandator. 


366  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

extols  Steffens,  who  is  now  professor  of  philosophy 
in  Berlin.  He  lived  in  Jena  when  the  Schlegels 
were  most  busy  there,  and  his  name  often  occurs 
in  the  annals  of  the  Komantic  school.  At  a  later 
period  he  wrote  several  novels,  in  which  there  is 
much  shrewdness,  and  very  little  poetry.  More 
important  are  his  scientiJBc  works,  especially  his 
"Anthropology,"  which  is  full  of  original  ideas. 
Yet  as  regards  this  he  has  not  received  the 
recognition  which  his  merits  deserved.  Others 
have  learned  the  art  of  appropriating  and  making 
them  pass  current  as  their  own.  Steffens  has 
more  right  than  his  teacher  had  to  complain  that 
men  stole  his  ideas.  But  among  these  ideas  there 
was  one  which  no  one  ever  had  save  he  himself, 
and  it  is  his  own  predominant  and  sublime  idea 
that  Henrik  Steffens,  who  was  bom  the  2nd  of 
May  1773,  at  Stavanger,  near  Drontheim,  in 
Norway,  is  the  greatest  man  of  his  century. 

Of  late  years  he  has  fallen  into  the  hands  of 
the  Pietists,  and  his  philosophy  is  nothing  but  a 
mournful,  lukewarm  Christian  orthodoxy. 

Such  another  is  Joseph  Gorres,  whom  I  have 
already  mentioned,  and  who  likewise  belongs  to 
the  school  of  Schelling.  He  is  known  in  Germany 
as  the  fourth  ally.  This  name  was  given  to  him 
by  a  French  journalist  in  18 14,  when  he,  by 
order  of  the  Holy  Alliance,  preached  hatred  to 
France.     He  has  lived  on  this  compliment  till 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  367 

to-day.  Yet  it  is  true  that  no  one  did  so  much 
as  he  to  inflame  the  Germans  against  the  French 
by  stirring  up  national  memories,  and  the  journal 
which  he  edited  with  this  intent — ^the  Bheinische 
Mercur  (the  Rhenish  Mercury) — ^is  full  of  for- 
mulas of  imprecation  which,  should  a  war  ever 
break  out,  might  again  exercise  a  great  influence.^ 
The  princely  potentates,  having  no  further  use  for 
him,  let  him  run ;  and  when  he  began  to  growl, 
they  even  persecuted  him.  So  the  Spaniards  in 
Cuba  trained  bloodhounds  to  hunt  the  naked 
savages,  but  when  the  war  was  ended,  the  dogs, 
who  had  learned  to  like  human  blood,  bit  occasion- 
ally the  calves  of  their  masters,  who  were  therefore 
obliged  to  get  rid  of  them.  When  Gorres,  by  force 
cast  off  by  the  princes  and  by  them  persecuted, 
had  nothing  better  to  snap  at,  he  threw  himself 
into  the  arms  of  the  Jesuits,  whom  he  served  to 
the  last,  and  he  is  now  one  of  the  great  supports 
of  the  Catholic  *  Propaganda  of  Munich.  There  I 
saw  him  a  few  years  ago  in  the  full  bloom  of 
degradation.  He  delivered  lectures  on  the  history 
of  the  world  to  an  audience  which  consisted 
chiefly  of  Catholic  students  of  divinity,  and  had 
got  so  far  as  the   Fall!     What  a  terrible  end 


A  prediction   which   was   really   fulfilled  in  the  Franco* 
German  war. 
'  "  Catholic  "  is  agdn  omitted  in  the  French  version. 


368  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

overtakes  all  the  foee  of  France!  "The  fourth 
ally"  is  now  condemned  to  narrate  to  Catholic 
seminarists  of  the  £oole  Polytechnique  of  obscaran- 
tism,*  year  in,  year  out,  and  daily,  the  story  of 
the  Fall  of  man ! 

In  the  man's  delivery  of  his  lectures,  there 
prevailed,  as  in  his  writings,  the  greatest  con- 
fusion, so  that  it  was  not  without  reason  that  he 
has  often  been  compared  to  the  Tower  of  Babel. 
He  is  indeed  like  a  great  tower  in  which  a 
hundred  thousand  thoughts  work  discordantly, 
and  issue  orders,  and  call  out,  and  quarrel  with- 
out understanding  one  another.  Ever  and  anon 
the  confusion  in  his  head  seemed  to  moderate  a 
little,  and  then  he  spoke  wearily,  weakly,  and 
wordily,  and  the  monotonous  phrases  dropped 
from  his  sad  lips  like  dreary  rain-drops  from  a 
leaden  spout%  But  sometimes,  when  the  old 
demagogic  wildness  awoke  in  him  once  more, 
contrasting  repulsively  with  his  monkish,  humbly 
pious  words,  and  when  he  wailed  with  Christian 
love  while  raging  for  blood,  and  he  sprang  here 
and  there,  one  was  reminded  of  a  tonsured  hyaena. 

Gorres  was  bom  in  Coblence,  January  25,  1776. 
I  beg  leave  to  omit  further  details  of  his  life,  and 
those  of  the  greater  portion  of  his  contemporaries. 
I  have  perhaps,  as  it  is,  in  judging  his  friends 
the  two  Schlegels,  gone  beyond  the  bounds  of 

'  Omitted  in  the  French  version. 


THB  ROMANTJC  SCHOOL.  0^ 

criticisni,  as  one  shonld  describe  the  lives  of  sneh 
men.*  Ah,  how  painful  it  is  when  we  behold  too 
dosely,  not  only  the  Castor  and  Pollux,  but  also 
the  other  planets  of  our  literature!  The  stars 
of  heaven  seem  so  bright  and  pure  because  we 
see  them  from  afar  and  know  nothing  of  their 
private  life.  Doubtless  there  is  among  them  many 
who  lie  and  beg,  deceive,  are  compelled  to  do  all 
kinds  of  mean  actions,  kiss  one  another  and  betray, 
flatter  their  enemies,  and,  what  is  worse,  their 
friends,  just  as  we  do  here  below.  Those  comets 
which  we  see  sweeping  wildly  about  with  flowing 
hair,  like  Maenads  of  heaven,  are  perhaps  libertines 
who  in  the  end  creep  repentantly  and  piously  into 
some  obscure  comer  of  heaven  and  hate  the  sun. 

I  have  thus  far  only  mentioned  two  of  the 
pupils  of  Schelling  who  were  prominent  in  Ro- 
manticism, and  yet  they  were  by  no  means  the 
most  eminent  of  the  school.  To  avoid  all  error, 
I  will  incidentally  mention  that  Oken  and  Frans 
Baader  surpass  all  their  contemporary  college- 
mates.     The  flrst,  the  admirable  Oken,  has  re- 


*  "  '  Father,  I  have  robbed  many,  and  I  fear 

That  I  for  that  sad  crime  deserve  damnation  ;* 
'  My  son,  if  your  repentance  is  sincere, 
You  can  best  prove  it  by  a  reparation.' " 
It  does  not  seem  to  have  occurred  to  Heine  that  be  eoalA 
bare  shown  the  sincerity  of  this  tudj  repentance  by  cancelling 
a  few  pages. — TrandcUor. 

VOL.  I.  2  A 


JIf.  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

nudned  trne  to  the  original  teaching  of  his  master. 
Baader  has,  unfortunately,  devoted  himself  too 
much  to  mysticism ;  but  I  do  not  believe  that,  as 
is  rumoured,  he  has  deeply  involved  himself  in 
Jesuitical  intrigues.  He  still  keeps  himself  fairly 
afar  from  the  pious  coterie  of  Munich,  which 
hopes  to  save  religion  by  means  of  philosophy.* 

And  since  I  have  spoken  of  German  philo- 
sophy, I  cannot  avoid  correcting  an  error  which 
I  find  widely  current  in  France  as  regards  it. 
Since  certain  Frenchmen  after  having  studied 
Schelling  and  Hegel,  gave  the  results  to  their 
countrymen  in  translation,  and  made  application 
of  it  to  French  affairs,  the  friends  of  clear  thought 
and  of  freedom  complain  that  people  draw  from 
Germany  crazy  dreams  and  sophistries  which  be- 
wilder men's  minds,  and  disguise  falsehood  and 
despotism  with  a  skin  of  truth  and  of  justice. 
In  brief,  these  noble  minds,  anxious  for  the 
interests  of  Liberalism,  wail  over  the  evil  influence 
of  German  philosophy  in  France.  But  hereby 
great  injustice  is  done  to  our  poor  German  philo- 
sophy.*   This  name  belongs  by  right  only  to  the 


^  From  the  end  of  tbia  sentence,  that  is,  to  the  reference  to 
the  philosophers  of  Alexandria,  three  pages  are  omitted  in  the 
French  version.  The  omission  is  not  noticed  by  the  German 
editor. — Trantlator. 

*  The  following  sentence  is  only  to  be  found  in  the  first 
Gwnian  edition. — Trandator. 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL,  VK 

inyestigatioiis  into  tHe  final  gronnds  of  all  know- 
ledge and  being,  such  having  been  the  onlj 
theme  of  German  philosophers  before  the  advent 
of  Schelling.  Kant's  "  Critique  of  Pure  Reason  '* 
was  the  flower  of  this  German  philosophy. 

For,  firstly,  that  is  not  German  philosophy  at 
all  which  has  been  brought  before  the  French 
hitherto  by  this  title  by  Victor  Cousin.  Cousin 
has  given  the  world  a  great  deal  of  clever  wish- 
wash,  but  no  German  philosophy.  Secondly,  the 
real  German  philosophy  is  that  which  proceeded 
directly  from  Kant's  "  Critique  of  Pure  Reason," 
and  which,  troubling  itself  little  with  political  or 
religious  affairs,  occupied  itself  all  the  more  with 
the  final  grounds  of  all  knowledge. 

It  is  true  that  the  metaphysical  systems  of  most 
of  the  German  philosophers  before  Schelling  were 
too  like  mere  cobwebs.  And  what  harm  was 
there  in  that?  Jesuitism  could  not  spin  decoy- 
nets  of  lies  from  it,  nor  despotism  weave  with  it 
halters  to  lead  mankind.  Since  Schelling  it  lost 
this  light  but  harmless  character.  It  is  now  essen- 
tially changed,  and  is  altogether  another  than  a 
German  philosophy.  From  that  time  our  philo- 
sophers did  not  discuss  the  ultimate  basis  of  know- 
ledge and  being;  they  soared  no  longer  in  ideal 
abstractions,  but  sought  grounds  on  which  to 
justify  what  exists.  While  our  earlier  philosophers 
cowered  poor  and  abstemious  in  miserable  garrets, 


37a  THE  ROit ANTIC  SCHOOL. 

those  of  our  time  are  clad  in  the  brilliant  liveries 
of  power;  they  have  become  state-philosophers, 
that  is,  they  continue  philosophical  justifications 
of  all  the  state-interests  of  the  land  wherein  they 
dwell.  Thus  Hegel,  in  the  Protestant  Berlin,  em- 
braced in  his  system  the  whole  Evangelic- Protestant 
dogmatic;  and  Schelling,  professor  in  Catholic 
Munich,  now  justifies  in  his  lectures  the  most 
extravagant  dogmas  of  the  Roman  Catholic  Apos- 
tolic Church. 

Yes,  just  as  the  philosophers  of  Alexandria* 
summoned  up  all  their  genius  to  sustain  by  alle- 
goric explanations  the  decaying  faith  of  Jupiter 
from  inevitable  destruction,  so  our  German  philo- 
sophers are  attempting  something  like  it  for  the 
religion  of  Christ.*  It  is  not  worth  our  while  to  in- 
vestigate whether  these  modem  philosophers  have 
an  unselfish  aim  in  all  this,  but  as  we  see  them  in 
union  with  the  priestly  party,  whose  material  inte- 
rests are  the  same  with  those  of  Catholicism,'  we 
call  them  Jesuits.  Let  them,  however,  not  ima- 
gine that  we  confound  them  with  the  old  Jesuits. 
Those  were  great  and  powerful  men,  inspired  with 

^  It  is  interesting  to  trace  the  association  of  ideas  in  a  mind 
which  was  so  remarkably  quick  as  that  of  Heine,  and  so  well 
stored.  Cousin  undoubtedly  suggested  to  him  Ammonius  Saeea% 
the  Eclectic  of  Alexandria ;  hence  "  the  pbilosopben  of  AlOf 
•ndria." 

»  French  version,  "  pour  notre  religion  modeme."         I 
•  French  version,  **  la  religion."  " 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL,  1^ 

wisdom  and  the  power  of  will.  Oh,  the  weak 
dwarfs  who  suppose  that  they  will  conquer  the 
obstacles  on  which  those  black  giants  were  wrecked! 
Mortal  mind  never  conceived  greater  combinations 
than  those  bj  means  of  which  the  old  Jesuits 
attempted  to  maintain  Catholicism.^  But  they 
did  not  succeed,  because  they  were  inspired  with 
the  idea  of  maintaining  Catholicism,  and  not  for 
Catholicism  itself.^  For  the  latter  in  itself  they 
cared  little,  therefore  they  often  profaned  it  for 
the  sake  of  power ;  they  made  arrangements  and 
modifications  with  heathenism,  with  the  potentatef 
of  this  world,  pandered  to  their  vices,  became 
murderers  or  merchants,  and  when  necessary 
even  atheista  Yet  all  in  vain  did  their  confessors 
grant  the  most  agreeable  absolution,  and  their 
casuists  woo  with  every  sin  and  crime.  In  vain 
did  they  strive  with  the  laity  in  art  and  science,  to 
use  both  for  their  aima  Here  their  want  of  power 
became  manifest.  They  envied  all  great  scholars 
and  artists,  but  could  never  discover  nor  create 
anything  remarkabl  e.  They  composed  pious  hymns 
and  built  cathedrals;  but  in  their  poetry  there 
is  no  free  original  inspiration,  only  a  trembling 

*  There  is  a  very  rare  and  strange  old  German  work  entitled 
"  OonversatiouB  of  the  Ghosts  of  a  Jesuit  and  of  a  ELnight  Tem- 
plar in  Hell,"  in  which  this  idea  is  fully  developed. 

*  French  version,  "non  pas  poor  le  cathoUciune  lui-mlme 
OMUs  poor  sa  conservation." — Tnuulator. 


374 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


servility  to  the  master  of  the  Order ;  and  even  in 
their  building  there  is  only  an  anxious  servility, 
a  stony  docility,  or  inspiration  to  order.  There- 
fore Barrault  said  once  and  wisely,  "The  Jesuits 
oould  not  raise  earth  to  heaven,  so  they  abased 
heaven  to  earth."  In  vain  were  all  their  efforts 
and  their  works.  From  the  lie  there  comes  no 
life,  and  God  can  never  be  saved  by  the  devil. 

Let  us  leave  the  Jesuits  in  their  graves,  and 
shrug  our  shoulders  pityingly  when  we  behold 
their  successors!  They  are  dead,  and  those  are 
only  the  worms  which  creep  from  their  corpses. 
They  are  as  little  like  their  predecessors  as  the 
Schelling  of  to-day  is  like  the  Schelling  of  the 
olden  time.^  ! 


'  The  Qerman  edition  adds  that  Schelling  was  bom  the  27th 
January  1775  in  Wurtemburg.  Thia  ia  omitted  in  the  Frenoh 
Tertion. 

It  may  here  be  noted  that  Heine's  concluding  remarks  as  to 
the  Jesuits  form  one  of  the  shrewdest,  truest,  and  most  mvltum 
in  farvo  passages  in  modern  literature. — Trantlator. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

I  HAVE  little  to  say  regarding  Schelling's  rela- 
tions to  the  Homantic  school.  His  influence  was 
mostly  personal,  but  since  the  Philosophy  of  Nature 
through  him  has  sprung  into  life  and  vogae, 
Nature  has  been  much  more  intelligently  grasped 
by  poets.  Some  are  absorbed  with  all  their 
human  feelings  into  Nature;  others  have  noted 
certain  magic  forms  by  means  of  which  some- 
thing human  can  be  made  to  look  forth  and  speak 
from  it.  The  former  are  the  true  mystics,  and 
resemble  in  many  respects  the  Indian  devotees 
who  sink  into  Nature,  and  at  last  begin  to  feel 
in  common  with  it.  The  others  are  more  like 
enchanters,  who,  by  their  own  power  of  will, 
evoked  even  fiends;^  they  are  like  the  Arabian 
sorcerers,  who  could  animate  every  stone,  or  petrify, 
as  they  pleased,  every  living  being. 

To  the  first  of  these  belonged  Novalis,  to  the 
second  Hoffmann.     Novalis  saw  everywhere  the 

*  FeintUiche  Qeitter,  Fiend,  however,  really  meant  an  «ntm»- 
ctl  spirit,  and  in  Icelandic  or  old  None  any  enemy  whatever. 
— Trandator. 


».--••'.  »     •    -i J.. . 


i_  ;■  v.. «'."t4<,.,.i  *."...— »«'r'~'!i^" — ^-•'«.".»'. '.'. ;    "■  .•^•-  >■  ..-rMii'.-t 


Sf6  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

marvellous,  and,  in  its  loveliness  and  beanty,  he 
listened  to  the  language  of  plants ;  he  knew  the 
secret  of  every  young  rose,  he  identified  himself 
at  last  with  all  Nature ;  and  when  autumn  came 
and  the  leaves  fell,  he  died.  Hoffmann,  on  the 
contrary,  saw  spectres  everywhere ;  they  nodded 
to  him  from  every  Chinese  teapot  and  every 
Berlin  wig ;  he  was  a  magician  who  changed  men 
into  brutes,  and  these  again  into  Royal  Prussian 
court-councillors ;  he  could  call  the  dead  from 
their  graves,  but  he  repulsed  life  itself  from  him 
as  if  it  were  a  dismal  ghost.  And  thus  he  felt 
that  he  had  himself  become  a  spectre ;  all  Nature 
was  to  him  like  a  badly-ground  mirror,  in  which 
he,  distorted  in  a  thousand  ways,  saw  only  his 
own  death-mask,  and  his  works  are  one  terrible 
cry  of  agony  in  twenty  volumes.* 

Hoffmann   did  not  belong  to  the    Romantic 

^  An  entetdicJier  Avgttschrei,  in  which  there  are  manj  long 
Mid  peaceful  pauses,  soft  and  sweet  melodies,  as  in  the  "  Golden 
Jar,"  children's  songs  and  much  merry  laughter.  Hoffmann 
was  a  man  grotesque  by  nature,  who  affected  the  grotesque, 
and  therefore,  if  not  positively  a  mediteval  Romanticist,  was  very 
nearly  one.  He  was  to  the  Romantic  school  what  the  grinning 
goblins  and  gargoyles  of  a  Gothic  cathedral  are  to  its  saints, 
of  which  latter  Novalis  is  the  type.  Some  writers  maintain  that 
these  goblins  are  devils  or  damned  souls  keeping  up  "  a  terrible 
cry  of  agony  ; "  but  as  they  generally  appear,  like  Hoffmann's 
oharacters,  to  be  occupied  in  all  kinds  of  jovial  sport  and 
boyish  mischief,  it  would  Mem  M  if  their  agony  sat  very  lightly 
on  them. — TranaUUor. 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  fg$ 

■ohool.  He  was  in  no  way  allied  to  the  Schlegela, 
and  still  less  to  their  tendencies  I  only  mention 
him  here  in  opposition  to  Novalis,  who  was  really 
a  poet  of  that  kind.  Novalis  is  less  known  in 
Prance  than  Hoffmann,  whom  Loeve-Veimars  has 
placed  before  the  public  in  such  admirable  form, 
and  thereby  attained  such  a  reputation.  By  ni 
in  Germany,  Hoffmann  is  no  longer  in  fashion, 
but  once  it  was  otherwise.  Once  he  was  very 
much  read,  but  only  by  men  whose  nerves  were 
too  strong  or  too  weak  to  be  affected  by  soft 
accords.  Men  of  true  genius  and  poetic  natures 
would  hear  nothing  of  him ;  they  by  far  preferred 
Novalis.  But,  honestly  speaking,  Hoffmann  was, 
as  a  poet,  far  superior  to  Novalis,  for  the  latter 
always  sweeps  in  the  air  with  his  ideal  forms, 
while  Hoffmann,  with  all  his  odd  imps,  sticks  to 
earthly  reality.  But  as  the  giant  Antaeus  re- 
mained invincibly  strong  while  his  feet  touched 
his  mother-earth,  and  lost  his  strength  when 
Hercules  raised  him  in  the  air,  so  is  the  poet 
strong  and  powerful  so  long  as  he  does  not  leave 
the  basis  of  reality,  but  becomes  weak  when  whirl- 
ing about  in  the  blue  air. 

The  g^eat  resemblance  between  these  poets  lies 
in  this,  that  in  both  their  poetry  is  really  » 
malady,  and  in  this  relation  it  has  been  declared 
that  judgment  as  to  their  works  was  rather  the 
Inisiness  of  a  physician  than  of  a  critic.    The 


tfi  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

rosy  gleam  in  the  writings  of  Novolis  is  not  the 
glow  of  health,  and  the  purple  heat  in  Hoffmann's 
Phaniasiestiicken  is  not  the  flame  of  genins  bnt 
of  fever.* 

Bat  have  we  a  right  to  make  snch  remarks,  we 
who  are  not  blessed  with  excess  of  health,  above 
all  at  present,  when  literature  resembles  a  vast 
lazar-honse  ?  Or  is  perhaps  poetry  itself  a  disease 
of  mankind,  just  as  the  pearl  is  only  the  material 
of  a  disease  from  which  the  poor  oyster  suffers  ? 

Novalis  was  bom  May  2,  1772.  His  real  name 
was  Hardenberg.  He  loved  a  young  lady  who 
suffered  from  and  died  of  consumption.  This 
sad  story  inspires  all  his  writings ;  his  life  was  a 
dreamy  dying  in  consequence,  and  he  himself  died 
of  consumption  in  180 1,  before  he  had  completed 
his  twenty-ninth  year,  or  his  novel.  This  work 
as  it  exists  is  only  the  fragment  of  a  great  alle- 
gorical poem,  which,  like  the  "  Divine  Comedy  "  of 
Dante,  was  to  treat  earnestly  all  things  of  earth 
and  heaven.  Heinrich  von  Ofterdingen,  the  fam- 
ous poet,  is  the  hero.*    We  see  him  as  a  youth  in 

'  All  the  best  pieces  in  the  Fantastic  Sketches  have  long  ago 
passed  into  juvenile  literature,  and  are,  in  fact,  now  published 
aa  such.  Time  has  shown  that  Heine  and  all  earlier  writer* 
made  far  too  much  of  Hoffmann,  and  treating  as  a  great  sorcerer, 
in  him,  one  who  was  only  a  clever  and,  at  times,  poetic  juggler. — 
IVafuJator. 

*  This  work  was  very  well  translated  into  English,  I  believe, 
by  a  student  at  Cambridge,  Massachusetts,  and  pabliabed  aboat 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  ,||t 

Eisenacli,  the  charming  town  which  lies  at  the 
foot  of  the  old  Wartburg,  where  the  greatest  and 
also  the  stupidest  things  have  been  done ;  that  is, 
where  Luther  translated  the  Bible,  and  certain 
idiotic  Teutomaniacs  burned  the  Gendarme  Code 
of  Herr  Kamptz.  There,  too,  in  that  castle,  was 
held  the  great  contest  of  minstrels,  where,  among 
other  poets,  Heinrich  von  Ofterdingen  sang  in  the 
dangerous  contest  with  Klingsohr  of  Hungary, 
on  account  of  which  has  been  preserved  in  the 
Manesse  collection.  He  who  was  vanquished  was 
to  lose  his  head,  and  the  Landgrave  of  Thuringia 
was  to  be  the  judge.  The  Wartburg  rises  as  with 
mysterious  signification  over  the  cradle  of  the 
hero,  and  the  beginning  of  the  novel  shows  him 
in  the  paternal  home  of  Eisenach. 

The  parents  are  still  sleeping,  the  han^ng 
dock  beats  time  monotonously,  the  wind  blows 
against  the  rattling  windows ;  now  and  then  the 
room  is  lighted  by  the  rays  of  the  moon. 

The  youth  lay  restlessly  on  his  couch,  thinking 
of  the  stranger  and  of  his  tales.  *'  It  was  not  the 
treasure,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  which  awoke  in  me 
such  unutterable  desire;  all  covetousness  is  far 
from  me ;  but  I  long  to  see  the  blue  flower.  It 
haunts  me  all  the  time,  and  I  can  think  and  fancy 


1841,  when  I  read  it.     I  regret  that  I  cannot  recall  the  name 
of  the  translator. — Trandator. 


THB  ROMANTIC  SCBOOL. 


nothing  else.  I  never  felt  like  this  before;  it 
eeems  to  me  as  if  life  had  been  hitherto  a  dream, 
or  as  if  I  had  dreamed  over  into  another  world, 
and  now  awoke.  For  who  ever  troubled  himself 
so  in  the  world  in  which  I  once  lived  aboat 
flowers?  and  of  such  a  strange  passion  for  a 
flower  I  have  never  heard." 

Heinrich  von  Ofterdingen  begins  with  such 
words,  and  the  blue  flower  sheds  its  light  and 
breathes  its  perfume  through  the  whole  romance. 
It  is  marvellous  and  full  of  meaning  that  the  most 
imaginary  characters  of  this  book  seem  to  us  as 
real  as  if  we  had  known  them  familiarly  long  ago. 
Old  memories  awaken,  even  Sophia  has  well- 
known  features,  and  we  recall  perfectly  the  beech- 
tree  avenues  where  we  wandered  with  her,  sweetly 
wooing ;  and  yet  it  all  lies  in  twilight,  like  a  half- 
forgotten  dream. 

The  Muse  of  Novalis  was  a  slender  snow-whit© 
maid  with  serious  blue  eyes,  golden  hyacinthine 
locks,  smUing  lips,  and  a  little  red  birth-mark  on 
the  left  side  of  the  chin^ — that  is,  I  imagine 
as  the  Muse  of  Novalis  the  same  damsel  who 
made  me  acquainted  with  him,  when  I  saw  the 
red  morocco  bound  gilt-edged  copy  of  Henry  von 
Ofterdingen  in  her  beautiful  hands.     She  always 

^  Heine  has  deBcribed  one  who  was  apparently  one  of  bis  own 
Muses  in  "  The  Memoirs  of  Count  Schnabelewopski"  as  having 
•  brown  birth'Uaark  on  the  left  side  or  hip. — TrandcOor. 


THB  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL,  ','■  3S1 

wore  a  blae  dress,  and  was  called  Sophia.  She 
lived  a  few  leagues  from  Gottingen  with  her  sister, 
who  was  a  post-mistress.  This  latter  was  a  jovial, 
plump,  red-cheeked  dame,  with  a  mighty  bosom 
garnished  with  stiff  lace,  which  made  it  look  like 
a  fortress.  And  an  impregnable  fortress  it  was, 
for  the  dame  was  a  Gibraltar  of  virtue.  She  was 
a  busy,  housewifely,  practical  woman,  and  yet 
her  one  great  pleasure  was  to  read  the  novels  of 
Hoffmann.  In  Hoffmann  she  found  the  man 
who  alone  could  shake  her  solid  nature  and  give 
it  agreeable  thrills.  But  the  very  sight  of  a  book 
by  Hoffmann  inspired  in  her  pale,  delicate  sister 
a  disagreeable  sensation,  and  she  shrunk  up  when 
she  only  touched  one  by  chance.  She  was  refined 
as  a  sensitive  plant,  even  so  were  her  words  per- 
fumed and  gently  sounding,  and  when  she  put 
them  together  they  were  verses.  I  wrote  down 
many  which  she  uttered,  and  they  were  strange 
poems,  quite  in  the  manner  of  Novalis,  but  more 
spiritualised  and  echoing.  One  which  she  spoke 
to  me  when  I,  about  to  depart  for  Italy,  bade  her 
adieu,  is  very  dear  to  me.  On  a  night  in  autumn, 
in  a  garden  where  there  has  been  an  illumination, 
there  is  heard  a  dialogue  between  the  last  lamp, 
the  last  rose,  and  a  wUd  swan.  The  morning  mists 
rise,  the  last  lamp  is  extinguished,  the  last  leaves 
of  the  rose  fall,  and  the  swan,  spreading  hia  white 
wings,  ffies  to  the  south. 


38s  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

There  are  indeed  in  Hanover  many  wild  swans, . 
which  in  the  autumn  fly  to  warmer  lands, 
and  in  the  summer  come  to  ns  again.  They 
probably  pass  the  winter  in  Africa,  because  we 
once  found  in  the  breast  of  a  dead  swan  an  arrow 
which  Professor  Blumenbach  recognised  as  having, 
come  from  that  country.  Poor  bird!  It  had 
returned  with  the  arrow  in  its  breast  to  its 
Northern  home  to  die.  But  there  may  have  been 
many  another  swan  thus  wounded  who  could  not 
make  the  journey,  and  so  remains  without  power 
to  fly  in  the  burning  sands  of  the  desert,  or  sits 
with  wearied  wings  on  some  Egyptian  pyramid 
and  looks  with  longing  to  the  North — to  the  cool 
summer  nest  in  the  land  of  Hanover.  r 

When  I,  towards  the  end  of  the  autumn  in  1 828, 
returned — and  not  without  the  burning  arrow  in 
my  breast — my  way  took  me  near  Gottingen,  and 
I  stopped  to  change  horses  by  my  plump  friend 
the  post-mistress.  I  had  not  seen  her  for  a  year 
and  a  day,  and  the  good  woman  seemed  to  be 
sadly  changed.  Her  bosom  still  resembled  a 
fortress,  but  one  which  had  been  sacked,  the 
bastions  levelled,  the  two  main  towers  were  only 
hanging  ruins;  no  sentinel  now  watched  the 
gate,  and  the  heart,  the  citadel,  was  broken.  Aa 
I  learned  from  the  postillion,  Pieper,  she  had  even 
lost  her  liking  for  Hoffmann's  novels,  but  drank 
all  the  more  gin  in  its  place  before  going  to  bed. 


THB  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  383 

which  was  perfectly  intelligible,  because  they  had 
gin  in  the  house,  but  had  to  go  a  four-hours* 
journey  to  get  the  books  from  Duerlich's  circu- 
lating library  in  Gottingen.  Pieper  was  a  small 
man,  of  as  sour  an  expression  as  if  he  had  lived 
on  vinegar  and  it  had  drawn  him  all  up.  When 
I  asked  him  as  to  the  sister  of  the  post-mistress, 
he  replied  that  Mademoiselle  Sophia  would  soon  die, 
and  was  already  an  angel.  It  must  be  indeed  an 
admirable  person  whom  Pieper  would  call  an  angel ! 
He  said  this  while  kicking  away  the  cluttering  and 
fluttering  poultry  with  his  high  boots.  The  post- 
house,  which  was  once  so  smiling  white,  had 
changed  like  its  landlady ;  it  had  a  sickly  yellow- 
ish colour,  and  the  walls  were  deeply  wrinkled. 
Broken  vehicles  were  in  the  courtyard,  and  by 
the  dunghill  hung  on  a  pole,  drying,  a  completely 
wet  scarlet  postillion's  coat.  Mademoiselle  Sophia 
sat  at  an  upper  window  reading,  and  when  I 
came  upstairs  to  her,  I  saw  that  she  had  in  her 
hands  a  book  gilt-edged  and  bound  in  red 
morocco,  and  it  was  the  same  copy  of  the  Ofter- 
dingen  of  Novalis.  So  she  had  read  incessantly 
this  book,  till  its  consumption  had  passed  into  her, 
and  she  looked  like  a  shining  shadow.  But  she 
was  of  spiritual  beauty,  which  deeply  pained 
me.*     I  took  her  two  pale  thin  hands  and  looked 

1  "Deren    Anbliclc    mich    aufs    schmerzlichBte    bewegte." 
Vrencb  version,  "Sa  vue  excitait  one  dottee  douletir."    Then 


384 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL, 


deeply  into  the  blue  eyes  and  said,  "  Mademoiselle 
Sophia,  how  do  you  do  ?  "  "  Well,"  she  replied, 
"  and  I  shall  soon  be  better ! "  and  saying  this, 
she  pointed  from  the  window  to  a  new  church- 
yard on  a  little  hill  near  the  house.  On  this 
bare  hill  stood  a  slender  dry  poplar,  on  which 
there  still  hung  a  few  dry  leaves,  moving  in  the 
autumn  wind,  not  as  if  it  were  a  living  tree,  but 
the  ghost  of  one. 

Mademoiselle  Sophia  now  lies  under  that  tree, 
and  the  souvenir  which  she  left  me,  the  gilt- 
edged  book  bound  in  red  morocco,  the  Heinrich 
von  Ofterdingen  of  Novalis,  now  lies  before  me 
on  my  writing-table,  and  I  have  used  it  while 
composing  this  chapter.  ,  j 

•n  hers  pages  together  of  the  French  tratulation,  in  almost 
every  sentence  of  which  there  is  some  such  variation  from  the 
Qerman  text. — Translator. 


XND  OV  YOL.  L 


Vttaited  hj  BAuairmnt,  Hahsoit  A*  Ca 
Edinburgh  ^  London 


'mrnrnmr^^mTT 


w 


VOLUME 

11 


L  I  B  RAFLY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 
Of    ILLINOIS 


834H36 
V.ll 


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From  a  Pljotopaph  by  Buchuer 


.'^•\.t "-. 


■  .^w 


Mxixuh  Mm 


€3V  Ma4    ,  > 

CONTENTS 


VOLUME  ELEVEN 


GERMANY 

11 

Sbcond  Part — 

The  Romantic  School- 

book  III.— Chapter  L    . 

»» 

II.    . 
„       III.    . 

»» 

IV.    . 

.                 M 

V.    .        . 

»» 

VI.    . 

^ »»        -     . 

„      VII.    . 

FAOB 
•  •  •  •  I 

19 

.     36 

>      *      •      •     4^ 

•    yo 

•       .       •       >     oj 
'       '       .       .     95 

Third  Part — 
Elementary  Spirits 107 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

Uhland Frontispiece 

From  a  Photograph  by  BUCHNER. 

Oliver  Goldsmith To  face  page    58 

Reproduced  from  an  Engraving. 

Samuel  Richardson         ••..,.«         60 
From  the  Painting  by  Chambertin. 

Barbarossa '  „       „       208 

From  the  Picture  by  Velasquez. 


GERMANY. 


SECOND  PAKT.— BOOK  THE  THIRD. 
THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Do  you  know  China,  the  native  land  of  the 
winged  dragon  and  of  porcelain  tea-pots  ?  All 
the  coantry  is  a  cabinet  of  curiosities,  surrounded 
by  an  inhumanly  long  wall  and  one  hundred 
thousand  Tartar  sentinels.  But  the  birds  and 
thoughts  of  European  scholars  fly  over  it,  and 
when  they  have  seen  till  they  are  satisfied,  return- 
ing home,  they  tell  most  charming  things  of  the 
strange  land  and  its  more  curious  folk.  There 
Nature,  with  its  glaring  contrasts  and  entangled 
flourishes,  eccentric  giant  flowers,  dwarfed  trees, 
voluptuously  baroque  fruits,^  and  absurdly  deco- 

1  "Barock  woUiiatigen  Frilcbten.''      In  reference  to  the  fre< 
VOL.  n.  A 


a 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


rated  birds,  is  as  fable-like  a  caricature  as  man 
himself,  with  his  pointed  pig-tailed  pate,  his 
reverences,  long-nails,  antique-crafty  nature,  and 
child-like  tongue  of  monosyllable&^  Man  and 
Nature  cannot  there  look  at  one  another  without 
suppressing  a  laugh.  They  do  not  laugh  aloud, 
being  by  far  too  high- politely  civilised ;  so,  to  re- 
press it,  they  make  the  most  seriously  comic  facea 
In  that  land  is  neither  shadow  nor  perspective. 
Over  houses  which  are  like  patchwork  of  many 
colours,  rise  rows  on  rows  of  roofs  which  look  like 
outspread  umbrellas  on  which  hang  many  metal 
bells,  so  that  even  the  wind  when  sweeping  by 
makes  itself  droll  by  singing  comic  sounda 

In  such  a  house  with  bells  dwelt  a  princess 
whose  feet  were  smaller  than  those  of  any  other 
Chinese  girl,  whose  obliquely  slit  little  eyes 
blinked  and  winked   more   sweet-dreamily  than 

qaent  representations  of  fruits  grouped  together  as  for  dessert, 
which  are  so  common  in  the  baroque  or  degraded  rococo  style 
of  decoration  of  the  Regency,  and  which  are  still  to  be  seen  in 
many  hotel  dining-rooms.  From  their  almost  invariably  exag- 
gerated size  and  high  colour,  such  pomological  displays  in  art 
were  jokingly  described  by  an  American  critic  in  a  burlesque 
catalogue  as  "  some  pumpkins,"  which  became  a  popular  saying 
for  anything  very  remarkable  of  its  kind.  It  is  curious,  as  exactly 
conveying  the  sense  of  Heine's  singular  expression. — Trandator. 
^  "  With  ways  which  were  dark 

And  tricks  which  were  vain,  ...  , 

But  his  smile  it  was  gentle  and  child-like." 

—The  Heathen  Chinee,  by  Bret  Harte. 
— Trandator. 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  1 

those  of  any  dame  of  the  Celestial  realm,  and 
in  whose  giggling,  tittering  heart  the  craziest 
caprices  made  their  nests.  For  it  was  her  chief 
delight  to  tear  to  rags  the  costliest  silks  and 
cloths  of  gold.  When  they  r-r-ripped  and  cracked 
sharply  between  her  destroying  fingers,  she  shoated 
for  joy.  But  at  last,  when  she  had  spent  all  her 
fortune  on  such  a  fancy,  and  had  torn  up  all  her 
properties  and  possessions,  she  was,  by  advice  and 
opinion  of  all  her  mandarins,  declared  to  be  an  in- 
curable lunatic,  and  was  confined  in  a  round  tower. 
This  Chinese  princess  or  caprice  personified  is 
like  the  personified  Muse  of  a  German  poet,  who 
cannot  be  passed  without  mention  in  a  history  of 
Komantic  poetry.  This  is  the  Muse  who  smiles  at 
us  so  madly  from  the  poems  of  Clemens  Brentano. 
There  she  sits,  tearing  the  most  lustrous  satin 
trains  and  the  most  brilliant  gold  lace,  and  her 
wild  and  merrily  laughing  madness  fills  our  souls 
with  uncanny  rapture  and  voluptuous  pain.  But 
now  for  fifteen  years  Brentano  has  lived  secluded 
from  the  world,  or  walled  up  in  his  Catholicism ; 
for  now  there  remains  to  him  nothing  more  that 
is  precious  to  tear  up.  For  he  has  torn,  as  it  was 
said,  the  hearts  which  loved  him,  and  every  one 
who  was  his  friend  has  some  capricious  injury,  by 
him  inflicted,  to  complain  of;  but  it  was  most  and 
worst  of  all  on  himself,  and  on  his  own  poetic 
power,  that  he  practised  his  mania  for  destruction 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


I  especially  call  attention  to  a  comedy  by  this 
poet  called  Pome  de  Lion.  Nothing  can  be  more 
disjointed  and  fragmentary  than  this  composition, 
both  as  regards  thoughts  and  languages.  Yet  all 
these  shreds  and  tatters  live  and  whirl  round  so 
merrily  that  in  reading  it  one  fancies  himself  in  a 
masqued  ball  of  words,  and  thoughts,  and  witti- 
cisms. There  everything  rushes  and  riots  and 
rolls  together  in  delightful  confusion,  and  it 
is  only  the  generally  prevailing  madness  which 
makes  a  kind  of  harmony.  The  most  preposterous 
puns  run  like  harlequins  through  all  the  piece, 
and  slap  everybody  with  their  wooden  swords. 
Sometimes  a  serious  idea  addresses  us,  but  it 
stutters  like  the  Doctor  of  Bologna.  There  a 
phrase  lounges  and  strolls  like  a  Pierrot  with  far 
too  loose  hanging  sleeves  and  far  too  large  waist- 
coat buttons,  and  there  again  humpy  dwarfy 
witticisms,  with  little  legs,  leap  like  Punches, 
while  words  of  love  flutter  about  with  sorrow  in 
their  hearts.  So  all  dances,  and  leaps,  and  whirls, 
and  rattles,  and  drones,  while  ever  and  anon  blare 
out  the  trumpets  of  a  Bacchantic  rage  for  ruin 
and  destruction. 

A  great  tragedy  by  this  poet,  called  "  The 
Founding  of  Prague,"  is  also  very  remarkable. 
There  are  scenes  in  it  where  we  are  inspired  by 
the  most  mysterious  thrills  or  chills  of  primevally 
ancient  legends.     In  it  rustle  the  dark  Bohemian 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL:  f 

gneatfl,  there  too  wander  the  grim  Slavonian  gods, 
heathen  nightingales  trill  as  of  yore,  but  the  soft 
Aurora  of  Christianity  is  beginning  to  shine  on 
the  summits  of  the  trees.  Brentano  has  also 
written  some  good  stories,  such,  for  instance,  as 
"  The  History  of  Brave  Caspar  and  Pretty  Annie  " 
{Die  OeschicTUe  vom  braven  Kasperl  und  dem 
schonen  Annerl).  While  fair  Annie  was  still  a 
child,  and  went  with  her  grandmother  to  the 
public  executioner's,  to  there  purchase,  as  common 
people  in  Germany  are  accustomed  to  do,  certain 
remedies/  something  suddenly  rattled  in  the  great 
cabinet  by  which   Annie  stood,   and   the   child 

*  It  is  mentioned  by  many  writers,  but  especially  by  Micbelet 
{La  Sorciere,  voL  u,  Intro.),  that  during  the  Middle  Ages  the 
executioner  was  generally  the  most  skilfol  surgeon  in  every 
community,  the  study  of  practical  anatomy  being  forbidden 
to  all  (even  to  professional  surgeons),  save  him.  "And  his 
experiments  were  sacrilegious."  Hence  he  became  a  kind  of 
physician  generally.  When  Paracelsus  at  Basle  in  1527  burned 
the  books  of  his  predecessors,  he  declared  that  all  be  knew  of 
medicine  and  surgery  he  had  learned  from  witches  and  execu- 
tioners. As  regards  this  story  of  Caspar  and  Annie,  Heine 
seems  to  have  been  haunted  all  his  life,  very  strangely,  by  the 
mystery  of  the  headsman's  sword ;  nor  have  I  myself  quite 
escaped  it,  as  the  reader  may  see  in  my  "  Gypsy  Sorcery."  In 
the  remarkable  series  of  laws  against  superstitions  and  sorceries 
published  by  the  Ffalzgraf  Maximilian  in  161 1  (vide  BayerUehe 
Sagen,  von  Friedrich  Panzer,  1848),  there  is  one  which  decrees 
punishment  to  any  person  who,  believing  that  an  executioner's 
sword  which  has  taken  life  is  of  special  virtue  and  effect  (in 

combat),  shall  obtain  or  buy  such  a  sword  for  such  a  purpose. 

Trandator. 


6  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

cried  in  fright,  "  A  mouse !  a  mouse ! "  But  the 
executioner  was  still  more  frightened,  and  said, 
"  Dear  woman,  in  this  cabinet  hangs  my  heads- 
man's sword,  and  it  always  moves  of  itself  when 
any  one  comes  near  whom  it  is  destined  to  de- 
capitate. My  sword  thirsts  for  the  blood  of  this 
child.  Let  me  just  scratch  her  a  little  with  it 
on  the  neck.  Then  it  will  be  satisfied  with  a 
drop  of  blood,  and  have  no  further  longing."  But 
the  grandmother  would  not  listen  to  this  advice, 
and  had  at  last  to  deeply  regret  her  incredulity 
when  fair  Annie  was  really  beheaded  with  the 
same  sword.  I 

Clemens  Brentano  is  now  perhaps  fifty  years 
of  age,^  and  he  lives  a  hermit  life  in  Frankfort,  as 
corresponding  member  of  the  Catholic  Propaganda. 
His  name  has  almost  passed  away  of  later  years, 
and  he  is  only  mentioned  now  and  then  when 
people  speak  of  the  popular  songs  which  he 
published  with  his  friend  Achim  von  Amim.  For 
he  compiled  with  the  latter,  under  the  title  of  Bes 
Xnaben  Wunderhorn  ("  The  Wondrous  Horn  of  the 
Boy  "),  a  collection  of  songs  which  were  gathered 
partly  from  the  people,  partly  from  old  broad- 
sides and  rare  works.  I  cannot  praise  this  work 
enough ;  it  contains  the  fairest  flowers  of  German 


^  French  veraion,  "  M.  Clement  Brentaoo  peut  avoir  aujoard'- 
hni  cinquante  sept  ana." 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  f 

spirit  and  feeling,  and  he  who  wonld  know  the 
people  from  their  best  side  should  know  these 
songs.  As  I  write,  the  book  lies  before  me,  and 
it  seems  as  if  I  smelt  the  perfnme  of  German 
lime-trees.^  The  lime-tree  plays  a  leading  part 
in  these  songs.  Lovers  woo  of  evenings  in  its 
shade ;  it  is  their  favourite  tree,  probably  because 
the  lime-tree  leaf  is  in  the  form  of  a  heart.  This 
remark  was  made  to  me  by  a  German  poet  whom 
I  prefer  to  all  others — namely,  myself.*  On  the 
title-page  of  that  book  is  a  boy  blowing  a  horn, 
and  when  a  poet  in  another  land  looks  at  that 
picture,  he  thinks  he  hears  the  notes  best  known 
to  him,  and  then  he  may  feel  home- sickness,  as 
happened  to  the  Swiss  landsknecht  (or  mercenary 
soldier),  who,  when  standing  sentinel  on  the  bas- 
tion at  Strasbnrg,  hearing  the  call  to  the  cows 
afar,  threw  away  his  pike  and  swam  over  the 
Bhine,  but  was  soon  afber  arrested  and  shot  as  a 


^  Linden.  It  is  known  by  the  name  of  "  liioe  "  in  New  Eng- 
land, and  of  "  linden  "  in  PennsylTania. 

*  Heine's  memory  here  deceived  him.  It  was  probably  a 
very  much  older  poet  who  gave  him  the  simile.  "  The  linden 
leaf,"  remarks  Friedrich  {SymhoUi  der  Natur,  p.  245),  "  on  ac- 
count of  its  being  shaped  like  a  heart,  was  a  symboL  The 
greatest  of  our  old  poets,  such  as  Walter  von  der  Vogelweide, 
Godfrey  of  Strasburg,  and  the  Minnesinger,  often  speak  of  the 
linden  and  its  leaf."  Fortunately  for  Heine,  this  poet  whom 
be  preferred  to  all  others  had  some  images  which  were  more 
original — Trantlator. 


•^^■^'^^'■.'^■^■:-:-~'.::':i-,*^Mi\^^^ 


t  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

deserter.     On  which  subject  there  is  a  touohing 
Bong  in  "  The  Boy's  Wonder-Horn : " — 

"  In  Strasburg  on  the  fort 
My  trouble  all  begun. 
I  heard  an  Alpine  horn  blow  far  away ;  ' 

I  tried  to  swim  back  to  my  home  that  day ; 
It  was  not  done. 

At  one  o'clock  that  night 

They  caught  and  held  me  tight,  I 

And  took  me  to  the  captain,  as  ye  see. 
Ah,  God  !  they  caught  me  swimming  in  the  stream  ; 

All's  up  with  me  ! 


To-morrow  morn  at  ten 

Before  the  regiment  I  have  to  go  ; 

No  pardon  can  I  gain, 

That  hope  is  all  in  vain, 
That  I  well  know. 

Ye  brothers  of  my  corps, 

After  to-day  you'll  see  me  never  more. 
Upon  the  shepheid  all  the  blame  should  fall ; 
It  was  the  Alpine  horn  which  did  it  all ; 

That  I  deplore  !  " 


What  a  beantifnl  poem  !  There  is  a  deep  charm 
in  these  popular  songs.  Artistic  poets  try  to  imi- 
tate these  productions  of  Nature  just  as  men 
make  artificial  mineral  waters.  But  when  they 
are  chemically  analysed  the  main  thing  is  want- 
ing ;  that  is,  the  non-analysable  sympathetic  power 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.       •.         9 

of  Nature.*  In  these  songs  we  feel  the  heart-beat 
of  the  German  people.  Here  all  its  sad  gaiety, 
all  its  foolish  reason  reveals  itself.  Here  German 
anger  drums,  German  mockery  fifes,  German  love 
kissea  German  wine  and  German  tears  drop  in 
pearls,  and  the  last  are  often  better  than  the  first, 
for  there  are  therein  both  iron  and  salt.  What 
muLvet^  in  the  truth !  what  honesty  in  the  un- 
truth !  What  an  honest  soul  is  "  the  poor  black- 
necked  rough,"  although  he  practises  highway 
robbery !  Listen  to  the  phlegmatic  touching  tale 
as  he  himself  tells 


"  I  came  tmto  a  landlady ; 
They  asked  me  who  was  It 
I'm  a  poor  black-neck  ruffian, 
I  eat  when  I  am  hungry, 
And  I  drink  when  I  am  dry. 

They  took  me  in  the  dining-hall ; 
They  gave  me  wine  to  drink  : 
I  let  my  eyes  stray  round  the  room. 
And  let  the  wine  glass  sink. 

They  sat  me  at  the  table. 
Like  a  gentleman  so  high  ; 
But  when  it  came  to  pay  the  bill, 
The  devU  a  coin  had  L 


*  Perhaps  the  truth  is  that  they  have  not  run  through  the 
BOO,  nor  been  kept  long  enough. — Trandator. 


..•-       ■'■,t^~'~'. ^.-— -■>*■•.,■»  .,„.^^:-_-»,»:i^»..-.       ,__^,    »C.-i_^^-iV' 


lO 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


And  when  I  asked  them  for  a  bed, 
They  put  me  in  the  hay  ; 
So  I,  poor  black-neck  ruffian. 
For  my  joke  must  dearly  pay. 

And  when  I  nestled  in  the  hay, 
Oh,  then  I  felt  forlorn, 
For  I  was  pricked  with  thistles  dry, 
And  stuck  with  many  a  thorn. 

And  in  the  morning  when  I  rose. 
The  roofs  were  white  with  frost ; 
Then  I,  poor  black-neck  ruffian, 
Must  laugh  at  mine  own  cost 

I  took  my  sword  well  in  my  hand, 
I  bound  it  to  my  side  ; 
Poor  devil,  I  must  go  a-foot 
For  lack  of  a  horse  to  ride. 

And  rising  up,  I  ranged  about 
The  roads  as  it  might  be  ; 
I  met  a  wealthy  merchant's  son. 
And  he  left  his  purse  with  me." 


This  arme  SchwartenhdU,  or  black-neck  ruffian, 
is  the  most  German  character  whom  I  know. 
What  repose,  what  conscious  power  prevails  in 
this  poem  !  But  yon  shall  also  learn  to  know  our 
Gretel.  She  is  a  straightforward  maiden,  and  I 
love  her  dearly.     Hans  said  to  her —  I 

"  •  Gird  up  your  garments,  Marj,'aret,  ' 
And  come  with  me  away, 

For  all  the  com  is  garnered  \ 

And  the  wine  is  stowed  away.' '  | 


■V ■  --a^ 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


II 


She  answers,  pleased — 

"  *  O  Hanslein,  dear  Hanslein  1 
I'll  be  true  mate  of  thine  ; 
The  week-days  in  the  meadowB« 
And  on  Sunday  by  the  wine.' 

He  led  her  through  the  byways 
All  by  her  snow-white  hand. 
He  took  her  on  the  highways 
To  a  tavern  far  inland. 

'Landlady,  hey,  good  landlady, 
Bring  out  your  wine,  I  say  ! 
Because  the  clothes  this  Margaret  wears 
Must  all  be  drunk  to-day.' 

Then  Margaret  fell  to  weeping, 
And  so  her  grief  began  ; 
Adown  her  cheeks  in  sorrow 
The  light-bright  teardrops  ran. 

'  0  Hanslein,  dear  Hanslein  ! 
Such  language  did  not  come 
From  thee  when  thou  didst  take  me 
From  my  dear  father's  home.' 

He  took  her  by  the  fingers, 
His  hand  in  hers  was  bound ; 
He  led  her  by  the  byways 
Till  they  a  garden  found.  ... 

•  •  •  •  •  •  ,      '        . 

*  0  Margaret,  dear  Margaret  I 
What  is  it  grieves  thee  most  t 
And  is  it  for  thy  cheerfulness, 
Or  honour  which  is  lost ! ' 


►  -«  *!'-'»  ■"'    ----'a— ^  |.^-    .yr\r^; 


I  a  THB  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

*  I  weep  not  for  my  cheerfulness, 

Or  honour  which  is  lost  ; 

I'm  sorry  for  my  garmenti, 

And  to  think  how  much  they  cost' ' 


That  is  not  the  Margaret  of  Goethe,  and  her  re- 
pentance would  not  be  a  subject  for  Ary  Scheffer. 
There  is  no  German  moonlight  in  it  There  is  as 
little  sentimentality  in  this  song  as  when  a  young 
fellow  begs  his  sweetheart  by  night  to  let  him  in, 
and  she  sends  him  away  with  the  words —  .  j 

"  Ride  thou  along  the  highway,  | 

Ride  to  yon  heath  alone,  ! 

Ride  back  as  thou  cam'st  hither ;  .{ 

There  is  a  good  broad  stone  ;  | 

On  it  thou  thy  head  may'st  lay, 

And  no  feathers  take  away  1 "  ] 

But  moonlight  full  and  fair  pouring  through 
all  the  soul  shines  in  this  song — 

«  Were  I  a  little  bird 

With  two  small  wings,  my  dear, 
I'd  fly  to  thee  ; 
But  that  can't  be, 

And  so  I  must  stay  here.  | 

But  though  afar  from  thee,  \ 

In  sleep  I'm  still  by  thee,  ' 

Talking  with  thee,  mine  own ; 
But  when  I'm  wide  awake. 

Then  I'm  alone. 


T**'  A.^»  . 


.  *.      


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  13 

Every  hour  for  thy  aalte  . 

In  the  night  I  awake, 

From  sleep  I  start, 
Thinking  of  the  thousand  times 

Thou  gav'st  me  thy  heart." 

Bat  if  any  one,  charmed,  asks  who  composed 
such  songs,  he  is  answered  with  such  concluding 
lines  as  these — 

"  Who  was  it  made  you  this  pretty  song  ? 
Over  the  water  three  geese  came  along, 
And  brought  it— two  grey  and  one  white." 

It  is  generally  wandering  folk,  vagabonds,  sol- 
diers, travelling  students,  or  trade-apprentices 
who  make  such  a  song,  bnt  specially  the  latter, 
or  the  so-called  Handwerksbttrschen.  I  very  often 
in  my  foot-excursions  kept  company  with  them, 
and  observed  how  they  now  and  then,  inspired 
by  some  out-of-the-way  incident,  improvised  a  bit 
of  ballad,  or  whistled  it  in  the  open  air.  Birds  on 
the  branches  listened  to  the  lay,  and  when  another 
boy  with  staff  and  scrip  came  trudging  by,  they 
chirped  the  song  to  him,  and  what  was  wanting 
to  the  words  he  made,  and  so  the  song  and  melody 
were  done.  Words  fall  in  this  way  as  it  were  from 
heaven  on  the  lips  of  such  youths,  and  they  have 
only  to  utter  them,  and  they  are  more  poetical 
than  all  the  refined  phrases  which  we  mine  out 
of  the  depths  of  our  hearts.    The  character  of  these 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


German  Handwerksburschen  lives  and  thrives  in 
and  through  such  popular  ballads.  They  are  an 
odd  race,  who,  without  a  sous  in  their  pockets, 
wander  all  over  Germany,  harmless,  merry,  and 
free.  I  generally  found  three  of  them  in 
company.^  Of  these  three,  one  was  always  the 
talker ;  he  talked  with  droll  whims  of  every  casual 
subject,  of  every  bird  which  flew  in  the  air,  of 
every  commercial  traveller  who  rode  by,  and  when 
they  came  into  some  wretched  place  with  poor 
huts  and  beggarly  people,  he  observed  ironically, 
"  God  made  the  world  in  six  days,  but  this  was  a 
bit  of  after-work."  *  The  second  of  the  trio  only 
broke  in  occasionally  with  some  angry  remark; 
he  could  not  converse  without  cursing ;  he  swore 
at  every  boss  with  whom  he  had  worked,  and  his 
endless  refrain  was  his  regret  that  before  leaving 


^  Tresfaeiunt  collegium.  That  which  Heine  here  mentions  is 
specially  set  forth  in  a  farce  entitled  Lumpaoivagabundm,  or 
the  Jolly  Clover-Leaf,  the  latter  word  (trifdium)  being  applied  to 
a  company  of  three  ffandwerkahurtehen.  As  regards  the  one 
of  three  pilgrims  or  apprentices  who  always  does  the  talking, 
there  is  a  proverb,  "Wo  Drey  sind,  muss  einer  allweg  der 
Narr  seyn  " — "  Where  there  are  three,  one  is  always  the  fooL" 
— Translator. 

>  So  it  is  said  in  America,  that  on  Saturday  night,  when  God 
had  made  the  world,  some  sand  still  stuck  to  his  hands.  He 
brushed  it  off,  threw  it  down,  and  lo  1  it  became  the  State  of 
New  Jersey  !  In  the  French  version,  "  Le  bon  Dieu  a  fait  le 
monde  en  six  jouib ;  mais  11  y  paratt,  car  U  reste  encore  beaucoup 
k  faire."  , 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  15 

Halberstadt  he  had  not  slapped  the  face  of  the 
miBtress  who  gave  him  every  day  only  cabbage 
and  watery  turnips  to  eat.  But  at  the  word 
"  Halberstadt,"  the  third,  who  was  the  youngest, 
sighed  from  his  very  heart.  He  was  on  his  first 
journey,  and  thought  of  the  black-brown  eyes  of 
a  sweetheart,  hung  his  head,  and  never  a  word 
spake  he.^ 

Des  Knaben  Wunderhom  is  by  far  too  remark- 
able a  monument  of  our  literature,  and  has  exer- 
cised by  far  too  great  an  influence  on  the  lyrical 
poets  of  the  Romantic  school,  and  especially  on 
our  admirable  TJhland,  to  be  passed  unnoticed. 
This  book  and  the  Nibelungenlied  played  a  lead- 
ing part  at  that  time,  of  which  latter  there  must 
be  a  special  mention.  For  a  long  time,  indeed, 
we  spoke  of  nothing  but  the  Nibelungenlied,  and 
classical  philologists  were  not  a  little  vexed  when 
one  compared  this  epic  with  the  Iliad,  or  when 

1  I  trust  that  it  is  not  out  of  place  to  mention  that  I  recently, 
near  Florence,  accompanied  during  a  long  walk  three  young 
Germans  of  this  humble  class.  One  did  all  the  talking  and, 
in  einem  fort,  without  cessation  commented  on  what  be  saw, 
or  repeated  ballads  one  after  the  other,  and  the  second  argued, 
while  the  third  was  silent.  During  a  long  illness  in  the  same 
city,  our  German  head-waiter  came  in  at  times  to  converse  with 
me.  I  questioned  him  on  this  subject,  and  he  narrated  much 
which  was  very  curious,  as,  for  instance,  how  he  and  another 
waiter,  after  saving  up  a  little  money,  bad  made  very  long 
pedestrian  journeys  in  Eastern  Europe,  and  into  Turkey,  suf- 
fering much,  in  order  to  see  the  world. — Trcmdat&r. 


i6 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


people  debated  as  to  which  of  these  poems  pre- 
cedence was  due.  And  the  pablic,  when  ques- 
tioned on  it,  looked  like  a  child  of  whom  one 
shonld  ask,  "  Would  you  rather  have  a  horse 
or  a  hard-bake  ? "  But  in  any  case,  this  Nibe- 
lungenlied  is  of  great,  tremendous  strength.  A 
Frenchman  can  hardly  form  an  idea  of  it,  or 
even  of  the  language  in  which  it  is  composed. 
It  is  a  language  of  stone,  and  its  verses  are  blocks 
in  rhyma  Here  and  there,  between  the  clefts, 
red  flowers  stream  forth  like  drops  of  blood,  or 
long  ivies  trail  like  green  floods  of  tears.  And 
you — nice  little  people  that  you  are  ^ — can  hardly 
form  a  conception  of  the  giant-like  passions  which 
inspire  this  poem !  Imagine  a  clear  summer 
night,  the  stars  bright  as  silver,  yet  large  as 
suns,  come  forth  in  the  blue  heaven,  and  that 
all  the  Gothic  cathedrals  in  Europe  are  met  in 
rendezvous  on  a  vast  plain.  First  comes  calmly 
advancing  the  Strasburg  Minster,  the  Dom  of 
Cologne,  the  Campanile  of  Florence,  the  grand 
Church  of  Rouen,  and  that  these  gallantly  wooed 
the  fair  Notre  Dame  de  Paris.  It  is  true  that 
their  gait  is  a  little  unsteady,  that  some  of  them 
act  very  clumsily,  and  that  one   is  tempted  to 


^  Frenoh  version,  "  bonnes  gens  civilis^  et  polis  que  voiu 
£tea."    Qerman,  "  ibr  kleinen  artigen  Leutcben." 


:'Hir- 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  ;  17 

langh  at  their  amorons  awkward  staggering.'  But 
this  laughter  soon  ends  when  we  see  them  in  fury 
striving  to  strangle  one  another ;  how  Notre  Dame 
in  despair  throws  her  two  arms  of  stone  np  to 
heaven,  and  then  suddenly  seizing  a  sword,  de- 
capitates the  grandest  cathedral.  But  no;  70a 
could  even  then  form  no  idea  of  the  leading 
figures  of  the  Nibelungenlied ;  no  tower  is  so 
high,  and  no  stone  so  hard,  as  the  grim  Hagen 
and  the  vindictive  Chriemhilde. 

But  who  composed  this  poem?  We  know  as 
little  as  we  do  the  names  of  the  authors  of  the 
popular  songs.  It  is  indeed  strange  that  we  so 
seldom  know  the  originator  of  the  most  admirable 
books,  poems,  architectural  works,  and  similar 
monuments  of  art  Who  was  the  builder  of  the 
Cathedral  of  Cologne  ?  Who  painted  the  altar- 
piece  on  which  the  beautiful  Mother  of  God  and  the 
Holy  Three  Kings  are  so  delightfully  depicted? 
Who  composed  the  Book  of  Job,  which  has  been 
a  consolation  to  so  many  suffering  generations  of 
humanity?  Man  soon  forgets  the  names  of  his 
benefactors ;  those  of  the  noble  and  the  good  who 
have  toiled  for  the  benefit  of  their  fellow-beings 
are  seldom  in  the  mouths  of  the  people,  whose 


^  Here  Heine  falls  into  bis  very  common  failing  of  very 
needlessly  repeating  one  idea  or  simile  three  times  within  the 
limits  of  a  single  sentence.  The  French  version  briefly  give* 
the  conclusion  as  "  leur  transports  amourenx." 

VOL.  II.  B 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


blnnt  coarse  memories  retain  onlj  the  names  of 
their  oppressors  and  cruel  heroes  of  wars.  The 
tree  of  knowledge  forgets  the  silent  gardener 
who  protected  it  from  cold,  watered  it  in  sultrj 
drought,  and  freed  it  from  noxious  creatures,  but 
it  faithfully  preserves  the  names  which  have  been 
unmercifully  cut  into  its  bark  with  sharp  steel, 
and  bands  them  over — always  growing  larger — 
to  succeeding  generations. 


CHAPTER  IL 

OwmG  to  their  joint  publication  of  the  "  Wonder- 
horn,"  the  names  of  Brentano  and  Von  Arnim  are 
osnally  associated ;  and  having  mentioned  the  one, 
I  cannot  omit  the  other,  all  the  more  because  he 
is  much  more  deserving  our  attention.  Ludwig 
Achim  von  Arnim  is  a  great  poet,  and  was  one 
of  the  most  original  minds  of  the  Romantic 
school  The  lovers  of  the  fantastic  will  relish 
his  works  far  more  than  those  of  any  other 
German  writer.  Herein  he  far  outdoes  Hoflfmann 
and  Novalis.  He  lived  more  deeply  into  Nature 
than  the  latter,  and  could  conjure  up  far  more 
ghastly  and  grotesque  images  than  those  of  the 
former  ;  indeed,  when  I  look  at  Hoffmann  it  seems 
to  me  as  if  Von  Arnim  had  created  him.  Von 
Arnim  has  remained  utterly  unknown  to  the  mul- 
titude, having  a  name  only  among  literary  men,  who 
have,  however,  while  fully  recognising  his  merits, 
never  spoken  of  them  openly ;  indeed,  there  were 
some  who  spoke  contemptuously  of  him,  and 
these  were  the  very  ones  who  imitated  his  method. 

»9 


TUB  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


One  wonld  apply  to  them  that  which  Stevens 
wrote  of  Voltaire  when  the  latter  spoke  con- 
temptuously of  Shakespeare  after  plundering 
"Othello"  for  his  "Orosman."  "Such  men  are 
like  thieves,  who,  after  plundering  a  house,  set 
fire  to  it."  Why  did  Tieck  never  speak  befit- 
ingly  of  Amim,  he  who  said  so  much  that  was 
clever  over  such  piles  of  second-hand  trash  ?  And 
the  Schlegels  also  ignored  him.  It  was  not 
till  after  his  death  that  he  obtained  a  kind  of 
obituary  notice  from  a  member  of  the  schooL 

I  believe  that  Von  Amim  could  not  become 
famous  because  he  was  by  far  too  Protestant  for 
his  friends  of  the  Catholic  party,  while  the 
Protestants,  on  the  other  hand,  regarded  him  as  a 
crypto- Catholic.  But  why  did  the  public  ignore 
him — the  public  who  could  find  his  romances  and 
novels  in  every  circulating  library  ?  ^  Even  Hoflf- 
mann  was  hardly  ever  mentioned  in  our  literary 
and  aesthetic  journals ;  the  higher  criticism  main- 
tained  an  aristocratic  reserve  as  to  his  works, 


^  Heine's  vindication  of  Von  Amim,  like  all  his  laudations, 
is  admirable  in  every  respect,  but  to  give  it  point  he  is  guilty  of 
as  great  exaggeration  as  regards  this  author's  being  neglected 
and  unpopular.  If  his  works  were  in  every  circulating  library, 
they  must  have  been  in  demand  by  other  than  "literary  men." 
There  is  also  a  quite  unconscious  exaggeration  of  the  genius  of 
Yon  Arnim,  and  of  the  thrilling  terror  and  mystery  of  hia 
romances.  At  the  present  day  they  read  like  "  Der  Freyscbnts 
by  daylight." — Trandator. 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  2i 

and  yet  everybody  read  him.  But  why  did  the 
German  people  neglect  an  author  whose  imagina- 
tion grasped  all  things,  whose  feelings  were  of 
infinite  depth,  and  whose  gift  of  description  was  un- 
rivalled ?  Because  one  thing  was  wanting  to  him, 
which  the  people  always  seek  in  books,  and  that 
was  life.  They  require  that  the  author  shall  feel 
their  daily  sorrows,  and  whether  he  brings  from 
his  heart  pleasure  or  pain,  they  ask  for  sensation ; 
and  Arnim  could  not  satisfy  this  want.  He  was 
not  a  poet  of  life,  but  of  death.  In  all  which  he 
writes  there  is  only  a  movement  as  of  shadows ; 
the  figures  crowd  and  rush  hurriedly ;  they  move 
their  lips  as  if  speaking,  but  the  words  are  only 
seen,  not  heard.  These  forms  leap  and  creep, 
tussle  and  wrestle,  stand  on  their  heads,  approach 
us  mysteriously  and  whisper  in  our  ears,  "  We  are 
dead  ! "  Such  a  play  would  be  too  terrible  were  it 
not  for  the  peculiar  grace  of  Von  Arnim,  which 
spreads  over  his  poetic  compositions  like  the  smile 
of  a  child — and  yet  even  this  is  a  dead  child. 
Arnim  can  depict  love,  and  sometimes  sensuality, 
but  even  there  we  cannot  feel  with  him ;  we  see 
beautiful  bodies,  heaving  breasts,  well-turned 
limbs,  but  all  surrounded  by  a  cold  damp  shroud. 
And  Arnim  is  often  witty,  and  we  must  laugh,  but 
it  is  as  if  Death  were  tickling  us  with  his  scythe. 
Yet  he  is  generally  serious — as  a  dead  German. 
A  living  one  is  a  sufficiently  solemn  character— 


,  ^m*>  4u^''.Ty^.        *•    ■'         ■    ■    *-  ''*■     ■      -M-     ^  '■    ■■     '"  «,     _^, 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


fancy  a  dead  one.^  Bnt  a  Frenchman  can  form 
no  idea  of  how  solemn  we  are  when  life  has 
departed;  for  then  our  faces  are  immeasurably 
longer,  and  the  worms  which  feed  on  us  become 
melancholy  at  the  sight.  The  French  think  it 
strange  that  Hoffmann  can  be  so  appallingly 
serious,  but  it  is  a  mere  jest  compared  to  the 
awful  gravity  of  Amim.  When  Hoffmann  evokes 
his  dead,  and  they  rise  from  their  graves  and 
dance  round  him,  he  himself  trembles  with  delight, 
and  dances  with  them  in  the  midst,  and  makes 
the  maddest  monkey-grimaces.  But  when  Amim 
summons  his  spectres,  it  is  as  if  a  general  had  a 
review,  and  he  sits  calmly  on  his  high  spectral 
horse  and  makes  the  terrible  host  pass  before 
him,  and  they  glance  at  him  with  awe,  and  seem 
to  fear  him.  And  yet  he  always  nods  to  them 
in  a  friendly  manner.' 

Ludwig  Achim  von  Amim  was  bom  in  1784  in 
the  Mark  Brandenburg,  and  died  in  the  winter 


1  In  Philadelphia  it  is  a  common  sajing,  "  Solemn  as  a  dead 
Dutchman ; "  Dutch  being  there  the  popular  translation  of 
Deutach. — Trandator. 

*  This  seems  to  have  been  suggested  bj  the  well-known  poem 
of  Zedlitz  which  describes  how  the  spectre  of  Napoleon  riaea 
and  holds  a  "  Midnight  Review."    It  begins  with  the  worda-^ 


At  night,  when  twelve  is  striking, 
The  drummer  leaves  his  gravflk" 


,  f"" 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  |f 

of  1830.^  He  wrote  dramas,  romances,  and  novela 
His  dramas  are  inspired  with  a  deep  sentiment  of 
poetry,  especially  one  entitled  Der  Aiuerhdhn  (or 
"The  Mountain  Cock,"  pheasant).  Its  first  chapter 
would  not  be  unworthy  the  greatest  poet  How 
true  to  the  very  life  is  the  most  melancholy  ennui 
therein  depicted !  One  of  the  three  natural  sons 
of  the  late  Landgrave  sits  alone  in  the  great  deso- 
late castle-hall,  and  talks  yearningly  to  himself, 
and  complains  that  his  legs  are  growing  longer 
and  longer  under  the  table,  and  that  the  morning 
air  blows  so  cold  between  his  teeth.  His  brother, 
the  good  Franz,  comes  slowly  loitering  in,  dressed 
in  the  clothes  of  his  late  father,  which  hang  a 
world  too  wide  about  him,  and  sorrowfully  recalls 
how  at  this  hour  he  used  to  help  his  father  draw 
them  on,  and  how  the  latter  often  threw  him  a 
crust,  which  his  old  teeth  could  no  longer  bite, 
and  now  and  then  in  his  ill-humour  gave  him  a 
kick.  This  last  recollection  moves  good  Franz  to 
tears,  and  he  grieves  because  his  father  is  dead 
and  can  kick  him  no  more. 

Arnim's  romances  are  called  the  KrontodehUr 
("  The  Guardians  of  the  Crown  ")  and  Dolores.  The 
scene  of  the  former  is  laid  in  the  upper  storey  of 
the  watch-tower  of  Waiblingen,  or  in  the  little 


'  Amim  was  born  January  26,  1781,  in  Berlin,  and  diad 
January  21,  1831. — Otrtnan  PuiUalier. 


s 


fyoHfit^r^-iif  .A»*Vfi^»j,u^  4P4%i,,'4;j^4<«^-<''r*»  *^-.»^*-'<T^^^-"'f^_'^V?"?'y.'i;\'^;/^»^ 


24  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

houBe-room  of  the  watchman  and  of  his  notable 
fat  wife,  who  is,  however,  not  so  fat  as  people  in 
the  town  report.  For  it  is  mere  scandal  when 
they  say  that  she  grew  so  fat  in  the  tower- 
chamber  that  she  could  no  longer  descend  the 
narrow  flight  of  stairs,  and  after  the  death  of  her 
first  husband  was  obliged  to  wed  the  new  watch- 
man (on  that  account).  The  poor  woman  grieves 
sadly  at  such  tittle-tattle,  the  truth  being  that  she 
could  not  quit  the  tower  because  she  suffered  &om 
vertigo. 

The  second  romance  of  Von  Arnim, "  The  Coun- 
tess Dolores,"  has  also  an  admirable  beginning. 
In  it  the  author  depicts  the  poetry  of  poverty 
and  that  of  nobility,  which  he,  who  often  lived  in 
dire  distress,  very  often  chose  for  a  subject.  And 
what  a  master  Arnim  is  in  describing  destruction 
and  decay !  It  seems  to  me  as  if  I  had  before  my 
very  eyes  the  desolate  castle  of  the  young  Coun- 
tess Dolores,  which  seems  all  the  more  desolate 
because  the  old  Count  built  it  in  a  gay  Italian 
style,  but  never  finished  it.  Now  it  is  a  modem 
ruin,  and  all  is  run  to  waste  in  the  garden  of  the 
castle;  the  walks  of  trimmed  box-trees  have 
become  ragged  and  wild,  the  trees  grow  into  the 
way  of  one  another,  the  laurels  and  oleanders 
wind  and  twist  sadly  on  the  ground,  great  beauti- 
ful flowering  plants  are  clogged  and  twined  with 
weeds,  statues  of  the  gods  are  fallen  from  their 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  a§ 

pedestals,  and  two  pert  beggar-boys  crouch  by 
a  poor  Venus  who  lies  in  the  high  grass,  and  whip 
her  marble  derrUre  with  nettles.*  When  the  old 
Count,  after  a  long  absence,  returns  to  the  castle, 
the  conduct  of  all  his  household,  especially  of  his 
wife,  strikes  him  as  very  singular.  Such  strange 
things  take  place  at  table,  the  reason  being  that 
the  Countess  had  long  before  died  of  grief,  as  had 
all  the  others.  The  Count  himself  begins  at  last 
to  realise  that  he  is  surrounded  by  spectres,  and, 
without  any  indication  that  he  has  observed  it, 
quietly  goes  away. 

But  to  me  the  most  delightful  of  Amim's  novels 
Ib  his  "  Isabella  of  Egypt."  In  it  is  set  forth  the 
wandering  life  and  ways  of  the  gypsies,  whom 
we  in  France  call  Bohemians,  and  also  Egyptians 
Herein  we  see  that  strange  legendary  race,  with 
its  brown  faces,  fascinating  fortune-telling  eyes, 
and  sorrowful  secrets.  Their  gay,  delusive  jug- 
gling merriment  hides  a  great  mysterious  pain. 
For  according  to  the  legend,  which  is  charmingly 
told  in  these  pages,  the  gypsies  must  wander 
about  the  world  as  a  penance  for  the  inhospitable 
severity  with  which  their  ancestors  once  treated 
the  Holy  Virgin  and  Child,  when  she,  during  the 


1  There  ii  a  very  obvioas  imitation  of  this  ecene,  inclodiag 
the  Venus  in  the  grass,  in  the  "Florentine  Nights."  Heine, 
however,  did  not  whip  the  Yenus,  bat  kissed  her. — TranUator. 


»:^ir  .'•_.. ^^ 


•6  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

flight  into  Egypt,  once  begged  them  for  a  night's 
lodging.  For  this,  people  treated  them  in  turn 
with  cruelty.  For  as  during  the  Middle  Age 
they  had  as  yet  no  philosophers  of  the  school  of 
Schelling,  poetry  then  undertook  the  defence  of 
the  most  despicable  and  cruel  laws;^  and  these 
laws  were  more  barbaric  as  regards  the  gypsies 
than  any  other  people.'  In  many  countries  every 
gypsy  suspected  of  theft  could  be  hung  without 
trial  or  sentence.  So  was  their  chief  Michael, 
called  Duke  of  Egypt,  executed,  though  innocent, 
and  it  is  with  this  sad  incident  that  the  novel  of 
Von  Amim  begins.  By  night  the  gypsies  take 
their  dead  Duke  down  from  the  gallows,  place  the 
scarlet  princely  mantle  on  his  shoulders,  set  the 
silver  crown  on  his  head,  and  throw  him  into  the 

'  This  is  strangely  rendered  in  the  French  version  as  follows  : 
"Dans  le  moyen  &ge,  on  n'avait  pas  encore  une  philosophic 
eatholiqne,  et  il  fallait  bien  employer  la  po^e  pour  justiSer  les 
lois  les  plus  indignes  et  les  plus  cruelles." 

'  A  very  great  error  indeed.  The  gypsies  were  often  hung 
or  shot  out  of  hand,  or  proscribed,  as  were  all  kinds  of  criminals 
in  that  rude  age,  but  they  were  not  invariably  tortured  to  death 
or  burnt  alive,  as  were  innumerable  heretics  and  witches.  For 
information  the  reader  may  consult  papers  by  D.  MacBitchie 
and  others  in  the  Oypty  Lore  Journal,  and  works  by  Grellman, 
Wilson,  F.  Groome,  Liebich,  and  many  more,  to  which  these 
will  direct  him.  For  the  witches,  the  works  of  Walter  Scott, 
Michelet,  and  Horst  will  more  than  suffice.  As  regards  the 
heretics,  this  is  simply  the  whole  history  of  the  Catholic  Church 
In  its  relations  to  all  its  weaker  enemies,  savage  or  civilised.— 
Trandator.  , 


* 


..A    <^A^    .MM^^.i^^       ..-«.. 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  i&f 

Schelde,  being  fully  convinced  tliat  the  compas- 
sionate stream  will  bear  him  back  to  home,  or  to 
their  beloved  Egypt.  The  poor  gypsy  princess, 
Isabella,  knows  nothing  of  all  this  sad  event ;  she 
dwells  alone  in  a  ruined  house  on  the  Schelde. 
Hearing  the  water  rustle  strangely,  she  looks,  and 
sees  her  dead  white  father  rise  in  his  red  array, 
while  the  moon  casts  its  sorrowful  light  on  the 
silver  crown.  The  heart  of  the  poor  girl  is  well- 
nigh  broken  for  indescribable  grief;  in  vain  she 
seeks  to  hold  her  dead  father  fast — he  floats 
onward  to  Egypt,  to  his  wondrous  native  land, 
where  he  is  awaited,  and  where  he  will  be  worthily 
buried  in  one  of  the  pyramids.  Very  touching 
is  the  supper  to  the  dead  with  which  the  poor 
maiden  honours  her  father.  She  lays  her  white 
veil  on  a  stone  in  the  field  and  places  on  it  food 
and  drink,  which  she  solemnly  enjoys. 

Everything  is  deeply  moving  which  Amim 
tells  us  of  the  gypsies,  whom  he  also  describes 
with  compassionate  sympathy  in  other  works,  as, 
for  instance,  in  "  The  Wonderhom,"  where  he 
declares  that  we  owe  to  them  so  much  which 
is  beneficent  and  healing — that  is,  most  of  our 
medicines.^  We  rejected  and  persecuted  them 
ungratefully.     With   all  their  love,  they  could 


'  This  ia  more  than  doubtful.     But  Michelet  has  taken  pains 
to  prove  that  during  the  Middle  Age  the  witches  or  wise 


•  ♦' -a^'m ^Mtm-dJit-  «r»v>irf  jfc«4»  wa'A  ^  •^•#.'.-«-'«*»^>.-'A*. .  •.lib.**  tva-.-:. 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


never  attain  among  ns  to  a  home.  He  compares 
them  in  this  respect  to  the  elves  or  dwarfs,  who 
brought  to  the  feasts  of  their  greater  and  more 
powerful  enemies  everything  which  the  latter 
required,  but  who,  having  once  in  their  need 
taken  a  few  peas  from  a  field,  were  cruelly  beaten 
and  driven  from  the  country.  And  it  was  a  sad 
sight  to  see  how  the  poor  little  things  trotted 
by  night  over  the  bridge  like  a  herd  of  sheep, 
every  one  laying  down  a  small  coin  as  he  did  so 
nntil  a  barrel  was  filled.^ 

A  translation  of  "  Isabella  of  Egypt "  would  not 
only  give  the  French  an  idea  of  Von  Amim's 
writings,  but  also  show  that  all  the  fearful,  un- 
canny, horrible,  and  ghostly  tales  with  which  they 
have  of  late  industriously  tormented  themselves 
are,  as  compared  to  the  horrors  of  Von  Amim, 
only  the  rosy  morning  dreams  of  an  opera-dancer. 
In  all  the  fearful  tales  of  France  there  is  not,  put 


women  were  by  far  the  most  learned  class  in  an  empiric  or 
practical  knowledge  of  medicines,  and  some  of  this  was  un- 
doubtedly derived  from  the  gypsies. — Trandator. 

*  A  legend  probably  commemorating,  according  to  David 
MacRitchie  {vide  "  The  Testimony  of  Tradition  "),  the  exodus  of 
some  early  dwarf  race.  I  have  often  seen  in  New  England  a 
piece  of  ground  known  as  the  "  Last  Breakfast  Field."  When 
the  last  remnants  of  an  Indian  race  were  obliged  to  depart 
from  the  land  of  their  fathers  and  go  west,  they  assembled  and 
ate  their  last  home-meal  in  that  field.  This  field  is  near  Bye 
Beach. — Tramlator.  ..  > 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  «# 

together,  so  much  that  is  mysteriously  horrible 
as  in  the  coach  which  our  writer  sends  from 
Brussels,  and  in  which  the  following  persons  sit : — 

1.  An  old  gypsy  woman,  who  is  also  a  witch. 
She  seems  as  beautiful  as  the  Seven  Sins,  and 
flourishes  about  in  the  most  brilliant  gilt  and 
silken  array.  ^  ^ 

2.  A  dead  Barenhauter,*  who,  to  earn  a  few 
ducats,  has  risen  from  his  grave  and  engaged  him- 
self as  a  servant  for  seven  years.  He  is  a  bulky 
corpse,  clad  in  an  overcoat  of  white  bear-skin — 
whence  his  name — notwithstanding  which,  he  is 
always  shivering. 

3.  A  Golem,  that  is,  a  figure  of  clay  formed 
like  a  beautiful  woman,  and  who  acts  as  such. 
On  her  forehead,  hidden  by  her  black  locks,  is 
inscribed  in  Hebrew  letters  the  word  Trvih,  and 
should  this  be  wiped  away,  all  the  figure  will  fall 
lifeless  like  mere  earth. 

4.  The  Field-Marshal  Cornelius  Nepos,  who  is 
by  no  means  any  relation  to  the  celebrated  his- 
torian of  that  name,  and  who  cannot  even  boast 
descent  from  a  simple  citizen,  since  he  is  by  birth 
a  root,  an  Alraun,  which  the  French  call  man- 
dtagore,  a  mandrake.    This  grows  under  a  gallows- 

^  An  idler,  an  ancient  word,  from  a  proverb,  Aufder  Bdren- 
kaiU  leigen,  to  lie  on  the  bear-skin,  aa  did  the  savage  Grermana  ; 
here  perhaps  suggested  by  a  grenadier,  from  Barentnutze,  a 
bear-skiii  bat.     French  version,  Monsieur  Peau  d'Ouri, 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


tree  from  the  droppings  of  a  hanged  man.  It 
uttered  a  horrible  cry  when  Isabella  at  midnight 
tore  it  from  the  ground.  It  looked  like  a  dwarf, 
but  had  neither  eyes,  mouth,  nor  ears.  The  dear 
maid  stuck  two  black  juniper  berries  in  its  face, 
with  a  red  haw,  which  made  eyes  and  mouth. 
Then  she  put  a  little  millet  on  the  head,  which 
sprouted  like  hair,  but  roughly.  She  cradled  the 
monster  in  her  white  arms  when  it  wailed  like  a 
child;  kissed  his  hawthorn-berry  mouth  quite 
askew — yes,  almost  kissed  his  juniper  eyes  out  of 
his  head  for  love;  and  the  nasty  dwarf  was  so 
spoiled  by  snch  petting  that  he  must  needs  at 
last  be  a  field-marshal  and  put  on  the  uniform, 
and  so  acquired  the  title  of  one.^ 

There  are  four  fine  characters  for  you  !  Hake 
out  the  Morgue,  the  graveyard,  the  Cour  des 
Miracles,  and  all  the  pest-houses  of  the  Middle 
Age,  you  will  find  no  such  company  as  that  which 
travelled  in  a  single  coach  from  Broche  to  Brussels. 
Ye  French  must  at  last  see  that  the  horrible  is 
not  your  forte,  and  that  France  is  not  a  fit  soil 


^  French  version,  "EUe  baisait  si  fort  ses  l^vres  da  rose, 
qn'elle  lui  fit  presque  sortir  de  la  t4te  ses  yeux  de  grains  d'orge, 
et  le  g&ta  tellement  qu'il  voulut  ii  toute  force  dtre  feld-marechal. 
II  fallut  le  couvrir  de  ce  brillant  uniforme,  lui  conf^rer  ce  noble 
titre ;  et  c'^tait  Lord  Wellington  en  miniature. "  The  fullest 
details  as  to  the  origin  and  imitations  of  these  Alraun  or  man- 
drakes are  given  iu  the  AjUhrofodemia  Flutonictu  of  J.  Prsstorius, 
1666-67. 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.        -  # 

for  such  spectrea  When  ye  invoke  spirits  we 
must  laugh.  Yes,  we  Germans,  who  remain  serious 
and  sober  at  your  most  brilliant  witticisms,  must 
roar  with  laughter  at  your  ghost-stories.  For 
your  ghosts  are  all  French,  and  as  for  French 
spectres,  why,  it  is  a  contradiction  in  terma 
For  in  the  word  "ghost"  there  is  everything 
that  is  grim,  lonely,  growling,  German,  and  taciturn, 
and  in  "French"  all  that  is  social,  pleasant, 
French,  and  gossippy.  How  could  a  Frenchman 
be  a  phantom,  or  how  can  there  be  spectres  in 
Paris  ?  In  Paris,  in  the  foyer  of  European  society ! 
Between  twelve  and  one,  the  hour  allotted  to 
spectres,^  the  liveliest  life  rattles  in  the  streets  of 
Paris;  just  then  the  most  roaring  finale  of  the 
opera  resounds,  the  merriest  groups  stream  from 
the  Vari^t^s  and  the  Gymnase;  all  is  crowding 
and  capering,  laughing  and  chajfing  on  the 
Boulevards,  and  we  go  to  soirdes.  How  miserably 
must  a  poor  spooking  or  haunting  ghost  feel  in 
such  gay  and  festive  life!  And  how  could  a 
Frenchman,  even  if  he  were  dead,  keep  serious 
countenance  enough  to  haunt  where  the  merriest 
multitude  sweeps  round  on  every  side  ?  I  myself 
—German  as  I  am — were  I  dead,  and  had  to 


^  French  version,  "  Qai  est  de  toute  ^terniW  le  temps  assign^ 
aux  spectres,  la  vie  1»  plus  aoim^  k  repaad  encore  datxs  les 
roes  de  Paris.'' 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


haunt  or  spook  in  Paris  by  night,  could  certainly 
never  maintain  my  spectral  dignity  if  there  should 
suddenly  run  against  me  at  any  street  comer 
one  of  those  goddesses  of  frivolity  and  recklessness 
who  know  so  well  how  to  laugh  charmingly  at 
one  on  such  occasion.*  If  there  really  were  ghosts 
in  Paris,  I  am  convinced  that  the  French,  sociable 
as  they  are,  would  at  once  associate  as  such  and 
have  spectral  reunions,  set  up  a  ghostly  cafSy 
publish  a  Deadman's  Daily  and  a  Revue  de  Paris 
AfortCf  and  have  soiries  des  marts,  ou  Von  fera 
de  la  musique — mortal  soirees  where  there  would 
be  music  and  a  little  dancing.  I  am  sure  that 
ghosts  would  amuse  themselves  better  in  Paris 
than  do  the  living  with  us.  As  for  me,  did  I 
know  that  one  could  live  thus  after  death  in  Paris 
as  ghost,  I  would  no  longer  fear  death.  I  should 
simply  take  the  proper  measures  to  be  buried  at 
P^re  la  Chaise,  so  that  I  could  haunt  in  Paris  be- 
tween twelve  and  one.  What  a  happy  hour !  You, 
my  German  fellow-countrymen,  when  you  come 
to  Paris  and  meet  me  by  night  as  a  ghost,  be  not 
afraid,  for  I  shall  not  spook  it  in  the  awfully  un- 
happy German  fashion — no,  I  shall  be  spectreing 
for  my  own  amusement.  I 

And  as  I  have  read  in  all  ghost-stories  the 


^  Oddly  enough  this  passage  relative  to  the  goddesses  is  omitted 
in  the  French  venion. 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  U 

ghosts  of  men  haunt  the  spots  where  they  have 
left  bnried  treasures,  I  will,  out  of  careful  fore- 
sight, bury  a  few  sous  somewhere  on  the  Boule- 
vards. Hitherto  I  have  killed  money  in  Paris, 
but  never  buried  any.^ 

Oh  ye  poor  French  authors!  ye  shall  at  last 
understand  that  your  tales  of  terror  and  ghost 
stories  are  all  unfit  for  a  country  where  there  are 
either  no  ghosts,  or  where  they  are  as  socially 
cheerful  as  we  would  be  ourselves,  or  have  them 
be.  Ye  seem  to  me  like  children  who  hold  masks 
before  their  faces  to  frighten  one  another.^  They 
are  terribly  stem  masks,  but  merry  children's 
glances  shoot  through  the  eye-holes.  We  Ger- 
mans, on  the  contrary,  often  wear  the  most 
winsome,  youthful  masks ;  but  from  the  eyelets 
gleams  grim  and  grey  death.  You  are  a  dainty, 
amiable,  reasonable,  and  lively  race ;  and  the 
sphere  of  your  art  embraces  only  the  beautiful, 
the  noble,  and  human.  Your  earlier  writers 
saw  this,  and  you  the  later  will  soon  come  to 
the  same  conviction.  Let  alone  the  ghastly  and 
ghostly.  Leave  to  us  Germans  all  the  horrors 
of  madness,  of  fevered  dreams,  and  of  the  world 


^  This  passage  is  also  omitted  in  the  French. 

'  Probably  in  reference  to  a  beautiful  motive  often  repeated 
in  Roman  sculpture.  There  is  an  original  bas-relief  of  thi« 
subject  in  the  Mus^e  Fol  at  Geneva.  Bulwer  has  a  poem  in 
"  The  Last  Days  of  Pompeii "  suggested  by  it — Translator. 

VOL.  IL  C 


34 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


of  shadows.  Germany  is  a  far  better  country 
for  old  witches,  Golems  of  both  sexes,  and 
specially  for  field-marshals,  like  little  Cornelius 
Nepos.  On  the  other  side  of  the  Ehine  such 
spectres  may  flourish,  but  never  in  France- 
While  I  was  travelling  hither,  my  ghosts  accom- 
panied me  to  the  French  frontier.  There  they 
bade  me  sadly  adieu,  for  the  sight  of  the  tri- 
coloured  flag  scares  away  ghosts  of  every  kind. 

Oh,  I  would  gladly  stand  on  the  spire  of 
Strasburg  with  a  tri-coloured  flag  in  my  hand 
so  long  that  it  would  reach  to  Frankfort ;  and  I 
believe  that  when  I  should  wave  that  consecrated 
flag  over  my  dear  fatherland,  and  utter  the  proper 
words  of  invocation,  the  old  witches  would  fly 
away  on  their  broomsticks,  the  cold  Barenhauter 
creep  again  into  their  graves,  the  Golem  fall  into 
mere  clay,  field-marshal  Cornelius  Nepos  return 
to  the  place  whence  he  came,  and  the  whole 
spectral  delusion  be  at  end.^  i 


^  This  chapter  is  beautifully  and  brilliantly  written,  and  much 
knowledge  may  be  gained  from  it.  But,  judged  by  Heine's 
own  comments  on  Victor  Hugo,  these  remarks  as  to  the  relative 
capacity  for  horrors  in  France  and  Germany  are  really  baseless. 
Isabella  of  Egypt  and  the  stories  of  Hoffmann  seem  to  us  of 
the  present  day  simply  like  children's  fairy  tales,  and  a  mere 
riehauffage  of  mediaeval  trifles  ;  for  none  of  Von  Arnim's  man- 
drakes or  Golems  were  original  with  him.  But  Victor  Hugo 
was  the  leading  genius,  and  head  of  modem  French  literature, 
and  the  founder  of  a  great  school ;  and  compared  to  the  half- 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  35 

human,  half-unnatural  horrors  and  sensations  of  Nitre  Dame  de 
Paris,  and  "Hans  of  Iceland,"  all  of  the  characters  in  Grerman 
romantic  literature  are  mere  nursery  bugbears,  or  phantoms  on 
the  stage.  Heine  has  laid  stress  on  the  fact  that  Amim  and 
Hoffmann  excelled  in  horrors,  because  they  based  them  on 
nature  ;  and  by  this  standard  they  are  immeasurably  distanced 
by  Hugo  and  a  great  array  of  his  followers,  who  have  carried 
the  unnatural — that  is,  nature  distorted — to  a  degree  of  which 
Germany  never  had  any  conception  ;  yes,  even  into  utter  nasti* 
ness.  It  would  puzzle  Heine  to  reconcile  later  French  realism 
with  nothing  but  what  is  "beautiful,  noble,  and  human."  All 
the  horrors  of  German  literature  put  together  are  common* 
place  and  clean  and  decent  compared  to  the  works  of  Zola, 
which  are  "strictly  founded  on  nature."  It  should  be  here 
mentioned  that  with  this  chapter  the  first  German,  as  well 
as  the  first  French,  edition  of  the  Komantic  school  ended. 
— Trandatur. 


CHAPTER  III.  I 

It  is  as  difficult  a  matter  to  write  the  history 
of  Literature  as  Natural  History.  In  both  we 
occupy  ourselves  with  the  most  striking  pheno- 
mena. But  as  in  a  small  glass  of  water  there  is 
a  whole  world  of  marvellous  beings  which  manifest 
the  omnipotence  of  God  as  much  as  do  the  largest 
animals,  so  the  smallest  Almanac  of  the  Muses 
reveals  a  multitude  of  poetlings  who  are  to  the 
eyes  of  the  calm  investigator  as  interesting  as  the 
largest  elephants  of  literature.     God  is  great ! 

Most  literary  historians  really  give  us  a  his- 
tory like  a  well-arranged  menagerie,  and  show 
us  in  their  separate  cages  epic  mamma-lians, 
lyrical-serial  bird-poets,  dramatic  water-fowl  of 
watery  verse,  prosaic  amphibia  who  write  land 
and   sea    novels,   comical   odd-fish,^  and   so  on. 


^  Humoristiiche  Mdlutken.  In  English  comic  literature 
oysters  are  known  by  this  term  ;  and  I  have  seen  a  picture 
which  I  think  was  drawn  by  Hood  the  elder,  in  which  oysters 
with  droll  faces  on  their  shells  were  entitled  odd-fish.  I  do  not 
know  whether  in  referring  to  lyrical-serial  poets  Heine  bad  in 
his  mind  the  lyre-bird,  which  he  himself  not  infrequently 
resembles. — Trandator.  '    , 

36  ■  I       .. 


I 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL,  Jt 

Others,  on  the  contrary,  treat  such  history  practi- 
cally/ and  begin  with  the  primitive  feelings  of 
man,  which  developed  themselves  in  various  ages, 
and  finally  assumed  artistic  form;  that  is,  they 
begin  db  ovo,  like  the  historian  who  opened  the 
tale  of  the  Trojan  War  with  the  egg  of  Leda. 
Wherein  they — like  him — act  foolishly.  For  I  am 
convinced  that  if  the  eggs  of  Leda  had  been  made 
into  an  omelette,  Hector  and  Achilles  would  have 
encountered  one  another  all  the  same  before  the 
Skaic  gate,  and  fought  valiantly .^  Great  deeds, 
like  great  books,  do  not  spring  from  such  trifles 
— they  are  the  result  of  necessity,  they  are  con- 
nected with  the  course  of  the  sun,  moon,  and  stars, 
and  originate  perhaps  in  their  influence  on  the 
earth.  Deeds  are  the  results  of  ideas ;  but  how 
does  it  come  that  at  certain  times  certain  ideas 
make  themselves  so  preponderant  that  they  shape 
the  whole  life  of  human  beings,  their  drivings  and 
strivings,  their  thinking  and  writing,  and  in  the 
strangest  manner,'     Perhaps  it  is  time  to  write  a 

^  Pragmatitch,    In  the  French  version,  dogmatiquement. 

^  Heine  does  not  here  take  the  general  view.  The  French 
Revolution  was  inevitable  ;  bat  if  Louis  XVI.,  or  Robespierre, 
or  even  Mirabeau,  had  died  a  year  before  it  begun,  its  incidents 
and  details  would  have  certainly  been  very  different.  Which 
reminds  one  of  the  little  American  boy  who  said,  after  long 
reflection,  "Mother,  who  would  I  have  been,  supposin'  you'd 
married  somebody  else  ?  " 

'  This  passage  is  far  better  in  the  French  version.  "  Certaines 
id^  s'emparent  des  hommes  si  puissament,  qu'elles  changeut 


38  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

literary  astrology,  and  in  it  explain  the  appearance 
of  certain  ideas  or  of  certain  books  wherein  these 
reveal  themselves,  according  to  the  constellations 
of  starry  intellects.^ 

Or  does  the  advent  of  certain  ideas  correspond 
to  the  mere  temporary  wants  of  men  ?  Do  they 
seek  out  the  ideas  which  seem  to  give  authority 
to  their  desires  ?  In  fact,  men  are  always,  accord- 
ing to  their  most  secret  impulses,  true  doctri- 
naires; they  can  always  find  a  doctrine  to  justify 
what  they  detest  or  desire.  On  banyan  or  fast 
days,  when  pleasures  are  hard  to  attain,  they 
extol  the  doctrine  of  abstinence,  and  declare  that 
earthly  grapes  are  sour ;  when  times  are  better, 
and  it  becomes  easier  to  get  at  the  fruits  of  the 
flesh,  then  a  more  joyous  gospel  comes  to  light, 
which  preaches  life  with  all  its  sweets  and  its  full 
and  perfect  right  to  enjoyment. 

Are  we  getting  to  the  end  of  the  Christian 
Lent,  and  is  a  rosier  age  of  joy  dawning  on  us  ? 
And  what  form  will  the  joyous  doctrine  receive 
from  the  future  ? 

lenr  vie  entire  avec  ses  joies  et  ses  peines,  et  r^forment  en 
in^me  temps  rexpression  artistique  de  leur  pens^,  le  style." 
—  Trantlator. 

^  '*  Alls  der  Konstellation  der  Grestime  zu  erklaren. "  Oestim 
means  planet ;  but  there  is  gestimt,  from  Stirn,  a  brow,  forehead, 
or  brains,  which  suggests  thought.  The  French  version  (as 
usual)  evades  the  difficulty  by  simply  translating  it,  "d'apr^ 
les  constellations  des  etoiles." — Trantlator. 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  ;      3> 

The  foreshadowing  or  predicting  pictures  of  a 
race  are  in  the  hearts  of  its  literary  men,  and  a 
critic  who  dissects  a  new  poet  with  a  sufficiently 
sharp  knife  can  easily  prophesy  therefrom  how 
Germany  will  behave — as  from  the  entrails  of  an 
animal  sacrificed.  And  I,  as  literary  Chalchas, 
would  from  my  very  heart  with  this  intention 
gladly  sacrifice  some  of  our  young  poets,  were  I 
not  afraid  of  seeing  in  their  bowels  things  un- 
utterabla  For  one  cannot  investigate  our  more 
recent  German  literature  without  marching  into 
the  deepest  dominion  of  politics.  In  France, 
where  the  belletristic  authors  endeavour  to  keep 
clear  rather  more  than  they  should  from  the 
political  movements  of  the  time,  one  may  judge 
of  the  beaux  esprits  of  the  day  without  a  word  as 
to  the  day  itself.  But  on  the  other  side  of  the 
Rhine  such  writers  throw  themselves  headlong 
into  the  questions  of  the  time,  from  which  they 
were  so  long  excluded.  You  Frenchmen  have 
been  on  your  legs  for  fifty  years  at  such  work, 
and  are  now  tired ;  we  Germans  have  been  sittinsr 
all  that  time,  on  the  contrary,  over  the  study-table, 
commenting  old  classics,  and  would  now  like  to 
take  a  little  exercise.^ 


*  French  version,  "Restant  assis  dans  notre  cabinet  de 
travail,  occup^  k  d^velopper  des  syst^mes  de  philosopbie  tran- 
■cendentale,  ou  i,  commenter  lea  vieux  bouqnins  de  I'antiquit^," 
&c.  "  Connu,  connu,  connu."  Heine  is  good  at  sincere  Ger- 
man, but  terrible  in  affected  French. — Translator. 


40  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

The  same  cause  which  I  hare  mentioned  pre- 
vents me  from  doing  justice  to  an  author  of 
whom  Madame  de  Stael  has  given  only  casaal 
indication,  but  who  more  recently,  owing  to  the 
brilliant  and  clever  article  by  Philarete  Chasles, 
has  attracted  the  attention  of  the  French  publia* 
I  speak  of  Jean  Paul  Friedrich  Richter.  He  has 
been  called  der  Einzige  (the  Only  One),  a  most 
appropriate  term,  which  I  now  fully  understand 
for  the  first  time,  after  much  vain  reflection  as 
to  what  place  in  literary  history  should  be 
assigned  to  him.  He  appeared  almost  simul- 
taneously with  the  Romantic  school,  without 
taking  the  least  part  in  it,  nor  was  he  subse- 
quently in  any  way  allied  to  the  art  school  of 
Groethe.  He  was  alone  in  his  time,  because 
being  opposed  to  both  schools,  he  gave  himself 
entirely  to  that  time,  and  his  whole  heart  was 
full  of  it.  And  his  heart  and  his  works  were 
one  and  the  same.  This  peculiarity,  this  unity, 
also  appears  among  the  authors  of  the  Young 
Germany  of  this  our  time,  who  do  not  separate 
living  from   writing,  who  never  divide  politics 

^  Truly,  if  Professor  Chasles  was  brilliant  and  clever  in  this 
article,  he  must  have  been  unusually  inspired.  For  one  weary 
winter  did  I  listen  to  and  transcribe  his  lectures  on  German 
literature — that  iis  till  the  Revolution  of  1848  broke  up  all 
study  in  the  colleges — and  can  bear  witness  that  in  ten  years 
of  student  life  in  four  countries  I  never  heard  anything  so  flat 
and  dreary  as  his  discourses. — Translator.  1 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  41 

from  learning  and  science,  or  art  from  religion, 
and  who  are  at  the  same  time  artists,  tribunes, 
and  apostles. 

Yes,  I  repeat  the  word — Apostle,  for  I  know  of 
none  more  appropriate.  A  new  faith  inspires  them 
with  a  passion  of  which  the  writers  of  the  preced- 
ing age  had  no  presentiment.  This  is  the  faith 
in  Progress,  which  faith  sprang  from  knowledge 
and  scienca  We  have  measured  the  land,  weighed 
the  forces  of  nature,  counted  the  resources  of 
industry,  and  see  what  we  have  found — ^that 
the  earth  is  large  enough,  every  one  has  therein 
room  to  build  the  hut  of  his  happiness.  This 
world  can  feed  us  all  if  we  wish  to  work  instead 
of  living  on  one  another.  Then  it  will  be  super- 
fluous to  preach  heaven  to  the  greater  and  poorer 
class.^  The  number  of  these  learned  believers 
is  as  yet,  it  must  be  admitted,  small.  But  the 
time  is  coming  when  races  will  not  be  reckoned 
by  heads,  bat  by  hearts.  And  is  not  the  great 
heart  of  a  single  Heinrich  Laube  worth  more 
than  a  whole  Zoological  Garden  of  Baupachs  and 
comedians.^ 

I  have  mentioned  the  name  of  Heinrich  Laube, 

^  The  French  version  adds,  "  pour  ne  pas  leur  faire  enrier  le 
bonheor  dea  riches." 

*  In  amusing  and  direct  contradiction  to  this  theory  of  an 
agricultural  paradise  ia  which  every  man  is  to  inhabit  a  but  and 
raise  his  own  beans,  we  have  Heine's  fervid  declaration  that 
under  his  Socialistic  sjrstem  men  are  to  enjoy  all  the  luxuries  of 


-  t 


42 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


for  who  conld  speak  of  Young  Germany  without 
recalling  the  great  and  flaming  heart  which 
flashes  most  brilliantly  from  it.  Heinrich  Laube, 
one  of  the  writers  who  have  appeared  since  the 
Kevolution  of  July,  is  of  such  social  significance 
as  regards  Germany  that  his  real  weight  can- 
not be  as  yet  estimated.  He  has  all  the  good 
qualities  which  we  find  among  the  authors  of 
the  past  generation,  and  unites  to  them  the 
apostolic  zeal  of  Young  Germany.  "Withal,  his 
powerful  passion  is  softened  and  enlightened  by 
an  elevated  sense  of  art.  He  is  inspired  for  the 
Beautiful  as  much  as  for  the  Good ;  he  has  a  fine 
ear,  and  a  quick  eye  for  noble  form ;  and  vulgar 
natures  are  repulsive  to  him,  even  when  they 
appear  as  champions  for  the  noblest  patriotic 
sentiments.     This  sense  of  art,  which  is  in  him 


the  most  highly  aristocratic  life,  "nectar  and  ambrosia,  purple 
robes,  the  voluptuousness  of  perfumes,  dances  of  nymphs,  music 
and  comedies  ("Germany,  from  Luther  to  Kant"),  which  is  mani- 
festly impossible  if  there  is  to  be  "no  living  on  one  another," 
and  no  mutual  dependence  or  services.  None  of  Heine's  German 
friends  have  as  yet  proved  that  their  promised  paradise  will  be 
anything  but  a  well-ordered  poorhouse,  or  half-time  workhouse. 
That  waste  lands  in  any  part  of  the  world  may  be  cultivated  is 
a  discovery  which  is  as  old  as  Adam,  but  Young  Germany  has 
been  slow  to  realise  it,  or  to  attempt  it.  There  must  be  yet  a 
little  more  measuring,  weighing,  and  counting  the  resources  of 
nature,  ere  the  summum  honum  can  be  attained. 

In  the  French  version  all  from  the  reference  to  Laube  until 
Richter  is  resumed,  or  about  two  pages  of  the  Grerman,  is 
omitted. — Trantlator. 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  :  4J 

innate,  protected  him  from  the  great  errors  of 
that  patriotic  mob  which  still  continues  to  revile 
and  vilify  our  great  master,  Goetha 

In  this  relation  Herr  Karl  Gutzkow,  another 
writer  of  more  recent  time,  deserves  the  highest 
praise.  If  I  mention  him  after  Laube  it  is  by 
no  means  because  I  regard  him  as  less  talented, 
and  still  less  because  I  have  been  less  edified  by 
his  tendencies ;  no,  for  I  must  also  admit  that  Karl 
Gutzkow  possesses  the  most  admirable  gifts  of 
creative  power  and  critical  sense  of  art — his 
writings  also  delight  me  by  their  correct  concep- 
tion of  our  time  and  its  needs ;  but  in  all  which 
Laube  writes  there  prevails  a  far-sounding  re- 
pose, a  self-conscious  greatness,  a  still  serenity 
which  move  one  personally  more  than  the  pic- 
turesque, colour-gleaming,  and  stingingly-spiced 
vivacity  of  the  Gutzkow  spirit. 

Karl  Gutzkow,  whose  soul  is  full  of  poetry, 
must  needs,  like  Laube,  soon  withdraw  himself 
most  definitely  from  company  with  those  zealots 
who  despise  our  great  master.  The  same  may 
be  said  of  L.  Wienbarg  and  Gustav  Schlesier, 
two  most  distingaished  writers  of  recent  time, 
whom,  as  Young  Germany  is  here  in  question,  I 
cannot  pass  unmentioned.  They  deserve  indeed  to 
be  ranked  among  its  leaders,  and  their  names  have 
a  good  ring  in  the  land.  This  is  not  the  place 
in  which  to  describe  in  detail  their  abilities  and 


44  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

works.  I  have  wandered  too  far  from  my  theme, 
but  will  still  say  something  more  as  to  Jean  Paul. 
I  have  mentioned  how  Jean  Paul  Friedrich 
Richter  preceded  Young  Germany  in  its  chief 
tendency.  But  these  later  writers  have  avoided 
the  abstruse  confusion,  the  baroque-dry  depicting, 
and  the  unpleasant  style  of  the  Jean-Paul  writ- 
ings. Of  which  style  a  clear,  well-edited  French 
head  can  form  no  conception.  Jean  Paul's  con- 
struction of  periods  consists  of  nothing  but  cells, 
which  are  so  small  that  when  one  idea  meets  in 
them  with  another  their  heads  knock  together. 
On  the  ceiling  are  innumerable  hooks  on  which 
hang  all  kinds  of  ideas,  and  on  the  walls  around, 
secret  drawers  in  which  feelings  are  hidden.  No 
German  writer  is  so  rich  in  thoughts  and  feelings, 
but  he  never  lets  them  ripen,  and  he  more 
astonishes  than  refreshes  us  by  this  wealth  of 
wit  and  of  sentiment.  He  gives  us  ideas  and 
emotions  which  would  have  grown  to  be  vast 
trees  if  they  had  been  allowed  to  properly  take 
root  and  burgeon  forth  into  sprays  and  blossoms 
and  leaves,  which  are  often  mere  buds,  for  these 
he  tears  up  when  they  are  hardly  little  plants, 
or  only  sprouts,  and  so  whole  forests  of  intel- 
lect are  served  up  to  us  as  salads  on  a  common 
plate.  And  this  is  really  a  very  odd  and  unpalat- 
able food,  for  it  is  not  every  stomach  which  can 
digest  young  oaks,  cedars,  palms,  and  bananas  in 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  4$ 

sncB  a  quantity.  Jean  Paul  is  a  great  poet  and 
philosopher,*  but  no  one  could  be  more  inartistic 
than  he  in  form  or  thought.  He  brought  forth 
in  his  novels  truly  poetic  forms,  but  all  these 
births  drag  after  them  a  cord  with  which  they 
entangle  and  strangle  one  another.  Instead  of 
thoughts  he  gives  us  his  own  thinking — we  see 
the  material  action  of  his  brain ;  he  gives  us,  so 
to  speak,  more  brain  than  thought.  His  witti- 
cisms hop  about  in  every  direction,  like  the  fleas 
of  his  heated  intellect.  He  is  the  merriest,  and, 
at  the  same  time,  the  most  sentimental  of  writers ; 
in  fact,  sentiment  has  always  with  him  the  upper 
hand,  and  his  laughter  turns  abruptly  into  tears. 
And  very  often  he  disguises  himself  as  a  beggarly, 
coarse  fellow;  when  all  at  once,  like  the  prince 
incognito  whom  we  see  on  the  stage,  he  unbuttons 
his  rough  overcoat,  and  we  suddenly  behold  the 
shining  star. 

Herein  Jean  Paul  is  quite  like  the  great  Irish- 

*  French  version,  "  et  aussi  quelque  peu  philosophe."  As  if 
one  Bhoold  say  of  Rembrandt  that  "  he  painted  a  little. "  Heine 
appears  to  be  quite  unconscious  that  in  the  ensuing  dry  and 
laboured  conceits  he  is  himself  imitating  Jean  Paul,  without 
the  wit  of  the  latter.  The  fleas  are,  however,  omitted  in  the 
French  version.  On  the  whole,  he  very  truly  describes  all  the 
faults  of  Jean  Paul  Richter,  but  manifestly  did  not  grasp  him 
as  a  whole,  or  do  justice  to  his  practical  genius.  He  does  not, 
for  example,  mention  the  Vorsehule  der  ^aihetik,  which  is  quite 
free  from  Richter's  usual  grotesques,  and  which  I — aalva  venia 
(speaking  under  correction),  regard  as  one  of  the  great  works  of 
German  literatiire. — Trandator. 


46 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


man  to  whom  he  has  so  oflea  been  compared. 
The  author  of  "  Tristram  Shandy,"  when  he  has 
lost  himself  in  the  coarsest  trifling,  knows  how  by 
a  sudden  sublime  change  to  show  us  his  princely 
dignity  and  near  alliance  to  Shakespeare.  Jean 
Paul  has,  like  Laurence  Sterne,  made  himself 
personally  important  in  his  writings ;  he  has  also 
shown  himself,  like  the  latter,  in  his  human  naked- 
ness, but  with  a  certain  awkward  shame,  especially 
as  to  sexual  nudity.  Sterne  shows  himself  stark- 
naked  to  the  public,  while  Jean  Paul  has  only 
holes  in  his  trousers.^  Certain  critics  are  wrong 
in  believing  that  Jean  Paul  had  more  real  feeling 
than  Sterne,  because  the  latter,  as  soon  as  the 
subject  which  he  treats  has  reached  a  tragic 
height,  at  once  breaks  out  into  the  most  mocking 
and  merry  tone  ;  while  Jean  Paul,  on  the  contrary, 
when  there  is  the  least  earnestness  in  a  jest,  be- 
gins slowly  to  make  sad  faces,  and  calmly  lets  his 
teardrops  trickle  down.  No;  Sterne  feels  per- 
haps more  deeply  than  Jean  Paul,  because  he  is  a 
greater  poet  As  I  said,  he  is  of  equal  birth  with 
William  Shakespeare,  and  the  muses  brought 
him,  Laurence  Sterne,  also  upon  Parnassus.  But 
in  woman-fashion  they  soon  spoiled  him  by  their 
caresses.  He  was  the  nursling  of  the  pale 
goddess  of  tragedy.  Once  in  a  fit  of  cruel  tender- 
ness she  kissed  his  young  heart  so  powerfully,  so 

^  The  French  version  adds,   "sa  nudity  est  plutot  ridicule 
qu'  ideale." 


THE  ROidANTIC  SCHOOL.  47 

passionately,  sucking  it  with  such  mad  love,  that 
it  began  to  bleed,  when,  lo !  all  at  once  it  under- 
stood all  the  suflFerings  of  this  world,  and  was 
filled  with  infinite  compassion.  Poor  young  poet's 
heart !  But  the  younger  daughter  of  Mnemosyne, 
the  rosy  goddess  of  jest  and  laughter,  ran  quickly 
up,  and  took  the  suffering  boy  in  her  arms,  and 
tried  to  cheer  him  with  smiles  and  singing,  and 
gave  him  her  comic  mask  and  jester's  bells,  and 
soothingly  kissed  his  lips,  and  with  that  kiss 
there  passed  into  his  soul  all  her  light-heartedness, 
all  her  daring  recklessness  and  witty  mockery. 

From  that  time  the  heart  and  lips  of  Sterne 
were  in  strange  contradiction,  for  many  a  time 
when  his  heart  is  tragically  moved,  and  he  would 
give  utterance  to  the  deepest,  bleeding  feelings 
of  his  heart,  then  to  his  own  amazement  there 
leaps  from  his  lips  the  most  delightful  merry 
words.     Alas,  poor  Yorick !  ^ 

1  "  Pauvre  Yorrik  ! "  occurs  only  in  the  French  version. 

These  last  pages  are  verj  interesting,  because  Heine  had 
taken  Sterne  more  to  heart  than  any  other  has  ever  dune,  and 
owed  more  to  him  than  to  any  writer  of  any  country  whatever. 
In  fact,  what  Rabelais  and  bis  kin  and  kind  had  been  to 
Sterne,  the  latter  was  to  the  German,  and  these  concluding 
remarks  conceal  such  a  deep  and  sincere  feeling  of  love,  sym- 
pathy, and  gratitude,  that  much  of  it  might  escape  us  did  we 
not  know  the  truth.  I  possess  a  rare  old  book  devoted  to 
pointing  out  all  the  literary  sources  of  Sterne's  genius  ;  such  a 
work  on  Heine  would  be  very  interesting,  and  first  on  the  list 
I  would  place  Sterne,  but  for  whom  the  Rei»ebiLder  would  per- 
haps have  never  been  written. — Trandator. : 


CHAPTER  IV.  I 

There  was  among  the  people  in  the  Middle  Age 
a  prevalent  belief  that  when  a  building  was  to  be 
erected  one  should  slay  some  living  thing  and 
place  the  foundation-stone  on  its  blood,  by  means 
of  which  the  structure  would  remain  firm  and 
fast  for  ever.^     Whether  this  was  an  old  heathen 


1  A  German,  whose  name  I  cannot  now  recall,  has  written  a 
very  curious  work  on  this  subject.  There  is,  however,  much 
relating  to  it  in  Bechstein  {Sagen  det  Grabfddea,  No.  156. 
Vide  his  Dewtachea  Sagenbuch,  No.  729).  In  the  Bayeritche 
Sagen  und  Brauche,  von  Friedrich  Panzer,  Munchen,  1848, 
there  is  a  chapter  on  Jiinmauem,  in  which  several  curious 
traditions  relative  to  it  are  given,  chiefly  referring  to  children 
thus  sacrificed.  In  earlier  ages  it  was  invariably  a  human  being 
who  was  walled  up  alive.  In  later  times  a  cock  was  substituted, 
and  subsequently  an  egg,  and  this  latter  form  of  fetish  was 
continued  till  comparatively  recent  times.  Then  other  objects 
were  offered  always  for  luck,  and  this  custom  prevails  to  the 
present  day,  in  placing  coins,  newspapers,  and  other  memorials 
in  foundation-stones.  Vide  Friedrich,  Symbolik,  p.  570.  The 
real  object  of  so  doing,  as  appears  from  many  legends,  was  to 
conciliate  or  appease  the  local  spirit  of  the  hill,  or  other  place 
where  the  ground  was  disturbed  for  the  foundations.  The 
superstition  is  far  older  than  Christianity,  and  it  was  the  latter 
which  deprived  it  uf  its  bloody  character. — I'ratuUUor.  , 

48  - 


i-i-« 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  49 

lunatic  fancy  that  the  favour  of  the  gods  was  won 
bj  a  blood-offering,  or  a  misconception  of  the 
Christian  atonement,  which  produced  this  belief 
in  the  miraculous  power  of  blood,  of  healing  by 
blood,  and  in  blood  generally — enough  to  say,  it 
prevailed,  and  in  lays  and  legends  lives  the  fear- 
ful fact  that  children  and  animals  were  slain  to 
insure  great  buildings  with  their  blood. 

To-day  mankind  has  more  sense.  We  no  longer 
believe  in  the  miraculous  power  of  blood,  be  it 
in  a  nobleman  or  a  god,  and  the  multitude  put 
faith  only  in  money.  Does  the  religion  of  to-day 
consist  in  the  monetisation  of  the  Deity,  or 
the  deification  of  money  ?  ^  Enough,  the  people 
believe  in  money  only;  it  is  the  coined  metal, 
the  silver  and  golden  pyxes,  in  which  they  think 
that  virtue  lies;  gold  is  the  beginning  and  end 
of  all  their  works,  and  when  they  have  a  great 
building  to  erect  they  take  care  that  a  few  coins 
of  different  kinds  are  placed  in  a  capsule  under 
the  foundation-stone. 

Yes,  just  as  in  the  Middle  Age  all  things,  all 
buildings,  including  the  whole  edifice  of  Church 
and  State,  were  based  on  the  belief  in  blood,  so  do 


^  "  Besteht  nun  die  hentige  Religion  in  der  Geldwerdung 
Gottes,  Oder  in  der  Gottwerdung  des  Geldea  ? "  I  am  indebted 
to  the  American  newspapers  for  the  verb  "  to  monetise,"  i.e.,  to 
convert  into  money.  "  On  prend  son  bien  oix  il  le  trouve." — 
Trarulator. 

VOL.  U.  "vft'V- 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


all  onr  institutions  of  the  present  day  rest  on  the 
faith  in  money,  and  in  money  alone.  That  was 
superstition,  this  is  clear  current  egoism.  The 
first  was  destroyed  by  reason,  the  latter  will  be 
destroyed  by  sentiment.  The  foundation  of  society 
will  sometime  be  better,  and  all  the  great  hearts 
of  Europe  are  painfully  busied  in  endeavouring  to 
find  it  out. 

Perhaps  it  was  irritation  at  this  prevalent  faith 
in  money,  or  revolt  at  the  egoism  which  they  saw 
gfrinning  out  everywhere,  which  inspired  certain 
poets  of  the  Romantic  school  in  Germany,  who 
had  deeply  honourable  feelings,  to  take  refuge 
from  the  present  in  the  past,  and  attempt  the 
restoration  of  the  Middle  Age.  This  may  have 
been  specially  the  case  with  those  who  did  not 
form  the  actual  coterie.  To  these  latter  belonged 
the  writers  of  whom  I  have  specially  treated  in 
the  second  book,  after  having  discussed  the 
Romantic  school  in  general  in  the  first.  It  was 
only  on  account  of  their  literary-historical  im- 
portance, not  from  their  intrinsic  merit,  that  I 
at  first,  and  in  detail,  spoke  of  the  members  of 
this  coterie,  who  all  worked  in  common.  There- 
fore I  trust  I  may  not  be  misjudged  because  I 
have  given  to  Zacharias  Werner,  Baron  de  la 
Motte  Fouqu^,  and  Ludwig  Uhland,  a  later  and 
scantier  notice.  These  three  authors  deserve  to 
be  treated  more  in  detail,  and  more  highly  praised. 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  51 

than  the  others  alluded  to.  For  Zacharias  Werner 
was  the  only  dramatist  of  the  school  whose  pieces 
were  played,  and  also  applauded  by  the  pit. 
Baron  de  la  Motte  Fouqu^  was  the  only  epic  poet 
of  the  school  whose  romances  were  read  by  the 
entire  public,  and  Ludwig  Uhland  was  the  only 
lyric  writer  among  the  Eomanticists  whose  songs 
sunk  into  the  hearts  of  the  multitude,  and  which 
still  live  in  the  mouths  of  men. 

From  this  point  of  view  these  three  poets  take 
place  before  Tieck,  whom  I  have  praised  as  one  of 
the  best  writers  of  the  school  For  Tieck,  al- 
though the  theatre  is  his  hobby,  and  though  he  has 
been  familiar  from  a  child  with  the  world  of  comedy 
and  its  minutest  details,  has  never  yet  succeeded 
in  moving  from  the  stage  men's  hearts  as  Zacha- 
rias Werner  has  done.  Tieck  has  always  required 
a  domestic  public  to  whom  he  could  declaim  his 
poems,  and  whose  applause  was  to  be  securely 
anticipated.  While  de  la  Motte  Fouqu^  was  read 
with  equal  delight  by  every  one,  from  the  duchess 
to  the  washerwoman,  and  shone  as  the  sun  of  the 
circulating  libraries,  Tieck  was  only  the  astral 
lamp  of  evening  tea-parties,  where  the  cultured 
guests,  illuminated  by  his  poetry,  sipped  their  tea 
in  perfect  peace  while  listening  to  the  reading  of 
his  romances.  The  strength  of  such  poetry  would 
naturally  appear  by  contrast  with  that  of  the 
refreshment ;  and  in  Berlin,  where  people  drink 


.<A 


52  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

the  weakest  of  tea,  Tleck  would  naturally  seem 
to  be  one  of  the  strongest  of  poets.  While  the 
songs  of  our  admirable  Uhland  rang  in  forest 
and  valley,  and  are  still  bellowed  by  wild  students 
and  lisped  by  tender  misses,  not  one  song  of 
Tieck's  ever  sunk  into  our  hearts,  not  one  re- 
mained in  our  ears,  nor  does  the  multitude  know 
one  ballad  by  the  great  lyric  writer.^ 

Zacharias  Werner  was  bom  in  Konigsberg  in 
Prussia  on  the  i8th  November  1768.  His  union 
with  the  Schlegels  was  only  sympathetic,  never 
personal.  Far  away  from  them  he  felt  what  they 
sought,  and    did    his    best    to  poetise   in  their 

^  If  to  be  sung  by  the  multitude,  when  accompanied  by  very 
popular  airs,  were  any  proof  of  poetical  talent,  then  Koemer, 
whose  verses  Heine  describes  as  very  bad,  was  a  far  better 
poet  than  Heine  himself.  Herlossen,  a  Romanticist,  who  wrote 
the  Letzte  Taborit,  which  supplied  the  ground  or  sketch  to 
George  Sand  for  "  Consuelo  "  (and  whom  Heine  does  not  even 
mention),  was  the  author  of  "  Wenn  die  Schwalben  heimwarts 
idehen  "  (from  the  Bueh  dcr  Liebe),  which  song  was  never  heard 
of  till  Abt,  long  after  it  was  published,  composed  the  air  to  it  by 
which  it  is  now  as  well  known  as  any  song  in  the  German 
language.  A  careful  examination  of  a  very  cheap  and  popular 
Volkdiederbueh  of  500  pages  (Vienna,  1862)  convinces  me  that 
the  melody  constitutes  nine-tenths  of  the  popularity  of  all  these 
lyrics,  and  it  is  more  generally  associated  to  an  indifferent  {i.e., 
to  a  smoothly  singable)  poem  than  to  a  song  with  sense. 
Heine's  own  piano-ballad,  "  Du  hast  Diamenten,"  which  has  been 
more  sung  than  anything  which  he  ever  wrote,  is  his  feeblest 
production,  and  all  unworthy  of  him.  An  honest  history  of 
popular  songs  would  be  more  one  of  musicians  than  writers. — 
TremiltUor. 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  U 

Bpirit.  But  he  could  only  develop  inspiration 
for  the  Restoration  of  the  Middle  Ages  one- 
sidedly,  that  is,  on  the  hierarchic-catholic  side; 
the  feudal  spirit  of  the  ancient  time  did  not  by 
any  means  excite  him  so  warmly.  Regarding 
this  his  fellow-countryman,  T.  A.  Hoffmann,  has 
narrated  something  remarkable  in  the  Serdpions- 
hrudem.  For  he  tells  us  that  Werner's  mother 
was  disordered  in  her  mind,  and  believed  while 
enceinte  that  she  was  the  mother  of  God,  and  was 
about  to  give  birth  to  the  Saviour.  And  Werner's 
mind  bore  through  all  his  life  the  birth-mark  of 
this  religious  delirium.  All  his  works  abound  in 
frightful  fanaticism.  One  of  them,  the  "  Twenty- 
fourth  of  February,"  is,  however,  free  from  such 
fancies,  and  has  a  place  among  the  best  produc- 
tions of  our  dramatic  literature.  It  has  excited 
on  the  stage,  far  more  than  anything  else  by  the 
same  author,  the  greatest  enthusiasm.  His  other 
dramatic  works  have  been  less  successful  with 
the  multitude,  because  with  all  his  energy  and 
vitality  the  poet  was  almost  utterly  ignorant  of 
adaptation  to  stage  requisites. 

Criminal-councillor  Hitzig,  the  biographer  of 
HoflFmann,  has  also  written  the  life  of  Werner.  It 
is  a  conscientious  work,  as  interesting  to  the 
psychologist  as  to  the  literary  historian.  As  I 
was  recently  told,  Werner  was  for  some  time  here 
in  Paris,  where  he  was  especially  amused  at  thd 


y^^tyT"  "  w.^.-^»'My,  j::  '^tm^mt^^^^  't     ■  >        • ' •#iifcHii*::«aito- ^^ m 


54 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


peripatetic  female  philosophers  who  in  those  dayi 
wandered  of  evenings  in  brilliant  array  in  the 
galleries  of  the  Palais  Royal.  They  capered  after 
him,  mocking  him  and  laughing  at  his  odd  dress 
and  odder  manners.  Those  were  the  good  old 
times !  Ah !  in  later  days  both  the  Palais  Eoyal 
and  Zacharias  Werner  changed  sadly;  the  last 
lamp  of  gaiety  (Lust)  was  extinguished  in  the  mind 
of  the  sorrowing  man.  In  Vienna,  he  entered  the 
order  of  the  Ligurians,  and  preached  in  the  Church 
of  Saint  Stephen  over  the  nothingness  of  all 
worldly  things.  He  had  found  out  that  all  on 
earth  is  vanity.  The  girdle  of  Venus  he  now 
declared  was  a  nasty  snake,  and  sublime  Juno 
wore  under  her  white  robes  a  pair  of  postillion's 
leather-breeches,  not  over  clean.  Father  Zacharias 
now  chastened  himself,  and  fasted,  and  cried  with 
zeal  against  our  stubborn  love  for  worldly  lusts. 
"  Accursed  is  the  flesh ! "  he  cried  so  loudly,  and 
in  such  a  harsh  East  Prussian  accent,  that  the 
images  of  the  saints  in  Saint  Stephen  trembled, 
and  the  Vienna  grisettes  laughed  charmingly. 
In  addition  to  this  important  piece  of  news  he 
constantly  assured  people  that  he  was  a  great 
sinner.  1 

If  we  consider  him  closely,  the  man  was  always 
consistent,  except  that  at  first  he  only  sung  or 
preached  what  he  afterwards  practised.  The 
heroes  of  most  of  his  dramas  are  monkish  lovers 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  55 

or  ascetic  lechers,  who  have  discovered  in  ab- 
stinence a  refinement  of  pleasure,  who  spiri- 
tualise their  lasciviousnesa  by  martyrdom  of  the 
flesh,  and  who,  like  holy  raJkes,  realise  in  the 
depths  of  religious  mysticism  the  most  terrible 
ecstasies. 

Not  long  before  his  death  the  delight  in  dra- 
matic composition  again  awoke  in  Werner,  and 
he  wrote  one  more  tragedy,  entitled  Die  Mutter 
der  Makkdbder  ("  The  Mother  of  the  Macbabees  "). 
But  here  there  was  no  attempt  to  festoon  the  pro- 
fane seriousness  of  life  with  romantic  jests.  To  the 
holy  material  he  adapted  a  broadly-spread  eccle- 
siastic tone;  the  measures  are  as  solemnly  mea- 
sured as  the  knelling  of  church-bells ;  all  moves 
as  gravely  as  a  Good  Friday  procession.  It  is  a 
legend  of  Palestine  in  the  form  of  a  Greek  tragedy. 
The  piece  had  small  success  among  mortals  here 
below,  whether  it  pleased  the  angels  above  any 
better  is  more  than  I  know.  But  Father  Zacharias 
died  soon  after,  in  the  beginning  of  1823,  afber 
he  had  wandered  more  than  fifty-four  years  on 
this  sinful  earth.i 

We  will  let  the  departed  rest  in  peace  and  tnm 

^  All  of  Heine's  scandalous  anecdotes,  petty  gossip,  and  personal 
ridicule,  whether  it  be  of  Werner  or  the  Schlegels,  or  any  one, 
should  always  b«  taken  with  very  large  grains  of  doubt.  It  is 
to  be  observed  that  he  always  has  a  discreditable  story  from 
some  invariably  anonymous  friend,  or  an  on  dit,  wherewith 


"^•*^'   ■      ,■.    ,    ■   •    •  '   't-i^-'il'     •'  •*  ^'-v     ^ 


56 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


to  the  second  poet  of  the  Romantic  triamTirate. 
This  is  the  excellent  Baron  Frederic  de  la  Motte 
Fouqu^,  who  was  bom  in  the  Mark  Brandenburg, 
in  the  year  i  yyy,  and  appointed  professor  in  the 
University  of  Halle  in  1833.  He  was  formerly 
a  major  in  the  Royal  Prussian  military  service, 
and  belonged  to  the  heroes  of  song,  or  singers  of 
heroes,  whose  Lyre  and  Sword  rang  most  loudly 
during  the  so-called  War  of  Freedom.  His  laurel 
is  of  the  real  kind.^  He  is  a  true  poet,  and  the 
consecration  of  poetry  rests  on  his  head.  Few 
writers  have  been  so  universally  popular  as  our 
admirable  Fouqu^.  He  still  has  his  readers,  but 
only  among  the  patrons  of  circulating  libraries. 
But  this  public  is  always  large  enough,  and 
Fouqu^  can  boast  that  he  is  the  only  member  of 
the  Romantic  school  whose  writings  have  been 
popular  with  the  lower  classes.  While  people 
in  the  aesthetic  tea-circles  of  Berlin  turned  up 
their  noses  when  speaking  of  the  decayed  noble- 
man, I  met  in  a  village  among  the  Harz  mountains 
with  a  very  beautiful  girl  who  spoke  of  Fouqu^ 

to  defile  those  whom  be  wishes  to  ridicule.  It  may  well  be 
doubted  if  there  be  a  word  of  truth  in  all  this  tittle-tattle,  and 
if  it  be  true  it  is  far  more  discreditable  to  Heine  than  to  his 
''antipathies."  He  has  a  great  reputation  as  a  satirist,  yet 
there  is  no  case  in  which  he  does  not  disgrace  himself  far  more 
than  his  victim.     Tempora  mutantur. — TrantUUor. 

^  French  version,  "  son  laurier  est  de  meilleur  aloi  que  oelui 
de«  Tyrt^  contemporains. "  1 


,  ■■■  _■   '      ,.  "  I' 


'-.<».'*.? 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  $f 

with  rapture,  and  who  blushing  confessed  that 
she  would  give  a  year  of  her  life  for  one  kiss  from 
the  author  of  "  Undine."  And  this  girl  had  the 
most  beautiful  lips  which  I  ever  beheld ! 

But  what  a  wondrously  lovely  poem  is  "Undine !" 
It  is  a  kiss  in  itself;  the  genius  of  poetry  kissed 
Spring  while  she  slept,  and  she  awoke  smiling, 
and  all  the  roses  gave  forth  perfume,  and  all  the 
nightingales  sang,  and  what  was  sung  and  breathed 
Fouqu^  put  into  words  and  called  it  "  Undine." 

I  do  not  know  whether  this  novel  has  been 
translated  into  French.^  It  is  the  story  of  the 
beautiful  water-fairy,  who  has  no  soul,  and  can 
only  attain  to  one  by  marrying  a  mortal;  but, 
alas,  she  gains  with  this  soul  all  human  sorrows, 
her  knightly  spouse  is  unfaithful,  and  she  kisses 
him  dead.     For  in  this  book  death  is  only  a  kisa 

Undine  may  be  regarded  as  the  muse  of  Fouqu6. 
But  though  she  is  infinitely  beautiful,  and  suffers 
like  us,  and  is  so  tormented  with  earthly  sorrows, 
she  is  still  a  supernatural  being.  This  our  age 
rejects  all  such  aerial  and  watery  forms,  however 
beautiful  they  may  be ;  it  demands  actually  living 
beings ;  least  of  all  does  it  care  for  nixies,  who 
are  in  love  with  noble  knights.  That  was  the 
case.     The  going  back  to  the  past,  the  endless 


^  It  hod,  however,  at  this  time  appeared  as  a  translation  in 
America,  and  been  put  on  the  stage  as  a  drama,  probably  after 
English  versions. 


58 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


praise  of  noble  birth,  the  incessant  exaltation  of 
old  feudal  forms,  the  never-ceasing  knight- 
errantry,  at  last  became  repalsive  to  the  middle 
class  of  the  German  people,  and  they  turned  away 
from  the  poet  behind  his  time.  In  fact  this  ever- 
lasting sing-song  of  harness,  steeds  in  tourna- 
ments, chatelaines,  fair  damosels,  monks,  love- 
worship  and  religion,  or  whatever  the  mediaeval 
properties  were  called,  became  at  last  tiresome; 
and  as  the  ingenious  hidalgo,  Friedrich  de  la 
Motte  Fouqu^,  buried  himself  more  and  more 
in  his  books  of  chivalry,  and  lost,  in  dreams  of 
the  past,  all  comprehension  of  the  present  time, 
even  his  best  friends  turned  away  from  him, 
shaking  their  heads. 

The  works  which  he  wrote  in  this,  his  deca- 
dence, are  hardly  readable.  In  them  all  the  faults 
of  his  former  writings  are  carried  to  extremes. 
His  knights  consist  of  iron  and  kind  feeling,  they 
have  neither  flesh  nor  reason.  His  women  are 
only  images,  or  rather  dolls  whose  golden  tresses 
roll  beautifully  down  over  charming  flower-like 
faces.  Fouqu^'s  chivalric  novels  remind  us,  like 
the  works  of  Walter  Scott,  of  Gobelin  tapestry, 
which  by  their  rich  design  and  splendid  colour 
please  our  eyes  more  than  our  souls.^     These  are 


1  A  remark  which  abnndkntly  indicates  how  very  far  Heine 
was  from  comprehending  the  true  spirit  of  Scott's  norels,  or  that 


i 
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THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL,  59 

deeds  of  chivalry,  pastoral  sports,  dnels,  antique 
costumes — all  beautifully  brought  together,strange 
and  wonderful,  yet  without  deep  meaning  ;  works 
showy,  yet  superficial.  Among  the  imitators  of 
Fouqu^,  as  among  those  of  Walter  Scott,  this 
fashion  of  setting  forth  the  mere  outside  of  men 
and  things,  instead  of  their  inner  nature,  is  de- 
veloped in  a  much  more  melancholy  manner. 
This  flat  and  easy  fashion  of  writing  flourishes 
rankly  among  writers  to-day  in  Germany  as  well 
as  in  England  and  France.  And  even  when  the 
subjects  are  not  taken  from  chivalry,  but  from 
modem  circumstance  and  condition,  still  it  is  the 
same  manner,  which,  instead  of  grasping  the  inner 
reality  of  life,  gives  us  its  external  accidents. 
Instead  of  knowledge  of  mankind  our  modem 
writers  display  only  knowledge  of  clothes,  basing 
themselves  probably  on  the  saying  that  clothes 
make  the  man.  How  different  was  the  case 
among  the  older  novelists,  especially  the  English ! 
Bichardson  gives  us  the  anatomy  of  sentiment ; 
Goldsmith  practically  analyses  the  movements  of 
the  hearts  of  his  heroes ;  the  author  of  "  Tristram 

■Qthor's  genius.  It  is  worth  observing,  however,  that  in  "  Shak»- 
Bpeare's  Maidens  and  Women  "  (Princess  Katherine)  our  author 
declares  that  Walter  Scott  surpassed  Shakespeare  in  the  art 
«i  setting  forth  the  Oeitt,  i&,  tiie  spirit,  or  deep  inner  life  of 
(dasses  and  races,  by  characteristic  speech.  In  this  passage  tha 
word  Gobdin  is  sagaciously  omitted  in  the  French  Tersioo.— 
Tnmdator. 


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THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  6i 

The  number  of  Fouqu6*s  romances  is  legion,  for 
he  is  one  of  the  most  prolific  writers.  Ber  Zau' 
herring  ("  The  Magic  King ")  and  Thiodolph  der 
Islander  ("  Thiodulf  the  Islander ")  deserve  men- 
tion with  special  praise.  His  metrical  dramas,  not 
meant  for  the  stage,  contain  great  beaaties.  Sigurd 
der  Schlangentodter  ("  Sigurd  the  Dragon-killer ") 
is  especially  a  bold  work,  in  which  the  old  Scandi- 
navian heroic  saga  is  mirrored  with  all  its  giants 
and  scenes  of  sorcery.  The  chief  character  of  the 
drama,  Sigurd,  is  a  tremendous  being.  He  is  as 
strong  as  the  cliffs  of  Norway,  and  wild  as  the  sea 
which  beats  on  them.  He  has  the  courage  of  a 
hundred  lions  and  as  much  sense  as  two  asses. 

Fouqu^  has  also  written  poems  which  are  grace 
and  tenderness  perfected.  They  are  so  light,  gaily- 
coloured,  glancing,  lightly  fluttering — one  may 
call  them  lyrical  humming-birds. 

But  a  real  writer  of  songs  is  Ludwig  Uhland, 
who,  bom  at  Tubingen  in  1787,  now  lives  as  a 
lawyer  in  Stuttgart  This  writer  has  written  a 
volume  of  poems,  two  tragedies,  and  two  disser- 
tations on  Walter  von  der  Yogelweide,  and  the 
French  Troubadours.  The  latter  are  two  small 
works  of  historical  investigation  which  indicate 
thorough  study  of  the  Middle  Agea  His  tragedies 
are  Ludwig  der  Baier  ("Louis  the  Bavarian"), 
and  Herzog  Ernst  von  Schwdben  ("  Duke  Ernest  of 
Suabia").    I  have  not  read  the  former,  and  I  am  told 


f4  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

executioner  and  his  yictim),  now  became  open 
enemies.  The  actors  songht  to  banish  poets 
utterly  from  the  theatres,  under  the  pretext  that 
they  knew  nothing  of  the  requirements  of  the 
stage,  nothing  of  bold  effects  and  coups  de  thMtre, 
such  as  the  actors  who  had  practically  learned 
them,  knew  how  to  realise.  The  comedians,  or  as 
they  prefer  to  call  themselves,  the  artists,  there- 
fore played  by  preference  in  their  own  plays,  or  in 
such  as  had  been  composed  for  them  by  one  of 
themselves.  And  in  fact  such  works  were  exactly 
what  they  wanted ;  in  them  they  found  their 
favourite  costumes,  their  flesh-coloured  stockinet- 
poetry,  their  applauded  exits,  traditional  grimaces, 
gold-leaf  phrases — all  their  affected  or  sham  art- 
Bohemianism :  a  language  only  heard  upon  the 
stage,  flowers  which  only  grow  on  this  make- 
believe  soil,  fruits  which  ripened  in  the  light  and 
heat  of  the  footlights,  a  nature  in  which  there 
was  not  the  breath  of  God  but  that  of  the  prompter, 
wild  passions  which  made  the  scenery  shake,  soft 
melancholy  accompanied  by  the  lascivious  pleasing 
of  the  flute,  rouged  innocence  with  the  trap-door 
abysses  into  which  crime  is  hurled,  monthly  salary 
sentiments,  peals  of  trumpets,  and  so  forth.^ 

^  As  was  to  be  expected,  all  of  this  passage  relative  to  the 
theatre  ia  admirably  given  in  French.     It  is  as  follows : — 

"  Edans  le  fait  ces  pieces  r^pondait  k  toutes  leurs  exigences, 
ils  J  trouvaient  Ifcors  costuiues  favoris,  leurs  po^sie  cooleur  de 


;V,.  ■■:'-  -    V  - -^   ",:. '/^^v-  :•■•■■..--"*;;■ -—l.  '■■'■■■■'■  -:'■:--  - 

THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  65 

Thus  the  actors  in  Germany  emancipated  them- 
selves not  only  from  poets,  but  also  from  poetry 
itself.  They  only  allow  mediocrity  to  show  itself  in 
their  domain,  and  take  good  care  that  no  true  poet 
enters  in  that  disguise.  How  many  proofs  and 
trials  Raupach  had  to  sustain  ere  he  could  set 
foot  in  the  theatre !  And  even  now  they  keep  a 
careful  eye  on  him,  and  when  he  by  chance  writes 
something  which  is  not  thoroughly  and  utterly 
bad,  he  must  at  once  produce  a  dozen  miserable 
pieces  de  manufacture  to  escape  ostracism  from 
the  actors.  Does  the  word  "a  dozen"  astonish 
you  ?  It  is  no  exaggeration.  This  man  can  really 
write  twelve  plays  annually,  and  people  marvel  at 
his  fertility.  But  as  Jantjen  of  Amsterdam,  the 
celebrated  juggler,  was  wont  to  say,  "  There  is  no 
witchcraft  in  it,  ladies  and  gentlemen — no  witch- 
craft, only  sleight  of  hand !"  ^ 


chair,  leurs  ingdnuit^s  en  tricot,  leurs  sorties  k  applaudissements, 
leiirs  grimaces  traditionelles,  leurs  phrases  clinquantes,  leurs 
roses  de  metier,  leur  aff^terie  guind^e,  tout  leur  attirail  de 
cabotins  ;  une  langue  qui  n'est  parl^  que  sur  les  planches,  des 
fleurs  qui  ne  miirissent  qu'aux  lampions  de  la  rampe,  une 
nature  que  n'anime  jamais  le  souffle  de  Dieu,  mais  bien  celui  do 
souffleur,  une  fureur  qui  n'^branle  que  les  coulisses,  ime  douce 
m^lancholie  avec  accompagnement  de  flutes,  une  innocence 
fard^  avec  I'abime  qui  s'ouvre  sous  les  pas  de  crime,  des 
sentiments  de  louange,  des  rires  aigus,  des  sanglots  ^hevel^ 
des  fanfares  et  cetera." 

^  All  of  the  following  passages  until  Uhland  is  mentioned, 
or   two  pages  and  a  half,  are  Mrisely  omitted  in  the  French 

VOL.  IL  E 


66  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

Bnt  there  is  a  peculiar  reason  why  Banpach  has 
succeeded  in  gaining  a  position  on  the  German 
stage.  This  author,  a  German  by  birth,  lived  a 
long  time  in  Russia,  where  he  received  his  cul- 
ture, and  it  was  the  Muscovite  muse  who  initiated 
and  dedicated  him  to  poetry.  This  sable-clad 
beauty,  with  an  exquisitely  charming  pug-nose, 
poured  out  to  our  poet  whole  pints  of  the  brandy 
of  inspiration,  hung  over  his  shoulder  a  quiver  full 
of  Kirghese  Tartar  shafts  of  wit,  and  put  into  his 
hands  the  tragic  knout.  And  when  he  smote 
therewith  at  first  our  hearts,  how  we  did  tremble, 
it  Was  terrible !  The  very  strangeness  of  it  all 
raised  deep  amazement.  Truly  the  man  pleased 
us  not  in  civilised  Germany;  but  his  monstrous 
Sarmatian  nature,  his  clumsy  agility,  and  a  certain 
growling  grasping  in  his  demeanour,  imposed 
on  the  public.  And  it  was  indeed  rather  an 
original  sight  when  Herr  Eaupach,  on  his  Scla- 
vonian  pony,  Pegasus,  galloped  over  the  steppes 
of  poetry,  riding  with  his  dramatic  material 
under  the  saddle  in  true  Baschkir  fashion.^     This 


yeraion.  It  may  here  be  observed  that  the  amount  of  space 
and  satire  thrown  away  on  this  feeble  dramatist  (whom  Heine 
never  neglected  an  opportunity  to  ridicule),  are  out  of  all  pro- 
portion to  the  importance  of  the  subject,  and  might  have  been 
better  devoted  to  some  greater  man.  Heine  unfortunately 
never  learned  to  limit  hia  personal  dislikes,  and  hit  mosquitoes 
were  all  dragons. — Trarulator. 

'  In  allusion  to  the  Tartar  fashion  of  carrying  meat  under 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  «jf 

pleased  people  in  Berlin,  where  everything  Rus- 
sian is  well  received.  Herr  Banpach  succeeded 
in  getting  a  foothold  there,  he  established  an 
understanding  with  the  actors,  and  for  some  time, 
as  I  have  said,  Raupach  Apollo  has  received  divine 
honours  with  Diana  Birch-Pfeiflfer  in  the  temple  of 
dramatic  art.  He  gets  thirty  thalers  for  every  act 
which  he  writes,  and  he  writes  nothing  but  pieces 
in  six  acts,  since  he  always  calls  the  first  act  a 
prelude.  And  there  is  no  kind  of  stuff  which  he 
has  not  shoved  under  the  saddle  of  his  Pegasus 
and  ridden  ripe.  No  hero  is  safe  from  such  a 
tragic  destiny.  He  has  taken  in  even  Siegfried 
the  dragon-killer  ?  The  muse  of  German  history 
is  in  despair.  Like  a  Niobe  she  beholds  with  pale 
agony  the  noble  children  whom  Raupach  Apollo 
has  so  terribly  treated.  0  Jupiter!  he  even 
dared  to  lay  hand  on  the  Hohenstaufen,  an  old 
beloved  Swabian  emperor  !  It  was  not  enough 
that  Fried  rich  von  Raumer  slaughtered  him  his- 
torically— now  Raupach  must  needs  come  along 
and  cook  him  up  for  the  theatre!     The  wooden 


the  saddle  until  it  is  cooked,  or  at  least  made  tender,  as  raw 
steaks  were  once  prepared  for  eating  in  Bavaria,  simply  by 
beating  and  rolling  with  salt.  Meat  thus  eaten  is  a  strong 
stimulant  or  tonic,  and  is  believed  to  be  a  cure  for  consumption, 
but  a  meal  of  it  should  be  followed  by  a  glass  of  raw  spirits. 
It  is  not  unpalatable.  The  Roman  gladiators  trained  on  this 
food. — Trwiulator. 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


images  of  Von  Kaumer,  Herr  Ranpach  covers  with 
his  Russian-leather  poetry,  and  the  sight  of  snch 
caricatures  and  their  evil  smell  ^  will  at  last  dis- 
gust us  with  the  memory  of  the  most  beautiful 
and  noblest  Emperor  of  the  German  Fatherland. 
And  the  police  does  not  prevent  such  outrage? 
But  perhaps  they  have  a  hand  in  the  game! 
New  kingly  families  do  not  like  popular  memories 
of  old  Imperial  stocks  whose  place  they  fain 
would  take.  It  is  certain  that  the  theatrical 
manager  in  Berlin  would  never  ask  Immermann 
or  Grabbe  or  Uechtsitz  for  a  drama  on  Barbarossa, 
but  get  it  from  Eaupach.  Yet  even  he  would  not 
dare  to  stick  a  HohenzoUem  under  his  saddle; 
should  he  take  such  a  fancy  he  would  soon  be 
shown  into  a  jail  as  his  Helicon.  I 

The  association  of  ideas  which  springs  from 
contrasts  has  caused  me  when  about  to  speak  of 
Uhland,  to  fall  suddenly  on  Herr  Eaupach  and 
Madame  Birch-Pfeiffer.  But  though  neither  of 
this  divine  pair — the  theatrical  Diana  any  more 
than  the  theatrical  Apollo — belong  to  true  litera- 
ture, I  must  still  speak  of  them,  because  they 


^  This  Mittduft  or  evil  smell  is  not  quite  intelligible.  I  have 
smelt  much  Russian  leather,  in  Russia  and  elsewhere,  but 
always  thought  its  odour  rather  agreeable.  It  is  due  to  black- 
birch  bark,  which  is  certainly  fragrant,  much  like  sassafras  at 
winter  green,  but  more  spicy. — Trandator. 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


represent  the  stage-world  of  the  day.  In  any 
case,  it  was  due  to  our  real  poets  to  devote  a  few 
words  in  this  book  to  showing  what  kind  of  people 
they  are  who  among  us  usurp  the  sovereignty  of 
the  stage  among  us. 


r,;,.- 


CHAPTER  V. 


I  AM  jnst  now  in  a  strange  dilemma.  I  cannot 
pass  by  without  mention  the  poems  of  Ludwig 
Uhland,  and  yet  I  am  in  a  mood  which  is  by 
no  means  favourable  to  such  comment.  Silence 
would  here  seem  to  be  cowardice  or  perfidy,  and 
a  frank  and  honest  opinion  a  want  of  kind  feel- 
ing. In  truth,  the  kith  and  kin  of  the  Uhland 
muse,  and  the  petty  followers  of  his  fame,  will  be 
ill-satisfied  with  the  inspiration  which  I  have  to- 
day at  command.  But  I  beg  you  to  take  into 
consideration  the  time  and  place  wherein  I  write. 
Twenty  years  ago  I  was  a  youth — and  then  with 
what  foaming,  over-running  inspiration  woald  I 
have  exalted  the  admirable  Uhland.  In  those 
days  I  felt  his  excellence  better  than  I  now  do ; 
he  was  nearer  to  me  in  feeling  and  intellect.^ 
But  so  many  things  have  happened  since  then! 
What  I  then  thought  so  magnificent,  those 
chivalresque  and  Catholic  beings,  those  knights 


*  Denkvermogen.  That  is,  Heine  as  a  boy  was  quite  on  a  par 
with  Uhland,  but  had  since  far  outgrown  him  as  a  poet. — 
Trandator. 

70 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  71 

who  hewed  and  stabbed  one  another  in  noble 
tonrnaments,  those  soflb  squires  and  chaste  ladies 
of  high  degree,  those  Norland  heroes  and  Minne- 
singer monks  and  nuns,  ancestral  vaults  with 
ominous  shudderings,  pale  sentiments  of  hope 
abandoned,  with  knells  and  endless  wailings  of 
woe — how  bitterly  repulsive  did  all  this  after- 
wards become  to  me.  Yes,  it  was  once  otherwise. 
How  often  I  sat  in  those  days  on  the  ruins  of 
the  old  castle  of  Dtisseldorf  on  the  Rhine,  and 
declaimed  the  most  beautiful  of  all  Uhland's 
songs : — 

"DEE  SCHONE  SCHAFER  ZOG  ES  NAH. 

"  Once  as  the  handsome  shepherd  went 
Near  to  the  royal  palace  gate  ; 
A  maid  looked  from  the  battlement, 
Then  was  her  longing  great. 

She  spoke  to  him  with  gentle  word  : 

'Oh  could  I  go  adown  to  thee  ! 
How  white  the  lambs  shine  in  thy  herd  ! 

How  red  the  flowers  by  me  1 ' 

The  youth  again  unto  her  said  : 

*  Oh  could'st  thou  come  adown  to  me ! 

For  even  as  thy  cheeks  are  red, 
80  white  thine  arms  I  see  ! '       . 

And  every  morning  passing  by 

With  silent  secret  joy  and  fear, 
He  saw  far  on  the  castle  high. 

His  darling  love  appear. 


itm^.7' 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

And  up  to  her  he  gently  sang  : 

'  Gkxxl  morning  to  thee,  princess  fair ! ' 

Her  gentle  voice  in  answer  rang, 
'  Thank  thee,  my  shepherd  dear  I ' 


The  winter  fled,  spring  came  at  last, 
Bright  flowers  blossomed  as  before  ; 

The  shepherd  by  the  castle  passed, 
But  she  appeared  no  more. 

With  mournful  voice  to  her  he  cried  : 
'  Good  morning  to  thee,  princess  fair  ! ' 

A  ghost-like  sound  to  him  replied  : 
*  Farewell,  my  shepherd  dear ! ' " 


When  I  sat  on  the  ruins  of  the  old  castle  and 
declaimed  this  ballad,  I  heard  ever  and  anon  the 
nixies  in  the  Rhine,  which  there  runs  by,  mock- 
ing my  words,  and  there  sighed  and  moaned  from 

the  flood  with  comic  pathos : —  j 

'.    .       '   '  ■    I 

t 

"  A  ghost-like  sound  to  him  replied :  \ 

'  Farewell,  my  shepherd  dear  I ' "  { 


I  did  not  allow  myself  to  be  disturbed  by  such 
railleries  of  the  water-nymphs,  even  when  they 
tittered  ironically  at  hearing  the  most  beautiful 
passages  in  Uhland's  poems.  I  modestly  took 
all  such  giggling  to  myself,  especially  towards 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  W 

evening  when  twilight  darkened,  and  I  declaimed 
with  somewhat  more  elevated  voice  to  keep  down 
the  mysterious  terror  which  the  old  mins  of  the 
castle  inspired.  For  there  is  a  legend  that  a 
lady  without  a  head  haunts  the  place.  I  often 
thought  I  heard  by  me  the  rustle  of  her  silken 
robes,  and  my  heart  beat.  That  was  the  time 
and  place  when  I  was  inspired  by  the  poems  of 
Ludwig  Uhland. 

Now  I  have  the  very  volume  in  my  hands,  but 
twenty  years  are  flown,  and  in  that  time  I  have 
heard  and  seen  much — very  much.  I  no  longer 
believe  in  headless  human  beings,  and  the  old 
ghostly  delusions  move  me  no  more.^     The  house 


1  French  version,  "  Je  crois  bien  encore  anx  femmes  bum  tdte, 
mais  les  ancienues  apparitions  nocturnes  n'ont  plus  de  prise  sur 
men  &nie."  In  Paris,  as  in  all  France,  a  female  figure  witboat 
a  bead — la  femme  sans  tlte — with  the  words,  "To  the  good 
woman,"  is  a  common  shop  or  tavern  sign,  the  intimation 
being  that  no  woman  is  good  for  much,  or  perfectly  good,  till 
she  is  dead.  But  the  female  head  without  the  body,  as  used 
by  milliners,  is  called  a  Zenobia,  and,  to  complete  the  category, 
a  paver's  rammer  is  a  detnoisdU.  It  is  hardly  worth  while  to 
indicate  to  the  reader  that  in  a  work  which  the  author  claims 
is,  par  Eminence,  the  greatest  and  truest  critical  exposition  of 
modem  German  poetry,  such  carping  at  Uhland  on  such  capri- 
ciously  silly  grounds  as  that  the  critic  feels  "  out  of  sorts  "  this 
morning,  and  "  don't  like  the  poem  as  he  used  to,"  is  simply  no 
criticism  at  all.  "  The  Shepherd  "  is,  and  ever  will  be,  a  beau- 
tifiil  poem,  despite  the  sensations  resulting  to  Heine  from  a 
twenty  years'  residence  in  Paris ;  but  it  is  by  no  means  Ubland's 


r4 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


in  which  I  now  sit  and  read  lies  in  the  Boolevard 
Montmartre,  and  there  surge  the  wildest  waves 
of  the  day,  there  roar  and  sarge  the  loudest  voices 
of  our  modem  time.  There  is  laughing,  grow- 
ling, drumming ;  the  National  Guard  sweeps  by, 
and  every  one  speaks  French.  Is  this  the  place 
in  which  to  read  such  poems  ?  Three  times  have 
I  declaimed  the  conclusion  of  "The  Shepherd" 
to  myself,  but  I  no  longer  feel  the  nameless  woe 
which  once  seized  me  when  the  king's  daughter 
died,  and  the  handsome  shepherd  cried  up  to 
her  so  sadly  : —  t 

" '  Good  morning  to  thee,  princess  fair  !  * 
A  ghost-like  sound  to  him  replied  : 
*  Farewell,  my  shepherd  dear  1 ' " 

Perhaps  I  have  grown  cool  as  regards  such 
poems  since  I  have  discovered  that  there  is  a 
far  more  painful  love  than  that  which  he  endures 
who  has  never  possessed  the  beloved  object,  or 
who  has  lost  it  by  death.  In  fact,  it  is  much 
more  tormenting  when  the  adored  reposes  by 
night  and  by  day  in  our  arms,  yet  torments  us 
by  night  and  day  with  constant  contradiction 
and  silly  caprices,  so  that  we  finally  repel  from 
our  heart  what  it  loves  best,  and  escort  at  last 

best,  nor  by  far  his  most  popular  poem.  But  in  reading  Heine 
one  must  expect  now  and  then  a  sample  of  "pretty  Fanny'i 
way." 


.  .!>••.  4  ••*#•   *■•  *»■♦*••'*  • 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  fS 

the  accursed-worshipped  woman  to  the  railway 
Btation,^  and  see  her  off: — 

"  Farewell,  my  princeaa  fair  !  * 

Yes,  more  painftil  than  loss  by  death  is  loss 
by  life;  as,  for  instance,  when  the  beloved  turns 
from  us  with  insane  frivolity,  when  she  insists 
on  going  to  a  ball  where  no  respectable  man 
can  accompany  her,  and  where  she  (crazily  over- 
dressed and  impudently  fris^)  throws  herself 
into  the  arms  of  the  first  blackguard  whom  she 
fancies,   and   waltzes    away,   turning    her    back 

on  us. 

**  Farewell,  oh  shepherd  mine  l** 

Perhaps  it  went  no  better  with  Uhland  than 
with  us.  His  mood  and  manner  may  have 
changed  since  then.  With  trifling  exceptions 
he  has  for  twenty  years  brought  no  new  poems 
to  market.  I  cannot  believe  that  such  an  ad- 
mirable poetic  power  was  so  scantily  gifted  by 
Nature  as  to  bear  within  itself  only  a  single 
spring-time.  No,  I  think  that  the  silence  of 
Uhland  is  rather  due  to  the  contradiction  caused 
by  the  inclinations  of  his  muse  not  agreeing  with 

^  "  Nach  dem  Postwagen  bringen  und  fortschicken  miissen." 
French,  "Nous  sommes  oblig^  de  la  conduire  k  la  cour  des 
Messageries  et  de  I'aider  nous-mSmes  ^  monter  en  diligence 
pour  aller  ae  promener  dans  eon  pays, "  which  is  illustrated  with 
&^iat\xt«'m  La  Phyiiaiogie  d^Vitvdicmt. — TrantLaior. 


^  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

the  exigencies  of  his  political  position.  The 
elegist  poet  who  sang  the  Catholic-feudal  past  in 
such  beautiful  ballads  and  romances,  the  Ossian 
of  the  Middle  Age,  became  subsequently  in  the 
Wnrtemberg  Chamber  of  Deputies  a  zealous  re- 
presentative of  popular  rights,  a  bold  speaker 
for  civil  equality  and  free  thought.  Uhland  has 
proved  that  this  democratic  and  Protestant  feel- 
ing is  in  him  sincere,  by  the  great  personal 
sacrifices  which  he  made  ;  and  as  he  formerly 
won  the  laurel  of  a  poet,  he  has  now  gained  the 
oak  wreath  of  civilian  virtue.  And  it  was  just 
because  he  was  so  honourable  that  he  could  not 
sing  the  songs  of  early  days  with  the  same  in- 
spiration, and  as  his  Pegasus  was  a  knightly 
charger  which  willingly  trotted  back  into  the 
past,  but  was  always  unmanageable  when  ridden 
into  modem  life,  so  our  brave  Uhland  smilingly 
dismounted  and  let  the  jibbing  steed  be  led  back 
into  the  stable.  There  he  is  to  this  day,  and  like 
his  colleague,  the  horse  of  Bayard,  he  has  all 
possible  merits  and  but  one  defect — he  is  dead.^ 

Keener  eyes  than  mine  will  not  have  failed  to 
observe  that  the  high  horse  with  gay  armorial  bear- 
ings and  proud  plumes  was  never  quite  appropriat 

1  It  is  remarkable  bow  this  aimile  passed  all  over  Earope 
daring  the  Middle  Ages.  But  in  England  Bayard  was  the 
common  name  of  the  horse,  and  his  failing  was  not  that  he  was 
dead,  bat  blind.     "  Like  a  blinde  Bayard."— 7raiw2a(or. 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  77 

to  its  bourgeois  rider,  who  wore,  instead  of  boots 
with  golden  spurs,  only  shoes  and  silk  stockings, 
and  had  on  his  head,  instead  of  a  helmet,  the  hat 
of  a  Tubingen  doctor  of  laws.  They  think  they 
have  discovered  that  Ludwig  Uhland  never  ex- 
actly harmonised  with  his  theme;  that  he  does 
not  really  repeat  in  idealistic  truth  the  naive 
grimly-powerful  tones  of  the  Middle  Age,  but 
rather  dissolves  them  in  a  sickly  sentimental 
melancholy ;  that  he  has  cooked  over  again  the 
vigorous  sounds  of  heroic  sagas  and  of  popular 
songs  in  his  sentiments  to  make  them  softer  and 
more  palatable  to  the  modem  public*  And,  in 
&ct,  if  we  carefully  examine  the  ladies  of  Uhland's 
poems,  we  find  only  beautiful  shadows,  embodied 
moonshine,  milk  in  their  veins,  and  in  their  eyes 
sweet  tears,  or  tears  without  salt.  And  if  we 
compare  the  heroes  of  Uhland  with  those  of 
ancient  songs,  it  seems  as  if  they  were  merely 
tin  suits  of  armour,  in  which  are  flowers  instead 
of  flesh  and  bones.^    Therefore  these  Uhlandic 


^  This  appalling  metaphor  of  cooking  yigorous  sounds  {starken 
Kldnge)  in  sentiment  to  soften  them  is  somewhat  improved  in 
the  French  version,  "  II  a  amolli  les  accents  ^nergiques  et  b^ro- 
iques  des  traditions  pupulacies  du  Nord,  pour  les  rendre  plus 
app^tisantes. — Trandator. 

^  "The  gentleman  in  tin  clothes."  I  regret  that  I  cannot 
recall  the  name  of  a  delightful  old  burlesque  on  the  horrors  of 
the  Anne  Radcliffe  school,  in  which  this  expression  occurs.  I 
think  it  is  "  The  Heroine." 


78 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


knights  have  a  far  sweet-and-dearer  odour  for 
tender  noses  than  the  old  Kemp6,  who  wore  real 
iron  breeches,  ate  much,  and  drank  still  more. 

Yet  all  this  is  really  no  discredit,  for  Uhland 
never  wished  to  bring  before  us  the  German  past  in 
all  its  truth ;  he  more  probably  desired  to  please  us 
with  its  reflection,  and  so  he  mirrored  it  pleasantly 
on  the  shining  surface  of  his  genius.  This  has 
indeed  imparted  to  his  poems  a  peculiar  charm, 
and  have  won  for  them  the  liking  of  many  gentle 
and  good  men.  The  shadows  of  the  past  exert 
a  magic  charm,  although  evoked  by  the  feeblest 
sorcerer.  Even  men  who  take  part  in  the  modem 
movement  preserve  a  certain  secret  sympathy  for 
the  traditions  of  early  times,  and  these  spirit 
voices  move  us  deeply  in  their  faintest  echo. 
And  it  is  easy  to  understand  that  the  ballads  and 
romances  of  our  admirable  Uhland  had  enthusi- 
astic reception,  not  only  by  the  patriots  of  1 8 1 3, 
and  pious  youth  as  well  as  gentle  maids,  but  also 
among  far  stronger  men  and  minds  of  modem 
thought.  I 

I  have  added  to  the  word  patriots  the  date  1813, 
in  order  to  distinguish  them  from  the  friends  of 
the  Fatherland  of  the  present  day,  who  no  longer 
live  upon  the  memories  of  the  so-called  War  of 
Freedom.  These  older  heroes  must  take  the 
greatest  delight  in  Uhland's  muse,  since  most  of 
his  poems  are  thoroughly  imbued  with  the  spirit 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOLl  » 

of  their  time— a  time  when  they  revelled  in  yonth- 
fnl  feeling  and  prond  hopes.  This  admiration  of 
Uhland's  poems  they  transmitted  to  their  followers, 
and  among  the  youths  of  the  gymnastic-political 
clnbs  to  acquire  this  work  was  regarded  as  pecu- 
liarly patriotic.!  They  found  in  them  songs  which 
even  Max  von  Schenkendorf  and  Ernst  Moritz 
Arndt  conld  not  have  surpassed,  and  in  truth  what 
descendant  of  the  bravely-honourable  Arminius 
and  of  the  blonde  Thusnelda,  would  not  have  been 
satisfied  with  the  following : — 

FORWARDl 

Forward  !    Onward  !    It  was  heard  : 
Russia  cried  the  mighty  word, 
Forward  ! 

Prussia  caught  the  mighty  word, 
Echoing  gladly  what  she  heard, 
Forward! 

Up,  thou  mighty  Austria,  too  ! 
Forward  !     Do  as  others  do  ! 
Forward! 


1  French  version,  "  Pour  lea  jeunes  gena  qui  a'adonnait  aux 
exerciaea  gymnaatiques  fondds  alora  par  le  gallophobe  Jaher 
(Jahn)  pour  r^g^n^rer  le  physique  de  la  nation  allemande." 
These  gymnastic  clubs,  or  Turner  Verein,  have  been  of  incal- 
culable benefit  to  Germany,  and  were  a  prominent  cause  of  the 
superiority  of  the  German  soldiers  in  the  last  war  with  France. 
— Translator. 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

Up,  thou  ancient  Sazonland  1 
Ever  forward,  hand-in-liand ! 
Forward  ! 

Bayern  !  Hesse  !  fall  in  line, 
Suabia,  Frankland,  to  the  Bhine, 
Forward  I 


Forward  Holland,  Netherland,  I 

High  be  the  sword  and  free  your  hand  ! 
Forward ! 

God's  blessing,  Switzerland,  on  thee  1 
Alsace,  Lorraine,  and  Burgundy  ! 

Forward !  ! 

Forward  ever — never  fear  ! 
Qood  be  the  wind,  the  harbour  near  1 
Forward  ! 

Forward's  a  field-marshal's  name,^ 
So  forward,  soldiers,  jxist  the  same. 

Forward  I  \ 

I  repeat  it,  the  people  of  1813  find  in  Uhland's 
poems  the  spirit  of  their  time  most  preciously 


'  The  French  version  adds,  "Le  g^n^ral  k  laquelle  cette 
chanson  fait  allusion  est  Blncher,  le  fameux  troupier."  In  this 
otherwise  fine  and  sustained  poem  the  whole  sense  is  virtually 
destroyed  by  this  final  connection  with  an  individual,  thereby 
claiming  merely  German  military  supremacy.  So  in  Longfellow's 
"Excelsior,"  which  was  suggested  by  "Forwards,"  the  entire 
ideal  structure  or  conception  is  lost  when  we  find  it  made  rela 
by  "  the  pious  monks  of  Saint  Bernard,"  which  at  once  reduces 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  8i 

preserved,  and  not  only  its  political,  but  also  its 
moral  and  SBsthetic,  spirit.  Uhland  represents  a 
whole  period,  and  that  alone,  since  all  its  other 
representatives  have  fallen  into  forgetfulness,  and 
are  all  really  united  now  in  this  one  writer.  The 
tone  which  characterises  Uhland's  songs,  ballads, 
and  romances  was  that  of  his  romantic  contem- 
poraries, and  many  among  them  have  written,  if 
not  better,  at  least  as  well.  And  here  is  the  place 
where  I  can  praise  many  a  writer  of  the  romantic 
school,  who,  as  I  said,  manifests  as  regards  subject 
and  tone  in  his  poems  the  most  striking  similarity 
to  Uhland,  and  who  is  fully  his  equal  in  poetic 
value,  differing  perhaps  in  showing  less  confidence 
in  expression.  In  fact,  what  an  admirable  poet 
is  Baron  von  Eichendorff.  The  songs  which  he 
has  woven  into  his  novel  Ahnung  und  Gegenwart 
("  Presentiment  and  the  Present ")  are  not  to  be 
distinguished  from  those  of  Uhland,  nor  indeed 
from  his  best.  The  difference  consists  in  the 
greener  freshness  of  the  forest  and  the  more  crystal- 

the  figurative  ideal  to  a  literal  and  very  lunatic  Alpine  climb 
without  a  purpose.  This  coincidence  is  one  of  the  curiosities  of 
literature.  Excdtior  is  the  Latin  for  "  forwards."  The  word  is 
repeated,  as  in  the  German  model,  at  the  end  of  every  verse,  and 
both  poems  end  with  an  extraordinary  change  into  realism, 
which  utterly  conflicts  with  all  their  meaning  and  destroys  it. 
In  the  French  version  the  last  line  is — 

"  En  avant  1  voili  le  nom  de  voire  g^n^ral  I " 

— Trandator. 
▼OL.  II.  F 


82  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

line  clearness  of  those  of  Von  Eich  endorff.  JuBtinus 
Kemer,  who  is  almost  unknown,  also  deserves 
honourable  mention;  he  also  wrote  in  the  same 
key  and  measure  the  most  admirable  songs.  He 
is  a  compatriot  (Suabian)  of  Uhland.^  This  is 
also  the  case  with  Gustav  Schwab,  a  more  dis- 
tinguished poet,  who  also  bloomed  out  from  the 
Suabian  valleys,  and  who  charms  us  every  year 
with  beautiful  and  perfumed  poetry.  He  has 
special  talent  for  ballads,  and  has  sung  his  local 
home-legends  most  charmingly  in  this  form. 
Wilhelm  Miiller,  whom  death  tore  from  us  when 
in  all  the  fire  and  fulness  of  his  youth,  must  also 


*  Justinus  Kemer  soon  became  very  well  known  all  over 
Europe  and  America  by  his  work  Die  Seherimn  von  Prtvortt 
("  The  Seeress  of  Prevorst ").  He  was  the  author  of  the  beautiful 
8ong  "Wohlauf  noch  get  runken,"  which,  like  that  of  Voa 
Eiohendorff,  "In  einem  ktlhlen  Grunde,"  is  extremely  popular. 
I  knew  Justinus  Kemer,  and  was  once  his  guest  at  Weinsberg. 
I  was  a  college  youth  at  Heidelberg  in  those  days,  and  can 
remember  that  the  Herr  Doctor  more  than  once  remarked  that 
I  reminded  him  in  appearance  and  in  many  ways  of  what  his 
friend  Uhland  had  been  at  my  age.  Unfortunately  the  likeness 
here  ceased.  The  writers  who  are  so  carelessly  glanced  over  by 
Heine — Von  Eichendorff,  Justinus  Kemer,  Gustav  Schwab,  and 
Wilhelm  MtUler  —  to  whom  a  dozen  more  could  be  added, 
deserved  from  their  intrinsic  excellence,  originality,  and  popu- 
larity a  far  more  extended  notice  than  Heine  has  given  them  ; 
room  for  all  of  which  and  more  that  is  wanting  might  have 
been  subtracted  to  great  advantage  from  his  comments  on  the 
Schlegels,  Raupach,  and  other  enemies  great  and  smalL— 
Tnuulator. 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  Sj 

be  mentioned  He  harmonises  admirably  with 
Uhland  as  regards  imitation  of  German  popular 
songs,  bnt  it  seems  to  me  as  if  he  was  often  more 
successful  in  this  sphere,  and  surpassed  him  in 
naturalness.  He  was  more  deeply  familiar  with 
the  spirit  of  the  old  types  of  song,  therefore  it 
was  not  necessary  for  him  to  imitate  their  forms, 
and  we  accordingly  find  a  more  dexterous  manage- 
ment of  transferral  and  a  judicious  avoidance  of 
antiquated  turns  and  expressions.  Here,  too,  I 
should  recall  the  late  Wetzel,  who  is  now  forgotten 
and  vanished.  He  had  affinity  in  style  to  our  ad- 
mirable Uhland,  and  in  certain  songs  of  his  which 
I  have  seen  he  surpasses  him  in  sweetness  and 
depth  of  expression.  These  songs,  half  flowers, 
half  butterflies,  spread  their  perfume,  and  flutter 
in  one  of  the  older  annual  issues  of  Brockhaus' 
"Urania."  .- 

That  Clemens  Brentano  should  have  composed 
most  of  his  songs  in  the  same  metres  and  with 
the  same  sentiments  as  Uhland  is  a  matter  of 
course,  for  both  drank  from  the  same  spring  of 
popular  ballads  and  offer  us  the  same  draughts, 
only  the  cup  of  Uhland  is  more  gracefully  turned. 
Of  Adalbert  von  Chamisso  I  cannot  here  appro- 
priately speak.  Though  he  was  a  contemporary 
of  the  Bomantic  school  and  took  part  in  its  work, 
still  the  heart  of  this  man  has  of  late  been  so 
rejuvenated  that  he  has  taken  up  new  forms  of 


84  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  | 

< 

song,  made  himself  known  as  one  of  the  mo&t 
original  and  eminent  of  modern  poets,  and  belongs 
much  more  to  young  than  to  old  Germany.  Yet 
in  his  earlier  poems  there  is  the  same  air  which 
breathes  in  those  of  Uhland — the  same  melody, 
colour,  perfume,  melancholy,  and  tears.  Ghamisso's 
tears  are  the  more  touching  because  they,  like  a 
fountain  which  bursts  from  a  rock,  break  forth 
from  a  far  stronger  heart.*  i 

The  poems  which  Uhland  composed  in  South 
German  measures  are  most  intimately  allied  to 
the  sonnets,  assonances,  and  ottaverime  of  his 
fellow-scholars  of  the  Komantic  school,  and  it  is 
impossible  to  distinguish  them  from  his,  be  it  in 
form  or  feeling.  But,  as  I  have  said,  most  of 
those  contemporaries  of  Uhland  have  passed  with 
their  poems  into  oblivion.  They  are  now  to  be 
found  with  diflBculty  in  forgotten  collections,  such 
as  the  DichterwcUd  ("The  Forest  of  Poets"),  the 
Sdngerfahrt  ("The  Singers'  Pilgrimage"),  in 
certain  Frauen  und  Mtcsenalmanachen  ("  Ladies'  or 
Muses'  Almanacs  ")  which  Fouque  and  Tieck  pub- 
lished, in  old  newspapers,  as  in  Achim  von  Amim's 
Trosteinsamkeit  ("  Consolation  of  Solicitude  "),  and 
in  the  Wunschelruthe  ("  The  Divining-rod"),  edited 

^  ChamisBO  is  best  known  to  the  English  world  by  his  strange 
story  of  Peter  Scbleniihl,  which  was  imitated  by  Hoffmann  in 
The  Lost  Shadow."    This  novelette  is,  in  its  way,  a  poem. — 
Trandator.  i 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  Sj 

by  Heinrich  Straube  and  Rudolf  Christiani,  in 
the  weekly  journals  of  the  time — and  God  knows 
where  else ! 

Uhland  was  not  the  father  of  a  school,  as  were 
Schiller  and  Goethe,  or  those  like  them,  from  whose 
individuality  went  forth  a  peculiar  tone  or  expres- 
sion which  was  re-echoed  by  contemporary  poets. 
Uhland  was  not  the  father  but  rather  the  child 
of  a  school  which  gave  him  an  expression  which 
was  not  originally  his  own,  which  he  with  care 
extracted  from  the  works  of  earlier  poets.  But 
in  amends  for  this  want  of  originality  or  character- 
istic novelty  he  gives  us  many  admirable  character- 
istics which  are  as  rich  as  they  are  rare.  He  is 
the  pride  of  happy  Suabia,  and  where'er  resounds 
the  German  tongue  men  rejoice  in  this  noble 
poet's  soul.  As  most  of  his  lyrical  comrades  of 
the  Romantic  school  are  united  in  Uhland,  so  the 
public  loves  and  honours  it  in  him.  And  we  love 
and  honour  him  perhaps  all  the  more  since  we 
now  are  about  to  lose  him  for  ever.^ 

Ah !  it  is  not  from  trivial  desire  but  in  obedience 
to  the  law  of  necessity  that  Germany  is  now  excited. 
Good,  peaceful  Germany !  It  casts  a  mournful  look 
upon  the  past  which   it  leaves  behind,  bowing 

^  French  version,  "Et  nouu  le  v^n^rons  et  raimons  peut- 
etre  d'autant  plus  qu'il  entre  poor  nous  dans  le  domaine  du 
pass^."  Here  the  French  translation  of  the  Romantic  school 
ends. 


86 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


once  more  in  deep  reverence  to  the  olden  time, 
which  looks  at  it  so  sorrowful  and  pale  from 
Uhland's  poems,  and  it  takes  farewell  with  a  kiss. 
And  yet  another  kiss — perhaps  a  tear !  But  let 
VLB  linger  no  longer  in  idle  emotion. 

Forward  !     Onward  !     It  is  heard  ; 
France  now  calls  the  mighty  word  : 

Forward  1  * 


^  This  conclasion  redeems  everj  trifling  failing  or  error  in 
the  whole  chapter.  Only  a  true  vatet,  or  poet-prophet,  could 
have  clearly  understood  or  foreseen,  as  Heine  did  when  he  wrote 
this,  that  Germany  had  really  taken  leave  of  its  romantic  past, 
and  was  about  to  enter  on  a  new  and  more  practical  career. 
In  fact,  many  years  after,  the  rural  places  about  Berlin  were 
described  as  being  haunted  by  young  poets  writing  ballads, 
'  •  mostly  in  imitation  of  Uhland."  The  only  flaw  in  the  bell 
was  that  Heine  looked  only  to  political  reforms  and  not  to  many 
other  concurrent  causes  which  should  cause  this  change. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

"When  after  long  years  the  Emperor  Otto  IIL 

went  to  the  tomb  where  the  remains  of  Charles 

(Charlemagne)  were  placed,  he  entered  the  vault 

with  two  bishops  and  Count  Lanmel  (who  wrote 

the   description  of  these   details).      The  corpse 

was  not  recumbent,  as  is  usual,  bat  sat  upright, 

like   a  living   man,   on  a   chair.     On   the   head 

was   a   crown   of  gold;   he  held  the  sceptre  in 

his  hands,  on  which  were  gloves,  but  his  nails 

had  grown  out  through  the  leather.     The  vault 

was  very  strongly  built  of  marble  and  lime.     It 

was  necessary  to  break  an  opening,  and  those 

who  entered  perceived  a  strong  odour.     All  at 

once  sank  on  their  knees  and  manifested  their 

respect  for  the  dead.     The  Emperor  Otto  placed 

on   the  corpse   a  white  robe,  cut  its  nails,  and 

otherwise   repaired   the   ravages  of  time.      The 

limbs  were  in  nowise  decayed,  save  that  there  was 

something  gone  from  the  tip  of  the  nose.     Otto 

had  it  replaced  with  gold.     Then  he  took  a  tooth 

irom  the  mouth  of  Charlemagne,  had  the  vault 

walled   up,   and  went  his  way.      In  the  night 

87 


88  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.         \ 

Charlemagne  appeared  to  him  in  a  dream  and 
announced  to  him  that  he,  Otto,  would  not  attain 
to  old  age  and  would  leave  no  heirs. 

This  is  what  is  related  in  the  Deutsche  Sagen 
("  German  Traditions  ") ;  but  it  is  not  the  only  in- 
stance of  the  kind.  Even  so  your  King  Francis 
L  opened  the  grave  of  the  mighty  Roland, 
to  see  for  himself  if  the  hero  was  of  such  giant 
stature  as  poets  have  sung.  This  was  just  before 
the  battle  of  Pavia  Sebastian  of  Portugal  entered 
the  vaults  of  his  ancestors  and  gazed  on  the  dead 
monarchs  before  he  went  to  Africa.^ 

Strange  and  terrible  curiosity  which  impels 
men  so  often  to  look  into  the  graves  of  the  past ! 
It  occurs  at  remarkable  periods,  at  the  end  of  an 
epoch  or  just  before  a  catastrophe.  In  this  our 
time  we  have  seen  a  similar  thing,  when  that 
great  sovereign  French  people  were  suddenly 
seized  with  a  desire  to  open  the  grave  of  the 
bygone  and  gaze  on  the  long  ruined  passed  away 
time  by  daylight.  There  was  no  lack  of  learned 
resurrectionists,  who  with  spades  and  crowbars 
were  quickly  on  hand  to  dig  up  the  old  debris 


^  In  th«  French  version  this  is  given  more  f ally.  ' '  C'est  one 
pareille  visite  que  le  roi  S^bastien  de  Portugal  fit  aux  caveauz 
de  ses  ancdtres,  avant  de  B'embarquer  pour  cette  malheureuse 
oompagne  d'Afrique  oh.  les  sables  d'Alcanzar-K^bir  devinrent 
Bon  linceul.  II  fit  ouvrir  ohacque  oercueil,  et  interrogea  long- 
tempe  lea  traits  des  aociens  rois." 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  »9 

and  break  into  the  vault.  A  strong  scent  was 
perceived,  which  as  Gothic  havi-gout  delightfully 
tickled  the  noses  of  those  who  were  Uas^  as 
to  otto  of  TOses.^  French  writers  knelt  in  deep 
respect  before  the  openly  unveiled  Middle  Age. 
One  placed  a  new  garment  on  it,  another  cut  its 
nails,  a  third  gave  it  a  new  nose,  and  then  came 
certain  poets  who  stole  its  teeth,  just  as  the 
Emperor  Otto  had  done. 

Whether  the  spirit  of  the  Middle  Age  appeared 
to  these  dentists  and  restorers  of  noses,  and  pro- 
phesied to  them  the  speedy  end  of  their  romantic 
reign,  I  know  not.  In  fact,  I  only  mention  this 
occurrence  in  French  literature  that  I  ma/  dis- 
tinctly declare  that  I  am  not  reflecting  on  them 
when  I,  in  this  book,  described  in  rather  severe 
words  a  similar  thing  which  took  place  in  Ger- 
many. The  literary  men  who  there  took  the 
Middle  Age  from  its  grave  had  other  intentions, 
as  have  appeared  from  this  book,  and  the  result 
which    it   had    upon   the   multitude  endangered 

^  French  versioD,  "Les  nez  blas^  aur  les  parfams  olassi- 
quea."  It  is,  however,  extremely  probable  that  this  scent  was 
really  not  at  all  of  an  offensive  nature.  During  the  early  Middle 
Age  bodies  of  very  wealthy  and  eminent  persons  were  very  often 
embalmed  or  preserved  from  decay  by  means  of  spices  and 
powerful  aromatics.  Hence  the  frequent  accounts  of  the  bodies 
of  saints  which,  when  discovered,  gave  out  a  perfume  which 
was  attributed  to  supernatural  causes,  and  called  "  the  odour 
of  sanctity." 


^•-•■4     ■#      V-. 


90  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

the  freedom  and  prosperity  of  my  native  land. 
French  authors  had  only  artistic  interests  in 
what  they  did,  and  the  French  public  merely 
sought  to  gratify  its  newly-awakened  curiosity. 
The  majority  of  men  only  looked  into  the  graves 
of  the  past  to  find  therein  a  pattern  for  a  fancy 
dress  for  the  Carnival.  The  Gothic  fashion  was 
in  France  only  a  fleeting  fashion,  which  simply 
served  for  temporary  amusement.  People  let 
their  hair  grow  long  in  mediaeval  style,  and  when 
the  barber  casually  remarked  that  it  did  not  look 
well,  they  had  it  cut  short,  with  all  the  associa- 
tions belonging  to  it.  Ah!  in  Qermany  it  is 
quite  otherwise,  perhaps  because  the  Middle  Age 
is  not  there  quite  dead  and  decayed,  as  it  is  with 
yoTL  The  German  Middle  Age  does  not  lie 
mouldering;  ever  and  anon  it  is  revived  by  an 
evil  spirit,  and  comes  out  among  us  in  clear, 
broad  daylight,  and  sucks  the  red  life  from  our 
breast 

Ah !  do  you  not  see  how  sorrowful  and  pale  our 
Germany  is,  even  the  German  youth  which  not 
long  ago  rejoiced  with  such  life?  See  ye  not 
how  red  is  the  month  of  the  plenipotentiary 
vampire  who  lives  in  Frankfort,  and  there  sucks 
so  horribly  slowly  and  tiresomely  at  the  heart  of 
the  German  people  ? 

What  I  have  said  of  the  Middle  Age  admits  a 
special  application  as  regards  its  religion.   Loyalty 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  91 

requires  that  I  shonld  distingniah  most  definitely 
between  the  party  which  is  here  known  as  the 
Catholic,  and  those  wretched  fellows  who  bear  the 
name  in  Germany.  It  is  only  to  these  latter  that 
I  have  alladed  in  my  book,  and  that  indeed 
in  terms  by  far  too  mild.  They  are  the  real 
foes  of  my  Fatherland — a  crawling,  lying,  hypo- 
critical mob  of  miserable  cowardice.  They  hiss 
in  Munich,  they  hiss  in  Berlin,  and  while  you 
stroll  on  the  Boulevard  Montmartre  you  suddenly 
feel  a  bite  in  your  heel.  But  we  will  crash  the 
head  of  the  old  serpent.  It  is  the  party  of  lies ; 
they  are  the  baili£fs  of  despotism,*  the  restorers 
of  all  the  misery,  cruelties,  and  madness  of  the 
past  As  far  as  heaven  from  them  is  that  party 
which  we  here  call  Catholic,  whose  leaders  are 
among  the  most  talented  writers  of  France.  If 
they  are  not  our  brothers-in-arms,  we  fight  at 
least  for  the  same  interests,  or  for  those  of 
mankind.  We  are  one  in  our  love  for  that, 
we  only  differ  in  our  views  as  to  what  is 
best  for  mankind.*    They  believe  that  man  only 


^  "  Schergen  des  Despotismns."  In  the  French  version,  "  Ces- 
sent  lea  familliers  de  la  Sainte-alliance." 

*  Truly,  in  such  distinction  all  the  differenoe  lies,  and  on 
this  ground  an  anarchist  might  agree  with  an  aristocrat  Bat 
the  sound  of  the  pension  paid  by  the  police,  or  Louis  Philippe, 
rings  and  rolls  through  all  this  chapter,  and  indeed  through  all 
••  Germany." 


TUB  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.     ' 


needs  spiritual  comfort;  we,  on  the  contrary, 
opine  that  he  wants  material  prosperity.  When 
the  Catholic  party  in  France,  ignoring  its  trne 
mission,  announces  itself  as  the  party  of  the 
past,  and  as  that  of  the  restorers  of  the  faith 
of  bygone  times,  we  should  protect  it  against 
its  own  declarations.  The  Eighteenth  crushed 
Catholicism  so  completely  in  France  that  there 
was  hardly  a  breath  of  life  left  in  it,  and  those 
who  now  seek  to  restore  it  here  seem  like  men 
preaching  a  new  religion.  By  Paris  I  mean 
Frsmce,  and  not  the  provinces ;  as  for  the  latter,  it 
is  as  unimportant  what  they  think  as  what  our 
legs  think.  The  head  is  the  seat  of  all  our  think- 
ing power.  I  am  told  that  the  French  in  the 
provinces  are  good  Catholics,  which  I  can  neither 
affirm  nor  deny.  All  the  men  whom  I  ever  met 
there  looked  to  me  like  milestones,  on  whose 
faces  one  could  read  distinctly  how  near  or  how 
far  they  were  from  the  capital.  The  women 
there  perhaps  seek  consolation  in  Christianity 
because  they  cannot  live  in  Paris.  Christianity 
has  not  existed  in  Paris  since  the  Revolution, 
and  it  had  lost  all  importance  there  long  before. 
It  lurked  in  a  remote  church-comer  like  a  spider, 
and  leapt  out  headlong  now  and  then  when  it 
could  seize  on  a  babe  in  the  cradle  or  an  old 
man  in  his  coffin.  It  is  only  at  these  two 
periods  of  life,  when  he  is  born  or  dies,  that  a 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  93 

Frenchman  falls  into  the  power  of  the  Catholic 
priest ;  during  all  the  interval  he  lives  in  reason 
and  langhs  at  holy  water  and  emotion.  But 
is  that  a  predominance  of  Catholicism  ?  It  was 
because  it  was  so  utterly  extinct  in  France  that 
it  was  able  under  Louis  XVIIL  and  Charles 
X.  to  attract  a  few  unselfish  minds  into  itself 
by  the  charm  of  novelty.  Catholicism  was  then 
something  so  unheard  of,  so  fresh,  so  overwhelm- 
ing! The  religion  which  had  reigned  recently 
before  in  France  was  the  classic  mythology,  and 
this  beautiful  faith  had  been  preached  to  the 
French  people  by  its  authors,  poets,  and  artists, 
with  such  results  that  the  former  were  at  the  end 
of  the  last  century,  as  regarded  life  and  thought, 
altogether  in  heathen  disguise.  During  the  Re- 
volution this  classic  religion  bloomed  in  all  its 
power  and  glory ;  it  was  not  merely  an  Alex- 
andrian aping.  Paris  was  a  natural  continuation 
of  Athens  and  Eome.  Under  the  Empire  this 
antique  spirit  was  subdued,  the  gods  of  Greece 
ruled  only  on  the  stage  and  Boman  virtue  on 
the  battlefield.  A  new  faith  had  come,  and  this 
took  form  in  the  holy  name  "Napoleon."  And 
this  religion  still  rules  the  masses.  Therefore 
they  are  in  the  wrong  who  say  that  the  French 
people  are  irreligious  because  they  do  not  believe 
in  Christ  or  His  saints.  One  should  rather  say 
that  the  irreligion  of  the  French  consists  in  this, 


94  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

that  thej  now  believe  in  a  man  instead  of  the 
immortal  gods.  Or  we  mast  declare  that  the 
irreligion  of  the  French  lies  in  the  fact  that  they 
no  longer  believe  in  Jupiter,  Minerva,  Diana,  or 
Venus.  This  last  item,  it  is  true,  admits  of  doubt, 
and  it  is  certain  that  the  French  have  ever  re- 
mained orthodox  in  their  worship  of  the  Graces. 

I  hope  that  these  remarks,  far  from  being  mis- 
understood, will  serve  to  guard  the  reader  from 
misunderstanding. 


The  French  version  of  this  chapter  ends  as 
follows: — 

J'espfere  qu'on  n'interpr^tera  mal  oes  observations : 
elles  avaient  pour  but  de  pr^venir  le  lecteur  centre  le 
f  &cheuz  malentendus.  Dans  le  trois  premieres  parties 
de  ce  livre,  j'ai  parl^  avec  quelque  developpement  dee 
luttes  entre  la  religion  et  la  philosophie  en  Allemagne ; 
j 'avals  a  ezpliquer  cette  revolution  intellectuelle  de 
mon  pays,  sur  laquelle  Madame  de  Stael  a  r^pandu 
pour  sa  part  tant  d'erreurs  en  France.  Je  le  declare 
franchement :  je  n'ai  cess^  d'avoir  en  vue  le  livre  de 
cette  grand'm^  des  doctrinaires,  et  c'est  dans  une 
intention  de  redressement  que  j'ai  donn^  au  mien  oe 
mSme  titre  De  V Allemagne.  i 


Pabib  le  8  Avril  1835. 


CHAPTEE  VILV 

I  SHOULD  be  in  despair  if  the  few  intimations 
or  hints  as  regards  the  great  Eclectic  which 
escaped  me  in  a  previous  chapter  should  be  quite 
misunderstood.  In  fact,  far  be  it  from  me  to 
depreciate  M.  Victor  Cousin.  The  very  title  of 
this  far-famed  philosopher  binds  me  in  duty  unto 
praise  and  laud.  He  belongs  to  that  living 
Pantheon  of  France  which  we  call  the  Pairie 
(peerage),  and  his  intellectual  limbs  repose  on  the 
velvet  benches  of  the  Luxembourg.  Thereunto 
he  is  a  man  of  loving  heart,  yet  he  loves  not  the 
trifling  objects  dear  to  every  Frenchman — as,  for 
example,  Napoleon,  or  even  Voltaire,  who  is  less 
easily  beloved ;  no,  M.  Cousin's  heart  seeks  what 
is  most  serious — ^he  loves  Prussia.  I  should  be  a 
wretch  if  I  would  belittle  such  a  man — ^yes,  a 
monster  of  ingratitude  ...  for  I  myself  am  a 
Prussian.     Who  will  there  be  to  love  us  when 


^  This  chapter,  which  was  omitted  from  the  last  French 
version,  appears  in  the  German  edition  as  an  AnJumg  or 
■applement,  with  the  words  Victor  Cousin  added  in  the  table 
of  contents. — Trandator. 

95 


96  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

the  great  heart  of  a  Victor  Cousin  shall  no  longer 
beat? 

I  mnst  indeed  sabdne  with  all  my  strength  all 
private  feelings  which  might  mislead  me  into 
excessive  enthusiasm.  Which  means  that  I  would 
not  be  suspected  of  servility,  for  M.  Cousin  is 
very  influential  in  the  state,  both  by  his  position 
and  oratorical  power.  This  consideration  might 
even  inspire  me  to  speak  as  freely  of  his  faults 
as  of  his  virtues.  Would  he  be  therewith  dis- 
pleased ?  Certainly  not  I  know  that  no  higher 
honour  can  be  paid  to  great  men  than  to  set  forth 
their  failings  as  conscientiously  as  their  better 
qualities.  When  we  portray  in  song  a  Hercules, 
we  must  describe  how  he  laid  by  the  lion's  skin 
and  sat  by  the  distaff,  since  he  is  for  all  that  a 
Hercules.  However,  when  we  tell  such  tales  of 
our  hero,  we  may  in  honour  add  that  M.  Cousin, 
though  he  sometimes  sits  and  gossips  by  the 
distaff,  never  lays  aside  his  lion's  skin. 

To  continue  the  comparison  with  Hercules,  we 
may  mention  another  flattering  point  of  differ- 
ence. The  multitude  ascribed  to  the  son  of 
Alcmena  deeds  which  were  performed  by  several 
of  his  contemporaries,  but  the  works  of  M.  Cousin 
are  so  colossal,  so  astonishing,  that  people  never 
understood  how  a  single  man  could  achieve  so 
much,  whence  arose  the  report  that  the  works 
which  appeared   under  the  name   of  this  hero 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  97 

were  really  those  of  several  of  the  men  of  his 
time. 

So  will  it  be  some  day  with  Napoleon;  it  is 
already  beginning  to  pass  our  comprehension 
how  one  hero,  unaided,  could  do  so  many  wondrous 
deeds.  And  just  as  people  are  beginning  to  say 
in  depreciation  of  the  great  Victor  Cbnsin,  that 
he  knows  how  to  use  the  talents  of  others  and 
publish  the  results  to  his  own  advantage,  so  it 
will  be  asserted  of  poor  Napoleon  that  not  he, 
but  God  knows  who — perhaps  even  Sebastiani 
— won  the  battles  of  Marengo,  Austerlitz,  and 
Jena. 

Great  men  work  not  only  by  their  deeds,  but 
also  by  their  personal  lives.  In  this  respect  M. 
Cousin  deserves  unconditional  praise.  Here  he 
appears  in  purest  dignity.  He  has  laboured  by 
the  influence  of  his  own  example  to  destroy  a  " 

prejudice  which  has  perhaps  restrained  most  of 
his  fellow-countrymen  from  devoting  themselves 
to  that  grandest  of  all  efforts — the  study  of  philo- 
sophy. For  here  in  France  there  prevailed  an 
opinion  that  men  by  studying  philosophy  unfitted 
themselves  for  practical  life,  that  by  metaphysical 
speculation  they  lost  all  talent  for  industrial 
speculation,  and  that  he  who  would  become  a 
great  philosopher  must  renounce  all  these  splen- 
dours of  public  office  and  live  in  simple  poverty, 

retired  from  all  intrigues.     This  delusion,  which 
VOL.  II.  a 


i 


98  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

kept  so  many  Frenchmen  far  from  the  sphere  of 
the  abstract,  has  been  fortunately  dissipated  by 
M.  Consin,  who  has  shown  us  by  his  own  example 
that  a  man  may  be  an  immortal  philosopher  and 
at  the  same  time  a  life-peer  of  France. 

It  is  true  that  there  are  certain  Yoltaireans 
who  explain  this  phenomenon  by  the  simple 
circumstance  that  of  these  two  conditions  M. 
Cousin  has  only  fulfilled  the  latter.  Could  there 
be  a  more  unamiable,  unchristian  declaration? 
Only  a  Yoltairean  could  be  capable  of  such 
frivolity. 

But  what  great  man  ever  escaped  the  persiflage 
of  his  contemporaries  ?  Did  the  Athenians  spare 
the  great  Alexander  with  their  Attic-salted  epi- 
grams? Did  not  the  Bomans  sing  in  bold 
songs  about  CsBsar?  Did  not  the  Berlin  folk 
write  pasquinades  on  Frederic  the  Great?  M. 
Cousin  must  meet  with  the  same  fate  which 
Alexander,  Csesar,  and  Frederic  encountered,  and 
which  many  a  great  man  in  Paris  will  yet  endure. 
The  greater  the  man  the  more  easily  is  he  hit  by 
the  arrow  of  mockery.  Dwarfs  are  &t  more  likely 
to  escape.  I 

The  multitude,  however,  the  people,  does  not 
love  mockery.  Like  genius,  or  love,  or  the  forest, 
or  the  sea  it  is  of  serious  nature ;  it  bears  anti- 
pathy to  the  spiteful  wit  of  salons,  and  it  explains 
great  phenomena  in  profoundly  mystical  fashion. 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  99 

All  its  explanations  have  a  poetic,  marvellous, 
legendary  character.  So,  for  example,  people  ex- 
plained Paganini's  astonishing  execution  on  the 
violin  by  declaring  that  the  musician,  because  he 
murdered  his  mistress  from  jealousy,  was  for 
that  confined  many  years  in  prison,  in  which  his 
only  consolation  was  a  violin,  and  that  by  practis- 
ing on  it  by  night  and  by  day  he  attained  his 
extraordinary  proficiency  on  the  instrument.  In 
like  manner  the  philosophical  virtuosoship  of  M. 
Cousin  is  attributed  to  a  similar  event,  for  it  is 
related  that  the  German  government  considered 
our  great  eclectic  as  a  hero  for  freedom,  and  shut 
him  up,  allowing  him  nothing  to  read  but  Kant's 
"  Critique  of  Pure  Reason."  Out  of  very  ennui  he 
studied  it  continually,  and  thereby  attained  that 
virtuosoship  in  German  philosophy  which  in 
after  years  gained  him  so  much  applause  in  Paris 
when  he  publicly  performed  the  most  difficult 
passages  in  it. 

This  is  a  very  beautiful  folk-tale,  fairy-like, 
legendary,  romantic,  such  as  is  told  of  Orpheus, 
Balaam  the  son  of  Beor,  of  Quaser  the  Wise,  or 
of  Budda,  and  which  every  century  will  work  at, 
till  finally  the  name  Cousin  will  no  longer  be  that 
of  a  real  individual,  but  the  personification  of 
the  martyr  to  freedom  who,  confined  in  prison, 
seeks  consolation  in  philosophy  or  wisdom  in 
the  "  Critique  of  Pure  Reason,"  and  some  future 


•  ■     r\ 


loo  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

Ballanche  will  perhaps  see  in  him  an  allegory  of 
the  age  itself,  an  age  when  criticism  and  pare 
reason  and  wisdom  were  generally  sent  to  the 
lock-np. 

Yet  as  regards  this  story  of  the  imprisonment 
of  M.  Cousin,  it  is  by  no  means  of  purely  alle- 
gorical origin.  For  he,  on  suspicion  of  democracy, 
really  passed  some  time  in  a  German  prison,  as 
did  Lafayette  and  Bichard  Coeur  de  Lion.  Bat 
that  he  there  studied  in  his  leisure  hours  Kant's 
"  Critique  of  Pure  B^ason  "  is  doubtful,  for  three 
reasons.  Firstly,  this  book  is  written  in  German ; 
secondly,  that  to  read  it  one  must  understand 
German ;  and  thirdly,  M.  Cousin  does  not  under- 
stand German  at  all.^  I 

But,  on  my  life !  I  do  not  say  this  in  blame. 
The  greatness  of  M.  Cousin  comes  more  boldly  to 
light  when  we  see  that  he  has  learned  German 
philosophy  without  understanding  the  language 
in  which  it  is  taught.  How  vastly  does  such  a 
genius  overtop   us   common   mortals,  who  only 


*  To  which  a  friend  replies  on  grounds  which  I  will  not  in- 
vestigate, and  for  which  I  do  not  hold  myself  responsible,  that 
firstly,  there  was  in  existence  a  very  good  Latin  version  of  the 
"  Critique  of  Pure  Reason  ; "  secondly,  that  it  is  most  unlikely 
that  a  man  of  genius  could  have  been  long  in  Germany  without 
learning  the  angnage  ;  and  thirdly,  that  Heine  himself  played 
second  fiddle  to  no  man  in  manufacturing  fibs  when  his  object 
was  to  render  an  enemy  ridiculous. — TtxinsUUor. 


'.jf 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  tM 

master  with  greatest  trouble  this  philosophy, 
though  we  have  been  familiar  with  German  from 
our  infancy !  The  real  character  of  such  a  genius 
must  to  us  ever  remain  inexplicable.  Such  are 
the  intuitive  natures  to  whom  Kant  ascribes 
spontaneous  perception  of  things  in  their  totality, 
as  opposed  to  us  of  common  analytical  natures, 
who  just  apprehend  that  which  is  by  sequence  and 
combination  of  details.  Kant  seems  to  have  had 
foreboding  that  such  a  man  would  arise,  who  would 
understand  his  "Critique  of  Pure  Reason"  by  mere 
intuitive  perception,  without  having  learned  dis- 
cursive, analytic  German.  But  it  may  be  that 
the  French  are  more  happily  organised  than  we 
Germans ;  and  I  have  observed  that  however  little 
one  may  tell  them  about  a  doctrine,  or  learned 
investigation,  or  a  scientific  view,  they  know  how 
to  combine  it  all  and  work  it  up  so  admirably 
in  their  intellect  that  they  promptly  understand 
it  far  better  than  we  do,  and  immediately  proceed 
to  explain  it  unto,  or  instruct  us  in  it  It  often 
seems  to  me  as  if  the  heads  of  the  French  were 
furnished  internally,  like  their  caf^s,  with  innumer- 
able mirrors,  so  that  every  idea  which  gets  in 
reflects  itself  countless  times,  by  which  optical 
arrangement  the  narrowest,  scantiest  heads  appear 
to  be  broad  and  enlightened.  These  brilliant 
intellects,  like  the  shining  cafiSs,  generally  greatly 
dazzle  a  poor  German  when  he  first  comes  to  Paris. 


103  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

■        ! 

I  am  afraid  that  I  am  imperceptibly  coming 
from  the  sweet  waters  of  praise  into  the  salt  and 
bitter  sea  of  blame.  Yes,  I  cannot  refrain  from 
giving  it  bitterly  to  M.  Cousin  for  something, 
which  is  that  he  who  loves  truth  more  than  Plato 
or  Tennemann  ^  he  is  unjust  to  himself,  he  slanders 
himself  when  he  would  make  us  believe  that  he 
has  borrowed  everything  from  the  philosophies 
of  Schelling  and  Hegel.  I  myself  must  defend 
M.  Cousin  against  this  self-accnsation.  On  my 
word  and  conscience  this  worthy  man  has  stolen 
absolutely  nothing  from  the  philosophy  of  either, 
and  if  he  brought  any  memorial  of  them  back  from 
Germany  to  France,  it  was  only  their  friendship. 
This  does  honour  to  his  heart.  And  yet  there  are 
many  instances  of  such  self-accusation  recorded 
in  works  on  psychology.  I  myself  once  knew  a 
man  who  confessed  that  he  had  stolen  a  silver 
spoon  from  a  royal  dinner  table,  and  yet  we  all 
knew  that  he  was  not  received  at  court,  and  only 
told  this  story  to  make  us  believe  he  had  dined 
with  the  king ! 

No,  M.  Cousin  has,  as  regards  German  philo- 
sophy, always  kept  the  sixth  commandment ;  he 
never  stole  from  it  an  idea — not  even  the  smallest 

^  Author  of  an  excellent  History  of  Philosophy ;  the  hint  here 
being  that  Oousin  owed  all  his  knowledge  of  German  philosophy 
to  it.  It  is  indeed  to  be  regretted  that  Heine  himself  was  not 
more  familiar  with  this  work  and  that  of  Bixner. — Tramlator. 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 


lOJ 


salt-spoon  of  an  idea  did  he  ever  pnt  into  his 
pocket.  All  witnesses  agree  in  this,  that  M. 
Cousin  in  this  respect — observe  I  say,  in  this 
respect — is  honour  itself.  And  not  only  his 
friends  but  his  enemies  testify  to  it  Such  testi- 
mony is  to  be  found  in  the  Berlin  Annals  of 
Scientific  Criticism  for  the  current  year,  and  as 
their  author,  the  great  Hinrichs,  is  by  no  means 
given  to  praise,  his  words  being  therefore  the 
more  to  be  relied  on,  I  will  in  another  place  give 
them  in  full.  What  is  in  hand  is  to  free  a  great 
man  from  a  serious  charge,  and  therefore  for  that, 
and  that  only,  I  cite  the  testimony  of  the  Berlin 
Annals,  which  otherwise  hurt  my  feelings  by  a 
certain  mocking,  sarcastic  tone  in  which  they 
speak  of  M.  Cousin.  For  I  am  a  true  friend  of 
the  great  Eclectic,  as  I  have  shown  in  the  pre- 
ceding pages,  wherein  I  have  compared  him 
with  all  kinds  of  great  men — with  Hercules, 
Kapoleon,  Alexander,  Cassar,  Frederic  the  Great, 
Orpheus,  Balaam  the  son  of  Beor,  Quaser  the 
Wise,  Bndda,  Lafayette,  Richard  Cceur  de  lion, 
and  Paganini. 

Perhaps  I  am  the  first  man  to  whom  it  ever 
occurred  to  associate  these  names  with  that  of 
Cousin.  Du  sublime  au  ridicule  il  n'y  qu'unpas  ! 
That  is  what  his  enemies  will  say,  those  frivolous 
Voltaireans,  to  whom  nothing  is  holy,  who  have 
no  religion,   and  who   do  not  believe  even  in 


'■^Xl:^ri^- 


I04  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL. 

Consin.  But  it  will  not  be  the  first  time  that 
a  nation  has  learned  from  a  stranger  its  great 
men.  Mine  is  perhaps  the  merit  that  I  have 
shown  to  France  the  value  of  M.  Cousin  as 
regards  the  present,  and  his  significance  in  the 
future.  I  have  shown  how  the  people  have 
already,  during  his  life,  adorned  him  poetically, 
and  narrated  wonderful  things  of  him.  I  have 
shown  how  he  is  passing,  little  by  little,  into  the 
purely  legendary,  and  how  a  time  will  come 
when  the  name  of  Victor  Cousin  will  be  a  myth. 
In  fact  the  Yoltaireans  titter  that  it  is  only  a 
fable.  I 

O  ye  slanderers  of  the  throne  and  the  altar, 
ye  wretches  who,  as  Schiller  sings,  "  are  wont  to 
blacken  all  which  shines,  and  cast  what  towers 
sublime  into  the  dust,"  I  prophesy  unto  ye  that 
the  renown  of  M.  Cousin  will,  like  that  of  the 
French  revolution,  extend  around  the  world.  And 
here  again  I  hear  the  spiteful  souls  remark, 
"  Truly  it  is  on  its  way  to  go  around  the  globe — ^it 
has  already  taken  its  departure  from  Paris."  ^ 


^  A  simile  which,  slightly  chaDged,  occurs  in  the  ReitebUder. 
Of  this  attack  on  Cousin  all  that  can  be  truly  said  is  that  it  is 
to  the  last  degree  discreditable  to  Heine,  it  being  thoroughly 
inspired  by  envy,  malice,  and  untruthfulness,  and  yet  very 
feeble  aa  regards  satire  or  cleverness.  It  is,  in  fact,  so  weak 
with  its  would-be  bitterness  as  to  awaken  pity.  Heine  wished 
to  be  known  as   pre-eminently  the  apostle  or  introduce  for 


I  ^m   Aitf^a*  >*4wa.- 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL.  105 

German  philosophy  and  literature  to  France.  The  latter  had 
already  been  partly  effected  by  Madame  de  Stael  and  Schlegel, 
the  former  by  Cousin,  and  for  this  reason  Heine  did  hia 
utmost  to  discredit  the  great  French  eclectic,  of  whom,  however, 
it  may  be  truly  said  that  be  set  forth  the  methodt  of  the  Grerman 
philosophers  far  more  clearly,  thoroughly,  and  intelligently  than 
our  author  succeeded  in  doing.  The  reputation  of  Cousin  haa 
never  diminished  in  the  least,  his  eclectic  system  was  the 
greatest  stimulant  to  general  study  or  reading  and  a  wide  range 
of  thought  of  any  ever  known  in  France,  and  it  was  therefore 
as  valuable  as  any  German  philosophy.  At  the  time  when 
Heine  wrote  this  diatribe  the  works  of  Cousin  were  text-books 
in  leading  American  universities.  If  any  one  not  familiar  with 
them  will  dispassionately  read  one  or  two  of  the  works  of  this 
great  French  writer  he  cannot  fail  to  be  amazed  at  the  incredible 
audacity  of  this  chapter,  which  seems  indeed,  like  too  much  of 
Heine's  criticism,  to  be  sincerely  based  on  a  full  belief  that  not 
one  of  his  readers  had  ever  read  a  line  of  what  he  is  discussing, 
quite  forgetting  the  fact  that  it  is  those  who  read  certain  books 
who  also  peruse  comments  on  them. — Translator. 


'-4  ""i*!- ■?*••  a^owV-v*^*  (M^  ^'  l-.c^*.. 


THIRD  PART. 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS. 
(1834.) 


..j3l'*"*""**"-'<»«»."->-y*«.--~v>j«.''.' ,'^.-^'..-.^_L,  ,_,^,  "  ■■'•.',-•■  ■  '      ■ 


.i,zTrf''*f  ^. 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS. 

I  HAVE  done  my  best  not  to  derive  the  medisBval 
tendency  or  taste  of  onr  Romanticists  entirely  from 
unobjectionable  sources,  and  I  have  given  them 
the  best  ground  for  defence  in  the  Third  Book 
of  the  contributions  "  To  the  History  of  Religion 
and  Philosophy  in  Germany,"  wherein  I  remarked 
that  the  mania  for  the  Middle  Age  was  perhaps 
a  secret  prepossession  for  old  German  pantheism, 
or  the  remains  of  that  old  religion  living  on  in 
the  popular  beliefs  of  a  later  age.  I  have  already 
discussed  how  these  traditions  still  existed,  of 
course  in  a  distorted  and  abridged  form,  in 
magic  and  witchcraft.  Yes,  they  live  in  the 
memory  of  the  people,  in  their  usages  and  lan- 
guage. The  German  baker  stamps  on  every 
loaf  which  he  bakes  the  old  Druid's  foot,^  and 
our  daily  bread  thus  bears  the  sign  of  the 
German  religion.  What  a  significant  contrast 
does  this  trae  bread  offer  to  the  dry  sham  bread 
with  which  spiritual  culture  would  nourish  us. 

^  Druiden,  or  Druidenf uss,  the  pentalphon  or  pentaple,  in  tiiia 
shape  : — 


* 


It  IB  80  called  because  the  Druids  were  said  to  depict  it  on  the 

109 


IW  ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS. 

No,  the  memories  of  old  German  beliefs  are  not 
extinct.  It  is  said  that  there  are  yet  living  old 
men  in  Westphalia  who  know  where  the  ancient 
images  of  the  gods  lie  buried,  on  their  deathbeds 
they  communicate  the  secret  to  their  youngest 
descendant,  and  then  he  bears  the  secret  in  his 


soles  of  their  shoes,  as  the  ancient  Egyptians  did  the  pictures 
of  Hyksos,  &&,  on  theirs.  The  pentsple  is  also  said  to  represent 
the  goat's  face  or  evil  principle  when  two  points  are  upwards, 
and  the  good  when  this  is  reversed  (L'Abbe  Constant).  But 
it  is  of  Greek  origin.  Legend  states  that  when  Antiochus 
Soter  was  about  to  join  battle  with  Galater,  Alexander  the 
Great  appeared  to  him  in  a  dream  and  bade  him  give  to  his 
soldiers  as  a  rallying  cry  the  word  vyuLvea',  and  to  put  it 
on  his  banner,  because  these  Greek  letters  are  found  in  the 
pentalpJia  or  "  five  A's."  It  occurs  on  old  coins,  and  was  long 
borne  by  the  regiment  Propugnater,  or  Guards  of  Constanti- 
nople. J.  Prsetorius,  Bloektberge$-Berichtung,  1669,  from  whom 
Heine  took  the  suggestion  of  the  loaves,  denies,  however,  that 
the  word  has  anything  to  do  with  Druids,  but  comes  from 
Truht,  or  Dryth,  an  old  term  for  Lord  applied  to  Christ  It 
appears  to  me  that  taking  it  in  connection  with  Antiochus 
Soter,  or  Saviour,  this  is  very  probable.  Among  Christians  in 
the  Middle  Age  this  character  signified  the  five  wounds  of 
Christ.  Its  old  German  origin  is  much  more  than  doubtfuL 
If  the  Celtic  Druids  or  old  German  wise-men  (Heine  is  not 
here  explicit)  wore  the  character  on  their  soles,  it  was  pro- 
bably done  to  express  detestation  of  a  popular  Christian  symbol 
There  is  in  the  Mus^  Fol  of  Geneva  a  fine  Etruscan  vase 
representing  Pallas  Athene  bearing  a  large  shield,  the  centre 
of  which  is  filled  with  this  pentalpba.  It  was  evidently  in  the 
most  ancient  Grseoo-Koman   times  an  emblem  of  victory.— 

Trandator.  i 

i 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS.  iii 

silent  Saxon  heart.^  In  Westphalia,  the  former 
Saxony,  all  is  not  dead  which  lies  buried.  When 
we  wander  there  through  the  old  oak  groves  we 
can  hear  the  voices  of  the  olden  time,  and  the 
re-echoes  of  those  deeply  mysterious  magic  spells 
in  which  there  gushes  a  greater  fulness  of  life 
than  in  all  the  literature  of  the  March  of  Bran- 
denburg. A  mysterious  awe  thrilled  my  soul 
when  once  wandering  through  these  woods  I 
came  to  the  old  Siegburg,  and  my  guide  said 
"  Here  once  dwelt  King  Wittikind,"  and  sighed 
deeply.  He  was  a  simple  woodman  bearing  an 
axe.  I  believe  that  could  it  come  to  pass,  this 
man  would  fight  to-day  for  King  Wittikind, 
and  woe  to  the  skull  whereon  that  axe  should 
fell! 

That  was  a  dark  day  for  Saxony  when 
Wittikind,  its  brave  Duke,  was  conquered  by 
Charlemagne  near  Engter.  As  he  fled  towards 
Ellerbruch,  and  men  and  women  came  wildly 
rushing  in  terror  to  join  the  retreat,  one  old 
woman  could  go  no  further.  But  as  she  would 
not  fall  into  the  hands  of  the   enemy  she  was 


1  For  a  full  account  of  this,  mde  "  Puck,"  3  vols,  1852,  by  Dr. 
J.  Bell.  The  same  story  is  told  of  the  Passamoquoddy  Indians 
in  Maine.  An  Indian  who  professed  to  have  once  seen  one  of 
these  now  vanished  idols  in  his  youth  made  me  from  memory 
a  facsimile  of  it,  which  I  still  possess. — Trantlator. 


112 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS. 


baried   alive  by  the   Saxons  in  a  sand-hill  by 
Bellmans  Elamp,  saying  as  they  did  so : — 

"  Erup  under,  krup  under,  de  Welt  is  di  gram, 
Du  kannst  dem  Qerappel  nich  mer  folgen  !" 

**  Creep  under,  creep  under,  the  world  is  grim  for  thee  ! 
The  rush  thou  canst  not  follow."  ^  | 

It  is  said  that  the  old  woman  still  lives. 
Truly,  in  Westphalia,  all  is  not  dead  which  lies 
buried.  I 

The  brothers  Grimm  tell  this  story  in  their 
Deutsche  Sagen  (German  Tales),  and  I  shall  occa- 
sionally avail  myself  of  the  researches  of  these 
admirable  scholars  in  the  coming  pages.  Jacob 
Grimm  alone  has  done  more  for  philology  than 
all  your  whole  French  academy  since  Richelieu. 
His  German  Grammar  is  a  colossal  work,  a  Gothic 
cathedral,  in  which  all  the  German  tribes  raise 
their  voices  as  in  a  giant  chorns,  every  one  in 
its  own  dialect  It  may  be  that  Jacob  Grimm 
assigned  his  soul  to  the  devil  on  condition  that 
the  latter  should  supply  the  materials  and  give 
his  aid  in  this  tremendous  structure.  And  in 
very  deed  to  bring  together  these  massy  blocks 
of  learning,  and  to  mortar  and  fix  together  these 


^  It  is  remarkable  that  these  words  always  were,  and  may  be 
atill,  sang  by  German  gypsies  in  Romany,  when  burying  an 
old  woman.      Vide  Liebich,  Die  Zigeuner. 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS.  113 

hundred  thousand  citations,  requires  more  than  a 
man's  life  and  more  than  mortal  patience.* 

Paracelsus  is  one  of  the  chief  sources  of  infor- 
mation for  exploring  old  German  popular  tradi- 
tiona  Bis  works  are  translated  into  Latin,  not 
badly  but  incompletely.  They  are  difficult  to 
read  in  the  original  German,  the  style  is  abstruse, 
but  here  and  there  great  thoughts  come  forth  in 
great  words.^  He  is  a  natural  philosopher  in  our 
present  acceptation  of  the  word.  His  terminology  is 
not  to  be  always  understood  in  its  traditional  sense. 
In  his  doctrine  of  elementary  spirits  he  uses  the 
names  of  Nymphs,  Undines,  Silvani,  Salamanders, 
simply  because  these  names  are  known  to  the 


^  Instead  of  the  three  preceding  sentences  we  have  in  the 
French  version,  "  Jacques  Grimm  est  sans  ^al  dans  son  genre. 
Son  Erudition  est  coloesale  comme  une  montagne  et  son  Esprit 
est  frais  comme  la  sonrce  qui  en  jaillit." 

*  Even  the  Latin  is  not  so  very  intelligible.  I  possess  a  stoat 
work  of  more  than  300  pages,  dated  1624,  entitled  Lexicon  Her- 
meticum,  or  a  dictionary  of  the  peculiar  Latin  words  used  only  by 
Paracelsus,  of  which  words  there  are  enough  to  form  a  language. 
It  is  remarkable  that  Heine,  while  writing  on  elementary 
spirits,  makes  so  little  use  of  Paracelsus.  This  writer,  follow- 
ing Fsellus,  regarded  not  only  all  visible  or  sensible  objects  in 
nature  as  spirits  reflected  from  types,  but  also  all  elements, 
forces,  phases  of  action  and  qualities,  everything  having  its 
intsllectual  life  or  immanent  spirit.  Paracelsus  conjectured 
the  existence  of  elements,  laws,  and  conditions  not  perceptible 
to  our  senses.  He  gives  us  the  impression  of  one  who  could 
have  been  a  great  artist  or  poet,  in  the  more  confined  senses 
of  the  words. — 2'randator. 

VOL.  U.  H 


114  ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS, 

public,  not  because  they  exactly  explain  that  of 
which  he  speaks.  Instead  of  seeking  new  words 
arbitrarily,  he  has  preferred  to  use  old  ones, 
which  suggested  something  similar.  Hence  he  has 
been  much  misunderstood,  many  accusing  him  of 
mockery,  others  of  unbelief.  Some  declare  his 
idea  was  to  give  us  a  nursery  tale  out  of  jest  as 
a  system ;  others  blamed  him  because  he,  depart- 
ing from  the  Christian  view,  did  not  declare  the 
elementary  spirits  to  be  devila  "For,"  as  he 
says  somewhere,  "  we  have  no  reason  to  assume 
that  these  beings  belong  to  the  devil,  nor  do  we 
know  what  the  devil  himself  may  be."  He  asserted 
that  such  spirits  were  as  we  are,  real  creations 
of  God,  but  not  like  us  of  Adam's  race,  and  that 
unto  them  God  assigned  as  a  dwelling  the  four 
elementa  Their  bodily  structures  are  according 
to  these  elements.  Therefore  Paracelsus  classifies 
the  different  orders  of  spirits  according  to  the 
four  elements,  and  here  he  gives  us  a  determined 
system. 

To  reduce  such  popular  beliefs  to  a  system,  as 
many  are  now  attempting  to  do,  is  as  unpracti- 
cable  as  if  one  would  put  the  passing  clouds  into 
frames  like  pictures.  At  the  utmost  we  can  only 
assemble  under  certain  rubrics  or  headings  that 
which  is  similar.  And  this  we  will  attempt  as 
regards  elementary  spirits.  We  have  already 
spoken  of  kobolds,  or  goblins,  in  the  first  book 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS.  115 

of  the  "  History  of  Religion  and  Philosophy  in 
Germany."  They  are  ghosts  or  spectres — a  mixture 
of  dead  men  and  devils;  they  must  be  carefully 
distinguished  from  the  true  earth  spirita  The 
latter  dwell  chiefly  in  the  mountains,  and  are 
called  Wichtelmaenner,  Gnomes,  Metalarii,  Little 
Folk,  and  Dwarf s.^  The  legend  of  these  dwarfs  is 
analogous  with  that  of  the  giants,  and  indicates 
the  existence  of  two  difierent  races,  which,  more 
or  less  at  peace  with  one  another,  once  occupied 
the  country,  but  which  have  now  disappeared. 

Giants  have  left  Germany  for  ever.  But  the 
dwarfs  are  still  to  be  met  now  and  then  in  the 
shafts  of  mines,  where  they,  clad  like  little  miners, 
dig  out  valuable  metals  and  precious  stones. 
From  the  beginning  the  dwarfs  have  possessed  in 
abundance  gold,  silver,  and  diamonds,  for  they 
could  creep  about  everywhere  invisibly ;  no  hole 
was  too  small  for  them  to  slip  through,  so  that  it 
did  but  lead  to  a  vein  of  wealth.     The  giants 


^  Paracelsus  also  calls  them  Gnomos,  Pygmceos,  aut  Neufermoi. 
Lavater,  in  Libello  de  Spectris  et  Lemuris,  gives  many  synonyms 
for  these  spirits,  among  others  that  of  viruncvlot  terroet. 
Prsetorius  {Anthropodemui  Plutonicus,  1666)  devotes  a  chapter 
of  a  hundred  pages  to  these  Bergmannrigen  or  Erd-Leuten,  as  he 
terms  them,  to  which  Heine  has  been  not  a  little  indebted.  The 
view  as  to  the  historical  existence  of  the  dwarfs  has  been 
thoroughly  examined  by  David  MacRitchie  in  a  very  interesting 
work  (already  mentioned  by  me)  entitled  the  "  Testimony  of 
Tradition." — Tran$lator. 


t~- 


Il6  ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS. 


I 


however,  were  always  poor,  and  if  any  one  had 
ever  trusted  them  they  would  doubtless  have  left 
behind  them  giant-like  and  colossal  debts.  Nor 
would  they  ever  be  converted  to  Christianity.  I 
infer  this  from  an  old  Danish  ballad,  in  which 
the  giants  meet  at  a  wedding.  The  bride  alone 
eats  four  tuns  of  houUli,  or  thick  soap,  sixteen 
oxen,  eighteen  sides  of  pork,  and  with  it  all  drinks 
seven  tuns  of  beer.  Indeed  the  bridegroom 
remarks,  "  I  never  saw  a  young  bride  with  such 
an  appetite."  Among  the  guests  was  the  little 
Mimmering  whose  diminutive  size  contrasted  with 
that  of  the  giants.  And  the  song  ends  with  the 
words, "  Little  Mimmering  was  among  this  heathen 
folk  the  only  Christian  child."  ^ 

There  are  several  very  charming  traditions 
referring  to  the  weddings  of  the  Kleine  Folk,  or 
little  people,  as  the  dwarfs  are  called  in  Germany ; 
as,  for  example,  the  following : — 

"Once  the  little  folk  wished  to  celebrate  a 
wedding  in  the  Castle  of  Eilenberg  in  Saxony. 
During  the  night  they  entered  by  the  keyhole 
and  crannies  of  the  windows,  and  skipped  and 
bounded  on  the  polished  floor  like  pease  thrown 
down  on  a  threshing-ground.  Thereupon  the  old 
Count  who  was  sleeping  under  the  canopy  of  his 

1  Id  the  original  Northern  tale  this  bride  was,  however,  Thor 
disguised  as  Freya.  It  is  in  the  story  of  the  recovery  of  the 
hammer  as  given  in  the  older  Edda. — Translator. 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS.  117 

bed  of  state  in  that  very  hall,  awoke,  and  marvelled 
greatly,  as  well  he  might,  at  the  sight  of  so  many 
tiny  people.  Then  one  of  them,  who  was  splendidly 
attired,  like  unto  a  herald,  approached  the  Count, 
and  in  courtly  and  befitting  phrase  invited  hira  to 
take  part  in  the  festival.  'But,'  he  added,  'we 
pray  of  thee  one  thing,  that  thou  alone  shalt  be 
present ;  no  other  person  of  thy  house  shall  behold 
us,  though  by  so  little  as  a  glance.'  To  which  the 
Count  replied  in  friendly  manner,  *  Since  you 
have  wakened  me,  I  will  be  one  of  you.'  Then 
they  brought  him  a  little  lady  for  a  partner,  little 
torch-bearers  ranged  themselves  around,  and  soft 
mysterious  music  began  to  sound.  The  Count  had 
great  trouble  while  dancing  not  to  lose  sight  of 
his  little  partner,  who  escaped  his  view  at  every 
leap,  yet  who  at  last  whirled  him  about  so  that  he 
could  hardly  breathe.  When  all  at  once,  in  the 
midst  of  the  wildest  excitement  of  the  dance,  every- 
thing stopped,  the  music  was  silent,  and  the  whole 
party  ran  as  if  for  their  lives  to  the  door-cracks, 
mouse-holes,  or  wherever  any  exit  was  to  be 
found.i     B^t  tliQ  bridal  couple,  the  herald,  and 

I  There  is  an  amusing  parallel  to  this  passage  to  be  found  in 
an  Irish  tale.  Pat  O'Flanagan,  the  tailor,  was  dancing  in  mad 
joy  with  the  devil,  who  was  fiddling,  while  both  took  alternate 
sups  from  Satan's  whiskey  bottle.  "  Whin,  och  what  a  pity  1 
all  at  wanst  this  foine  parrety  was  broken  up  by  the  appair- 
ence  of  Judy,  Pat's  wife."  In  this  tale  the  devil  goes  off  with 
Mrs.  O'Flanagan. — Translator. 


Il8  ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS. 

the  dancers  lifted  their  eyes  to  an  opening  in  the 
ceiling  above,  and  saw  the  face  of  the  old  Coantess, 
who  was  secretly  watching  them.  Then  the 
elves  who  remained  bowed  to  the  Count,  and  the 
herald  approaching  thanked  him  for  his  hospitality. 
'  But,*  he  added,  '  as  our  joy  and  our  wedding 
have  been  disturbed  because  another  human  eye 
has  seen  us,  there  shall  never  be  of  all  your  race 
more  than  seven  alive  at  one  time.'  Then  all  fled, 
and  the  Count  found  himself  alone  in  the  dark 
and  silent  hall.  The  prediction  was  fulfilled,  even 
to  this  day,  for  when  six  knights  von  Eilenberg 
live,  one  always  dies  when  a  seventh  is  born."  * 

Much  is  said  in  praise  of  the  skill  of  the  dwarfs. 
They  smithed  the  best  swords,  but  only  the  giants 
could  do  battle  with  them.  Were  these  giants 
really  so  very  tall  ?  Fear  perhaps  added  yards  to 
their  height,  as  has  often  happened.  Nicetas,  a 
Byzantine  who  has  recorded  the  taking  of  Con- 
stantinople by  the  Crusaders,  avows  most  seriously 
that  one  of  those  knights  of  the  North  who  sent 
everybody  flying  before  him  actually  appeared  to 
him  in  that  awful  instant  to  be  fifty  feet  high.^ 

'  Like  this  is  an  old  German  legend  of  a  Graf  von  Hoya  who 
having  in  like  manner  honpitably  entertained  a  party  of  elves, 
received  from  their  herald  who  had  begged  for  the  kindness  a 
sword,  and  a  ring  in  which  was  set  a  red  lion,  which  should 
grow  pale  whenever  one  of  the  Von  Hoya  race  was  about  to 
die. — Translator.  I    . 

'  This  passage  is  wanting  in  the  French  version.     Hie  sien 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS.  119 

The  dwellings  of  the  dwarfs  were  in  the  moun- 
tains. The  small  holes  often  seen  in  rocks  are 
still  called  Zwerglocher,  or  dwarf-holes.  I  have 
seen  many  of  them  in  the  Harz,  especially  in  the 
Bodenthal ;  and  many  stalactite  formations,  which 
are  found  in  the  mountain  caverns,  as  well  as 
singularly-shaped  summits  of  rocks,  which  people 
call  dwarf  weddings.  These  are  dwarfs  wh^  once 
when  gaily  returning  from  their  little  cnurch, 
from  a  betrothal,  or  while  merry  at  the  widal 
meal,  were  changed  by  a  wicked  sorcerer  into 
stone.  Tales  of  such  transformations  into  stone 
are  as  much  at  home  in  the  North  as  in  the  East, 
where  the  narrow- minded  Mussulman  believes 
that  the  statues  and  caryatides  which  he  finds  in 
the  ruins  of  old  Greek  temples  are  petrified 
human  beinga  I  saw  not  only  in  the  Harz 
mountains  but  in  Brittany  many  strangely-grouped 
stones,  which  the  peasants  call  dwarf  weddings. 
The  stones  near  Loc  Maria  Ker  are  the  houses  of 
the  Torrigan  or  Kurile,  as  the  little  folk  are  there 
called,^ 

Here  I  will  tell  another  tale  of  such  a  wedding: — 

in  error  in  stating  that  only  giants  could  manage  the  magic 
swords  made  by  dwarfs.  The  Hervar  Saga  is  the  history  of 
such  a  sword,  but  there  is  no  mention  of  any  giant  in  it.  These 
marvellous  weapons  occur  in  many  sagas,  but  always  in  associa- 
tion with  ordinary  mortals. — Trandator. 

^  So  in  Florence  one  or  both  of  the  colossal  marble  statues 
(or  Bianconi)  in  the  Piazza  della  Signoria  are  believed  when 


lao  ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS. 

There  is  in  Bohemia,  not  far  from  Elnbogen,  a 
famous  grotto  of  the  dwarfs  in  a  wild  but  beauti- 
ful valley,  through  which  the  Eger  winds  grace- 
fully and  serpent-like  to  Carlsbad.  They  who 
dwell  in  towns  and  hamlets  thereabout  relate  that 
in  this  place  there  lived  in  the  olden  time  many 
dwarfs  or  hill-spirits  who  led  a  peaceful  life, 
being  so  far  from  injuring  any  one  that  they  often 
helped  their  neighbours  when  in  need.  They  were 
governed  by  a  mighty  magician,  who  for  some 
cause  became  enraged  at  them,  and  one  day  when 
they  were  all  met  at  a  wedding  in  their  little 
church,  petrified  them  all,  or,  to  speak  correctly, 
as  they  were  spirits  not  to  be  destroyed,  he  in- 
closed them  in  forms  of  stone.  These  groups  are 
called  to  this  day  die  verzauherte  Zwergenhochzeit — 
the  enchanted  marriage  feast  —  and  the  little 
figures  are  still  to  be  seen  in  all  possible  positions 
on  the  mountain-tops.  One  is  shown  in  the 
middle  of  a  rock ;  it  is  the  image  of  a  dwarf  who, 
while  the  rest  ran  away  to  escape  the  enchantment, 
lingered  too  long  in  his  home,  and  was  turned  to 
stone  at  the  instant  when  he  looked  out  of  the 
window  for  aid.*  i 

the  rays  of  the  full  moon  fall  on  them  to  become  animated  and 
walk  about.  The  word  Torrigan,  as  given  by  Heine,  should  be 
Korrigan,  The  three  preceding  sentences  are  wanting  in  the 
French  version. — Translator. 

^  It  is   said   that  the    dwarfs,   vaguely  anticipating  these 
disasters,  buried  in  the  ground  in  many  places  all  their  pots 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS.  12 1 

The  dwarfs  wear  little  caps,  by  means  of 
which  they  can  make  themselves  invisible ;  these 
are  called  Tarnkappen  or  Nebelkdppchen  (cloud- 
caps).  Once  a  peasant  while  threshing  acci- 
dentally knocked  with  his  flail  one  of  these  caps 
from  the  head  of  a  dwarf,  who  at  once  became 
visible  and  ran  to  hide  himself  in  a  crevice  in  the 
earth.  One  can  by  means  of  incantations  bring 
these  dwarfs  to  full  view.^ 

There  lived  in  Nuremberg  a  man  named  Paul 
Kreutz,  who  once  practised  a  marvellous  conjura- 
tion. He  placed  on  the  ground  a  new  small  table 
covered  with  a  white  cloth,  on  which  were  two 
cups  of  milk,  two  of  honey,  two  small  plates,  and 
nine  small  knives.  Then  he  took  a  black  hen, 
and  cut  off  its  head  over  a  pan,  so  that  the  blood 
dropped  into  it.  Of  this  he  threw  some  to  the 
east  and  some  to  the  west,  and  began  to  repeat  his 

and  pans,  vases,  lamps,  and  the  like.  These  things  which  anti- 
quaries now  attribute  to  the  Romans,  old  Germans  or  Celts,  were 
seriously  believed  by  learned  men  in  the  seventeenth  century  to 
have  been  made  by  the  subterranean  spirits  or  dwarfs,  though 
others  contended  that  they  grew  of  themselves  in  the  ground, 
being  therein  impressed  by  the  Archaeufl  or  creative  power.  I 
believe  that  this  must  chiefly  refer  to  Roman  votive  offerings 
representing  objects  in  miniature. — Translator. 

^  It  may  interest  the  reader  to  learn  one  of  these  incantations. 
In  the  Romagna  Toscana,  where  these  cap  dwarfs  {foUetti  coUa 
berelta)  still  abound,  when  they  haunt  a  house  or  room,  which 
is  manifested  by  peculiar  noises,  prepare  for  them  by  putting 
a  lighted  lamp  into  an  earthen  pot,  and  cover  this  with  another 


122  ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS.        ' 

spell.  Then  he  got  as  quickly  as  possible  behind 
a  great  tree  and  saw  two  dwarfs  come  up  ont  of 
the  ground,  who  sat  themselves  at  the  table  and 
began  to  eat  from  the  enticing  pan  which  he  had 
placed  there.  Then  he  asked  them  questions,  to 
which  they  replied ;  and  when  this  had  been  re- 
peated several  times,  they  became  so  intimate  with 
him  as  to  visit  him  in  his  house  as  guests.  But 
if  he  did  not  make  the  proper  preparations,  they 
either  did  not  appear,  or  fled  at  once.  Finally, 
their  king  came  alone,  clad  in  a  scarlet  cloak, 
beneath  which  he  bore  a  book  (of  magic),  which 
he  placed  on  the  table,  and  allowed  his  host  to 
read  therein  as  much  as  he  pleased,  and  from  this 
the  man  learned  much  wisdom  and  many  strange 
secrets.  i 

The  dwarfs  often  showed  themselves  of  their 
own  accord  to  men,  kept  company  with  them,  and 
were  contented  enough  so  that  no  harm  was  done 
them.     But  men,  evilly  inclined  as  ever,  played 

pot.     "  Then,  when  you  hear  a  noise,  quickly  uncover  the  light, 

»nd  if  you  see  a  goblin,  snatch  away  his  red  cap,  and  say  : — 
'  I  have  ta'en  thy  cap  away  ; 
And  yet  'tis  not  a  cap,  I  say,  I 

But  thy  peace,  which  I'll  not  give 
Unto  thee  while  thou  dost  live, 
Till  thou  tell'st  me,  as  thou'rt  bid. 
Where  a  treasure  now  lies  hid  ! ' 
"  Then  the  spirit  to  redeem  his  cap  will  tell  where  a  treasure 

is  concealed. "     Which  secret  was  taught  me  by  a  witch,  both 

in  Romagnola  and  Italian. 


««— -Tlf***-  _ 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS.  123 

them  many  a  mischievous  trick.    In  the  Volkssagen 
of  Wyss  ^  we  read  as  follows : — 

"During  the  summer  a  troop  of  dwarfs  often 
came  down  from  the  rocky  places  into  the  valley, 
and  either  helped  the  labourers  in  friendly  fashion, 
or  lay  looking  on  at  the  people  making  hay.  They 
liked  to  sit  at  their  ease  on  the  long  thick  branch 
of  a  certain  maple  tree.  But  once  certain  mis- 
chievous fellows  sawed  by  night  this  branch 
through,  so  that  it  hardly  held  to  the  trunk.  And 
tiie  next  morning,  when  the  unsuspecting  little 
creatures  sat  on  the  bough  it  broke,  and  they  all 
fell  to  the  ground,  and  were  laughed  at.  This 
angered  them,  and  they  cried — 

'  Oh  how  high  heaven  is  !      « 
And  how  great  is  perfidy  ! 
Here  to-day  but  nevermore.' 

"  And  from  that  day  they  lefb  the  land." 
I  doubt  whether  the  dwarfs  regard  men  as  good 
spirits ;  it  is  certain  that  they  would  never  infer 
our  divine  origin  from  our  deeds.  Beings  of  a 
diflTerent  nature  from  ours  can  of  course  have  no 
good  opinion  of  us,  and  the  devil  thinks  we  are  the 
vilest  of  all  creatures.  I  once  saw  "  Faust "  acted 
in  a  barn  in  a  village.     The  magician  invokes  the 


1  In  the  French  version,  "  Ou  raconte  dans  I'Halisthal."    This 
should  be  Hadithale,  an  error  for  the  name  of  the  place. 


IS4  ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS. 

devil,  and,  relying  on  his  own  intrepidity,  demands 
that  the  fiend  shall  appear  in  his  most  frightful 
form,  under  the  traits  of  the  most  terrible  of 
creatnres.  The  devil  obeys  and  appears  as — a 
man ! 

No  one  knows  exactly  how  it  was  that  the 
dwarfs  left  us  so  suddenly.^  There  are,  however, 
two  other  traditions  which  also  ascribe  their  de- 
parture to  our  mocking  and  mischief.  The  first 
of  these  is  as  follows : —  | 

"  The  dwarfs,  who  dwelt  in  caverns  and  crevices 
round  about  men's  houses,  were  very  kind,  and  at 
night  often  did  work  for  people  while  they  slept. 
And  when  the  peasants  went  forth  early  in  the 
morning,  and  were  amazed  to  find  everything 
done  to  their  hand,  the  dwarfs,  hidden  in  the 
bushes,  burst  out  laughing  at  their  surprise. 
Sometimes  the  country-folk  were  angry  at  finding 
their  com  cut  before  it  was  quite  ripe,  but  when 
immediately  after  hail  and  storm  came,  and  they 
saw  that  but  for  the  dwarfs  they  must  have  lost 
all,  they  were  grateful  enough.  But  at  last  men 
by  their  wanton  jests  lost  the  love  and  aid  of  the 
dwarfs,  who  fled,  since  which  time  they  have  never 
been  seen.  The  cause  was  this.  A  shepherd  had, 
up  on  the  mountain,  a  magnificent  cherry-tree. 


^  In  the  French  version  we  here  have  "  Les  fr^res  Grimm 
rapportent  k  ce  sujet  encore  deux  histoires."       | 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS.  125 

And  as  the  fruit  ripened,  it  happened  thrice  that 
it  was  picked  and  all  laid  out  on  the  planks  and 
hurdles  on  which  the  peasant  was  accustomed  to 
dry  his  cherries.  The  villagers  said,  *  That  could 
have  been  done  by  no  one  unless  it  was  the  honest 
dwarfs,  who  come  by  night  in  long  cloaks,  tripping 
along  with  covered  feet,  quiet  as  birds,  and  do  the 
work  of  men  for  them.  People  have  sometimes 
watched  them  silently,  unseen,  but  no  one  disturbs 
them,  and  lets  them  come  and  go.' 

"  Hearing  this  the  man  who  owned  the  cherry- 
tree  became  anxious,  and  would  fain  know  why 
the  dwarfs  hid  their  feet  with  such  care,  and 
wanted  to  find  out  if  their  feet  were  not  formed 
like  those  of  men.  So  the  next  year  when  the 
summer  came  and  the  time  when  the  dwarfs 
should  gather  and  store  the  cherries,  he  took  a 
sackful  of  ashes  and  strewed  them  on  the  hill. 
The  next  morning  as  day  broke  he  hastened  to 
the  tree  and  found  it  picked  empty,  while  all 
around  in  the  ashes  were  the  prints  as  of  geese- 
feet.  Then  the  boor  laughed  and  made  fun,  and 
told  every  one  how  he  had  found  that  the  dwarfs 
had  feet  like  geese.  But  soon  after  this  the 
dwarfs  wasted  and  spoiled  their  houses,  and  fled 
afar  into  the  hill,  hating  men  and  refusing  to 
help  them  any  more.  But  the  boor  who  had 
betrayed  them  had  a  wasting  sickness,  and  was 
weak  of  mind  till  he  died." 


126  ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS. 

The  other  tradition,  which  is  given  in  Otmar's 
VolkssageUy  is  of  a  much  sadder  and  harsher 
character. 

"  Between  Walkenried  and  Nenhof,  in  the 
county  Hohenstein,  the  dwarfs  once  had  two 
kingdoms.  A  peasant  who  lived  there  found 
that  every  night  some  persons  came  and  stole 
from  his  field-crops,  nor  could  he  discover  who 
did  it.  At  last,  by  the  advice  of  a  wise  woman, 
he  went  as  night  came  on  to  his  field  of  pease 
and  began  to  beat  about  in  the  air,  up  and  down, 
and  all  around,  with  a  switch.  Nor  was  it  long 
before  some  dwarfs  stood  plainly  before  him,  for 
he  had  knocked  off  their  cloud-caps  which  made 
them  invisible.  The  dwarfs  fell  in  fear  on  their 
knees,  and  owned  that  it  was  their  people  who 
had  stolen  his  pease,  but  that  they  had  been 
driven  to  it  by  dire  need.  This  news  of  the 
capture  of  the  dwarfs  stirred  up  all  the  people. 
The  dwarf-folk  sent  deputies  and  offered  ransom 
for  their  captive  brothers,  saying  that  they  would 
now  leave  the  land  for  ever.  But  the  question  of 
the  Exodus  stirred  up  fresh  strife.  For  the  peasants 
were  not  willing  to  let  the  dwarfs  go  away  with 
all  their  hidden  treasures,  and  the  dwarfs  declared 
that  when  they  went  they  would  not  be  seen  by 
any  one.  At  last  it  was  agreed  that  the  dwarfs 
should  pass  over  a  small  bridge  near  Neuhof,  and 
that  every  one  as  he  went  should  throw  into  a 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS.  127 

cask  to  be  placed  there  a  part  of  his  property  for 
toll.  But  some  prying  people  hid  themselves 
under  the  bridge  so  as  to  at  least  listen  to  the 
dwarfs  departing,  and  heard  all  night  long  over- 
head the  tramp,  tramp  of  the  little  men,  which 
sounded  like  the  stepping  of  so  many  sheep.  But 
some  stories  say  that  every  dwarf  had  to  throw  a 
gold  coin  into  the  cask,  and  that  the  next  morn- 
ing it  was  found  quite  full  of  very  ancient  money. 
Also  that  ere  they  went  the  king  of  the  dwarfs  him- 
self, in  his  scarlet  cloak,  came  before  the  people, 
begging  them  not  to  banish  him  and  his  subjects. 
Imploringly  he  raised  his  little  hands  to  heaven, 
weeping  the  most  moving  tears,  as  once  did  Don 
Isaac  Abarbanel  before  Ferdinand  of  Arragon."  ^ 

One  should  carefully  distinguish  the  dwarfs  or 
spirits  of  the  earth  from  the  elves  or  spirits  of  the 
air,^  who  are  also  more  known  in  France,  and  who 
are  so  charmingly  sung  by  English  poets.  If  the 
elves  were  not  already  immortal  by  nature  they 
would    have    become    so    through    Shakespeare. 

^  These  two  sentences  are  omitted  from  the  French  version. 

*  French  version,  "Les  elfes  ou  sylphes."  This  is  an  error 
of  the  author.  Heine  is  supposed  to  be  writing  about  Oerman 
spirits,  and  the  term  df,  plural  elves,  was  applied  in  Grermany, 
as  in  England,  to  all  kinds  of  small  sprites  or  fairies.  The  older 
writers  waste  much  wild  philology  in  endeavouring  to  connect 
the  word  with  Alp,  a  nightmare ;  Alben,  child  of  a  witch  by  her 
imp  ;  Ephialtes,  the  nightmare  ;  Alba,  the  dawn,  also  a  spirit ; 
Alven,  witches  ;  and  one  even  conjectures  that  it  had  some  affinity 
with  alpha  and  the  pentalpha,  or  charm  against  evil  spirits. 


128 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS. 


They  will  live  eternally  in  the  Midgammer  Night's 
Dream  of  poesy.^  And  no  more  will  Spencer's 
Faery  Queen  be  forgotten,  so  long  as  the  English 
tongue  is  understood.^ 

The  belief  in  elves  is,  in  my  opinion,  more  of 
Celtic  than  of  Scandinavian  origin.  Therefore 
there  are  more  legends  of  elves  in  the  Western 
North  than  towards  the  East.  In  Germany  little 
is  known  of  them,  and  what  there  is  is  all  a  re- 
echo of  Breton  tales,  as,  for  instance,  in  Wieland's 
"  Oberon."  What  people  in  Germany  call  Mfen  or 
Elben  are  the  uncanny  creatures  which  witches 
bear,  begotten  by  the  devil.     The  real  elf-tales 


^  It  is  very  evident  that  Heine's  French  secretary  or  trans- 
lator did  not  know  that  this  refers  to  a  play  by  Shakespeare. 
He  gives  it  as  "lis  vivent  ^ternellement  dans  les  songes  des 
naits  d'^t^  de  la  po^sie." 

'  The  poems  of  Herrick  and  Drayton  would  have  been  more 
appropriate  here  as  regards  goblins  and  elves.  In  the  following 
sentence  our  author  shows  apparent  ignorance  of  the  Edda  and 
of  Scandinavian  folk-lore,  nor  was  be  aware  that  elves  or  air- 
spirits,  as  well  as  dwarfs,  are  well  known  in  Northern  Italy. 
What  Heine  here  understands  by  elves  are  the  aerial  fata  or 
fays,  which  are  not  really  Celtic  but  Latin.  And  I  believe  that 
the  red-cap  dwarf  of  the  North  is  of  Etruscan  Latin  origin, 
coming  from  the  red-headed  woodpecker,  Pieus,  who  is  also  a 
goblin,  who  reveals  secret  treasures.  It  is  certain  that  the 
authentic  written  accounts  of  this  goblin-deity  and  others  of  his 
kind  are  far  older  than  anything  known  of  Teutonio  or  Celtic 
mythology.  There  are  two  trifling  variations  from  the  text  in 
the  French  version  of  this  passage,  that  of  "Elfen  or  Alben," 
kc,  being  omitted,  and  "  Scotland  and  England  "  being  added 
to  "Ireland  and  Northern  France." — Translator, 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS.  129 

are  at  home  in  Ireland  and  Northern  France, 
from  which  they  resound  as  far  south  as  Provence, 
mingling  with  the  fairy-faiths  of  the  East.  From 
this  mixture  sprang  the  beautiful  lais  of  Count 
Lanval,  whom  the  lovely  fairy  favoured,  under 
condition  that  he  would  keep  his  happiness  a 
secret.  But  when  King  Arthur,  at  a  festival  in 
Karduel,  declared  that  his  queen,  Ginevra,  was  the 
most  beautiful  woman  in  the  world,  Lanval  could 
no  longer  keep  silence,  and  his  good  fortune  was 
at  an  end  so  far  as  this  world  went.  It  was  no 
better  with  Sir  Grueland  (Gruelan),  he  could  not 
hold  his  tongue ;  the  beloved  fairy  vanished,  and 
he  rode  far  and  wide  on  his  horse  Gedefer  to  find 
her.  But  in  the  fairy  land,  Avalon,  the  unfor- 
tunate knights  find  their  ladyloves  once  more,  and 
there  Count  Lanval  and  Gruelan  may  gossip  about 
them  to  their  heart's  content.  ^  Here,  too,  Ogier 
the  Dane  rests  happily  from  his  heroic  deeds  in  the 
arms  of  his  Morgana.  Ye  French  know  all  these 
stories.  Ye  know  Avalon,  but  the  Persians  know 
it  too,  and  call  it  Djinnistan.  It  is  the  land  of 
poetry.'^ 

The  forms  and  faces  of  elves,  and  their  living 
and  thriving,  is  also   tolerably  well   known  to 


^  These  tales  may  be  found  in  the  original  in  the  "  Lays  of 
the  Trouveurs,"  by  Saint  Pelaye.  I  believe  they  were  trans- 
lated by  Miss  Castello. — Translator. 

"  Djimniatan,  spirit-land. — Trandator. 

VOL.  II.  I 


I30  ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS. 

you.     Spenser's  Faery  Queen  long  since  winged 

her  way  hither  from  England.     Who  does  not 

know  Titania  ?     Whose  brain  is  so  thick  that  it 

does  not  ever  and  anon  hear  the  merry  ringing  of 

her  aerial  train.     But  is  it  a  sign  of  death  if  one 

sees  the  queen  with  his  own  eyes,  and  receives 

from  her  a  friendly  greeting  ?     I  would  fain  know 

this  exactly,  because —  , 

•      I 
"  In  the  forest,  in  the  moonlight,  j 

Once  I  heard  the  elfin  singing, 

Heard  their  horns  so  softly  pealing, 

Heard  their  bells  so  gently  ringing. 

And  their  snow-white  palfries  carried 
Qolden  stag-horns,  aud  were  leaping 
Headlong,  while  like  swans  in  autumn 
Through  the  air  the  train  came  sweeping. 

And  their  queen  bowed  to  me,  smiling, 

Smiling  as  she  rode  before  me  ; 

Is't  a  sign  that  love  awaits  me  1 

Does  it  mean  that  death  hangs  o'er  me  ? " 


■'o^ 


In  the  Danish  popular  songs  there  are  two 
elfin  legends  which  most  accurately  set  forth  the 
character  of  these  elves.^     One  tells  the  tale  of 

^  The  extraordinary  manner  in  which  Heine  confounds  elves 
with  sylphs  and  goblins  is  here  made  worse  by  the  subject 
being  treated  in  a  very  different  manner  in  the  German  version 
from  that  of  the  French.  In  the  former  he  gives  the  prose 
account,  which  I  here  translate  ;  but  in  the  French,  instead  of 
this,  he  publishes  a  very  dry  and  indifferent  prose  version  of 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS.  131 

a  young  fellow  who  lay  on  the  elfin  hill  and  slept. 
He  dreamed  that  he  stood  leaning  on  his  sword, 
while  the  elves  whirled  round  him,  and  tried  by 
their  caresses  to   make  him  take  part  in  their 

the  ballads.  The  German  editor  rightly  judged  that  a  poetical 
form  would  be  most  acceptable,  and  so  gives  one,  partly  by  Rosa 
Warrens.  In  this  perplexity  I  have  thought  it  best,  instead  of 
a  third-hand  version  from  another  writer,  to  translate  these 
ballads  directly  from  the  old  Danish  originals,  for  which  I  am 
indebted  to  the  kindness  of  Professor  D.  Comparetti,  in  Florence, 
where  I  am  now  working.  The  first  of  these  has  been  translated 
into  English  before,  and  occurs,  I  believe,  in  M.  Lewis's  "  Tales 
of  Wonder."  In  the  French  version  it  is  prefaced  with  these 
words.     I  follow  Grundtveig's  text : — 

"  II  n'y  que  deux  traditions  snr  les  elfes  qui  soient  indigene 
dans  le  nord  oriental,  et  comme  elles  sont  des  plus  courtes  et 
des  mieux  exprim^es  dans  les  chants  danois,  je  veux  les  rap- 
porter  sons  cette  forme.     Voici  la  premiere  : 

"  I  laid  my  head  on  the  elfin  height, 
And  sleep  was  stealing  o'er  me  ; 
There  came  to  me  two  maidens  bright, 
Who  talked  as  they  stood  before  me : 
Since  the  time  I  first  beheld  her.* 

One  of  them  softly  patted  my  cheek, 
While  the  other  whispered,  glancing  : 
'  Arise,  Sir  Knight,  I  pray  you  speak, 
Would  you  like  to  join  our  dancing  ? ' 
Since  the  time  I  first  beheld  her. 


*  The  following  is  the  first  verse  of  the  original  Danish  : — 

"  leg  lagde  mitt  hoff  uett  thill  elfue-hoy, 
Minne  oigne  di  finge  enn  dualle, 
Der  kom  tho  jomfruer  afE  birgit  ad, 
Sidenn  ieg  och  hinde  forst  saa." 


132  ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS. 

dance.  One  of  them  strokes  his  cheek  and  says, 
"  Dance  with  us,  pretty  youth,  and  we  will  sing 
thee  the  sweetest  songs  which  thy  heart  can 
desire."     Then   there    sounded   a   song   of  snch 


'  Awake,  awake,  my  cavalier  !  I 

Come  to  our  dance  nor  fear  it ; 
Thou  shall  list  to  a  Bong  from  my  maidens  dear, 
It  will  charm  thy  soul  to  hear  it' 

Since  the  time  I  first  beheld  her. 

They  raised  their  voices  in  a  song, 
I  heard  the  air  beginning  ; 
The  roaring  river  which  rushed  along 
Stopped  when  it  heard  them  singing. 
Since  the  time  I  first  beheld  her. 

The  roaring  river  halted  there,  | 

For  once  on  its  way  delaying  ; 
The  little  fish  in  the  brooklet  clear 
For  joy  were  plashing  and  playing. 
Since  the  time  I  first  beheld  her. 

They  leapt  with  their  little  tails  in  bounds, 
The  little  fish  a-springing  ; 
The  birds  about  with  sweetest  sounds 
Joined  in  the  elfin-singing. 

Since  the  time  I  first  beheld  her. 

And  ever  they  sang  to  sweetest  tunes, 
'Oh,  live  with  us,  knight,'  inviting : 
'  We  will  teach  thee  to  cut  the  magic  runes, 
And  to  read  all  wondrous  writing.' 

Since  the  time  when  I  first  beheld  her. 

We'll  teach  thee  to  trap  the  beaver  by  night. 
And  to  snare  the  wild  bear  o'er  you  ; 


J 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS.  133 

terrible  power  of  love  that  the  rushing  stream 
whose  waters  had  hitherto  ever  roared  wildly 
suddenly  stopped,  the  little  fish  leaped  np  and 
played  in  rapture  with  their  tails.  Another  elf 
lady  whispered,  "Dance  with  us,  beautiful  boy, 
and  we  will  teach  thee  Runic  sayings  by  which 
thou  canst  take  the  bear  and  wild  beaver,  and 


The  dragon  who  gaarda  the  gold  so  bright 
Shall  fly  from  the  land  before  yon. 
Since  the  time  I  first  beheld  her. 

They  circled  here,  they  circled  there. 

The  elves  in  the  moonlight  glancing  ; 

I  leaned  on  my  sword  in  the  moonlight  clear, 

As  I  beheld  their  dancing. 

Since  the  time  I  first  beheld  her. 

'  And  listen  now,  yonng  cayalier  ! 

If  longer  thou'It  delay  thee, 

With  this  sword  and  knife  which  thou  lee'st  here 

This  instant  we  will  slay  thee.' 

Since  the  time  I  first  beheld  her. 

And  had  not  juat  then,  by  God's  gracious  will, 
The  cock  crowed  out  so  clever, 
I  must  have  gone  in  the  elfin  hill. 
And  dwelt  with  the  elves  for  ever. 
Since  the  time  I  first  beheld  her. 

So  now  I  sing  to  every  knight, 
Who  will  ride  to  court  as  warning, 
Beware  how  ye  pass  by  the  elfin  height. 
Or  sleep  in  its  shade  till  morning. 

Since  the  time  I  first  beheld  her." 

— Trantlator. 


134  ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS 

eyen  the  dragon  who  gnards  gold,  his  treasure 
shall  be  thine."  Yet  he  resists  all  these  tempta- 
tions, till  the  ladies  in  anger  threaten  to  drive 
cold  death  into  his  heart.  They  have  already 
drawn  their  sharp  knives,  when  by  good  luck  the 
cock  crows,  and  the  dreamer  awakes  in  a  whole 
skin.  I 

The  other  poem  is  less  gaily  sustained ;  the 
elves  do  not  appear  in  it  as  in  a  dream  but  in 
reality,  and  their  terribly  fascinating  nature  is 
thereby  set  more  distinctly  before  us.  It  is  the 
song  of  Sir  Oluf,  who  rides  out  of  an  evening  to 
invite  guests  to  his  wedding.  The  refrain  is — 
"  But  the  dance  goes  so  fast  through  the  forest."  ^ 
One  can  imagine  that   he   hears  an    unearthly 

I  In  the  French  version  there  is  given,  in  place  of  this  sen- 
tence, the  following : 

"  La  seconde  chanson  traite  presque  la  mSme  th^me,  seule- 
ment  I'apparition  dea  elfes  n'a  pas  lieu  cette  fois  en  songe, 
mais  bien  en  r^alit^,  et  le  chevalier  qui  ne  vent  pas  danser  aveo 
euz,  emporte  cette  fois  tr^s  raiment  une  blessure  mortelle." 

"  Sir  Olaf  out  and  afar  will  ride, 
Inviting  guests  to  his  wedding-tide. 
But  the  dance  goes  so  quickly  through  the  forest.* 

They  were  dancing  by  four  and  five  on  the  land, 
Erl-ldng's  daughter  stretched  out  her  hand. 
And  the  dance  goes  so  quickly  through  the  forest. 


"  Her  Olaf  hand  rider  saa  vide, 
Alt  til  sit  brollup  at  byde, 


Men  dandsen  den  goor  saa  let  gennum  Innden. 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS.  13$ 

melody,  and  here  and  there,  in  between,  tittering 
and  whispering,  as  of  a  self-willed  girl.  Then 
Sir  01  of  sees,  first  four,  then  five — then  more 
groups  of  maids,  and  the  erl-king's  daughter  holds 
out  to  him  her  hand.  She  begs  him  most  tenderly 
to  join  the  ring  and  dance  with  her.     But  the 


'  Welcome,  Sir  Oluf ,  let  riding  be. 

And  stop  a  while  and  dance  with  me.' 

And  the  dance  goes  >o  quickly  through  the  forest. 

'  I  never  dare,  and  I  never  may. 

For  to-morrow  is  my  wedding  day.' 

And  the  dance  goes  so  quickly  through  the  forest. 

'  Now  listen,  Sir  Oluf,  and  dance  with  me, 

Two  goat-skin  boots  I  will  give  to  thee.' 

And  the  dance  goes  so  quickly  through  the  forest. 

'  Two  goat-skin  boots  look  well  on  the  foot, 

With  a  pair  of  golden  spurs  to  boot.' 

And  the  dance  goes  so  quickly  through  the  forest. 

'  And  listen.  Sir  Oluf,  and  dance  with  me, 

A  silken  ihirt  I  will  give  to  thee.' 

And  the  dance  goee  so  quickly  through  the  forest. 

'  A  silken  shirt  ao  white  and  fine, 

Which  my  mother  bleached  in  the  moonshine.' 

And  the  dance  goes  so  quickly  through  the  forest. 

'  I  never  dare,  I  never  may. 

To-morrow  must  be  my  wedding-day.' 

And  the  dance  goes  so  quickly  through  the  forest. 

'  And  hear.  Sir  Oluf,  and  dance  with  me, 

A  golden  girdle  I'll  give  to  thee.' 

And  the  dance  goes  so  quickly  through  the  forest 


136  ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS. 

knight  refuses,  and  says  in  excuse,  "  To-morrovr 
is  my  wedding-day."  Then  the  most  enticing 
gifts  are  offered  to  him ;  but  neither  the  goat- 
skin boots  which  will  fit  him  so  well,  nor  the 
golden  spurs  which  can  be  so  neatly  buckled  on 
them,  nor  the  white   silk   shirt  which  the  elfin 


'  A  golden  girdle  were  dear  to  me,  i 

And  yet  I  dare  not  dance  with  thee.' 

Bat  the  dance  goes  io  quickly  through  the  forest. 

'  And  if  thou  never  wilt  dance  with  me,      ' 

Then  pest  and  sickness  shall  follow  thee.' 

And  the  dance  goes  so  quickly  through  the  forest. 

She  gave  him  a  blow  with  her  hand  on  his  heart, 

He  never  had  felt  so  great  a  smart. 

And  the  dance  goes  so  quickly  through  the  forest. 

They  helped  him  on  his  brown  horse  to  ride, 

'  Go  back  to  your  castle,  and  back  to  your  bride.' 

And  the  dance  goes  so  quickly  through  the  forest. 

And  when  he  came  to  the  castle  door,         . 

His  mother  awaiting  stood  before. 

And  the  dance  goes  so  quickly  through  the  forest. 

'  My  dearest  son,  what  is  thy  tale  ?  ' 

Why  are  thy  cheeks  so  white  and  pale  ? 

And  the  dance  goes  so  quickly  through  the  forest. 

'  Well  may  my  cheeks  be  pale  and  white, 
I  have  been  by  the  elfin  dance  to-night.' 
And  the  dance  goes  so  quickly  through  the  forest. 

'  And  say,  my  son,  so  true  and  tried, 

What  shall  I  say  to  thy  young  bride  t ' 

And  the  dance  goes  so  quickly  through  the  forest. 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS.  137 

qneen  has  herself  bleached  with  moonshine,  nor 
even  the  golden  girdle  which  is  so  highly  praised, 
can  induce  him  to  join  the  fairy  ring  of  dancers. 
His  constant  excuse  is,  "  I  must  be  married  to- 
morrow." Then  of  course  the  elves  at  last  lose 
all  patience,  and  give  him   such  a  blow  on  the 

'  Oh,  tell  my  bride  that  I'm  in  the  wood, 
Trying  my  hound  and  my  horse  so  good.' 
And  the  dance  goes  so  quickly  through  the  forest. 

In  early  mom  by  break  of  day, 

There  came  the  bride  with  a  grand  array. 

And  the  dance  goes  no  quickly  through  the  forest. 

They  gave  the  mead  and  they  gave  the  wine, 

•  Where  is  Sir  Oluf  the  bridegroom  mine  T ' 

And  the  dance  goes  so  quickly  through  the  forest. 

'  Sir  Oluf  rides  in  the  forest  bounds, 

Trying  bis  good  grey  horse  and  hounds.' 

And  the  dance  goes  so  quickly  through  the  forest. 

The  bride  she  raised  the  bier-cloth  red. 

There  lay  Sir  Oluf,  and  he  was  dead. 

And  the  dance  goes  so  quickly  through  the  forest 

When  again  in  heaven  dawned  the  day, 
They  bore  three  dead  from  the  tower  away. 
And  the  dance  goes  so  quickly  through  the  forest. 

Sir  Oluf  and  his  lady  true. 

His  mother  she  died  of  sorrow  too. 

And  the  dance  goes  so  quickly  through  the  forest. 

This  last  verse,  from  the  Danish,  is  wanting  in  both  the 
German  and  French  versions. 


138 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS. 


heart  as  he  never  felt  before,  and  lifting  the 
knight,  who  sinks  to  the  ground,  aid  him  to 
mount  his  horse,  and  say  jeeringly,  "  So  ride 
then  home  unto  thy  bride ! "  Ah !  when  he 
came  again  to  his  castle,  his  cheeks  were  very 
pale  and  his  body  very  ill ;  and  when  the  bride 
came  with  the  morrow's  dawn,  with  the  wedding- 
train  and  song  and  clang,  Sir  Oluf  was  a  silent 
man,  for  he  lay  dead  under  his  red  bier. 

"  But  the  dance  goea  so  quickly  through  the  forest." 

Dancing  is  characteristic  of  aerial  spirits ;  they 
are  of  too  ethereal  a  nature  to  walk  prosaically 
on  earth,  as  we  do.  Yet,  dainty  as  they  are, 
their  little  feet  leave  traces  on  the  turf  where 
they  have  danced  in  nightly  rings.  These  are 
the  stamped  circles  which  people  call  elfin- 
ringa^ 

In  a  part  of  Austria  there  is  a  legend  which 
has  a  certain  likeness  to  the  foregoing,  though 
it  is  of  Slavic  origin.  It  is  that  of  the  ghostly 
female  dancers  who  are  there  known  by  the  name 


*  This  passage  is  wanting  in  the  French  version.  Heine  bad 
evidently  only  heard  or  read  of  fairy-rings,  since  he  describes 
them  as  indented.  They  are  circles  where  the  grass  grows 
greener  than  elsewhere,  and  this  is  caused  by  the  decay  of  a 
certain  kind  of  mushroom,  which  has  the  strange  property  of 
casting  its  seed  only  to  one  side,  all  together.  Hence  they  grow 
in  circles,  which  every  year  enlarge. — Translator. 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS.  139 

of  WilKa^  The  Willis  are  brides  who  died  before 
being  married.  The  poor  young  creatures  cannot 
lie  calmly  in  their  graves ;  in  their  dead  hearts 
and  feet  the  old  passion  for  dancing,  which  they 
could  not  gratify  in  their  lives,  still  bums.  So  at 
midnight  they  rise,  assemble  in  troops  on  the 
highways,  and  woe  to  the  young  man  who  meets 
them !  He  must  dance  with  them,  they  surround 
him  in  unbridled  madness,  and  he  must  dance 
with  them  without  rest  or  repose  till  he  falls 
dead.  In  their  bridal  dresses  crowns  of  flowers, 
and  ribbons  flying  from  their  heads,  flashing  rings 
on  their  fingers,  the  Willis  dance  in  the  moon- 
shine, as  do  the  elves.  Their  faces,  though 
snow-white,  are  young  and  fair;  they  laugh  so 
strangely  sweet,  they  nod  with  such  seductive 
secresy,  so  promisingly — these  dead  Bacchantae 
fire  irresistible ! 

For  when  people  saw  beautiful  brides  die  they 
could  not  believe  that  youth  and  bloom,  in  all 
their  brilliancy,  could  pass  abruptly  into  black 
nothingness,  so  that  the  faith  arose  easily  enough 

1  As  before  remarked,  the  Vila  is  a  spirit  known  all  over 
Roasia  and  other  Slavonian  landjs.  She  is  not,  by  any  means, 
invariably  a  deceased  bride,  but  a  being  oorresponding  to  the 
fata,  fay,  or  fairy  of  life-size,  or  to  the  peri  of  the  East.  For 
information  on  the  Vilas,  see  the  works  of  Dr.  F.  S.  Kranss 
of  Vienna,  W.  R.  Ralston,  and  other  folkloriBts  de  eodem 
genere.  Heine's  knowledge  of  the  subject  was  probably  limited 
to  the  ballet  of  Let  WiUis  and  the  grand  seduction  scene  in 
Robert  U  BiabU. 


I40  ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS. 

that  the  bride  continaed  to  seek  after  death  the 
joys  of  which  she  had  been  deprived. 

This  recalls  one  of  the  most  beautiful  poems  of 
Goethe,  "  The  Bride  of  Corinth,"  which  was  long 
ago  made  known  to  the  French  public  by  Madame 
de  Stael.  The  subject  of  this  poem  is  primevally 
ancient,  and  is  lost  in  the  terrors  of  the  old 
Thessalian  tales,  ^lian  tells  us  of  it,  and  Philo- 
stratus  in  the  life  of  Apollonius  of  Tyana.  It 
is  the  fatal  marriage  in  which  the  bride  is  a 
Lamia.  ^ 

It  is  peculiar  to  popular  legends  that  their 
most  terrible  catastrophes  take  place  at  weddings. 
The  suddenly  appearing  terror  on  such  an  occa- 
sion contrasts  the  more  strikingly  with  the  gay 
surroundings,  with  the  preparations  for  joy  and 
merry  music.  So  long  as  the  lips  have  not  yet 
touched  the  brim,  the  pleasant  drink  may  yet  be 
spilled.     A  gloomy  wedding-guest  may  come  un- 

*  Actaallj  a  spirit,  whose  object  was  to  devour  the  bride- 
groom, though  modern  poets  tell  it  otherwise.  According  to 
Philostratus  (in  Vita  Apollonii\  Menippus,  a  disciple  of  Deme- 
trius the  Cynic,  going  to  Corinth  from  Cenchrea,  met  with  a 
very  beautiful  and  apparently  rich  girl  of  foreign  birth  {qtum- 
dam  imaginam  puellcB  peregrince,  tpeeiotce  et  divitit),  with 
whom  {te  iUi  commiteuit)  he  mixed  himself  up,  and  thought 
of  marrying.  She  had  a  house  which  seemed  to  be  magnificent. 
But  Apollonius,  looking  about  at  all  things,  exclaimed  that  the 
bride  was  one  of  the  Lamias,  whom  some  call  Larvas,  others 
Lemures — "  eue  ex  numero  Lamiarum  qwu  aliqui  Larva$,  alii 
Lemuret  vocant." — Translator. 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS.  141 

bidden,  and  one  whom  no  one  dares  bid  hence. 
He  whispers  one  word  in  her  ear,  and  the  bride 
grows  pale.  He  makes  a  secret  sign  to  the  bride- 
groom, who  follows  him  out  into  the  stormy  night, 
and  is  never  seen  again.  Generally  it  is  a  former 
pledge  of  love  with  another.  Therefore  a  cold 
white  hand  suddenly  parts  the  bride  and  groom. 
As  Herr  Peter  von  Staufenberg  sat  at  the  bridal 
feast,  he  suddenly  saw  a  small  white  foot,  which 
came  through  the  ceiling  overhead.  He  recog- 
nised in  it  the  foot  of  a  nixie  or  undine  with 
whom  he  had  maintained  the  tenderest  relation, 
and  by  this  sign  he  well  knew  that  he  had,  by  his 
broken  faith,  lost  his  life.  He  sent  to  his  con- 
fessor, asked  for  the  sacraments,  and  prepared  to 
die.  Much  is  said  and  sung  of  this  story  in 
German  lands.^  It  is  also  said  that  the  injured 
nixie  embraced  her  false  knight  invisibly,  and 
strangled  him   with  this    caress.      Women   are 


^  The  story  of  Peter  von  Staufenberg  was  indeed  very 
popular.  It  appeared  in  book  form  in  Strasburg,  and  is  given 
by  Kommannus  (Mont  Veneris,  cap.  28.  De  Empusa  Uberi 
Baronis  Petri  d  Staufenberg),  also  in  the  Anth.  Phut,  of  Praeto- 
rius.  Heine  is  unusually  modest  in  telling  the  story.  The  blunt 
old  German  informs  us  that  "auff  der  Hochzeit  sie  ihm  das 
Wahrzeichen  gab,  durch  die  Biihne  auff  seinem  Tiscbe  bey 
ihrem  Schenkd."  The  narrative  is  chiefly  interesting  as  having 
suggested  to  La  Motte  Fouqu^  the  plot  of  "  Undine."  Staufen- 
berg, it  is  said,  abandoned  his  nixie  because  be  suspected  she 
wag  of  diabolical  nature. — Trandator. 


iP' 


142  ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS. 

deeply  moved  by  this  sad  tale,  but  our  young 
free-thinkers  laugh  at  it  sarcastically,  and  will 
not  believe  that  nixies  are  so  naughty.  But  they 
will  repent  anon  of  their  incredulity,    i 

The  nixies  very  much  resemble  the  elves ;  both 
are  seductively  charming,  and  love  dancing.^  The 
elves  dance  on  wild  and  waste  moorlands,  green 
meadows,  openings  in  the  forest,  and  most  gladly 
under  old  oaks;  the  nixies,  however,  by  ditches 
and  streams,  or  sometimes  on  the  water  itself, 
the  night  before  some  mortal  is  to  be  drowned 
in  that  place.  And  they  often  come  to  the 
dances  of  men,  and  make  merry  with  them,  as  if 
quite  like  us.  The  female  nixies  are  known  by 
the  hem  of  their  white  garments  always  being 
wet     And  they  may  also  be  recognised  by  the 

^  According  to  Paracelsus  and  others  the  affinity  exists 
between  mountain-dwarfs  and  water-spirits  because  they  have 
one  language  in  common.  Wood-spirits  never  speak  ;  those  of 
fire  very  Beldom,  and  their  tongue  is  hard  or  rough. 

There  is  a  beautiful  belief  in  La  Romagna  Toscana  that  a  spirit 
(or  spirits)  named  Corredoia  is  specially  devoted  to  attending  all 
dances,  festivals  and  frolics,  where  she  inspires  life  and  merri- 
ment  She  is  the  spirit  of  joy,  and  there  is  an  incantation 
begging  her  to  come  into  our  life  and  make  us  cheerful.  Vide 
my  forthcoming  work  on  Etruscan  Roman  relics  in  Tuscany. 
Several  minor  passages  are  here  omitted  in  the  French  version. 

There  is  a  very  rare  and  curious  work  entitled  Disputatio 
de  Nymphis,  nobia  Wasser  Nyxen,  a  thesis  publicly  delivered  by 
M.  Johann  Valentine  Merbitz  in  Dresden  in  1678.  It  ia  » 
complete  compendium  of  the  knowledge  current  as  to  nixies 
or  water-spirits. — Trandator. 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS.  14} 

fineness  of  their  veils  and  aristocratic  refinement 
of  their  mysterious  natures.  The  male  nixie  has 
green  teeth,  which  resemble  the  spine  of  a  fish, 
and  one  experiences  a  shudder  when  touching  his 
very  soft,  ice-cold  hand,^  Woe  to  the  girl  who, 
without  knowing  him,  takes  him  for  partner  in 
the  dance.  For  then  he  will  draw  her  down  into 
his  watery  deep — of  which  there  is  told  the 
following  tale : — 

There  dwelt  at  Laibach,  in  the  river  which 
bears  the  same  name,  a  water-sprite,  who  was 
called  Nix  or  Watermann.  He  had  often  ap- 
peared by  night  to  fishermen  and  boatmen,  so 
that  many  could  tell  how  he  came  forth  and 
how  he  showed  himself  in  human  form.  In  the 
year  1547,  on  the  first  Sunday  in  July,  all  the 
people  of  the  place  assembled,  according  to  their 
ancient  custom,  on  the  marketplace  of  Laibach 
by  the  fountain,  which  was  pleasantly  shaded 
by  a  lime-tree.  They  ate  their  meal  to  the 
sound  of  music,  and  after  that  began  to  dance. 
After  a  while  there  came  a  young  man  of  fine 
figure  and  well  dressed,  who  seemed  to  wish  to 
join  the  dance.  He  greeted  all  very  pleasantly 
and  offered  to  many  his  hand,  which  was  very 
soft  and  ice-cold,  and  caused  a  shudder  in  all 
who  shook  it.      Then  he  asked  a  certain  young 

^  Wanting  in  the  French  version. 


144  ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS. 

girl  to  dance.  She  was  very  pretty  and  well 
clad,  a  lively,  forward  creature  named  Ursula 
Schofferin,  who  soon  agreed  perfectly  with  her 
new  partner,  and  fell  in  with  his  wild  tricks.  And 
after  they  had  danced  together  for  a  while  passion- 
ately or  madly,  they  waltzed  away  from  the  ring 
and  ever  away  and  adown,  first  from  the  lime-tree 
to  Sittichenhof,  and  so  to  the  edge  of  the  Laibach, 
where,  as  was  seen  by  many  boatmen,  the  nixie 
leaped  with  her  into  the  water,  nor  were  either 
ever  seen  again.  The  lime-tree  stood  till  1638, 
when  it  was  cut  down  on  account  of  its  age.^ 

The  same  legend  exists  in  many  variations. 
The  most  beautiful  is  that  of  a  Danish  ballad  in 
the  cycle  of  legends,  which  describe  how  Marsk 
Stig  and  all  his  house  perished.^ 

^  When  I  was  a  student  at  Heidelberg  in  1847,  the  nix  or 
water-sprite  of  the  Xeckar  often  appeared  to  people,  and  I  was 
seriously  told  that  it  had  been  seen  by  Mme.  Gervinus  (unless 
my  memory  deceives  me)  one  night  on  the  shore  in  its  usual 
form  of  a  beautiful  little  horse.  When  the  lady  approached  to 
pat  him,  the  Neckar  nix  plunged  into  the  stream  and  disap- 
peared from  sight.  It  is  absolutely  impossible  that  anything 
could  be  apparently  better  authenticated  than  was  this  story. 
Spiritualists,  attention  ! — Trandator. 

'  Instead  of  this  and  the  following  passage,  the  French  version 
gives  seventeen  verses  in  prose  from  the  Danish  original,  from 
which  original  I  render  it  into  English. 

"  And  the  water-spirit  said  to  his  mother  : — 

" '  Give  me  advice,  oh  mother  dear, 

How  to  bring  Marsk  Stig's  daughter  here.' 
And  bad  metbinks  is  the  riding. 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS.  ^ 

Marsk  Stig,  who  had  killed  the  king,  had  two 
fair  daughters,  the  yonngest  of  whom  fell  into 
the  power  of  a  water-spirit,  even  while  in  chorclu 
The  nix  appeared  as  a  stately  knight ;  his  mother 

She  made  bim  a  liorse  of  water  clear, 

The  bridle  and  saddle  of  sand  so  fair. 

And  bad  methinka  is  the  riding. 

She  made  him  look  like  a  Ritter  gay, 
To  Marienkirchhof  he  went  his  way. 
And  BO  bad  methinks  is  the  riding. 

He  bound  his  horse  to  the  chnrch  roof -tree,* 
And  thrice  to  the  left  roimd  the  churob  went  he. 
And  so  bad  methinks  is  the  riding. 

Silent  he  entered  the  church  so  dim, 
The  saints  all  turned  their  backs  to  him. 
And  so  bad  methinks  is  the  riding. 

By  the  altar-shrine  the  priest  quoth  he, 
'  Who  may  that  stately  Ritter  be  ? ' 
And  so  bad  methinks  is  the  riding. 

Beneath  her  veil  the  maiden  sighed, 
'  Heaven  grant  I  may  be  that  Ritter's  bride  I ' 
And  bad  methinks  is  the  riding. 

He  stepped  by  benches  one  and  two, 
'  O  Marsk  Stig's  daughter,  wilt  thou  be  true  7 ' 
And  bad  methinks  is  the  riding. 

He  stepped  by  benches  four  and  five, 
'  Oh,  follow  me,  maid,  to  where  I  live.' 
And  bad  methinks  is  the  riding. 

He  held  out  his  hand,  she  grasped  it  free, 
'I  plight  my  troth,  and  will  follow  thee.' 
And  bad  methinks  is  the  riding. 


•  "Churchyard  rail"    R.  A  Prior,  Anc  Dan.  BallAds,  i86a 
VOL.  II.  K 


146  ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS. 

had  made  him  a  horse  of  clear  water,  and  a  saddle 
and  bridle  of  the  purest  sand,  and  the  careless 
maid  gaily  held  out  her  hand  to  him.  Did  she 
keep  her  promised  faith  when  down  in  the  sea  ? 

Forth  from  the  church  went  the  wedded  pair, 
Merrily  dancing,  free  from  care. 
And  bad  methinks  is  the  riding. 

They  danced  together  unto  the  flood, 

Till  no  one  at  last  beside  them  stood. 

And  bad  methinks  is  the  riding. 

'  O  Marsk  Stig's  daughter,  hold  my  rein, 
Till  I  build  thee  a  boat  well  worth  the  pain.' 
And  bad  methinks  is  the  riding. 

And  when  they  came  to  the  snow-white  sand 
All  of  the  boats  came  to  the  land. 
And  bad  methinks  is  the  riding. 

And  when  they  came  out  into  the  sound 
She  sank  in  the  sea  to  the  very  ground. 
And  bad  methinks  is  the  riding. 

Far  into  land,  well  over  the  tide, 
It  was  beard  when  Marsk  Stig's  daughter  cried. 
So  bad  methinks  is  the  riding. 

Oh,  maidens  all,  I  counsel  ye, 
Go  not  to  the  dance  so  proud  and  free. 
For  bad  methinks  is  the  riding." 

To  which  there  is  added  in  the  French  version  :  "  Nous  aasai, 
nous  donnons  &  certaines  jeunes  fillea  le  sage  conseil  de  ne  paa 
danser  avec  le  premier  venu.  Mais  les  jeunes  personnes  craig- 
nent  toujours  de  ne  pas  avoir  assez  de  danseurs,  et  plutdt  que 
de  a'exposer  au  danger  de  faire  tapisserie,  elles  se  sejetteront 
volontiers,  dans  les  bras  de  I'homme  des  eaux."  In  writing  this 
passage  Heine  ventilates  a  private  ballroom  trouble  to  which  he 
has  already  alluded.  , 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS.  147 

Truly  I  know  not ;  but  I  do  know  another  story 
of  a  water- man  who  carried  a  girl  away  from  the 
firm  land,  and  was  by  her  most  artfully  betrayed. 
It  is  the  tale  of  Eossmer  the  nix,  who  all  unknow- 
ingly took  his  own  wife  in  a  chest  on  his  back 
and  brought  her  again  to  her  mother.  At  which 
he  afterwards  shed  bitter  tears. 

The  water-maids  also  must  often  bitterly  rue 
that  they  took  pleasure  in  mingling  with  men. 
Of  this,  too,  I  know  a  narrative  ^  which  has  been 
much  sung  by  German  poets.  It  sounds  most 
pitifully  in  the  following  plain  words,  as  told  by 
the  brothers  Grimm  in  their  sagas. 

"In  Epfenbach,  near  Sinzheim,  within  the 
memory  of  man,  three  very  lovely  girls  dressed 
in  white  came  every  evening  into  the  spinning- 
room  of  the  village.  They  always  sang  new  songs 
to  new  tunes,  and  told  pretty  tales  and  taught 
new  games.  There  was  something  very  strange 
in  their  rocks  and  reels,  or  distaflFs,  and  no  spinner 
could  twist  the  thread  so  fine  and  well  as  they 
did.  But  when  eleven  o'clock  struck  they  packed 
up  their  spinning  gear  and  left,  nor  would  they, 
to  please  anybody,  stop  an  instant  later.  No  one 
knew  whence  they  came  nor  where  they  went ; 
they  were  only  called  the  Maids  from  the  Lake, 
or  the  Sisters  from  the  Lake. 

^  French  version,  "  Une  bistoire  qui  m'a  rempli  d'one  singu* 
lifere  pitie." 


148  ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS. 

"The  youths  of  the  village  fell  in  love  with 
them,  most  of  all  the  son  of  the  schoolmaster. 
He  could  never  tire  of  their  company,  and  nothing 
gave  him  such  grief  as  that  they  went  away  every 
evening  so  early.  It  came  into  his  head  to  put  the 
village  clock  back  one  hour,  and  so  it  came  to 
pass  that  what  with  talk  and  jests  no  one  noted  the 
change  of  time.  So  that  when  it  struck  eleven  it 
was  really  twelve,  and  the  three  girls  rose,  packed 
up  their  distaffs  as  usual,  and  went  their  way. 

"  The  next  morning  people  passing  by  the  lake 
heard  a  wailing,  and  saw  three  bloody  places  on 
the  water.  After  that  the  sisters  were  never  seen 
again.  The  son  of  the  schoolmaster  was  seized 
with  a  wasting  illness,  and  died  soon  after."  ^ 

There  is  something  mysteriously  attractive  in 
all  that  nixies  do.  Under  the  quiet  water  there 
may  lie  hidden  so  much  that  is  sweet  or  terrible ! 
The  fishes,  who  may  know  somewhat  thereof, 
are  ever  mute;  or  do  they  keep  silence  because 
they  are  cunning?  Do  they  fear  some  bitter 
punishment    should   they   reveal    the   secrets  of 

1  In  a  Bavarian  renion  of  this  tale,  the  girls  go  and  come 
from  an  old  sunken  castle  near  Qartenhofen.  A  clock  is  not 
mentioned  in  it,  nor  the  schoolmaster's  son.  "  The  young  men 
detained  the  girls  by  wooing  them ;  then  the  latter,  before  re- 
entering the  water,  said  :  '  Should  blood  come,  then  we  will 
have  been  punished ;  if  not,  we  are  forgiven.'  But  blood  came  " 
(Bayerische  Sagen  ttnd  Brauche,  von  Friedrich  Panzer,  Miincban, 
1848).     This  is  evidently  the  original  tale. — Trandator. 


ELBMKNTARY  SPIRITS.  149 

their  silent  watery  home  ?  Such  a  realm,  with  its 
voluptuous  hidden  marvels  and  occult  horrors, 
reminds  us  of  Venice.  Was  Venice  itself  once 
such  a  kingdom,  which  by  chance  rose  from  the 
depths  of  the  Adriatic  sea  up  to  the  world  above, 
with  marble  palaces  and  its  dolphined-eyed 
courtesans,  glass-bead  and  coral  factories,  states- 
inquisitors,  systems  of  secret  drowning,  and  laugh- 
ing masquerades?  Should  Venice  ever  chance 
to  sink  again  into  the  lagunes  all  its  history  will 
seem  like  a  water-fairy  tale,  and  the  nurse  will 
tell  the  children  of  the  great  water-people  who 
once  ruled  over  the  solid  land,  and  were  at  last 
torn  to  pieces  by  a  two-headed  eagle. 

The  mysterious  is  characteristic  of  the  nixies, 
just  as  aerial  dreaminess  is  of  the  elves.  In  the 
earlier  legends  they  do  not  greatly  diflfer,  nor  till 
later  times  were  they  separated.^  From  the  names 
alone  we  can  learn  little.  In  Scandinavia  all 
spirits  are  called  eZ/en,  alf,  and  they  are  divided 
into  alfen,  white  and  black.  The  last  are  really 
kobolds.  The  name  nix  is  applied  in  Denmark 
to  the  domestic  goblins,  who  are  there,  as  I  have 
said  before,  called  nissen. 

And  then  there  are  abnormities,  such  as  nixies, 

*  This  would  be  a  great  mistake  according  to  Merbitz,  who 
distinctly  divides  nixies  from  Bergmannlein,  Schrotlein,  or 
elves,  and  traces  tbem  back  to  classic  times.  The  Sirenea  were 
almost  certainly  the  original  Lurlei-type. — Trandabor. 


ISO  ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS, 

who  are  only  human  to  the  hips,  and  terminate  in 
fish-tails ;  or  who  are  wondrously  beautiful  women, 
but  only  to  the  waist,  and  end  below  in  many 
a  scaly  fold,  as  serpents,  and  of  this  kind  was 
your  Melusina,  the  beloved  of  Count  Raymond  of 
Poitiers.  Happy  man  whose  sweetheart  was  only 
half  serpent  ? 

It  often  happens  that  nixies,  when  they  form 
amorous  alliances  with  men,  not  only  exact 
secrecy  and  silence,  but  also  request  that  no  in- 
quiries may  be  made  as  to  their  origin,  home,  or 
relations.  Nor  do  they  tell  their  real  names,  but 
are  known  among  men,  as  one  may  say,  by  a  nom 
de  guerre}  The  husband  of  the  Princess  of  Cleves 
called  himself  Heliaa  Was  he  a  nix  or  an  elf  ? 
The  swan  which  drew  him  to  the  shore  reminds 
me  of  the  legend  of  the  Swan  Maidens.  The 
history  of  Helias  is  told  in  our  popular  tales  as 
follows : — 

In  the  year  711  lived  Beatrix,  the  only 
daughter  of  the  Duke  of  Cleves.  Her  father 
was  dead,  and  she  ruled  over  Cleves,  and  many 
lands  beside.  One  day  the  young  chatelaine  sat 
in  her  castle  of  Nymwegen ;  the  weather  was  fair, 
the  sky  was  clear,  and  she  looked  down  at  the 
Rhine.  There  she  saw  a  strange  sight.  A  white 
swan  swam  down  the  stream,  and  bore  on  his 

^  The  winged  sprites  of  air  are  known,  more  probably,  by  a 
nom  de  plume. 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS.  151 

neck  a  golden  chain,  to  one  end  of  which  was 
fastened  a  boat,  which  he  drew.  And  in  the 
boat  sat  a  handsome  man,  who  held  a  gold  sword, 
and  he  had  a  precious  ring  on  his  finger.  He 
stepped  ashore  and  talked  long  with  the  lady, 
telling  her  that  he  would  guard  her  land  well, 
and  drive  away  her  foes.  The  young  man 
pleased  her  so  well  that  she  fell  in  love  with 
and  wedded  him.  But  he  said  to  her,  "  Never 
ask  me  aught  of  my  family  or  origin,  since  on 
the  day  when  thou  shalt  do  that  I  must  leave 
thee,  and  thou  wilt  never  see  me  more."  And 
he  told  her  thereto  that  he  was  called  Helias. 
He  was  tall  as  a  giant.  They  had  many  chil- 
dren. After  several  years,  once  in  the  night, 
as  Helias  lay  by  her  side,  the  Princess  said,  not 
thinking  of  the  warning :  "  My  lord,  wilt  thou 
not  tell  our  children  whence  thou  didst  come  ?  " 
And  with  that  word  he  arose,  and  entering  the 
swan-boat,  sailed  away  and  was  never  seen  more. 
The  lady  died  of  grief  and  rue  therefor  that  same 
year.  But  he  left  to  his  three  children  his  three 
treasures — the  sword,  the  horn,  and  the  ring. 
His  descendants  still  live,  and  on  the  castle  of 
Cleves  still  stands  a  high  tower,  on  whose 
summit  there  is  a  swan.  And  it  is  called  the 
Swan-tower  in  memory  of  this  event.^ 

^  Thia  is,  of  course,  the  tale  of  the  Knight  of  the  Swan,  now  lo 
well  known  by  Wagner's  opera.     It  appears  to  be  of  Scandi- 


Ift  ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS. 

How  often,  aa  I  passed  adown  the  Ehine  and 
came  to  the  Swan-tower  of  Cleves,  did  I  think  of 
the  mysterious  knight  who  so  sadly,  strongly  held 
to  his  incognito,  and  whom  a  mere  question  as  to  his 
family  or  race  could  drive  from  the  arms  of  love  ! 

But  it  is  really  too  tormenting  when  women 
ask  too  many  questions.  Use  your  lips  for  kissing, 
not  for  questioning,  oh  ye  beauties.^  Silence  is 
the  most  serious  and  absolute  condition  of  happi- 
nesa  When  a  man  babbles  the  proofs  of  his 
private  happiness,  or  a  woman  inquires  too  inquisi- 
tively into  its  secrets,  then  good  luck  is  sure  to 
leave  them  both. 

Elves  and  nixies  can  use  magic  arts  and  change 
themselves  into  what  form  they  will,  but  are  often 
themselves  enchanted  many  a  time  by  stronger 
spirits  and  great  sorcerers  into  all  kinds  of 
strange  and  horrid  shapes.  But  they  are  redeemed 
by  love,  as  in  the  tale  of  Zemire  and  Azor.^     The 


navian  origin.  lu  Tborsteu's  Saga  a  king  leaves  to  bis  three 
children  a  ring,  a  horn,  and  a  Bword,  all  endowed  with  magical 
qualities.  Helinandus  Vincentiua,  who  is  quoted  by  Wiems 
{De  Prett.  Demoniit,  1.  2,  caps.  4,  6)  aa  the  original  source  of  the 
story  (Heine  gives  it  from  a  chap-book),  tells  it  briefly  without 
any  supernatural  details.  He  says  that  the  image  in  the  tower 
was  in  ancient  tapestry. — Translator. 

^  The  remainder  of  this  passage  ia  omitted  in  the  French 
version. 

^  French  version,  "  Comme  dans  la  Belle  et  la  Bdte  " — that  is. 
Beauty  and  the  Beast. 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS.  t|S 

toad-like  monster  must  be  thrice  kissed,  and  then 
he  is  changed  to  a  beaatifnl  prince.  So  soon  as 
you  overcome  your  dislike  for  the  ugly,  or  get 
so  far  as  to  love  it,  it  is  changed  to  something 
beautiful.  No  magic  can  resist  love.  Love  is 
the  strongest  of  sorceries,  no  other  magic  prevails 
against  it.  There  is  only  one  power  against 
which  it  is  itself  powerless.  What  is  that?  It 
is  not  fire,  it  is  not  water,  nor  air,  nor  earth,  with 
all  its  metals.     It  is  Time. 

The  strangest  stories  as  to  elementary  spirits  are 
to  be  found  in  good  old  Johannes  Praetorius,  whose 
Anthropodemus  Platonicus,  das  ist  Eine  Neue  Welt- 
beschreitung  von  Allerley  Wunderbaren  Menschen 
(that  is,  a  new  world-description  of  all  kinds  of 
strange  men)  appeared  at  Magdeburg  in  1666. 
The  year  is  of  itself  remarkable ;  it  was  that  on 
which  it  had  been  predicted  the  Day  of  Judgment 
would  take  place.^     The  contents  of  the  book  is 

^  The  work  on  its  first  title-page,  on  which  are  twenty-two 
pictures  of  marvellous  men,  is  dated  1666  ;  but  on  the  second, 
facing  it,  the  true  date  or  that  of  1668.  It  was  written  expressly 
to  suit  the  first  date.  It  contains  1292  pages.  The  French 
version  here  gives  the  following  addition:  "Le  livre  fait  le 
m€me  eSet  qu  'une  boutique  de  curiosity  sur  le  quai  Malaquais  . 
ou  sur  le  quai  Voltaire.  Reliques  de  toutes  les  religions  dis- 
parues,  utensiles  de  pays  fabuleux  ;  entremSl^  de  crucifix  et  de 
madones  ^teintes  :  vrai  bric-a-brac."  And  yet  Heine  with  all 
his  admirable  description  falls  far  short  of  giving  an  accurate 
idea  of  this  mass  of  learning,  wit,  stupidity,  naivety  and  every- 
thing else,  all  run  roaring  mad  together  in  a  chaos  of  erudition 


154  ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS. 

a  wilderness  of  nonsense,  superstitions  pitch- 
forked together,  melancolicky  and  monkey-noted 
extravagances,^  and  learned  citations,  "  weeds  (or 
cabbage)  and  turnips."  The  subjects  treated  of  are 
arranged  according  to  the  initials  of  their  names, 
which  are  also  chosen  in  a  most  arbitrary  manner. 
And  the  subdivisions  are  charming,  as,  for  in- 
stance, when  the  writer  treats  of  ghosts,  and 
speaks,  firstly,  of  real  spectres  ;  secondly,  of  ima- 
ginary ones,  or  of  cheats  who  pass  themselves  off 
for  such.  But  he  is  full  of  learning,  and  in  this 
book,  as  in  his  other  works,  traditions  are  preserved 

^  "  Maulhangkolischen  und  aflfenteuer-Hchen  Historien." 
Heine  here  aeema  to  be  trying  to  rival  Prsetoriua  in  elegance 
of  style. — Translator. 


which  for  extent  and  variety  surpassea  all  oomprehenaion  and 
belief.  I  have  gone  through  the  work  very  thoroughly  twice, 
and  it  was  the  hardest  reading  I  ever  had  in  my  life.  I  am  aatii- 
fied  that  Heine  only  akimmed  it,  as  he  omits  au  much  which  he 
would  have  been  sure  to  repeat.  In  the  very  beginning,  on  the 
third  page,  we  are  confronted  with  an  Alphabet  of  Nightmares, 
which  is  indeed  vividly  characteristic  of  the  whole  work.  Yet 
withal  there  is  a  kind  of  rude  genius  in  it,  reminding  one  of  an 
insane  Jean  Paul  Richter  allied  to  a  melancholy-comic  Burton, 
who  knew  no  difference,  in  a  literary  or  critical  point  of  view,  be- 
tween an  almanac  or  an  old  woman's  silliest  story,  and  Plato  or 
the  Sohar.  And  here  and  there  in  it  are  touches  of  a  shrewd  irony 
like  that  of  a  seventeenth  century  Carlyle,  sketches  which  recall 
Washington  Irving,  and  sometimes  such  an  outburst  as  this, 
"  The  Lord  help  me  !  what  a  mass  of  fine  things  posterity  will 
dig  up  out  of  these  writings  of  mine  !  What  amazement  they 
will  cause,  because  inventis  faeile  licet  addere.     What  astonish- 


rv 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS.  155 

which  are  partly  really  important  for  the  stndy  of 
old  German  religious  antiquities,  and  partly  as 
mere  curiosities.  I  am  convinced  that  none  of  you 
know  that  there  are  bishops  in  the  sea.  I  doubt 
very  much  whether  the  Gazette  de  France  knows 
it.  And  yet  it  would  be  very  important  for 
many  people  to  know  that  Christianity  has  its 
followers  even  in  the  ocean,  and  certainly  in  great 
number.  Perhaps  most  of  the  dwellers  in  the  sea 
are  Christians,  at  least  as  good  Christians  as  the 
French.  I  would  willingly  suppress  this  fact  so 
as  not  to  give  cause  of  rejoicing  to  the  Catholic 
party  in  France,  but  as  I  am  discussing  nixies  or 
water-men,  conscientious  German  thoroughness 
requires  that  I  speak  of  sea-bishops.  Of  whom 
Praetorius  narrates  the  following  : — 

"We  read  in  the  Chronicles  of  Holland  that 


ment  they  will  awaken,  and  how  much  more  will  many  a  man 
think  of  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  than  he  ever  did  before  !  God 
give  His  grace  to  the  printing  thereof,  and  good  affection  of  men 
thereunto!  Divinum  atpira,  6  Numen,  amorem/"  Which 
prophecy  has  been  in  a  degree  fulfilled.  Praetorius  also  wrote 
a  trifle  of  a  thousand  pages  on  Palmistry,  a  Dream-book,  for 
which  he  says  he  read  carefully  three  hundred  authors,  and  his 
rare  and  curious  Blockea-Berge,  to  which  latter  work  Heine  was 
also  greatly  indebted  for  hints  which  appear  in  the  Harzreite. 
At  Heine  repeats  ideas,  so  Prsetorius  repeats  the  same  story, 
sometimes  three  or  four  times,  and  indulges  literally  in  the 
fancy  of  always  writing  down  whatever  comes  into  his  head,  no 
matter  how  remote  it  may  be  from  the  subject  in  hand.— 
TrantUUor. 


156 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS. 


Cornelius  of  Amsterdam  wrote  to  a  physician 
named  Gerbert  from  Rome,  that  in  the  year  1 53 1, 
in  the  North  Sea  near  Elpach,  there  was  caught 
a  merman  who  looked  like  a  bishop  of  the 
Romish  Church.  He  was  sent  to  the  King  of 
Poland.  But  as  he  would  eat  nothing  which  was 
oflfered  to  him,  he  died  on  the  third  day.  He  never 
spoke,  and  only  heaved  deep  sighs."  | 

A  page  further  on  Prsetorius  gives  another 
example : — 

"  In  the  year  1433  there  was  found  in  the 
Baltic  Sea  towards  Poland  a  merman  who  was 
quite  like  a  bishop.  He  had  a  bishop's  mitre  on 
his  head,  his  crosier  in  his  hand,  and  wore  the 
alb.  He  allowed  himself  to  be  touched,  especially 
by  the  local  bishop,  to  whom  he  showed  honour, 
but  without  speaking.  The  king  would  fain  have 
kept  him  in  a  tower,  which  he  with  signs 
opposed,  and  begged  the  bishop  to  let  him  go 
again  into  his  element,  which  was  also  done, 
and  he  was  accompanied  by  two  bishops  to  the 
sea,  at  which  he  manifested  great  joy.  As  soon  as 
he  came  into  the  water  he  made  the  sign  of  a  cross, 
and  diving  under  was  never  seen  again.  Which 
may  be  read  in  Flandr.  Chronic,  in  Hut.  Eccledast. 
Spondani,  as  well  as  in  the  Memorabilius  Wol/ii."  ^ 

^  This  second  tale  is  not  one  page  farther  on  bat  ten,  the 
first  occurring  on  p.  490  and  the  other  on  p.  501.  Prastorias 
gives  several  more  stories  of  sea-bishops.     The  origin  of  these 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS.  157 

I  have  given  the  stories  word  for  word,  and 
also  my  authorities,  so  that  no  one  may  suppose 
that  I  invented  them.  Truly,  I  should  take  good 
care  not  to  make  or  find  any  more  bishops,  if  I 
could  help  it.^  I  have  enough  of  them  as  it  is,  of 
those  who  are  visible.  Indeed  I  would  be  glad 
if  many  of  those  among  us  would  visit  their  col- 
leagues in  the  ocean,  and  rejoice  Christianity  in 
its  depths  with  their  presence.  Unbelief  has  not 
as  yet  spread  in  the  watery  abysses;  no  works 
of  Voltaire  are  there  printed  for  five  sous ;  there 
the  sea-bishops  swim  peacefully  among  shoals  of 
believers. 

Yesterday  I  was  conversing  with  several  Eng- 
lishmen about  the  Anglo-Episcopal  Church,  and 
advised  them  to  turn  all  their  land-bishops  into 
bishops  of  the  sea. 

To  complete  the  legends  of  nixies  and  elves, 
I  must  still  speak  of  the  already-mentioned  swan- 
legends  is  very  apparent.  There  are  several  kinds  of  flat-fish 
which  have  on  one  side  a  face  absurdly  like  that  of  a  man.  The 
two  jaws  above  bear  a  close  resemblance  to  a  mitre.  When 
these  are  dried  and  painted,  or  gilt,  with  skill,  they  would 
puzzle  any  one  who  did  not  know  what  they  are,  so  very  much 
do  they  resemble  bishops.  Fishermen  at  Hastings  and  other 
places  often  sell  these  fish  of  small  size  dried  as  curiosities  for 
a  penny  or  twopence  each.  I  have  several  of  them.  If  my 
memory  does  not  deceive  me,  Rondeletius,  and  two  or  three 
others,  give  illustrations  which  confirm  this. 

^  In  the  French  version  there  is,  instead  of  bishops,  pr(tre$. 
The  third  sentence  following  is  wanting  in  the  latter. 


tst 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS. 


maidena  Tradition  is  here  very  obscure,  and 
interwoven  with  an  all-too-mysterious  darkness.' 
Are  they  spirits  of  water  or  of  air?  Are  they 
enchantresses?  Many  a  time  they  come  flying 
like  swans  adown  from  the  airy  heights,  and  lay 
aside,  like  garments,  their  white  feathery  cover- 
ings. Then  they  become  fair  maids,  who  bathe  in 
the  silent  water.  Should  they  be  surprised  by 
some  too  inquisitive  youth,  they  spring  quickly 
from  their  bath,  wrap  themselves  in  the  feather 
garment,  and  fly,  as  swans,  far  away  on  high. 
Our  excellent  Musaeus  tells  us  in  his  Volks- 
mdhrchen  (Popular  Tales)  the  beautiful  story  of 
a  young  knight  who  succeeded  in  stealing  one 
of  these  feather  robes.  As  the  maidens  ran  and 
wrapped  themselves  up  and  flew  afar,  one  re- 
mained behind,  because  she  sought  in  vain  for 
her  dress.  She  cannot  escape,  she  weeps  sadly, 
she  is  wondrously  lovely,  and  the  crafty  knight 
marries  her.  They  live  happily  together  for  seven 
years.  But  one  day  the  wife,  rummaging  through 
chests  and  trunks,  finds  her  old  feather  garment, 
puts  it  on  in  haste,  and  flies  away.  j 

Such  feather  garments  are  often  mentioned  in 
Old  Danish  songs,  but  darkly,  and  in  the  strangest 
manner.  Here  we  have  traces  of  the  oldest  sorcery. 
Here  are  distant  sounds  of  Northern  heathenism 


This  remarkable  sentence  is  omitted  in  the  French. 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS.  159 

which  re-echo  marvellously  in  our  memories.  I 
cannot  refrain  from  giving  an  old  ballad,  in  which 
not  only  the  swan  robe  is  mentioned,  but  also  the 
night-raven,  who  is  an  accompaniment  to  the 
swan-maidens.  This  song  is  as  thrilling,  as 
terrible,  as  gloomy  as  a  Scandinavian  night ;  and 
yet  there  glows  in  it  a  love  which,  in  wild  sweet- 
ness and  burning  depth,  has  no  equal.^  In  giving 
this  monstrous  love  poem,  I  must  first  remark 
that  I  have,  in  so  doing,  only  made  changes  in  the 
metre,  or  that  I  have  here  and  there  clipped  away 
a  bit  from  the  outer  portion  of  the  garment.  The 
refrain  of  every  verse  is,  "  And  so  he  flies  over 
the  sea."  2 

"  The  king  sat  by  the  fair  young  queen. 
They  sat  at  the  board  together ; 
They  spoke  of  crossing  the  broad  salt  sea, 
They  spoke  of  the  wind  and  weather. 

1  The  end  of  this  sentence  and  the  one  which  follows  are 
wanting  in  the  French  version. 

'  In  the  French  version  this  passage  ends  as  follows  :  "  C'est 
une  chanson  de  magie,  et  son  charme  agit  toujours.  Ecoutez  I 
Ecoutez  !  "  In  this  translation  I  have  followed,  not  the  Danish 
original,  but  the  version  of  Heine.  Of  all  the  immense  coUeo 
tion  of  Old  Danish  ballads  to  be  found  in  Grundtveig,  or  the 
Kemper  Viter,  this  is  the  trashiest.  R.  A.  Prior  observes  the 
flat  modem  character  of  its  original  introduction  ("Ancient 
Danish  Ballads,"  i860).  It  is  quite  in  the  Monk  Lewis,  "  Alonzo 
the  Bravo,"  style  of  manufacture.  Still  there  was  in  the 
original  a  certain  vigorous  archaic  expression  conveyed  by 
■hort  masculine  rhymes,  which  Heine  has  thoroughly  elimi- 


i«o  ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS. 

Thej  sailed  across  the  broad  salt  sea, 
The  king  and  the  queen  on  the  morrow  ; 

And  because  the  queen  did  not  remain, 
"Was  a  cause  of  many  a  sorrow. 

When  all  at  once  the  ship  stood  still 
In  the  waves  without  a  motion  ; 

A  wild  night-raven  came  flying  by, 
Who  would  sink  it  in  the  ocean. 

*  Is  any  one  hidden  beneath  the  waves, 

"Who  holds  the  ship's  keel  downward  ? 
I  will  give  him  both  silver  and  gold 
To  let  us  go  sailing  onward. 

If  thou  art  the  one,  ni^'ht-raven  wild, 
And  if  thou  wanteet  treasure, 

I  will  give  thee  in  silver  and  gold 
Fifteen  good  pounds  full  measure.' 

*  Silver  and  gold  I  do  not  want, 

I  ask  for  something  better ; 
What  thou  beneath  thy  girdle  hast 
I  ask  for,  to  the  letter.' 


nated,  by  converting  them  into  jingling  and  feeble  femininea, 
As  may  be  seen  by  the  original  of  the  first  vene  : — 

"  Konningen  och  vor  nnge  dionningb,  .  I 

Thy  aider  offuer  bede  bordt,  ', 

Thy  blef  thennom  at  thalle  I 

Altt  om  then  salthe  fiordt, 

Saa  fly  uer  banndt  oSaer  lynnen." 

But  as  Heine  has  rewritten  the  ballad  after  his  own  fashion, 
I  have  unwillingly  translated  from  his  version  instead  of  the 
original,  which  is  in  the  measure  of  Sir  Patrick  Spens.  This 
first  verse  is  omitted  by  Heine.  Night-raven  is  also  a  name 
for  the  nightmare. — Trandator. 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS.  |«| 

'  What  I  under  my  girdle  bear, 

That  is  well  worth  the  giving  ; 
That  is  my  bunch  of  little  keys, 

Take  them,  and  leave  me  living  !' 

She  threw  the  keys  far  into  the  sea. 

Her  promise  was  not  broken  ; 
The  wild  night-raven  went  flying  away, 

He  kept  to  the  word  she  had  spoken. 

And  when  the  queen  returned  to  her  home, 

And  on  the  strand  was  roving. 
She  felt  that  German,  the  hero  gay. 

Beneath  lier  belt  was  moving. 

And  when  five  months  had  passed  away, 
The  queen,  to  her  chamber  going, 

Gave  birth  therein  to  a  beautiful  boy, 
And  yet  her  tears  were  flowing. 

He  was  born  all  in  the  night, 

And  christened  on  the  morrow  ; 
They  called  him  German,  the  hero  gay. 

To  keep  him  from  pain  and  sorrow. 

The  boy  grew  up,  in  horse  and  anus 

All  other  knights  excelling  ; 
But  whenever  his  mother  saw  her  son, 

With  grief  her  heart  was  swelling. 

'  0  mother  dear,  when  I  pass  by, 

In  waking  or  in  sleeping, 
Why  art  thou  still  so  sorrowful, 

Why  art  thou  always  weeping  V 

YOU   II.  1. 


I0a  ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS. 

'  Why  I  thus  weep  may  well  cause  fear, 
Although  thou  art  no  craven  ; 

Know,  Qennan  gay,  ere  thou  wert  boni, 
I  promised  tbee  to  the  raven.' 

*  0  mother,  dearest  mother  mine, 

Away  with  all  your  sorrow  ; 
We  must  meet  our  fate,  come  it  soon  or  late, 

For  that  no  care  I'll  borrow.' 


It  was  on  a  Thursday,  in  autumn-time, 

Just  as  the  day  was  breaking  ; 
Through  the  open  window  came  croaking  sounds. 

The  queen  from  slumber  waking. 

The  ugly  raven  came  flying  in  : 

*  My  queen,  unless  you  rue  it, 
Give  me  your  child — his  time  has  come  ; 

You  promised  long  since  to  do  it' 

But  the  mother  swore  by  God  above,  \ 

And  all  the  saints  in  heaven, 
She  knew  of  neither  daughter  nor  son, 

Which  to  her  on  earth  was  given. 

The  horrible  raven  flew  wildly  away,  i 

And  angrily  cried,  •while  flying  : 
*  I  will  find  German,  the  hero  gay. 

He  is  mine,  despite  your  lying.' 


When  German  was  in  his  fifteenth  year, 
And  began  to  think  of  wooing. 

He  sent  to  the  King  of  England, 
For  the  hand  of  his  daughter  suing. 


BLBUBNTARY  SPIRITS.  i6j 

The  king  thought  well  of  Qerman  the  gaj, 

And  promised  him  his  daughter ; 
But  he  said,  *  How  can  I  get  to  mj  bride  1 

All  round  the  island  is  water.' 

And  then  German,  the  hero  gay, 

His  scarlet  mantle  wearing, 
All  clad  in  scarlet,  entered  the  hall, 

Before  his  mother  appearing. 

*  O  mother,  and  oh  mother  dear, 

Grant  that  for  which  I'm  sighing ; 
Lend  me  your  feather  garment  white, 

I  would  over  the  sea  go  flying.' 

'  My  feather  garb  in  the  comer  hangs, 

I  never  thought  I  should  lend  it ; 
The  feathers  axe  falling,  I  meant  Urn  spring 

To  take  it  some  day  and  mend  it. 

The  wings  upon  it  are  really  too  large, 
The  clouds  they  press  them  downwards  ; 

And  I  ween  that  thou  wilt  return  no  more. 
If  once  thou  fliest  onwards.' 

He  clad  himself  in  the  feather  dress, 

Far  over  the  ocean  flitting  ; 
He  met  the  wild  night-raven  at  last. 

On  a  cliff  in  the  ocean  sitting. 

Well,  over  the  water  he  winged  his  way. 

And  when  in  the  strand  a-flying, 
There  he  heard  a  terrible  sound, 

A  horrible  croaking  aud  crying. 


I<4  ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS. 

'  Welcome,  Oerman,  thou  hero  gay  ! 
Now  thou  art  braver  and  taller ; 
When  first  thy  mother  promised  thee, 
Thou  wert  tenderer  and  smaller.' 


*  Oh  let  me  fly  to  see  my  bride, 
And  my  word  of  honour  I  set  thee, 

That  done,  I  will  return  again, 
To  the  spot  where  I  first  met  thee.' 


•  Then  I  will  mark  thee,  that  ever  more 
I  may  know  thee  under  heaven ; 

And  this  sign  shall  ever  remember  thee 
Of  the  word  which  thou  hast  given.' 


Then  he  plucked  out  German's  right  eye, 
Drank  half  his  blood,  and  went  flying  ; 

The  hero  came  unto  his  bride, 
With  love  and  weakness  dying. 

He  sat  himself  in  the  ladies'  hall. 
As  pale  as  a  white  swan  feather  ; 

The  gossiping  maidens  who  sat  there, 
Qrew  silent  altogether. 

They  ceased  their  laughter  and  their  joy, 

Ever  more  silent  growing  ; 
The  proud  young  Princess  Adelutz 

Threw  down  her  needle  and  sewing. 


They  ceased  their  laughter,  like  merry  birds 

In  rising  stormy  weather ; 
The  proud  young  Princess  Adelutz  ' 

Clasped  quickly  her  hands  together. 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS.  165 

'  Welcome,  German,  thou  hero  gay, 

Why  are  thy  garments  so  bloody. 
And  why  are  thy  cheeks  so  deadly  pale, 

Wliich  were  before  so  ruddy  1 ' 

•  Farewell,  proud  Lady  Adelutz  1 

'Twixt  us  there  can  be  no  mating  ; 
The  raven  who  took  my  eye  and  my  blood. 
Even  now  for  my  body  is  waiting.' 

With  a  gold  comb  she  combed  his  hair, 

*  And  must  thou  go  to-morrow  1 ' 
And  so,  with  every  hair  she  combed. 

Her  tears  ran  down  in  sorrow. 

With  every  lock  which  the  lady  combed, 

Her  tears  ran  down  in  sorrow. 
And  cursed  his  mother,  through  whose  fault 

Such  trouble  they  all  must  borrow. 

The  proud  young  maiden  Adelutz, 
Her  love  in  her  white  arms  keeping, 

Said,  *  May  thy  evil  mother  be  cursed. 
Who  brought  us  to  this  weeping  ! ' 

*  Oh  listen,  proud  Lady  Adelutz, 

And  do  not  curse  my  mother, 
'Twas  not  her  fault,  'twas  all  our  fate. 
And  his  fate  no  man  can  smother.' 

He  clad  himself  in  his  feather  garb. 

On  a  good  west  wind  relying  ; 
She  clad  herself  in  a  dress  like  his, 

And  after  her  love  went  flying. 


166  ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS. 

Ho  flew  on  high,  he  flew  adown, 
But  wherever  he  did  find  him, 

The  lady,  in  her  white  swan  robe, 
Wa3  following  close  behind  him. 

•  Return,  return,  proud  Adelutz  1 
Homewards  you  should  be  flying ; 

Your  hall-door  was  left  open,  know, 
And  your  keys  on  the  ground  are  lying.' 

'  My  door  may  be  wide  open  still, 
My  keys  on  the  ground  be  lying ; 

Where'er  thou  art  ia  my  only  home. 
In  living  or  in  dying.' 

He  flew  so  high,  he  flew  so  low, 
The  darkling  vapour  crossed  him  ; 

The  heavy  cloud  around  them  came, 
And  in  the  fog  she  lost  him. 


She  cut  into  pieces  the  sea-birds  all 
Whom  she  met,  her  vengeance  wreaking  ; 

But  the  wild  black  raven  she  could  not  find, 
Despite  of  all  her  seeking.  | 


The  proud  young  Princess  Adelutz, 
Down  to  the  strand  went  flying  ; 

And  there  she  found  her  love's  right  hand 
Close  by  the  water  lying. 

Then  all  enraged  she  sailed  away, 
With  vengeance  to  repay  him ; 

She  sought  the  raven  east  and  westy 
And  she  alone  would  slay  him. 


ELEMENT AR  Y  SPIRITS.  ttf 

With  Iier  shears  she  slew  the  sea-birds  all, 

Above  the  clouds  or  under ; 
And  when  she  met  the  raven  at  last, 

With  a  blow  she  cleft  him  asunder. 

She  cut  and  hacked  him  till  she  herself 

Of  weary  sorrow  perished  ; 
So  she  died  for  German,  the  hero  gay, 

Whose  life  she  so  dearly  cherished." 

Very  significant  in  this  ballad  is  the  mention 
of  the  feather  garment  as  well  as  of  the  flying 
itself.  In  the  old  heathen  times  there  were 
qneens  and  noble  dames  of  whom  it  was  said  that 
they  could  thus  soar,  and  this  magic  art,  which 
was  then  honourable,  was  in  later  Christian  times 
represented  as  an  abomination  of  witchcraft.  The 
vulgar  belief  in  the  airy  flights  of  witches  is  a 
travesty  of  old  German  belief,  and  is  not  at  all 
due  to  Christianity,  as  has  been  inferred,  or  that 
it  came  from  the  passage  in  the  Bible  where 
Satan  carried  our  Saviour  through  the  air.^  That 
text,  it  is  true,  might  be  used  to  confirm  the 
popular  faith,  since  it  proved  that  the  devil  was 
really  capable  of  flying  away  with  men. 

Many  believe   the   swan-maidens  of  whom   I 

'  If  the  belief  in  witches  flying  on  broomsticks  was  derired 
from  exclusively  German  tradition,  whence  did  the  Italians  get 
it?  The  truth  is  that  the  Italian  witch -flying,  on  broom  or 
goat,  is  of  Etnisco-Latin  origin,  or  rather  that  both  the  German 
and  Latin  beliefs  and  myths  came  from  a  common  Aryan 
source.  All  of  this  last  passive  is  wanting  in  the  Freoch 
version. — 2'randator. 


i68 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS. 


have  spoken  were  the  Valkyries  of  the  Scandi- 
navians. Of  these  latter  there  are  also  many  traces 
in  the  popular  tales.  They  are  female  beings  who 
sweep  through  the  air  on  white  wings,  generally 
the  evening  before  a  battle,  the  result  of  which  they 
had  secretly  predetermined.  And  they  also  met 
heroes  in  lonely  forest  paths,  foretelling  to  them 
their  victory  or  defeat.    We  read  in  Preetorius : — 

"  It  happened  once  that  King  Hother  of  Den- 
mark and  Sweden,  when  separated  too  far  from 
his  men  in  a  fog,  met  with  such  women  who  knew 
him,  greeted  him  by  name,  and  conversed  with 
him.  And  when  he  asked  them  who  they  were, 
they  replied  that  they  were  the  ones  in  whose 
hands  was  placed  the  victory  over  enemies  in 
battle.  They  were  ever  there,  even  though  unseen ; 
the  one  to  whom  they  gave  pre-eminence  conquered, 
and  the  enemy  could  do  him  no  harm.  When  they 
had  told  him  this  they,  with  their  house  and  temple, 
suddenly  disappeared,  and  the  king  found  himself 
alone  in  a  wide  field  under  the  open  heaven." 

The  essential  part  of  this  story  reminds  us  of 
the  witches  whom  Shakespeare  brings  before  us  in 
"  Macbeth,"  and  who,  in  the  old  legend,  of  which 
the  poet  has  availed  himself  almost  circumstan- 
tially, appear  to  be  described  as  far  nobler  than 
mere  witches.^ 


>  This  is  a  great  mistake.     Shakespeare  had  probably  aeyer 
heard  of  Hother  or  Valkyries.     He  gave  the  story  as  it  was 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS.  169 

According  to  this  tale  there  also  appeared  to 
the  hero,  Hother,  in  the  forest,  just  before  the 
battle,  three  mysterious  maidens,  who  foretold  him 
his  fate  and  disappeared,  leaving  no  trace  behind. 
They  were  Valkyries,  or  the  Noma — the  Fates  of 
the  North.^  We  are  reminded  of  these  by  the 
three  spinning  women  who  are  known  to  ns  in  an 
old  nursery  tale.  One  has  a  flat  foot,  another  a 
broad  thumb,  and  the  third  a  hanging  lip.  By 
these  they  are  always  known,  wherever  they  may 
appear,  either  as  old  or  young.  I  give  the  most 
agreeable  version  of  this  tale  from  the  book  of 
Grimm. 

"  There  was  a  lazy  maid  who  would  not  spin, 
let  her  mother  say  what  she  would ;  and  at  last 
the  mother,  in  anger  and  impatience,  beat  her, 
whereat  she  began  to  cry  aloud.     Just  then  the 

generally  told  in  bis  time,  drawn  from  sacb  writers  as  Boethius, 
Cardanus,  and  Grosius,  the  latter  of  whom  (Magica  seu  Mira- 
bUium.  Hutoriarum  de  Spectrit,  &c.,  1597)  narrates  it  as  specially 
illustrating  diabolical  sorcery,  declaring  that  it  was  a  fatidiea 
mvlier,  or  fortime-telling  woman,  who  predicted  to  Macbeth  hia 
destiny.  Cardanus  took  the  story  from  Hector  Boethius,  who 
only  says  that  Machabeus  (Macbeth)  "  met  with  three  women 
of  unusual  aspect." 

1  Heine  has  in  this  story  of  Hother  followed  Pnetorius,  who 
tells  the  tale  in  a  very  confused  manner,  jumbling  two  legends 
together.  The  original  may  be  found  in  Olaus  Magnus,  lib.  3, 
cap.  la  The  hero  won  his  victory,  not  by  the  will  of  the 
Noma,  or  fates,  but  by  playing  the  harp,  and  singing  so  charm- 
ingly as  to  enchant  the  nymphs  who  prepared  the  food  bj 
tasting  which  warriors  became  invincible. 


I70 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS. 


qneen  was  passing  by  the  door,  and  hearing  the 
noise,  entered,  and  asked  the  mother  why  she  beat 
the  girl  so  that  her  cries  were  even  heard  in  the 
street  ?  Then  the  mother,  being  in  shame  lest  the 
laziness  of  her  daughter  should  be  made  known, 
answered,  *  I  cannot  keep  her  from  spinning.  She 
would  fain  spin  on  for  ever,  and  I  am  poor,  and 
cannot  get  her  flax  enough.'  Then  the  queen 
replied,  '  I  love  of  all  things  to  hear  spinning,  and 
am  never  so  glad  as  when  the  wheels  hum.  Give 
me  your  girl ;  she  shall  go  to  my  castle,  where  I 
have  flax  enough  for  her  to  spin  as  long  as  she 
pleases.' 

"  The  mother  was  pleased  from  her  heart,  and 
the  queen  left  with  the  maid.  When  they  came 
to  the  castle  they  went  into  three  rooms  filled  up 
to  the  roof  with  the  finest  flax.  *  Spin  this,'  said 
the  queen,  '  and  when  you  shall  have  finished  the 
task  you  may  marry  my  son ;  though  you  be  poor, 
yet  I  care  naught  therefor,  unceasing  industry  is 
dower  enough  for  me.'  The  girl  was  frightened 
to  the  heart,  for  she  could  not  have  spun  up  all 
that  flax  in  three  hundred  years,  though  she 
should  work  from  mom  till  eve. 

"  When  she  was  alone  she  began  to  weep,  and 
so  sat  for  three  days  without  moving  her  hands. 
On  the  third  day  came  the  queen,  and  when  she 
saw  that  there  had  been  no  spinning  done,  she 
was  astonished ;  but  the  girl  excused  herself  by 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS.  171 

Bsjing  that  she  had  grieved  so  mnch  at  going 
away  from  home  that  she  could  not  work.  The 
qneen  was  satisfied,  but  said,  *  To-morrow  you 
must  begin  to  spin.* 

"  When  the  girl  was  again  alone,  she  knew  not 
what  to  do,  and  in  her  grief  gazed  out  of  the 
window.  Then  she  saw  three  women  coming ;  the 
first  bad  a  great  flat  foot,  the  second  an  under  lip 
which  hung  down  on  her  chin,  and  the  third  a 
broad  thumb.  They  stopped  before  the  window, 
looked  up,  and  asked  the  girl  what  was  the  matter. 
She  bewailed  her  trouble,  and  they  offered  to  help 
her,  saying,  *  If  you  will  ask  us  to  your  wedding, 
and  not  be  ashamed  of  us,  and  call  us  your 
cousins,  and  give  us  seats  at  the  table,  then  we 
will  spin  all  the  flax  speedily.'  'With  all  my 
heart,'  she  answered ;  '  come  in  and  begin  the  work 
at  once.'  Then  the  three  strange  women  entered 
and  made  a  place  for  themselves  in  the  first  room, 
and  began  spinning.  One  pulled  the  thread  and 
trod  the  wheel,  another  wetted  it,  the  third  turned 
it  and  struck  with  her  finger  on  the  table,  and  as 
often  as  she  tapped  there  fell  a  skein  of  yarn,  spun 
as  finely  as  could  be,  on  the  ground. 

"  The  girl  hid  the  three  spinners  from  the  queen, 
who,  seeing  how  rapidly  the  yam  was  spun,  praised 
her  very  much.  And  when  the  first  room  was 
finished,  the  next  was  begun,  and  so  on  till  all 
the  flax  was  spun.     Then  the  three  spinners  wrait 


1 72 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS. 


their  way,  saying  to  the  girl,  *  Remember  what 
thou  hast  promised ;  it  will  be  lucky  for  thee.' 

"  When  the  maid  showed  the  queen  the  empty 
rooms  and  the  great  pile  of  yarn,  the  latter  pre- 
pared the  wedding,  and  the  bridegroom,  not  a 
little  proud  that  he  had  such  a  clever  and  in- 
dustrious wife,  praised  her  mightily.  And  she 
said,  '  I  have  three  cousins,  and  I  would  not  for- 
get them  in  my  prosperity,  for  they  were  very 
kind  to  me ;  pray  let  me  invite  them  to  the  wed- 
ding, and  give  them  places  at  the  table.'  The 
queen  and  her  son  said,  *  Certainly,  by  all  means.' 
And  when  the  feast  began  the  three  maidens 
came  in  magnificently  dressed,  and  the  girl  said, 
'Welcome,  my  dear  cousins!'  'Ah,'  said  the 
bridegroom,  '  how  did  you  come  by  such  horrible 
friends  ? '  And  going  to  the  one  with  the  great 
foot  he  asked,  "  What  was  it  made  your  foot  so 
broad  ? "  and  she  answered,  *  Spinning  the  flax. 
The  wheel  I  trod."  Then  he  went  to  the  second 
and  asked,  "  Why  does  your  lip  hang  down  to 
your  chin  ?  "  and  she  replied,  "  From  licking  the 
flax  whenever  I  spin."  Then  he  inquired  of  the 
third,  "  What  makes  you  have  such  a  great  broad 
thumb?"  and  she  said,  "Turning  the  thread  to 
make  the  thrum."  Then  the  prince  was  alarmed 
and  said,  'If  that  is  what  comes  of  spinning, 
my  wife  shall  never  spin  again.'  And  so  she  was 
free  from  the  vile  flax-spinning." 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS.      .  173 

And  the  moral  f  Every  Frenchinan  to  whom 
I  ever  told  this  story  always  asked  me  for  one. 
My  friends,  that  is  just  the  difference  between 
you  and  us.  We  only  in  real  life  require  a  moral, 
never  in  the  fictions  of  poetry.  You  may  learn 
from  this  story  how  one  may  get  other  people  to 
do  your  spinning  and  yet  become  a  princesa  It 
is  noble  in  a  nurse  to  teach  children  betimes  that 
there  is  something  more  real  than  labour — which 
is  luck.  One  often  hears  of  children  bom  with  a 
luck-skin,  or  caul,  with  whom  everything  succeeds 
in  life.  The  belief  in  luck  or  fortune  as  an  innate, 
or  accidentally  granted  gift,  is  of  heathen  origin, 
and  contrasts  agreeably  with  the  Christian  theory, 
according  to  which  suffering  and  abstinence  are 
to  be  regarded  as  the  first  favours  of  heaven. 

The  problem,  the  aim,  of  heathenism  was  to 
achieve  fortune.*  The  Greek  hero  called  it  the 
golden  fleece,  and  the  German  the  Nibelungen- 
hoard.  The  task  of  Christianity,  on  the  contrary, 
was  renunciation,  and  its  heroes  endured  the  pangs 
of  martyrdom ;  they  took  up  their  cross  of  their 
own  free  will,  and  their  most  glorious  victory  led 
but  to  the  grave. 

One  will  of  course  remember  that  the  fleece 
and   the   Nibelungen-hoard  brought    great  woe 


^  Gluch,  fortune,  lack,  or  happiness     The   French   versioB 
gives  it  as  ionAeur.     . 


174 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS. 


unto  their  winners.  Bnt  the  error  of  these  heroes 
was  to  mistake  gold  for  good  fortune  or  happi- 
ness Tet  in  the  main  they  were  right.  Man 
should  strive  for  happiness  in  this  world — sweet 
happiness,  and  not  the  cross.  For  that  let  him 
wait  till  he  is  borne  to  be  buried,  and  then  he 
will  have  one  set  above  his  grave.* 

And  here  I  cannot  refrain  from  telling  a  tale, 
the  scene  of  which  brings  the  vallej  of  the  Rhine 
in  all  its  beauty  before  one.  In  it  also  appear 
three  women,  of  whom  I  cannot  decide  whether 
they  are  elementary  spirits  or  enchantresses,  that 
is,  enchantresses  of  the  old  heathen  stamp,  who 
differ  so  decidedly  from  the  later  witch-sisterhood. 
I  do  not  recollect  the  story  very  well.  If  I  am  not 
mistaken  it  is  told  in  detail  in  Schreiber's  Bhein- 
ische  Sagen  (Rhine  Legends).  It  is  the  legend  of  the 
Wisperthal  (Whisper-vale,)  which  takes  its  name 
from  the  whispering  voices  which  there  meet  the 
ear,  reminding  one  of  a  ceitain  mysterious  "  Hist — 
8t — st,"  which  may  be  heard  of  evenings  in  cer- 
tain side-streets  in  cities. 

"  Once  upon  a  time  three  gay  young  fellows 
wandered  through  the  valley,  wondering  greatly 
what  could  cause  the  constant  *  Mist — hist  / '  The 
oldest  and  cleverest  of  them,  who  was  a  sword- 
cutler,  at  last  cried  out,  'Those  are  the  voices 

'  There  are  trivial  variationa,  of  Uua  and  the  next  sentenoe,  in 
the  French  version.  I 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS.  fJS 

of  women  who  are  so  nglj  that  thej  are  ashamed 
to  show  themselves ! ' 

"  He  had  hardly  spoken  these  crafly  and  chal- 
lenging words,  when  all  at  once  there  suddenly 
stood  before  them  three  wonderfully  beautiful 
maids,  who  courteously  invited  him  and  his  com- 
panions to  enter  their  castle,  rest  from  their 
journey,  and  otherwise  refresh  themselves.  This 
castle,  which  was  hard  by,  they  had  not  before 
remarked,  possibly  because  it  was  not  buUt  like 
others,  but  hewed  in  the  rock,  so  that  only  some 
narrow  Gothic  windows  and  a  broad  gateway  were 
externally  visible.  "When  they  had  entered  they 
were  not  a  little  amazed  at  the  splendour  which 
met  their  eyes  on  every  side.  The  three  young 
ladies,  who  seemed  to  be  its  sole  inhabitants,  gave 
them  an  exquisite  meal,  at  which  the  cup  was 
passed  by  them  many  times.  The  youths,  whose 
hearts  grew  warmer  with  the  wine,  had  never 
before  seen  such  beauties,  and  betrothed  them- 
selves soon  to  them  with  burning  kisses.  On  the 
third  day  the  ladies  said,  '  If  you  would  always 
live  with  us,  you  dear  fellows,  then  you  must 
first  go  into  the  woods  and  hear  what  the  birds 
say.  When  you  shall  have  lurked,  listened,  and 
learned  what  the  sparrow,  magpie,  and  owl  say, 
then  come  back  into  our  arms.' 

"  The  three  companions  went  into  the  wood,  and 
after  they  had  made  their  way  through  brambles 


-'t 


176 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS. 


and  brosh,  thorns  and  bnsli,  and  stumbled  over 
many  a  ragged  root,  they  came  to  a  tree  on  which 
a  sparrow  sat  chirping  the  following  saying : — 

•  There  were  once  three  fools  of  a  piece,      I 
Who  travelled  Plum-pudding  land  through, 
There  came  ready  roasted  geese 
And  before  their  mouths  tliey  flew. 
And  one,  like  a  lusty  bawler, 
Cried  out,  "  In  this  land  of  the  South 
It's  a  pity  the  geese  are  not  smaller, 
So  they  might  just  fly  into  our  mouth  1 " ' 


C(  I 


Yes,  indeed ! '  cried  the  sword-smith.  '  That 
is  well  put.  When  people  are  fools,  even  if  roast 
geese  fly  jnst  before  their  mouths  it  does  them  no 
good.  Their  mouths  are  too  small,  and  the  geese 
are  too  large,  and  they  do  not  know  how  to  help 
themselvea'  *  i 

"  So  the  three  went  further  into  the  wood,  and 
after  they  had  made  their  way  through  brambles 
and  brush,  thorns  and  bush,  and  stumbled  over 
many  a  ragged  root,  they  came  to  a  tree  on  which 
a  magpie  jumped  here  and  there,  who  chattered 
these  words : — 

'"My  mother  was  a  magpie,  and  so  was  my 
grandmother;  my  great-grandma  was  a  magpie, 

1  There  in  a  German  proverb,  "In  Schlaraffen  Land  (the 
land  of  Cocaigne  or  of  Idlers),  where  the  roasted  geese,  or 
pigeons,  fly  to  one's  mouth."  It  is  illustrated  with  a  picture 
in  the  works  of  Claudius. — Translator.  \ 


EJ.EMENTARY  SPIRITS.  177 

my  great- great-grand  mother  another;  bo  was 
her  mamma  before  her — every  one  had  a  bill, 
and  if  she  had  not  died  she'd  have  been  living 
still.' 

" '  Yes,  yes,'  said  the  sword-cutler,  '  that  1  can 
understand.  That  is  the  common  history  of  the 
world.  That  is  the  final  compendium  (Inbegriff) 
of  all  our  researches,  and  mankind  will  never 
learn  much  more.' 

"  After  the  three  companions  had  gone  further 
through  brambles  and  brush,  been  scratched  by 
many  thorns  and  stumbled  over  many  a  ragged 
root,  they  came  to  a  tree  whereon  sat  an  owl,  who 
kept  muttering  and  murmuring : — 

"  He  who  talks  with  a  woman  by  a  woman  will 
be  cheated,  he  who  talks  with  two,  by  two  will  be 
defeated,  and  he  who  talks  with  women  three  by 
three  women  betrayed  will  be." 

"  *  Holla,  there ! '  cried  the  sword-cutler.  *  You 
ugly  pitiful  bird,  with  your  ugly  pitiful  wisdom, 
such  as  one  can  buy  from  every  humpbacked 
beggar  for  a  farthing!  That  is  old  and  rotten 
rumour.  You  would  speak  better  of  women  if 
you  were  good-looking  and  gay  like  us,  or  if  you 
knew  our  brides,  who  are  as  fair  as  the  sun  and 
true  as  gold ! ' 

"Then  they  returned,  and  after  they  had 
gone  on,  whistling  and  carolling,  they  found 
themselves  before  the  rock-castle,  and  with  un- 

VOL.  II.  JC 


178 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS. 


restrained  joyonsness^    they  sftng  the    knavish 
8ong : — 

'  Bolt  in  and  bolt  out, 
Sweetheart,  what  art  thou  about  7 
Art  thou  waking,  art  thou  sleeping, 
Art  thou  laughing,  art  thou  weeping  ? ' 

!■ 
"  While  the  three  young  fellows  stood  frolick- 
ing before  the  castle  door,  three  small  windows 
over  it  were  opened,  and  from  every  window 
looked  out  a  long-nosed,  blear-eyed  old  woman. 
They  nodded  their  grey  heads  as  if  delighted, 
and  opened  their  toothless  mouths  and  shrieked : 
'  There  are  our  dear  betrothed  ones !  Wait,  dears, 
we  will  soon  open  the  door  and  welcome  yon  with 
kisses,  and  you  shall  enjoy  the  happiness  of  life 
in  the  arms  of  love.*  | 

"  The  young  fellows,  startled  to  death,  did  not 
wait  for  the  opening  of  the  door,  or  the  embraces 
of  their  brides,  or  enjoyment  of  life,  but  started 
anew  on  their  travels  at  once,  running  head  over 
heels,  and  made  such  good  time  that  they  arrived 
that  day  in  the  town  Lorch.  And  as  they  sat 
in  the  evening  in  the  public-house  they  drank 
many  pints  of  wine  before  they  recovered  from 
their  fright.     And  the  sword-cutler  swore,  high 


3  «  Mit  ausgelassner  Frohlichkeit."     Not  an  expression  char- 
acteristic of  a  Volktmdhrchen  or  peasant's  tale. 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS.  179 

and  dear,  that  the  owl  was  the  wisest  bird  in  the 
world,  and  was  jastlj  regarded  as  an  emblem  of 
wisdom."^ 

I  have  classed  this  narrative  with  that  of  the 
three  spinners.  According  to  certain  learned 
Hellenists  the  latter  are  the  three  Fates  ;  bat  onr 
patriotic  antiquarians,  who  are  but  little  afifected 
towards  classic  studies,  claim  these  three  for  the 
Scandinavian  mythology,  declaring  they  are  the 
three  Noma.  These  two  hypotheses  may  be  ap- 
plied to  the  three  women  of  the  Wisperthal.  It 
is  difiQcalt  to  determine  the  real  nature  of  the 
Scandinavian  Noma.'  They  may  be  considered 
as  one  and  the  same  with  the  Valkyrie  of  whom 


'  Heine  might  have  very  well  epared  himself  or  hia  readers 
any  conjectures  as  to  the  ancient  meaning  of  this  story,  which 
is  most  evidently  a  modem  pUee  <U  manufaeture,  both  as  regards 
its  spirit,  or  meaning,  and  form.  In  popular  tales  the  hero 
does  not  make  philosophic  remarks  as  to  the  average  results  of 
writing  universal  history,  nor  sing  "roguish  songs"  "with  un- 
restrained joyonsness."  Such  stories  are  always  the  tales  of 
the  fortune  of  one  or  more  persons,  and  not  abstract  satires  on 
society  and  universal  history,  as  this  is.  I  think  it  not  im- 
probable that  Heine  rewrote  the  tale  from  something  much 
better  and  simpler. 

'  Heine  does  not  seem  to  have  been  acquainted  with  the  new 
Edda,  in  which  the  nature  of  the  different  Noma  is  clearly  set 
forth.  The  sagas  were  not  poems  but  prose  legends,  chiefly 
historical.  The  bewildering  confusion  of  which  be  complains 
as  existing  in  Scandinavian  mythology  was  more  in  bis  own 
mind,  as  the  result  of  extremely  slender  knowledge  of  it,  than 
in  the  subject  itself. — TVandaUyr. 


ite 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS. 


I  h&ve  spoken.  The  sagas  of  the  Icelandic  poets 
tell  us  the  strangest  things  of  the  Valkyrie.  At 
one  time  they  ride  in  the  air  over  the  din  of 
battle,  whose  result  they  determine;  anon  they 
are  amazons,  called  shield-maidens,  who  fight  for 
their  lovers ;  and  yet  again  they  appear  in  the 
forms  of  the  swan- maidens,  of  whom  I  have  given 
a  few  features.  There  prevails  in  these  traditions 
a  bewildering  confusion  which  is  as  cloudy  as 
the  sky  of  the  North.  One  of  these  Valkyrie 
was  the  strong  Sigrun,  and  in  the  saga  which 
speaks  of  her  we  find  a  touching  episode  which 
recalls  Biirger's  Leonore.  But  the  latter  is  flat 
and  tame  compared  to  the  heroine  of  the  Scan- 
dinavian poem.  I  will  here  give  an  extract  from 
this  saga. 

"  King  Sigmund,  the  son  of  Volsung,  had 
married  Borghild  of  Brelund,  and  they  called 
their  son  Helgi,  after  Helgi  the  son  of  Sorward. 
Sigmund  and  the  men  of  his  race  called  them- 
selves Volsungs.  Hunding  was  the  king  of  a 
wealthy  land,  called  from  him  Hundland.  He 
was  a  great  warrior,  and  the  father  of  many  sons, 
who  went  forth  to  battle.  King  Hunding  and 
King  Sigmund  were  enemies,  and  they  mutually 
slew  one  another's  friends.  Granmar  was  the 
name  of  a  mighty  king,  who  dwelt  on  a  height 
called  Swarinshoh.  He  had  many  sons,  one  of 
whom  was  Hodbrodd,  the  other  Gudmund,  and 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS.  l8i 

the  third  Starkader,  Hodbrodd  was  in  the  council 
of  the  kings,  and  was  betrothed  to  Sigrun,  the 
daughter  of  Hogni.  But  when  she  heard  this 
she  flew  on  horseback  with  the  Valkyries,  and 
swept  over  land  and  sea  to  find  Helgi.  Helgi  was 
then  in  LogoQall.  He  had  fought  with  Hunding's 
sons,  and  having  slain  Alf,  Eiolf,  Haghard,  and 
Herward,  being  weary,  was  resting  under  the 
Eagle's  Cliff.  There  Sigrun  found  him,  threw 
her  arms  round  his  neck,  embraced  (kissed)  him 
under  her  helmet,  and  said :  '  My  father  has  be- 
trothed me  to  the  evil  son  of  Granmar,  but  I  have 
called  him  as  brave  as  a  cat's  son.  In  a  few 
nights  the  prince  will  come,  unless  thou  dost 
allure  him  to  the  field  of  battle,  and  wilt  bear  away 
the  king's  daughter.'  Then  the  hero  was  seized, 
with  love  for  the  maiden,  but  Sigrun  had  passion- 
ately loved  the  son  of  Sigmund  before  she  had 
ever  seen  him.  The  daughter  of  Hogni  followed 
her  heart  in  saying  that  she  wished  for  Helgi's 
love.  '  But,'  continued  Sigrun,  '  I  see,  oh  prince, 
beforehand,  the  anger  of  the  friends  of  all  our 
family,  because  I  have  wrecked  the  dearest  hope 
of  my  father.'  Helgi  replied,  '  Trouble  not  thy- 
self as  to  the  wrath  of  Hogni,  or  for  that  of 
thy  family.  Thou  shalt  dwell  with  me,  maiden ; 
thou  art,  as  I  see,  of  noble  race.' 

"Helgi   assembled    many   warriors,   embarked 
them,  and  sailed  for  Frekastein.    While  at  sea  they 


i82  ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS. 

were  surprised  by  a  terrible  storm,  which  put  them 
in  death-peril,  lightning  flashed  round  the  heaven, 
and  their  ship  was  struck.  There  came  nine 
Valkyries  riding  through  the  air,  and  among 
them  they  recognised  Sigrun ;  then  the  storm  died 
out,  and  they  reached  the  shore  in  safety.  The 
sons  of  Granmar  camped  upon  a  hill  as  the  ship 
came  t/O  land.  Gudmund  threw  himself  on  his 
horse,  and  rode  seawards  to  learn  who  was  coming. 
Then  the  Volsung  hoisted  their  sails,  and  Gud- 
mund asked,  *•  Who  is  the  king  who  rules  this 
fleet,  and  leads  this  mighty  host  into  our  land  ? ' 
The  son  of  Sigmund  answered  haughtily  and  with 
a  challenge,  and  Gudmund  returned  with  the 
defiance.  Then  the  sons  of  Granmar  assembled 
an  army,  in  which  were  many  kings,  as  well  as 
Hogni,  the  father  of  Sigrun,  and  his  sons  Bragi 
and  Dag.  And  they  had  a  great  battle,  in  which 
all  the  sons  of  Granmar  and  all  their  generals 
fell,  all  save  Dag,  the  son  of  Hogni,  who  made 
peace  and  swore  faith  to  the  Volsung.  Sigrun 
went  over  the  battlefield,  and  found  Hodbrodd,  who 
lay  dying.  She  said,  '  Never,  O  King  Hodbrodd, 
will  Sigrun  of  Sevafioell  rest  in  thy  arms,  for  thy 
life  is  lost.  Soon  will  the  claws  of  wolves  tear 
the  flesh  of  the  sons  of  Granmar.'  Then  she 
went  to  Helgi  and  was  full  of  joy.  The  young 
victor  said  to  her, '  0  Alvitr,  all-knowing  one  (one 
of  the  names  given  to  the  Valkyries),  all,  alas! 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS.  iSj 

has  not  gone  as  thon  wonldst  have  it,  but  the 
Noma  direct  our  destiny.  Bragi  and  H5gni  fell 
this  morning  by  Frekastein,  and  I  slew  them. 
And  Starkadr  fell  by  Styrkleif,  and  near  Hlebjorg 
the  sons  of  Hrollang.  One  of  them  was  the  fiercest 
hero  I  ever  saw ;  when  his  head  was  hewn  off,  his 
body  still  fought.  Well  nigh  all  thy  race  lies 
on  the  battle  plain ;  thon  hast  in  this  battle 
nothing  gained ;  it  was  fated  to  thee  to  attain 
thy  wish  only  through  battle.'  Then  Sigrun 
wept,  and  Helgi  said,  '  Comfort  thyself,  Sigrun ; 
thou  wert  our  Hilde'  (a  goddess  of  war  who 
excited  men  to  battle).  *  Kings  cannot  escape 
their  fate.'  She  replied,  '  Oh  that  I  could  reani- 
mate the  dead,  yet  also  rest,  my  love,  still  in 
thine  arms.' 

"  Helgi  wedded  Sigrun,  and  she  bore  hira  sons. 
Helgi  did  not  live  long.  Dag,  the  son  of  Hogni, 
made  great  sacrifice  to  Odin,  and  implored  his 
aid.  Then  Odin  lent  him  his  lance.  Dag  found 
his  brother-in-law  in  the  place  called  Fioturland, 
and  pierced  him  with  the  spear  of  Odin.  So  fell 
Helgi;  but  Dag  rode  forth  at  once  to  SevaQall, 
and  brought  to  Sigrun  the  news  of  the  death  of 
her  loved  hero.  *  My  sister,  I  must  announce 
dire  news,  and  make  thy  tears  flow ;  a  king  this 
morning  fell  in  Fjoturland,  a  king  bravest  of  all 
on  earth,  one  whose  head  rose  above  those  of  the 
bravest  warriors.'     Sigrun  cried  aloud,  '  May  thy 


i84  ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS. 

heart  be  pierced  by  all  the  oaths  which  thou  didst 
swear  to  Helgi  by  the  shining  flood  of  Leiptr  (the 
river  of  the  lower  world),  and  by  the  Ice-clifF 
which  its  waves  wash.  May  never  ship  sail  well 
on  which  thou  art,  however  favourable  the  wind 
may  be!  May  never  any  war-horse  carry  thee, 
although  thou  art  pursued  by  deadliest  foes  !  And 
may  the  sword  thou  bearest  lose  its  edge,  unless 
indeed  it  whistles  round  thine  own  head.  Oh,  to 
see  Helgi's  death  avenged  on  thee,  I  would  thou 
couldst  be  changed  into  a  wolf,  and  in  the  forest 
live  without  a  joy  or  hope,  and  even  always  want- 
ing food,  save  when  among  men's  corpses  thou 
dost  leap.'  Dag  replied, '  Thou  art  mad,  my  sister, 
and  it  is  madder  still  to  curse  thy  brother.  Odin 
was  the  cause  of  all  this  discord,  he  has  thrown 
the  runes  of  enmity  between  the  nearest  kin.  Thy 
brother  offers  thee  the  red  (golden)  ring  of  re- 
conciliation ;  he  offers  thee  all  the  land  from 
Wlandilswe  and  Wigdali.  Take  it,  oh  woman 
adorned  with  armlets,  take  for  thee  and  for  thy 
son  the  half  of  the  realm  as  atonement  for  thy 
suffering.' 

"  Sigrun  answered,  '  Never  shall  I  rule  happily 
in  Sevafjall,  nor  be  glad  by  night  or  by  day,  un- 
less the  splendour  of  my  hero  shines  at  the  door 
of  his  tomb,  or  unless  the  war-horse  of  my  king, 
Wigblor  with  the  golden  reins,  bounds  under  him, 
or  I  can  grasp  and  hold  him  in  my  arms.     Before 


\^,r...     ,■■■,!•'.   .1,.- ..  ...    ?■>•'„.. IV'''  •'. 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS.  185 

Helgi  all  his  enemies  and  their  allies  fled,  fled 
like  frighted  monntain  kids  before  the  wolf.  Helgi 
rose  above  all  other  heroes  like  a  noble  ash  above 
blackberry  bushes,  or  as  the  stag  wetted  with  dew 
surpasses  all  other  animals  raising  his  shining 
horns  to  heaven.' 

"  A  hill  tomb  was  raised  over  Helgi,  and  when 
he  came  to  Valhalla,  Odin  oflTered  to  divide  with 
him  the  rule  of  all  the  world.  And  Helgi  said, 
seeing  Hunding,  '  Thou,  Hunding,  shalt  daily  as 
thou  goest  to  bed  get  ready  for  every  man  his 
foot-bath,  light  the  fire,  tie  up  the  dogs,  care  for 
the  horses,  and  feed  the  pigs.' 

"A  maid  of  Sigrun's  went  one  evening  by 
Helgi's  grave,  and  lo !  she  saw  the  hero  with  a 
great  following  of  warriors  ride  toward  the  mount. 
The  maid  said,  *  Are  these  delusions  of  my  eyes, 
or  has  the  end  of  the  world  come?  Dead  men 
come  riding,  ye  drive  your  war-horses  with 
spurs.  Are  heroes  allowed  to  return  to  earth  ? ' 
Helgi  replied,  'These  are  no  mere  phantoms 
which  thou  seest,  neither  is  the  end  of  the  world 
nigh,  and  though  thou  seest  us  drive  our  war- 
horses  with  spurs,  for  return  is  permitted  unto 
heroes.' 

"  The  maid  hastened  home  and  said  to  Sigrun, 
*  Go  to  the  hill,  Sigrun  of  SevaQall,  if  you 
would  find  the  prince  of  the  peoples.  The  tomb 
is  open,  Helgi  is  come,  his  wounds  bleed,  he 


i86  ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS. 

incites  thee  to  allay  and  heal  them.'  Sigrnn 
hurried  to  the  hill,  entered  to  Helgi,  and  said, 
'  How  am  I  glad  to  see  thee — glad  as  the  starv- 
ing vultures  of  Odin  when  they  smell  corpses, 
or  when,  wet  with  dew,  they  see  the  aurora  rise. 
First,  I  will  embrace  thee,  dead  king,  ere  thou 
layest  aside  thy  bloody  shirt  of  mail.  0  Helgi, 
thy  hair  is  white  with  frost,  thou  art  all  over 
covered  with  the  dew  of  the  dead  (blood),  and 
thy  hands  are  cold  as  ice.  How  can  I,  O  king, 
allay  the  pain  of  thy  wounds  ? '  Helgi  replied, 
"  Thou  alone,  Sigrun  of  SevaQall,  art  cause  that 
Helgi  is  wetted  with  the  dew  of  disaster,  for 
every  evening  ere  thou  goest  to  sleep,  O  queen, 
adorned  with  jewels  and  gold,  thou  sheddest  for 
a  long  time  bitter  tears.  And  every  tear  falls 
bleeding  on  my  breast,  my  icy  breast,  smitten 
with  anguish.  But  we  will  drink  again  from  the 
cup  of  joy,  though  we  have  lost  all  joy  and  every 
blessing,  so  that  no  one  shall  sing  a  song  of 
mourning,  though  he  may  see  gaping  wounds  on 
ray  breast.  Women  are  now  with  us  in  the 
hidden  place,  daughters  of  kings,  with  us  the 
dead!' 

"  Sigrun  prepared  a  bed  in  the  hill.  '  Here  is  a 
bed  of  rest  and  free  from  care  which  I  have  made 
for  thee,  O  Helgi,  Volsung's  son.  I  will  sleep 
in  thy  arms,  0  king,  as  I  did  when  thou  wert 
alive.'     Helgi    answered,   *  Now   I   declare    that 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS.  M$f 

there  is  nothing  incredible,  be  it  late  or  early,  in 
SevaQall,  since  thou,  proud  daughter  of  Hogni 
of  royal  race,  liest  in  my  dead  arms — thou  who 
art  still  among  the  living !  But  now  it  is  time 
that  I  again  wander  on  the  road  of  light,  and  my 
pale  war-horse  must  again  tread  his  airy  path, 
for  the  morning-red  begins  to  shine,  for  I  must 
ride  westwards  on  the  rainbow  bridge  (Windh- 
jalmbrucke),  before  Salgofnir  (the  cock)  awakens 
the  conquerors.' 

"  So  Helgi  and  his  men  rode  forth  on  their 
war-steeds,  and  the  women  returned  home.  The 
next  day  Sigrun  bade  her  maid,  towards  evening, 
keep  watch  by  the  hill.  When  the  sun  had  set, 
and  Sigrun  came  to  the  tomb,  she  said,  *  By 
this  time  the  son  of  Sigmund  should  have  come 
from  the  hall  of  Odin,  if  he  means  to  come.  But 
I  am  losing  hope  to  see  him,  for  the  eagles  are 
beginning  to  roost  on  the  ash-tree  boughs,  and 
all  the  world  is  hastening  to  the  realm  of  dreama' 
The  maid  replied,  '  Be  not  so  madly  bold,  oh 
daughter  of  the  Skioldungr,  as  to  go  alone  into 
the  dwelling  of  the  spirits;  by  night  the  dead 
are  mightier  than  by  day.'  Sigrun  did  not  live 
long  in  suffering  and  grief." 

Here  the  legend  ends,  but  the  narrator  adds 
to  this  the  remark — 

"  It  was  believed  in  old  times  that  men  were 
bom  again  on  earth,  but  we  regard  it  as  an  old 


i8S 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS. 


wives'  tale.  It  is  said  of  Helgi  and  Sigrnn  that 
they  lived  a  second  time.  He  was  then  called 
Helgi,  the  hero  of  Haddjuga,  and  Sigrun,  Kara, 
the  daughter  of  Halfdan,  and  she  was  a  Valkyrie." 

I  add  to  this  the  beginning  of  another  Scandi- 
navian saga,  called  the  Vcelundr  saga,  because 
there  appears  in  it  a  clear  proof  of  the  identity 
of  the  Valkyrie  with  the  three  spinners  and  the 
swan-maidens,  of  which  I  have  spoken.  In 
which  we  are  told  that —  | 

"  Nidhudr  was  the  name  of  a  king  in  Swithiod 
(Sweden).  He  was  father  of  three  sons  and  a 
daughter,  Baudvildur.  And  he  had  in  Finland 
three  brothers,  sons  of  the  king  in  that  country, 
the  eldest  of  whom  was  Slagfidr,  the  second  Egil, 
and  the  third  Voelundr.  They  went  to  herd 
their  flocks  and  came  to  Ulfdalir  (Wolfs  dale^, 
where  they  built  them  huts.  There  was  a  lake 
called  Ulffjar  (the  Wolfs  lake),  where  they  built 
them  huts.  And  on  its  margin  very  early  one 
morning  the  king's  sons  found  sitting  three 
women  who  spun  flax,  and  had  their  swan  dresses 
lying  near  them  on  the  ground.  They  were 
Valkyries,  and  two  of  them  were  daughters 
of  King  Landwer.  They  were  named,  one  was 
called  Hladgur  Svanhvit  (Hladgur  the  snow- 
white)  ;  the  second,  Hervoer  Alvitr  (Herva  the 
All-knowing) ;  and  the  third,  Aulrun,  the  daughter 
of  Kiar  of  Walland.    The  three  brothers  took  them 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS.  Of 

home.  Egil  had  Aulrun ;  Slagfidr,  Svanhvit ;  and 
Vcelandr,  Alvitr  for  wife.  Seven  winters  (years) 
they  dwelt  together,  but  in  the  eighth  the  women 
flew  away  to  take  part  in  battles,  and  did  not 
return.  Egil  went  forth  to  seek  Aulrun,  and 
Slagfidr  also  sought  his  Svanhvit,  but  Vcelundr 
remained  in  Ulfdalir.  He  was,  according  to 
ancient  sagas,  a  skilful  artist.  He  set  the  costliest 
pearls  in  pure  gold,  and  strung  all  his  rings  on 
a  string  of  soft  bark.  So  he  awaited  the  return 
of  his  noble  spouse.  When  Nidhudr,  the  King 
of  Sweden,  learned  that  Vcelundr  was  alone  in 
Ulfdalir,  he  went  by  night  with  his  men.  Their 
armour  was  well  fitted,  and  their  shields  shone  in 
the  moonshine.  Having  arrived  at  the  home  of 
Vcelundr,  they  surprised  the  king's  son  as  he 
slept,  bound  and  pinioned  him,  and  Nidhudr  bore 
himaway."^ 

I  have  in  these  pages  only  superficially  treated 
a  subject  which  might  furnish  volumes  of  interest- 
ing material,  that  is,  the  manner  in  which  Christi- 
anity attempted  to  either  destroy  the  Old  German 
religion  or  to  absorb  it,  and  how  traces  of  it 
remain  in  popular  beliefa  How  the  war  of 
destruction  was  conducted  is  well  known.  When 
the  Christian  priests  could  not  drive  out  the 


^  Vcelundr  is  the  prototype  of  Velint,  and  the  English  Way- 
land  Smith. 


190 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS. 


heathen  priests  by  means  of  miracles,  the  sword 
of  secular  power  came  obligingly  to  their  aid. 
The  greatest  number  of  conversions  were  brought 
about  by  Christian  princesses  marrying  heathen 
chiefs,  and  there  are  centuries  in  which  the  Church 
chronicles  are  only  records  of  weddings.  When 
the  people,  accustomed  to  their  earlier  worship  of 
nature,  retained  a  reverence  for  certain  places, 
then  it  was  attempted  to  either  turn  this  piety 
into  the  channel  of  the  new  belief,  or  to  render  it 
repulsive  as  an  inspiration  of  the  devil.  By  the 
fountains  or  springs  which  heathenism  worshipped 
the  Christian  priest  built  a  crafty  little  church, 
and  he  himself  blessed  the  water,  and  made  what 
he  could  out  of  its  healing  power.  There  are  to 
this  day  many  of  the  blessed  old  wells  or  springs 
of  ancient  time,  to  which  the  multitude  make 
pilgrimage,  and  in  full  belief  drink  from  them 
health.  The  holy  oaks  which  resisted  the  pious 
axes  were  slandered,  it  was  said  the  devils  haunted 
them,  and  the  witches  there  practised  their 
diabolical  debauchery.  Yet  despite  this  the  oak 
remained  the  favourite  tree  of  the  German  race. 
It  is  to  this  very  day  the  symbol  of  German  nation- 
ality itself;  it  is  the  greatest  and  strongest  tree 
of  the  forest;  its  roots  penetrate  into  the  very 
depths  of  the  earth;  its  summit  waves  proudly 
like  a  green  banner  in  the  air ;  the  elves  of  poetry 
dwell  in  its  trunk ;  the  mistletoe  of  holy  wisdom 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS.  191 

grows  on  its  branches,  only  its  fmit  is  small  and 
not  fit  for  human  food.^ 

Among  the  old  German  laws,  especially  in 
those  of  the  Alemanni,  are  many  prohibiting  the 
worship  of  streams,  trees,  and  rocks,  in  the  here- 
tical faith  that  there  was  divinity  dwelling  in 
them.  Charlemagne  expressly  prohibited  in  his 
capitularies  oflferings  to  stones,  trees,  or  rivers,  nor 
should  consecrated  candles  be  lighted  by  them.* 

These  three — stones,  trees  and  streams — appear 
as  the  principal  motives  of  the  old  German  cnltus, 
and  to  this  corresponds  the  faith  in  beings  which 
inhabit  them — that  is  to  say,  dwarfs  in  rocks,  elves 
in  trees,  and  nixies  in  water.  To  systematise 
this  method  is  much  more  practical  than  that 
of  Paracelsus,  according  to  the  elements,  which 
adopts  a  fourth  class  for  fire,  that  is,  the  sala- 
mander. But  the  people,  always  without  a 
system,  never  knew  anything  of  all  this,  and  I 
am  convinced  that  the  faith  in  fire-spirits  is  due 
entirely  to  Paracelsus  himself.*    There  is  among 

^  A  mistake.  Eatable  or  palatable  acorns  are  not  uncommon 
in  England,  and  they  are  common  in  Italy.  In  Rome  they  are 
prepared  by  steeping  the  kernel  in  lime-water.  The  earliest 
Italian  race  was  said  to  have  subsisted  on  them. — Translator. 

'  The  conclusion  of  this  sentence  is  wanting  in  the  French 
version. — Translator. 

*  This  is  all  much  more  than  doubtfuL  Friedrich  {SymioliJc 
der  iNTotttr),  who  cites  a  cloud  of  witnesses  in  proof,  declares 
that  a  belief  in  a  spirit  of  fire  who  dwelt  in  the  Of  en  was  widely 


193  ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS. 

the  people  only  the  story  of  one  animal  which  can 
live  in  fire,  and  is  called  salamander.  All  boys 
are  zealous  naturalists,  and  when  I  was  a  little 
fellow  I  applied  myself  seriously  to  seek  whether 
a  salamander  could  really  live  in  fire.  And  on© 
day  when  one  of  my  schoolfellows  caught  one, 
I  was  in  keen  haste  to  throw  it  into  the  oven 
fire,  where  it  first  spirted  or  threw  out  a  whitish 
slime,  hissed  less  and  less,  and  finally  gave  up  the 
ghost.  This  creature  looks  like  a  lizard  but  is 
saffron  yellow,  with  some  black  spots,  and  the 


■pread  in  G«nnany.  This  spirit  wm  worshipped  to  a  very  late 
period,  all  kinds  of  food  being  thrown  into  the  fire  as  offerings. 
There  are  tales,  proverbs,  prayers,  and  games  still  extant  which 
establish  this.  Children  when  sickly  or  suffering  are  held  np 
to  the  fire  with  invocation  to  it.  Had  Heine  read  his  Grimm 
more  attentively  (DeuUohe  Mythologie,  2nd  ed.,  p.  595,  Jfcc.), 
or  Daumer,  Oeheinvnitte  da  Christliehen  Alterthwmt,  he  coald 
not  have  made  this  strange  assertion.  The  Erzdrack  of  Tyrol 
is,  according  to  Panzer,  "  a  powerfnl  god  of  fire,  water,  and  air." 
There  is  also  the  three-legged  fire-hound  of  the  Wild  Hunt, 
which  is  certainly  a  spirit.  As  regards  all  belief  in  a  faith  in 
fire-spirits  having  originated  with  Paracelsus  himself,  we  know 
that  Psellus  and  other  magi  had  a  system  quite  like  that  of  the 
former.  "They  divide  spirits  into  those  of  fire,  air,  water, 
earth,  and  these  further  into  those  of  caverns,  darkness,  forests, 
mountains,  fields,  houses,  the  jovial,  the  satumian,  iui."  It 
never  seems  to  have  occurred  to  Heine  that  every  detail  of  the 
Paracelsian  pneomatology  was  widely  spread  among  the  people 
from  whom  it  was  derived,  and  had  existed  long  before  among 
the  Neo-Platonists.  The  Norse  folklore,  which  Heine  treats 
as  German,  abounds  in  spirits  of  fire,  aa  does  the  folklore  of 
every  country  in  Europe. — Tntntiator.  . 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS.  193 

white  liquid  which  it  omits,  and  with  which  it 
perhaps  often  extinguishes  the  fire,  may  have 
caused  the  belief  that  it  can  live  in  fire.^ 

The  fiery  men  who  wander  round  by  night 
are  not  elementary  spirits  but  ghosts  of  men  de- 
parted, dead  usurers,  pitiless  public  officials,  and 
malefactors  who  have  removed  landmarks.  The 
Irrwische  {ignis  fatuus,  will  o'  the  wisp)  are  also 
no  spirits.  It  is  not  exactly  known  what  they 
are;^  they  lead  astray  wanderers  in  moorlands 


^  Heine  did  not  know  what  a  fire-salamander  was.  That  is 
a  lizard-like  creature,  which  is  supposed  to  live  always  in  fire. 
Benvenuto  Cellini  declares  that  he  saw  one  when  he  was  a 
small  boy,  and  got  from  his  father  a  good  whipping  to  make 
him  remember  it.  One  to  keep  him  from  lying  would  not  have 
been  misapplied.  The  origin  of  the  superstition  was  that  the 
lizard,  from  living  in  sunshine  on  hot  rocks  and  sand,  was  among 
the  Greeks  a  symbol  of  heat  (Ovi  1,  "  Metamorphoses,"  v.  447). 

*  Heine's  great  authority,  Pra»rius,  says  :  "  The  evil  spirits 
which  are  called  Peuerwitch  {ignis  fatwvu)  lead  men  astray,"  and 
also  declares  that  some  people  believe  they  are  souls  of  unbaptized 
children.  In  the  Wunderhuchlevn,  a  collection  of  old  popular 
beliefs,  they  are  called  Feuermarmer  or  Firemen,  and  are 
described  as  spirits  going  to  those  who  pray,  and  flying  from 
those  who  curse.  They  are  regarded  as  wild  and  wandering 
spirits  in  Germany  and  many  other  countries  of  Europe,  probably 
in  alL  The  English  called  them  not  only  Will  o'  the  Wisp,  and 
Jack  o'  Lantern,  but  also  Friar  Kush.  The  reader  will  recall 
the  man  who 

"  Through  bog  and  bush 
Was  lantern- led  by  Friar  Rush." 

English  gypsies  think  they  are  mischievous  goblinB,  and  c&l 
them  mrdlo-doodt,  i.e.,  dead  or  ghost  lights. 

VOL.  II.  W 


194  ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS. 

i  - 
and  morasses.  The  English  call  them  "  Will  vrith 
a  wisp "  and  also  "  Jack  with  a  lantern."  As  I 
have  said,  a  complete  class  of  fire-spirits  such  as 
Paracelsus  describes  is  unknown  to  the  people.* 
It  only  speaks  of  one  fiery  spirit,  and  that  is, 
no  other  than  Lucifer  Satan,  the  devil.  In  old 
ballads  he  appears  by  the  name  of  the  fire-king 
and  when  he  enters  or  makes  exit  in  the  theatre 
the  necessary  flames  are  never  wanting.  And 
since  he  is  the  only  spirit  of  fire,  and  must  make 
up  the  want  of  a  whole  class  of  such  spirits,  we 
will  describe  him  more  accurately. 

In  fact,  if  the  devil  were  no  spirit  of  fire,  how 
could  he  endure  it  in  hell  ?     He  is  a  being  of 

^  This  passage  is  wanting  in  the  French  version.  In  its 
place  we  have  the  following : — 

"  Quant  k  de  v^ritables  esprits  de  feu,  c'est  k-dire  qui  y  puissent 
vivre,  il  n'y  en  a  peut-Stre  que  deux,  qui  sent  Dieu  et  le  Diable. 

"  Comme  dans  notre  pays  de  France,  en  sait  peu  de  chose 
surces  deux  antagonistes,  on  qu'on  n'en  a  que  des  souTenirs 
obscurs,  vous  seriez  peut-6tre  curieux  d'apprendre  ce  qu'en 
disent  les  croyances  populaires  de  TAllemagne. 

"  Que  Dieu  soit  un  esprit  de  feu  c'est  que  soutiennent  d^jk  les 
anciens  philosophes,  par  exemple  Porphyre,  selon  qui  notre  &me 
n'est  qu'une  Emanation  de  I'&me  ign^  de  Dieu.  Les  anciens 
mages  ont  ador^  le  feu  comme  la  Divinity  mdme.  Moise  vit 
Jehovah  en  buisson  ardent.  .  .  .  S'il  n'^tait  pas  esprit  de  feu 
comment  eut-il  feu  s'y  maintenir.  La  plus  importante  autorit^ 
est  celle  de  la  petite  fille  k  qui  la  m^re  de  Dieu  avait  permis  de 
se  promener  dans  le  cieL  Apr^s  que  la  petite  fille  eut  vu  douze 
appartements  dans  chacun  desquels  4tait  ^tabli  un  apdtre, 
elle  arriva  enfin  k  une  petite  cbambre,  ou  la  m^r  de  Dieu  lui 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS.  195 

SO  cold  a  nature  that  out  of  fire  lie  is  not  com- 
fortable. All  the  poor  women  who  have  been  in 
close  touch  with  the  devil  complain  of  this  bitter 
coldness.  Very  remarkable  in  their  agreement 
as  to  this  particular  are  the  confessions  of  all  the 
witches  of  every  country.^  These  ladies  who  con- 
fessed to  having  had  carnal  connection  with  the 
devil,  even  during  torture,  always  speak  of  the 
coldness  of  his  embraces,  and  of  the  icy  freezing 
gush  of  his  diabolical  raptures.  He  generally 
appeared  to  them  in  the  garb  of  a  courtier  with 
a  red  feather  on  his  head. 

But  if  cold  as  a  lover,  the  devil  cannot  be 
called  ugly,  for  he  can  take  what  form  he  will. 

avait  bien  d^fendu  d'entrer.  Mais  elle  ne  peut  r&ister  k  sa 
curioBit^,  ouvre  la  porte,  et  que  voit-elle  ?  la  trfes  Sainte  Trinity 
au  milieu  d'un  bon  feu  rouge  flamboyant  ? 

"  II  faut  que  le  diable  soit  un  esprit  de  feu  ;  autrement  com- 
ment pouvrait-il  durer  dans  I'enfer.  Mais  pendant  que  le  bon 
Dieu  supporte  le  feu  parceque  lui-meme  est  un  esprit  ign^  le 
diable  I'endure  fort  bien  parce  qu'il  est  d'une  nature  si  froide 
qu'il  ne  sent  a  son  aise  que  dans  le  feu." 

^  The  French  version  here  adds,  "et  principalement  dans  les 
ouvrages  du  criminaliste  Carpzow."  A  sufficiently  satisfactory 
reason  for  this  strange  belief  appears  in  Micbelet's  Sorciire,  of 
which  there  is  a  hint  in  the  following  words  from  the  Italian 
translation,  "  7Z  lavabo  acatato  altresi  dalle  purificazioni  pagane. 
Una  fredda  purificazione  per  instelire"  (t.c,  to  render  sterile). 
Cf.  Michelet,  La  Strega,  vol.  ii  lib.  2,  p.  5.  Carpzow  wrote  a 
book  entitled  Practica  Nova  Rerum  Criminalium  (ed.  Boehmer, 
3  vols,  folio,  1758),  in  which  he  declared  that  even  to  deny  the 
accusation  of  witchcraft  deserved  death  ( Vide  Horst,  Dcemono- 
magie,  1818). 


196 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS. 


He  has  often  assumed  feminine  seductiveness  to 
keep  some  pious  monk  from  penitence  or  entice 
him  to  sensual  pleasure.  To  others  whom  he 
would  terrify  he  came  with  his  hellish  crew  in 
forms  of  beasts.  He  loves  to  appear  most  beastly 
when  he  has  guzzled  and  swilled  notably.  Once 
there  was  in  Saxony  a  gentleman  who  had  invited 
his  friends  to  a  feast,  but  when  the  hour  had 
come,  and  the  meal  was  ready,  the  guests  were 
wanting,  for  one  and  all  had  sent  excuses.  Then 
in  his  rage  he  cried,  "  If  no  man  will  come,  so  let 
the  devil  and  all  hell  eat  with  me ! "  And  saying 
this  he  left  the  house  to  get  rid  of  his  ill  temper. 

"  And  then  there  began  to  ride  into  the  court- 
yard, few  or  many,  numbers  of  giant-like  black 
cavaliers,  who  bade  the  servant  seek  his  master 
and  say  to  him  that  his  invited  guests  had  come 
at  last.  The  man  after  long  seeking  found  his 
lord,  and  they  both  returned,  but  neither  then 
dared  enter  the  house.  For  they  then  heard 
roars  and  yells  as  of  mad  drinking,  and  the 
screaming  and  singing  grew  louder  and  more 
horrible,  and  finally  they  beheld  swarms  of  devils 
as  if  drunk  in  the  forms  of  bears,  cats,  goats, 
wolves,  and  foxes  coming  to  the  open  windows, 
holding  in  their  paws  full  goblets  or  steaming 
plates,  grinning  and  greeting  with  shining  snouts, 
and  laughing  teeth  to  those  below." 

That  the  devil  presides  at  witch-meetings  in 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS.  .     197 

the  form  of  a  he-goat  is  generally  known.  I 
shall  speak  anon  of  the  r6le  which  he  plays  in 
this  form  when  I  come  to  speak  of  witches  and 
magic.  In  the  remarkable  book  in  which  the 
deeply  learned  Georgius  Godelmannus  gives  a 
truthful  and  logically  reasoned  report  of  this,^ 
I  find  that  the  devil  often  appears  as  a  monk. 
He  tells  this  tale : — 

"  When  I  was  studying  law  in  the  famous  Uni- 
versity of  Wittenberg,  as  I  well  recall,  I  heard 
several  times  there  from  my  teachers  that  there 
came  once  a  monk  who  knocked  hard  at  Luther's 
door,  and  when  the  servant  opening  asked  him 
what  he  wanted,  the  monk  inquired  if  Luther  was 
at  home  ?  Which  when  Luther  heard  he  had  him 
brought  in,  because  it  was  long  since  he  had  seen 
a  monk.  And  when  the  visitor  entered  he  said 
that  he  would  fain  speak  with  Luther  as  to  certain 
papistical  errors,  and  submitted  to  him  a  few  syllo- 
gisms and  school  problems,  which  the  latter  solved 
easily  enough.  Then  he  brought  out  another 
much  more  difficult,  when  Luther  somewhat  im- 
patiently said,  "Thou  givest  me  much  to  do  at 
a  time  when  I  have  other  things  to  attend  to," 
and  rising  showed  him  in  the  Bible  the  solution 
of  his  question.  And  while  conversing,  he 
observed  that  the  hands  of  the  monk  were  like 

^  GoedelmannuB  de  Magis,  Venificis  et  Lftmiis. — Trantlator. 


198  ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS. 

birds*  clawB,  and  said,  "  Bist  du  nicht  Der?" 
"  Art  thou  not  he  ?  Then  hear  the  judgment 
which  was  passed  on  thee  1 "  And  so  saying  he 
showed  him  the  text  in  Genesis  in  the  first  book 
of  Moses,  "  The  seed  of  the  woman  shall  bruise 
the  head  of  the  serpent."  The  devil  being  van- 
quished by  this  sentence,  fled  in  a  rage  and  growl- 
ing, but  first  threw  the  ink  and  writing  things 
behind,  leaving  a  stink  which  smelt  for  many 
days."i  .1 

In  the  foregoing  story  we  may  note  a  marked 
characteristic  of  the  devil  which  previously  showed 
itself,  and  which  he  has  maintained  till  to-day. 
This  is  his  constant  seeking  to  dispute;  or  his 
sophistry  and  fine-spun  syllogisms  In  logic  Satan 
always  was  at  home,  as  he  convinced  Pope  Syl- 
vester, the  famous  Gerbert,  eight  hundred  years 
ago  to  his  sorrow.  This  learned  man  had  made 
a  solemn  pact  with  Satan  at  the  University  of 
Cordova,  where  he  was  studying,  and  by  infernal 
aid  learned  algebra,  geometry,  astronomy,  all  the 
lore  of  plants,  and  many  useful  arts — among 
others  that  of  becoming  Pope.  But  in  Jerusalem 
his  life  should  end — therefore  he  took  good  care 
to  keep  from  it.     And  it  came  to  pass  that  one 

'  From  this  sentence  everything  which  follows  is  omitted  in 
the  French  version  to  the  paragraph  beginning  with  the  words^ 
"  Many  declare  that  the  devil  always  appears  in  the  form  of  an 
animal."  i 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS.  199 

day  as  he  read  mass  in  a  certain  chapel  in  Rome 
there  came  onto  him  the  devil,  to  carry  him  away, 
and  as  the  Pope  protested  against  this,  the  devil 
demonstrated  to  him  that  as  the  chapel  in  which 
he  that  instant  stood  was  called  Jerusalem,  that 
all  conditions  of  the  bond  had  been  fulfilled,  and 
that  he  mnst  pack  np  forthwith  for  hell.  And 
so  the  devil  carried  oflf  the  Pope,  merrily  whisper- 
ing meantime  in  his  ear : 

"  Tu  non  pensavi  qu'io  loico  fosai ! "  * — 
"  Thou  didst  not  think  that  I  was  a  logician." 

The  devil  understands  logic,  he  is  master  in 
metaphysics,  and  with  his  subtleties  and  interpre- 
tations outwits  all  his  bondmen.  If  they  do  not 
examine  the  contract  carefully,  they  find  in  it  to 
their  horror  that  the  devil  instead  of  years  has 
written  months  or  days,  when  all  at  once  he  takes 
them  by  the  neck  and  proves  that  time  is  up. 
In  one  of  the  older  puppet-plays  which  sets  forth 
the  compact  with  Satan,  the  shameful  life  and 
pitiful  ending  of  Doctor  Faustus,  there  is  a  similar 
trick.  Faust,  who  has  desired  the  gratification  of  all 
earthly  desires,  has  for  this  signed  away  his  soul, 
and  pledged  himself  to  go  to  hell  when  he  should 
have  committed  three  murders.  He  had  killed 
two  men,  and  hopes  that  his  compact  will  expire 

^  Dante,  Inferno,  c.  28. 


200 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS. 


before  he  shall  have  committed  a  third.  But  the 
evil  one  proves  that  the  compact  itself  as  a  death- 
blow to  his  soul  was  a  third  murder,  and  with  this 
accursed  logic  hales  him  to  hell.^  The  degree 
to  which  Goethe  has  availed  himself  of  this 
characteristic  of  sophistry  may  be  judged  of  by 
every  one.  Nothing  is  so  amusing  as  the  reading 
the  contracts  with  the  devil  which  have  been  pre- 
served since  the  days  of  the  witch-trials,  and  in 
which  the  one  contracting  protects  himself  against 
all  chicanery  by  many  clauses,  every  stipula- 
tion being  paraphrased  in  the  most  scrupulous 
manner.^ 

The  devil  is  a  logician.  He  is  not  only  the 
representative  of  earthly  supremacy  of  sensual 
delights,  he  is  also  an  exponent  of  human  reason, 
simply  because  this  vindicates  all  the  rights  of 
matter ;  and  in  this  he  is  the  antithesis  of  Christ, 


^  "  That  signature  was  thy  most  damning  sin." 
'  Horst  (Dcemonomagie,  1818),  a  writer  of  great  intelligence 
and  deeply  learned,  gives  a  curious  specimen  of  one  of  these  ela- 
borate contracts.  He  also  observes  that  there  is  some  incompre- 
hensible mystery  in  it  all  which  awaits  solution.  With  whom 
were  these  contracts  really  made  ?  Who  was  it  that  personified 
the  devil  so  often,  and  to  what  purpose  ?  That  confessions  were 
suggested  to  witches  and  wrung  from  them  by  torture,  or  that 
designing  men  seduced  young  girls  or  plundered  wealthy 
persons,  does  not  at  all  explain  to  an  impartial  judge  a  vast 
number  of  these  compacts.  I  suspect  that  in  many  instances 
the  witch-finders  themselves  were  the  disguised  Satan. — Trans- 
lator. 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS.  201 

who  sets  forth  not  only  the  Spirit,  ascetic  abne- 
gation of  sense,  and  heavenly  salvation,  bnt  also 
faith.  The  devil  does  not  believe,  he  does  not 
rely  blindly  on  foreign  authority,  he  will  rather 
rely  on  independent  thought,  he  uses  reason ! 
This  is  of  course  something  terrible,  and  the 
Roman  Catholic  Church  has  correctly  condemned 
independent  individual  thought  (Selbstdenken)  as 
devilish,  and  declared  that  the  devil  as  the  repre- 
sentative of  reason  is  the  Father  of  Lies. 

Nothing  can  be  accurately  asserted  as  to  the 
devil's  form.  Some  declare,  as  I  have  said,  that 
he  has  none,  and  can  show  himself  in  any  shape 
This  is  probable.  I  find  in  the  Dcemonomagie  of 
Horst  that  he  can  even  turn  himself  into  a  salad. 
A  nun  who  was  honourable  enough,  but  who  did 
not  strictly  observe  all  the  rules  of  her  order,  and 
did  not  make  the  sign  of  the  cross  as  ofben  as  she 
should,  once  ate  a  salad.  And  as  soon  as  this  was 
done  she  experienced  sensations  which  were  new 
to  her,  and  not  at  all  in  accordance  with  her  pro- 
fession. She  began  to  feel  strangely  of  evenings 
when  she  sat  in  the  light  of  the  moon,  and  the 
flowers  gave  out  their  perfume,  and  the  nightin- 
gales sang  so  softly  and  sighingly.  Soon  after  she 
became  acquainted  with  a  delightful  young  man. 
And  after  they  had  become  intimate  he  said  to  her, 
"Do  you  know  who  I  am?"  "No,"  replied  the 
nun,  startled.     "I  am  the  devil,"  he  answered. 


aoa  ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS. 

■    .  -  I 

I 

"  Dost  thou  not  remember  that  salad  ?  That  salad 
was  I." 

Many  declare  that  the  devil  always  appears  in 
the  form  of  an  animal,  and  that  it  is  a  mere 
illusion  when  we  see  him  in  any  other.  The  devil 
has  of  course  something  cynical  in  him,  and  no 
one  has  so  well  illustrated  this  as  our  poet  Wolf- 
gang Goethe.  Another  German,  who  is  as  great 
in  defects  as  in  merits,  yet  who  must  still  be 
ranked  among  poets  of  the  first  class,  I  mean 
Grabbed  has  portrayed  the  devil  admirably  in  this 
respect,  not  forgetting  the  coldness  of  his  nature. 
In  one  of  the  dramas  of  this  genial  author 
the  devil  comes  to  earth  because  his  grand- 
mother is  scrubbing  (schrvppt)  in  hell.  This  is 
a  fashion  among  us  of  cleaning  rooms,  by  means 
of  which  a  stone  floor  is  covered  with  hot  water 
and  rubbed  with  a  coarse  cloth,  whence  results 
an  unpleasant  squeaky  sound  and  lukewarm 
vapour  which  renders  it  impossible  for  a  reason- 
able man  to  remain  in  the  house;  for  which 
reason  Satan  must  fly  from  his  well-heated  hell 
into  the  upper  world,  and  here,  though  it  is  a  hot 
day  in  July,  the  poor  devil  is  almost  frozen  to 
death,  and  is  only  rescued  by  medical  aid. 

We  have  seen  that  the  devil  has  a  mother, 
many  declare  he  has  in  reality  only  a  grand- 
mother.     She  too   comes  to  the   world  above 

*  French  version,  M.  Crabbe.     .        ] 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS.  203 

whence  may  have  come  the  saying,  "  Where  the 
devil  himself  can  do  nothing  he  sends  an  old 
woman."  Bnt  she  is  usually  in  hell,  attending 
to  the  cooking,  or  sits  in  her  red  arm-chair, 
and  when  the  devil,  weary  with  his  day's  work 
done,  comes  home,  he  swallows  in  greedy  haste 
what  she  has  ready,  then  lays  his  head  in  her 
lap  and  falls  asleep.  At  which  time  the  old  dame 
hums  a  song,  which  begins  with  these  words : — 

"  In  Thume  in  Thum, 
Many  roses  bloom, 
Roses  red  as  blood." 

Some  say  that  when  the  poor  child  cannot 
sleep  the  good  old  dame  lulls  him  to  slumber  by 
reading  the  Berlin  Evangelical  Church  Gazette. 

The  housekeeper  to  the  devil  in  hell,  where  he 
lives  with  his  mother,  forms  the  completest  con- 
trast with  that  of  Christ  in  heaven.  The  latter 
also  lives  as  a  bachelor  with  His  holy  mother,  the 
Queen  of  Heaven,  and  the  angels  are  His  familiars 
as  devils  are  familiars  to  the  other.  The  devil 
and  his  servants  are  all  black,  Christ  and  His 
angels  are  white.  In  the  popular  songs  of  the 
North,  the  White  Christ  is  always  mentioned. 
We  usually  call  the  devil  Old  Sooty,  or  the  Prince 
of  Darkness.  To  these  two  personalities  the 
people  have  added  two  other  figures,  as  immortal 
and  as  indestructible — Death  and  the  Wandering 


204 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS. 


Jew.  The  Middle  Age  has  bequeathed  to  modem 
art  these  four  types  as  colossal  personifications  of 
the  Good,  the  Bad,  of  Destruction,  and  of  Man. 
No  one  has  so  thoroughly  grasped  the  spirit  of 
the  Wandering  Jew,  the  mournful  symbol  of  man- 
kind, as  Edgar  Quinet,  one  of  the  greatest  poets 
of  France.  We  Germans,  who  lately  translated 
his  "  Ahasuerus,"  were  not  a  little  astonished  to 
find  such  a  sublime  conception  in  a  Frenchman. 

It  may  be  that  it  is  the  mission  of  the  French 
to  set  forth  with  the  utmost  accuracy  the  symbols 
of  the  Middle  Age.  They  have  long  since  left  it, 
therefore  they  regard  it  with  equanimity,  and  are 
able  to  appreciate  its  beauties  with  philosophic 
or  artistic  impartiality.  We  Germans,  however, 
are  still  deep  in  the  Middle  Ages,  we  are  still 
fighting  its  failing  or  falling  representatives, 
therefore  we  cannot  behold  it  with  too  great 
prepossession.  We  must,  on  the  contrary,  rather 
excite  a  partisan  hatred,  so  that  our  spirit  of 
destruction  shall  not  be  checked. 

Ye  French  may  admire  and  love  chivalry.  All 
that  remains  to  you  of  it  is  charming  chronicles 
and  iron  armour.  You  risk  nothing  by  gratifying 
your  imagination  and  satisfying  your  curiosity 
with  it.  But  with  us  Germans  the  chronicle  of 
the  Middle  Age  is  not  yet  closed,  the  last  leaves 
are  still  wet  with  the  blood  of  our  relations  and 
friends,  and  the  brilliant  armour  protects  the  still 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS.  205 

living  bodies  of  our  executioners.  Nothing  hinders 
ye,  0  Frenchmen,  from  admiring  old  Gothic  forms. 
For  you  the  great  cathedrals  such  as  Notre  Dame  de 
Paris  are  naught  save  monuments  of  architecture 
and  romanticism,  for  us  they  are  the  frightful 
fortresses  of  our  foes.  For  you  Satan  and  his 
hellish  comrades  are  only  poetical  images,  by  us 
there  are  rascals  and  fools  who  labour  unweariedly 
to  re-establish  philosophically  the  belief  in  a  devil 
and  an  infernal  witch-madness.  That  such  a 
thing  should  take  place  in  Munich  is  on  the  cards, 
but  that  in  enlightened  Wurtemberg  one  should 
attempt  a  vindication  of  the  old  witch-trials,  and 
that  a  distinguished  author,  Justinus  Kemer, 
should  there  have  attempted  to  revive  the  belief 
in  possession  by  spirits,  is  as  disquieting  as 
disgusting.! 

Oh,  ye  black  villains,  and  ye  feeble-minded  folk 

^  In  reference  to  Kerner's  Seherinn  von  Prevorst.  Heine's  out- 
bursts of  disgust  at  Kemer  are  very  amusing,  since  both  he  and 
the  worthy  Suabian  were  equally  delighted  or  "  possessed " 
with  elementary  spirits,  ghosts,  goblins,  gods  in  exile,  and  all 
the  rest  of  the  mediaeval  mythology,  the  only  difference  being 
that  Kemer,  as  a  very  devout  Christian,  believed  in  it  and  tried 
to  devote  it  to  a  moral  purpose,  while  Heine  amused  himself 
with  it.  But  it  amounted  in  reality  to  quite  the  same  in  both 
cases,  each  according  to  his  nature,  it  being  a  matter  of  seriously 
absorbing  interest  to  both.  Heine  plays  with  superstition  like 
a  monkey  with  a  mirror,  but  he  is  deeply  fascinated  with  it  all 
the  same.  Kemer  looked  into  the  mirror  to  see  spirits. — 
Trwntlator. 


ao6  ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS. 

of  all  colours — go  on,  perfect  yonr  work,  heat 
the  brain  of  the  people  with  old  superstitions, 
drive  it  on  to  the  road  of  fanaticism !  Ye  your- 
selves will  be  some  day  its  sacrifice,  ye  will  not 
escape  that  which  befell  the  unskilled  enchanter 
who  could  not  control  the  fiends  which  he  had 
raised,  and  was  by  them  torn  to  pieces. 

Should  the  spirit  of  Eevolution  not  succeed  in 
arousing  the  German  race  by  means  of  reason,  it 
may  be  reserved  for  Folly  to  complete  the  great 
work.  When  the  blood  shall,  boiling,  once  mount 
to  its  head,  when  it  feels  its  heart  beating  anew, 
the  people  will  not  listen  to  the  sing-song  of 
Bavarian  sham-saints,  or  the  mystical  gabble  of 
Suabian  sillies — its  ear  will  only  hear  the  great 
voice  of  the  man.  1 

Who  is  this  man  ?  I 

It  is  the  man  whom  the  German  people  await, 
the  man  who  will  finally  give  them  prosperity 
and  life,  the  one  for  whom  it  has  so  long  yearned  in 
its  dreams.  Why  dost  thou  delay,  thou  whom  the 
old  men  have  foretold  with  such  burning  desire, 
thou  whom  the  youth  so  impatiently  await,  thou 
who  bearest  as  sceptre  the  magic  wand  of  freedom, 
and  the  crown  of  the  Kaiser  without  a  cross ! 

But  this  is  not  the  place  for  adjuration  or 
exorcism,  the  more  because  it  leads  me  from  my 
theme.  My  business  is  to  speak  of  simple  tales, 
of  that  which  is  sung  and  told  around  the  German 


.J' 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS.  207 

stoves.  And  here  I  perceive  that  I  have  spoken 
but  scantily  of  the  spirits  which  dwell  in  moun- 
tains, or  that  I  have  said  nothing  of  the  Kyfi- 
hauser,  in  which  the  Emperor  Friedrich  dwells. 
He  is  not,  indeed,  an  elementary  spirit,  and  it  is 
of  such  only  that  I  should  treat.  But  the  legend 
is  too  enchanting  and  charming.  As  often  as  I 
recall  it  my  soul  thrills  with  holy  yearning  and 
secret  hope.  There  is  most  certainly  something 
more  than  a  mere  fairy  tale  in  the  belief  that  the 
Emperor  Frederick,  the  old  Barbarossa,  is  not 
dead,  but  that  he,  when  the  priests  beset  him  too 
sorely,  took  refuge  with  all  his  retainers  in  a 
mountain  called  the  Kyflfhauser,  which  lies  in 
Thuringia,  not  far  from  Nordhausen,  where  he 
will  remain  until  he  shall  appear  again  in  the 
world  to  make  the  German  people  happy.  I  have 
often  passed  it,  and  one  beautiful  winter  night  I 
there  remained  more  than  an  hour,  and  cried  all 
the  time,  "  Come,  Barbarossa,  come ! "  and  my 
heart  burned  like  fire  in  my  breast,  and  tears 
trickled  down  over  my  cheeks.  But  he  did  not 
come,  the  beloved  Emperor  Friedrich,  and  I  could 
only  embrace  the  rock  in  which  he  dwells.* 

1  It  is  worth  noting  that  neither  Justinus  Kemer,  nor  his 
friends  Jung-Stilling  or  Eschenmayer,  ever  suffered  from  spiri- 
tual possession  or  superstitious  mania  to  such  an  extent  as  to 
cry  aloud  for  an  hour  to  a  ghost  at  midnight,  while  weeping 
bitterly  and  hugging  rocks. — Tra/rulator. 


2o8 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS. 


A  young  shepherd  who  dwelt  near  was  more 
fortunate.  He  pastured  his  sheep  on  the  Kyff- 
hauser,  and  began  to  play  on  the  bagpipe,  and  as 
he  believed  he  had  deserved  a  reward  he  cried 
aloud,  "  Kaiser  Friedrich,  I  have  played  this 
little  serenade."^  It  is  said  that  the  Emperor 
then  came  from  the  hill,  and  appearing  to  the 
herd,  said,  "  God  greet  thee,  youth  !  In  whose 
honour  hast  thou  played  ? "  "  In  honour  of  the 
Kaiser  Friedrich."  .        , 

*'  Since  that  is  bo,  then  come  with  me, 
By  him  rewarded  thou  shalt  be."    , 

"I  dare  not  leave  my  sheep,"  was  his  reply. 
"  Come  with  me ;  to  thy  sheep  no  harm  will 
come." 

The  shepherd  followed  the  Emperor,  who  led 
him  by  the  hand  to  an  opening  in  the  hill.  They 
came  to  an  iron  door,  which  opened,  and  they 
entered  a  great  and  magnificent  hall,  in  which 
were  many  gentlemen  and  brave  servants,  who 
received  them  with  great  honour.  Then  the 
Emperor  showed  himself  very  kind,  to  the  boy 
asking  him  what  reward  he  would  have.  The 
shepherd  replied  "  None  at  all."  Then  the 
Emperor  said,  "  Go,  and  take  as  a  reward  one  of 
the  feet  of  my  golden  drinking-cnp."     The  boy 

1  Stdndchen,    from     Stand,    a    little     song     sung     while 
standing. 


,:    BAR  B.-^  ROSS  A 
From  the  Picture  by  Velasqtie^ 


lO       i  .'  r 


:■   ^U- 


.,'/ 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS.  209 

did  as  he  was  told,  and  was  abont  to  depart, 
bnt  the  Emperor  showed  him  many  marvellous 
weapons,  armour,  swords  and  rifles,  and  bade  him 
tell  people  that  he  would  with  these  weapons 
conquer  the  Holy  Sepulchre. 

The  shepherd  probably  did  not  understand  him. 
Barbarossa  has  quite  other  conquests  than  that  of 
the  Holy  Sepulchre  on  his  mind.  Or  was  it  that 
the  shepherd,  fearing  lest  he  might  be  imprisoned 
for  a  demagogue,  departed  a  little  from  the  way 
of  truth  ?  It  is  not  a  tomb,  the  cold  bed  of  a 
death  that  ancient  Barbarossa  will  win,  but  a 
glorious  home  for  the  living,  a  warm  realm  of 
light  and  joy  where  he  can  gaily  rule,  the  magic 
wand  of  freedom  in  his  hand,  and  the  Kaisei 
crown  without  a  cross  on  his  head. 

As  for  the  shepherd,  so  the  story  goes,  he  came 
safe  and  merrily  forth  from  the  mountain,  and  the 
next  morning  took  the  foot  of  the  drinking-cup 
to  a  goldsmith,  who,  finding  that  it  was  of  purest 
gold,  gave  him  for  it  three  hundred  ducat& 

And  it  is  told  of  a  peasant  in  the  village  of 
Beblingen  that  he  saw  the  Emperor  in  Kyffhauser 
and  received  from  him  a  pleasant  present  I 
know  one  thing,  and  that  is,  if  my  luck  should 
ever  lead  me  into  this  mountain,  I  would  not  aak 
the  Emperor  for  gold  cans  or  any  such  precious 
porringers,  but  if  he  chose  to  give  me  anything, 
I  would  ask  him  for  his  book  De  Tribus  Invpos- 
TOL.  n.  o 


aio  ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS. 

toribiis}  I  hare  sought  for  it  in  vain  in  the 
libraries,  and  I  think  its  author,  old  Barbarossa, 
has  certainly  a  copy  in  Kyffhauser.       I 

Many  declare  that  the  Emperor  eits  in  his 
mountain  by  a  stone  table  and  sleeps,  or  makes 
plans  by  which  to  recover  his  kingdom.  He 
always  rocks  his  head  to  and  &o,  and  blinks  with 
his  eyes.  His  beard  flows  down  to  the  ground. 
He  often  stretches  forth  his  hands  as  if  in  a 
dream,  and  seems  as  if  he  would  grasp  his  sword 
and  shield.  It  is  said  that  when  he  shall  return 
to  earth  again  he  will  hang  this  shield  on  a  dead 
tree,  and  that  it  will  at  once  begin  to  bud  and 
bloom,  and  then  a  happy  time  for  Germany  will 
begin.  As  for  his  sword,  it  will  be  borne  before 
him  by  a  peasant  in  a  coarse  frock,  and  with  it 
all  those  people  will  be  beheaded  who  are  stupid 
enough  to  think  themselves  to  be  of  better  blood 
than  a  boor.  But  the  old  tellers  of  the  tale  add 
that  no  one  knows  exactly  when  and  how  all  this 
will  come  to  pasa  I 

And  it  is  further  told  that  once  when  a 
shepherd  was  led  by  a  dwarf  into  the  Kyffhauser, 
the  Emperor  rose  and  asked  him  if  the  ravens 
were  still  flying  round  the  mountain.     And  when 


^  A  fabulous  work,  the  three  impostors  being  Moses,  Christ, 
and  Mahomet,  of  which  one  may  read  in  D'Israeli  and  elsewhere. 
Spurious  works  by  this  title  have  more  than  once  appeared. 

I  -       ■   . 


ELEMENTARY  SPIRITS.  «I1 

the  shepherd  answered  "  Yes,"  the  Emperor  cried, 
"  Then  I  must  sleep  another  hundred  years !" 

Certainly,  and  more's  the  pity,  the  ravens  are 
still  flying  round  the  mountain — those  ravens 
whom  we  know  so  well,  and  whose  pious  croaking 
is  so  familiar  to  our  ear&  But  old  age  has 
weakened  them,  and  there  are  good  marksmen 
who  know  right  well  how  to  bring  them  down. 
Should  the  Emperor  ever  return  to  earth  he  will 
find  in  his  way  more  than  one  raven  with  an 
arrow  through  its  heart.  And  the  old  lord  will 
smile  and  say  that  the  marksman  who  hit  it 
carried  a  good  bow.^ 

^  The  raven  or  crow  transfixed  by  an  arrow  is  the  crest  of  the 
coat-of-arms  of  the  name  Leland,  or  of  my  own.  I  sincerely 
trust  that  Bwsli,  the  first  who  bore  it,  did  not  acquire  the  right 
to  do  BO  by  shooting  a  clergyman.  In  thajirst  French  version, 
Heine  omits  the  last  two  paragraphs,  and  in  their  place  pays 
the  following  graceful  compliment  to  himself. 

"  I  know  one  of  these  archers  who  now  lives  in  Paris,  and  who 
knows  how,  even  from  that  distance,  to  hit  the  crows  which  fiy 
about  the  Kyffhauser.  When  the  Emperor  returns  to  earth  he 
will  surely  find  on  his  way  more  than  one  raven  slain  by  this 
archer's  arrows.  And  the  old  Hen*  will  say  smiling  that  "  that 
man  carried  a  good  bow. " — Translator. 


VOLUME 

12 


L  I  B  R.AR.Y 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

or    ILLINOIS 


854H36 
LL53 

V.12 


/2- 


THE  PROSE  AND  POETICAL  WORKS 

ow 

HEINRICH  HEINE 


Translated  ivith  Introductions  by 

CHARLES  GODFREY  LELAND 


IN  TWENTY  VOLUMES 


„     f .  t    ..  M-    J.^  IWira*  ,    .^    f  J    f'i   t  t  f:- .  k 


^'     "J  J 

1 

1 

MpJMHk^ 

1 

^^^PM^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^H^^^B^ 

j^H^P^^'i 

^Mmfi 

^ 

^P^^^^^*~'P''''5ift--  w 

^^^^(|^ 

^Nt 
-^ 

^;^>^fe^=^^^v 


"^'^ 


DR.  FAUSTUS 
Front  the  Elchi't^  h)  Retuhamlt 


■^'■■.^.-^'i,-^"-'C:-^- 


immh  Viitm 


■f*'"  c=r- 


I 


The    Works    of 

Heinrich    tieine 

Tramlated  by 

Charles    Godfrey   Leland 


GERM  AN  Y 

-■'-■  n    ,^ 

VOLUME  TWELVE 

ILLUSTRATED  WITH  PORTRAITS 


Printed  for  Subscribers  only  by 

CROSCUP  AND  STERLING  COMPANY 
NEW   YORK 


Printed  by 

Baixantynk,  Hanson  *•  Co 

Edinburgh 


-T,; 


^3^  HSh::e--rm-: 
■  v.    1"^ 

CONTENTS 

VOLUME  TWELVE 

GERMANY 
II 
Third  Part  (continued) — 
II.  Dr.  Faust:  A  Ballet- Poem  . 


Act  First  . 

•              • 

„    Second 

• 

„    Third 

•              fl 

„    Fourth 

• 

„    Fifth 

i 

Comments  on  Faust 

*              •              ■ 

The  Gods  in  Exile 

•              t 

Preface  to  the  French 

Edition 

The  Goddess  Diana 

. 

Preface     . 

.       t 

First  Tableau 

•       • 

Second      „ 

•       • 

Third        „ 

>       •       1 

Fourth     „ 

•       ■ 

rxGc 

.  213 

•  215 
.  223 
.  229 

•  233 
.  239 

•  244 
.  249 

.  293 

•  295 

.  379 

.  381 

.  383 

.  387 

•  391 

•  395 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


Dr.  Faustus 

From  the  Etching  by  Rembrandt.     . 

HoNORi:  de  Balzac  .... 

Goethe       

From  a  Drawing  by  Schwerdgeburth. 


Frontispiece 
To  face  page     12 

>i  n  260 


IL 

DOCTOR  FAUST. 
H  35alIet*pocm. 

WITH 

tlOUS  INFORMATION  AS  TO  DEVILS, 
TOHES,  AND  THE  ART  OF  POETRY. 

1847. 


02 


INTRODUCTION. 

Mr.  Lumley,  director  of  Her  Majesty's  Theatre 
in  London,  requested  me  to  write  a  ballet,  and 
in  accordance  with  his  wish  I  composed  the  fol- 
lowing poem.  I  called  it  Doctor  Faust  ein  Tam- 
poem  ("  Dr.  Faust  a  Ballet-poem ").  However, 
it  was  not  brought  on  the  stage,  partly  because 
during  "  the  season  "  for  which  it  was  announced 
the  unexampled  success  of  the  so-called  Swedish 
Nightingale^  made  any  other  exhibition  super- 
fluous, and  partly  because  the  maitre  de  ballet 
(stage-manager),  hindering  and  delaying,  inspired 
by  the  esprit  de  corps  de  ballet,  interposed  with 
every  manifestation  of  ill-will.  This  stage- 
manager  of  the  ballet  regarded  it  as  a  dangerous 
innovation  that  a  poet  should  compose  the  libretto 
of  a  ballet,  because  such  works  had  hitherto  been 
contributed  by  the  dancing  monkeys  of  his  kind, 
in  collaboration  with  some  miserable  literary  hack. 
Poor  Faust !  poor  wizard !     In  this  manner  must 

*  Jenny  Lind. 


si6 


INTRODUCTION. 


thou  renounce  the  honour  of  exhibiting  thy  black 
art  before  the  great  Victoria  of  England !  Will 
it  succeed  any  better  for  thee  in  thy  native  land  ? 
Should,  contrary  to  all  my  expectation,  any  Ger- 
man stage  display  its  good  taste  by  producing 
my  work,  I  beg  the  very  praiseworthy  manage- 
ment not  to  neglect  on  such  occasion  to  send 
to  the  author  the  money  due  him  to  the  care  of 
the  publishers,  Hoffmann  &  Campe  in  Hamburg 
— that  is,  to  me  or  to  my  legal  heirs.  I  consider  it 
a  not  superfluous  remark  that  I,  to  secure  my 
right  of  property  in  this  ballet  in  France,  have 
already  published  a  French  version  of  it,  and  sent 
the  number  of  copies  required  by  law  to  the 
proper  places.^  I 

When  I  had  the  pleasure  of  giving  my  manu- 
script to  Mr.  Lumley,  and  we  discussed  over  a 
fragrant  cup  of  tea  the  spirit  of  the  legend  of 
"Faust"  and  my  treatment  of  it,  the  spirituel 
impresario  requested  me  to  note  down  the  prin- 
cipal details  of  our  conversation,  in  order  that  he 
might  subsequently  enrich  with  it  the  libretto 
which  he  proposed  to  distribute  to  the  audience 
on  the  night  when  the  ballet  should  be  produced. 
In  accordance  with  this  friendly  request,  I  wrote 
the  letter  to  Lumley  which  I  give,   somewhat 

^  All  of  the  preceding  passage  is  omitted   in  the  French 
version. — Tranilator. 


INTRODUCTION.  ai? 

abbreviated,  at  the  end  of  this  little  work,  sinoe 
it  may  be  of  some  interest  to  the  German  reader 
of  these  transitory  pages.* 

As  regards  the  historical  Faust,  I  have  in  this 
letter  to  Lumley  said  but  little  regarding  the 
mythical  character.  Therefore  I  cannot  refrain 
from  here  giving  briefly,  as  regards  the  origin 
and  development  of  this  legend,  a  fable  of  Faust, 
the  result  of  my  investigations.* 

It  is  not  really  the  legend  of  Theophilus, 
seneschal  of  the  Bishop  of  Adama  in  Sicily,  but 
an  old  Anglo-Saxon  dramatic  form  of  it,  which 
must  be  considered  as  the  foundation  of  "  Faust." 
In  the  still  extant  Piatt  Deutsch  or  Low  German 
poem  of  Theophilus,  there  are  old  Saxon  or 
Anglo-Saxon  forms  of  speech,  like  petrified  words 
or  fossil  phrases,  which  show  that  this  poem  is 
only  an  imitation  of  an  older  original,  which  was 
lost  in  the  course  of  time.  This  Anglo-Saxon 
poem  must  still  have  existed  not  long  before  the 
invasion  of  England  by  the  Norman  French,  since 
it  was  apparently  imitated,  and  almost  literally 


^  "  Heine  was  so  brilliant  a  conversationalist  that  no  one  could 
listen  to  him  without  wishing  that  he  could  preserve  a  written 
record  of  every  word.  He  sparkled  like  a  fountain,  and  among 
all  the  wits  of  Pans  be  was  the  wittiest."  These  were  the 
words  spoken  to  me  by  Ole  Bull,  who  had  often  met  Heine. 

'  All  of  these  two  passages,  with  the  exception  of  the  few 
introductory  lines,  is  omitted  in  the  French  version. 


2i8  INTRODUCTION. 

imitated,  by  the  Troubadour  Eutebceuf/  and  was 
brought  out  in  France  as  a  MysUre  on  the  stage. 
For  those  to  whom  the  collection  of  Mommerque 
in  which  this  mystery  is  printed  is  not  accessible, 
I  would  say  that  the  learned  Mangin  spoke  in 
detail  regarding  it  some  seven  years  ago  in  the 
Journal  des  Savants.  This  mystery  of  the  Trou- 
badour Rutebceuf  was  used  by  the  English  poet 
Marlowe,  when  he  wrote  his  "•  Faust."  He  had  also 
the  analogous  legend  of  the  German  sorcerer 
Faust,  according  to  the  old  *'  Faust "  book,  of  which 
there  was  already  an  English  translation,  and  put 
it  into  dramatic  form,  suggested  by  the  French 
Mysthre,  which  was  also  known  in  England.  The 
work  of  Theophilus  and  the  old  Volksbuch,  a 
popular  story  of  Faust,  were  therefore  the  two 
sources  from  which  the  drama  of  Marlowe  sprang. 
Its  hero  is,  however,  not  a  reckless  rebel  against 
heaven,  who,  led  astray  by  a  sorcerer,  assigns  his 
soul  to  the  devil  to  gain  earthly  prosperity,  but  is 
finally  saved  by  the  grace  of  the  mother  of  God, 
who  brings  the  compact  out  of  hell,  as  in  Theo- 
philus. The  hero  of  the  play  is  here  a  sorcerer 
himself,  in  whom,  as  in  the  "  Faust "  book,  all  the 
legends  of  earlier  magicians  are  united,  and  whose 
masterpieces  he  produces  before  eminent  person- 


^  For  Troubadour  read  Trouveur.     The  Troubadours  wrote 
in  Provencal.  — Trandator. 


INTRODUCTION.  219 

ages.  This  is  done  on  Protestant  ground,  where 
the  mother  of  God  cannot  appear,  for  which 
reason  Faust  is  carried  away  by  the  devil  without 
grace  or  pity. 

The  puppet-show  theatre,  which  flourished  in 
London  in  Shakespeare's  time,  and  which  at  once 
seized  on  every  piece  which  succeeded  in  the 
great  establishments,  must  certainly  have  given 
a  "  Faust "  according  to  Marlowe's  pattern,  either 
parodying  it  more  or  less  seriously,  adapting  it 
to  local  requisitions,  or,  as  often  happened,  taking 
it  from  the  author  himself,  who  worked  it  up  to 
suit  their  public.  This  "  Faust "  of  pappets  came 
over  from  England  to  the  Continent,  travelled 
through  the  Netherlands,  visited  our  country  in 
its  fairs,  and,  translated  into  coarse  German  jawing, 
and  bull-homed  with  German  Jack-pudding  in- 
gredients,^ delighted  the  lower  strata  of  German 
society.  But  however  unlike  the  versions  became 
in  the  course  of  time,  especially  from  improvised 

1  "  Und  in  derb  deutscher  Maulart  iibersetzt  und  mit  deutschen 
Hanswurstiaden  verballhornt."  A  charming  sentence  to  trans- 
late !  Maulart,  mouth  or  jaw-fashion  of  speech.  VerhaUhomt, 
literally  improved  in  a  stupid,  useless  manner.  Hans  Ballhom 
was  a  schoolmaster  or  printer,  who  republished  a  primer  as 
"  revised  and  with  additions  "  by  him.  There  was  in  the  book 
on  the  last  page,  a  picture  of  a  cock,  and  the  sole  improvement 
of  the  work  consisted  in  this,  that  Ballhorn  had  an  egg  depicted 
lying  by  the  cock.  Hence  the  saying,  or  word,  Verballhomen 
or  Ballhomen,  to  make  worse  by  attempting  to  improve.  The 
reader  may  find  the  whole  story  delightfully  told  (with  the 


220 


INTRODUCTION. 


additions,  the  play  remained  substantially  the  same, 
and  it  was  such  a  puppet-play  which  Wolfgang 
Gk)ethe  saw  in  a  side-show  at  Strasburg  which 
supplied  our  great  poet  with  the  form  and  material 
of  his  master-work.  In  the  first  fragment,  or 
partial  edition,  of  Goethe's  "  Faust,"  this  is  most 
perceptible,  this  has  not  the  introduction  taken 
from  "  Sakiintala,"  and  the  prologue  imitated  from 
Job ;  it  does  not  as  yet  vary  from  the  simple  form 
of  the  puppet-play,  and  there  is  no  essential  motive 
in  it  which  indicates  any  knowledge  of  the  older 
original  books  of  Spiess  and  Widman. 

That  is  the  genesis  of  the  legend  of  "  Faust, "from 
the  poem  of  Theophilus  to  that  of  Goethe,  who 
raised  it  to  its  present  popularity.  Abraham  begat 
Isaac,  Isaac  begat  Jacob,  but  Jacob  begat  Judah, 
in  whose  hands  the  sceptre  will  eternally  remain. 
In  literature  every  son  has  a  father,  whom  he 
certainly  does  not  always  know,  or  whom  he  would 
even  fain  deny. 

HEINRICH  HEINE. 

I 
(Written  in  Paris,  October  i,  1851.)  \ 


picture)  in  the  Jobiiade.  It  seems  to  have  escaped  all  the 
German  commentators  of  this  story  that  the  cock  with  an  egg 
by  him  was  probably  taken  from  an  early  book  of  wonders,  or 
of  miracolous  natural  history.  When  a  cock  laid  an  egg  the 
latter  was  believed  to  hatch  oat  a  basilisk.  Ballhom  did  not 
even  invent  his  improvement. — Trantlator.  1  . 


DOCTOR  FAUST. 
B  JSalCet^poem. 

Thou  hast  evoked  me  from  the  grave, 

All  by  thy  magic  will ; 
Brought  me  to  life  by  passion's  glow, 

And  that  glow  thou  canst  not  still. 

Oh,  press  thy  mouth  unto  my  mouth, 

Divine  is  human  breath  ; 
I  drink  thy  very  soul  from  thee, 

Insatiable  in  death. 


ACT  FIRST. 

A  STUDY,  large  and  arched,  in  Gothic  style.  On 
the  walls  are  shelves  of  books,  here  and  there 
astrological  and  alchemistic  implements  (celestial 
and  terrestrial  globes,  schemes  of  the  planets, 
retorts  and  strangely-shaped  glass  vessels),  ana- 
tomical preparations(skeletonsof  men  and  animals), 
and  similar  requisites  of  necromancy. 

Midnight  strikes.  Doctor  Faust  sits  reflecting 
in  a  high  arm-chair  by  a  table,  on  which  are 
piled  books  and  philosophical  instruments.  His 
dress  is  that  of  a  German  scholar  of  the  sixteenth 
century.  He  rises  at  last  and  totters  with  un- 
steady steps  to  a  book-case,  where  a  great  foUo  is 
fastened  with  a  chain.  He  unlocks  it  and  bears 
with  difficulty  the  book  {Hollenzwang,  or  the  so- 
called  "Hell-compulsion")  to  his  table.  In  his 
demeanour  and  whole  personality  there  is  apparent 
a  blending  of  helplessness  and  courage,  of  awkward 
schoolmasterly  manners  and  arrogant  professional 
pride.  After  lighting  several  candles  and  drawing 
magic  circles  on  the  ground  with  a  sword,  he  opens 
the  great  book,  and  his  demeanour  indicates  the 

aa3 


a24 


DOCTOR  FAUST. 


mysterious  awe  of  invocation.  The  study  grows 
darker,  there  is  thunder  and  lightning,  and  from 
the  ground,  which  opens  with  a  crackling,  crashing 
sound,  there  rises  a  flaming  red  tiger.  Faust  does 
not  manifest  the  least  fear;  he  advances  to  the 
fiery  beast  with  contempt,  and  seems  to  command 
it  to  depart  at  once.     It  sinks  into  the  earth. 

Faust  begins  anew  his  incantations,  it  again 
thunders  and  lightens  terribly,  and  out  of  the 
opening  earth  darts  a  monstrous  serpent,  which, 
winding  and  twisting  in  the  most  terribly  threaten- 
ing manner,  hisses  out  fire  and  flames.  The 
Doctor  also  treats  it  with  contempt;  he  shrugs 
his  shoulders,  laughs  and  mocks  it  because  the 
spirit  of  hell  cannot  appear  in  a  far  more  terrible 
form,  so  that  at  last  the  snake  creeps  back  into 
the  earth.  Faust  renews  his  incantations  with 
greater  zeal.  Then  the  darkness  disappears,  the 
room  is  suddenly  lit  with  countless  candles,  in- 
stead of  thunder  there  is  heard  the  most  exquisite 
dancing^music,  and  out  from  the  opening  earth,  as 
if  from  a  basket  of  flowers,  leaps  a  female  ballet- 
dancer,  dressed  in  the  usual  gauze  and  tricot 
costume,  who  capers  about  with  the  most  frivolous 
pirouettes.  i 

Faust  seems  to  be  at  first  astonished  or  some- 
what displeased  that  the  invoked  devil  Mephisto- 
pheles  does  not  assume  a  more  awful  form  than 
that  of  a  ballet-dancer ;  but  at  last  he  seems  to 


DOCTOR  FAUST.  m§ 

be  pleased  with  this  smiling,  graceful  apparition, 
and  pays  her  a  majestic  compliment.  Mephisto- 
pheles,  or  rather  Mephistophela,  as  we  are  now  to 
call  the  womanised  devil,  returns  the  compliment 
in  parody,  and  dances  round  him  in  the  usual 
coquettish  fashion.  She  holds  in  her  hand  a 
magic  wand,  and  all  she  touches  with  it  in  the  room 
becomes  changed  in  the  most  amusing  manner 
without  losing  shape:  thus  the  dark  planetary 
forms  light  up  from  within;  from  the  jars  con- 
taining malformed  creatures  or  abortions  the  most 
beautiful  birds  peep  or  fly;  owls  bear  brilliant 
girandoles  in  their  bills;  from  the  walls  come 
forth  the  most  magnificent  golden  objects — Vene- 
tian mirrors,  antique  bas-reliefs,  works  of  art; 
all  chaotic  and  unearthly,  yet  gleaming  magnifi- 
cently— a  tremendous  arabesque.  The  beautiful 
demon  seems  to  glide  into  friendly  relation  with 
Faust,  yet  he  will  not  sign  the  parchment — ^the 
terrible  compact — which  she  offers  him.  He 
requires  that  she  shall  call  up  the  other  powers 
of  hell,  and  these  princes  of  darkness  appear 
accordingly.  They  are  monsters  in  grotesquely 
horrible  forms  of  beasts,  fabulous  blendings  of 
what  is  scurrilous,  or  comic  and  frightful,  most 
of  them  wearing  crowns,  and  bearing  sceptres 
in  their  daws.  Faust  is  presented  to  them  by 
Mephistophela,  a  ceremony  in  which  the  strictest 
court  etiquette  is  observed.     Waddling  along  with 

VOL.  IL  p 


226 


DOCTOR  FAUST. 


much  attempt  at  formality,  their  majesties  begin 
a  clumsy  dance;  but  as  Mephistophela  touches 
them  with  her  wand,  their  ugly  masks  and  garb 
fall  off,  and  they  are  all  changed  into  dainty  ballet- 
dancers,  who  flutter  about  in  gauze  and  tricot, 
with  garlands  of  flowers.  Faust  amuses  himself 
with  this  metamorphosis,  yet  does  not  seem  to 
find  among  the  pretty  dancing  devils  one  who 
quite  pleases  him.  Mephistophela  observing  this 
again  wields  her  wand,  and  in  a  large  mirror, 
which  appears  by  magic  art  upon  the  wall,  there 
appears  the  form  of  a  wonderfully  beautiful  woman 
in  court  dress,  and  with  a  ducal  crown  on  her 
head.  As  soon  as  Faust  beholds  her  he  is  carried 
away  with  admiration  and  rapture,  and  approaches 
the  lovely  form  with  every  manifestation  of  desire 
and  tenderness.  But  the  lady  in  the  looking-glass, 
who  now  acts  as  if  living,  repels  him  with  the 
haughtiest  turning  up  of  her  nose.  He  kneels 
before  her,  but  she  only  redoubles  her  signs  of 
contempt.  I 

The  poor  Doctor  turns  his  head  with  suppliant 
look  towards  Mephistophela,  who  only  replies  by 
roguishly  shrugging  her  shoulders.  Then  she 
waves  her  magic  wand.  There  rises  from  the 
ground,  unto  his  hips,  a  hideous  monkey,  who 
at  a  sign  from  Mephistophela  (who  angrily  shakes 
her  head)  disappears  in  an  instant,  and  is  succeeded 
by  a  beautiful  graceful  youth,  a  ballet-dancer,  who 


DOCTOR  FAUST.  227 

executes  the  most  commonplace  entrechats.  The 
dancer  approaches  the  lady  in  the  looking-glass, 
and  while  he  with  the  most  commonplace  im- 
pertinence makes  love  to  her,  she  smiles  again  to 
him  in  the  most  charmed  and  charming  manner, 
stretches  out  her  arms  to  him,  and  exhausts 
herself  in  tenderest  manifestations.  At  this  sight 
Faust  is  in  rage  and  despair,  but  Mephistophela 
takes  pity  on  him,  and  touches  with  her  wand 
the  handsome  youth.  He  lets  fall  his  fine  gar- 
ments, appears  as  the  hideous  ape,  and  sinks 
into  the  ground.  Mephistophela  again  offers  the 
parchment  to  Faust,  who,  without  ado  or  delay, 
opens  a  vein  in  his  arm,  and  with  his  blood  signs 
the  contract  by  which  for  earthly  enjoyment  he 
resigns  all  heavenly  happiness.  He  casts  away 
his  serious  and  honourable  doctor's  dress,  and  puts 
on  the  sinful,  gaily-coloured  tinselled  finery  which 
the  dancer  has  left  lying  on  the  ground.  In  this 
dressing,  which  he  effects  clumsily  and  comically, 
he  is  aided  by  the  infernal  corps  de  hallei. 

Mephistophela  now  gives  Faust  a  lesson  in 
dancing,  and  shows  him  all  the  handy,  or  rather 
footy,  tricks  of  the  trade  or  game.^  The  awkward- 
ness and  stiffness  of  the  sage,  who  attempts  to 


1  "Zeigt  ihm  all  Handgriflfe  oder  vielmehr  FussgriflFe  de« 
Metiers."  The  word  footy  in  common  American  exactly  conyevB 
the  idea  of  petty  trifling,  or  clumsy  tricks  or  devices.  Another  of 
Heine's  "inimitable  and  untranslatable  graces." — Trandator. 


saB  DOCTOR  FAUST. 

perform  the  dainty  and  graceful  joo*  of  his  teacher, 
form  the  most  amusing  e£Fect8  and  contrasts. 
The  diabolical  chorus  of  dancing-girls  will  also 
give  their  aid,  and  every  one  attempts  to  show 
how  this  or  that  is  to  be  done.  One  throws 
the  poor  Doctor  into  the  arms  of  another,  who 
waltzes  round  with  him  ;  he  is  pulled  and  hauled 
here  and  there,  but  by  the  power  of  love  and 
of  the  magic  wand,  with  which  his  rebellious 
limbs  are  constantly  being  touched,  the  pupil 
in  choregraphy  at  last  attains  perfect  dexterity. 
Then  he  dances  a  pas  de  deux  with  Mephistophela, 
and  to  the  delight  of  all  his  devilish  damsel  fellow- 
artists,  he  flies  about  with  her  in  the  most  marvel- 
lous figures.  Having  attained  to  this  virtuosity 
he  ventures  to  dance  before  the  lovely  lady  of  the 
looking-glass,  who  now  responds  to  his  panto- 
mimic love-making  with  correspondingly  passion- 
ate gestures.  Faust  thereon  continues  to  dance 
with  ever-increasing  delirium,  but  Mephistophela 
tears  him  away  from  the  mirror-form,  who,  touched 
by  the  magic  wand,  at  once  disappears,  and  the 
high-class  dancing  of  the  old-fashioned  French 
classic  school  is  resumed. 


ACT  SECOND.  < 

A  LARGE  space  before  a  castle  which  is  seen  to 
the  right.  On  the  sloping  terrace  the  Duke  and 
his  Duchess  sit  in  high  stately  chairs,  surrounded 
by  their  courtiers,  knights,  and  ladies.  The  Duke 
is  a  stiff  and  formal  elderly  gentleman,  his  wife  a 
young,  voluptuous,  and  splendid  beauty,  the  fac- 
simile of  the  lady  of  the  looking-glass  in  the  first 
act.  It  is  seen  that  she  wears  a  gold  shoe  on  her 
left  foot. 

The  scene  is  splendidly  decorated  for  a  court 
festival.  A  pastoral  play  is  acted  in  the  most  old- 
fashioned  rococo  style,  shallow  gracefulness  and 
gallant  innocence.  This  sweetly  pretty  Arcadian 
jigging  is  suddenly  interrupted  by  the  grand 
entrance  of  Faust  and  Mephistophela,  who,  in  her 
dress  as  dancer,  and  with  her  troupe  of  diabolical 
ballerine  makes  triumphal  appearance  amid  joyous 
trumpet  peals.  Faust  and  Mephistophela  incline 
in  bounding  reverences  before  the  ducal  pair,  but 
the  former,  as  well  as  the  Duchess,  the  more  closely 
they  regard  one  the  other,  are  stirred  as  with  de- 
lightful memories,  and  regard  one  another  with 

399 


33©  DOCTOR  FAUST. 

mutually  tender  looks.  The  Duke  seems  to  accept 
with  peculiarly  gracious  acquiescence  the  courtesies 
of  Mephistophela.  In  an  impetuous  pas  de  deux 
which  the  latter  dances  with  Faust,  both  keep  an  eye 
on  the  ducal  pair,  and  when  the  diabolical  dancing- 
girls  come  and  take  their  place,  Mephistophela  flirts 
with  the  Duke  and  Faust  with  the  Duchess,  the 
extreme  passion  of  the  latter  being  parodied  by  the 
ironic  modesty  with  which  Mephistophela  repels 
the  angular  and  starched  gallantries  of  the  Duke. 
The  Duke  finally  turns  toward  Faust  and  asks 
him  to  give  a  specimen  of  his  magic  art.  He 
wishes  to  see  King  David  as  the  latter  danced 
before  the  Ark  of  the  Covenant.  In  obedience 
to  this  august  command,  Faust  takes  the  magic 
wand  from  Mephistophela,  waves  it  in  invocation, 
and  the  group  called  for  appear.  First  comes  the 
Ark  drawn  by  Levites ;  King  David  dances  before 
it  with  the  delight  of  a  bufiFoon,  and  oddly  dressed, 
like  a  king  of  cards ;  while  behind  the  holy  ark, 
with  spears  in  their  hands,  see-sawing  about,  hop 
the  king's  life-guards,  dressed  like  Polish  Jews,  in 
long  flapping  black  silk  caftans,  and  with  tall  far 
caps  on  their  nodding  heads,  with  pointed  beards. 
After  these  caricatures  have  made  the  round  of 
the  stage,  they  sink  into  the  earth  amid  stormy 
applause.^ 

^  Probably  not  from  the  audience.     One  can  imagine  how 
Buch  a  travesty  of  Scripture  would  have  been  received  by  Her 


DOCTOR  FAUST.  «|i 

Faust  and  Mephistophela  again  leap  forth  in  a 
brilliant  pas  de  deiix,  in  which  one  looks  at  the 
Duchess  and  the  other  at  the  Duke  with  such 
amorous  piquancy  that  the  illustrious  pair  can  no 
longer  resist,  and,  leaving  their  seats,  join  the 
dance.  This  is  followed  by  a  dramatic  quadriUe 
in  which  Faust  attempts  more  earnestly  than  ever 
to  entrap  the  Duchess.  He  has  discovered  a 
Teufelsmal,  or  the  sign  of  a  witch,  on  her  neck, 
and  as  this  reveals  that  she  is  a  sorceress,  he 
appoints  a  rendezvous  with  her  at  the  next  Sabbat. 
She  is  alarmed  and  denies  it,  but  Faust  points  at 
her  golden  shoe,  which  is  a  sure  sign  that  she  is 
the  Domina  or  chief  mistress  of  Satan.  With  a 
bashful  air  she  grants  the  rendezvous.  The  Duke 
and  Mephistophela  renew  their  afiEected  love-scene, 
and  the  demon  dancers  take  the  place  of  the 
quartette,  which  gradually  disappears  behind  them. 

At  the  renewed  request  of  the  Duke  to  give 
another  specimen  of  his  magic  art,  Faust  grasps 
the  wand,  and  touches  with  it  the  whirling  dancers. 
They  change  in  an  instant  into  the  monsters  of 
the  first  scene,  and,  instead  of  gracefully  circling, 


Majesty,  the  public,  and  press  in  London,  in  1851.  Even  Mira^h; 
the  daughter  of  Saul,  was  scandalised  at  this  duice,  and  despised 
David  in  her  heart  for  such  "  dancing  and  playing,"  which  was 
perhaps  in  Heine's  mind.  According  to  Babbi  David  Kimchi, 
this  dance  of  King  David  was  called  Chagag,  and  it  was  per- 
formed to  the  MCompMximent  of  the  41st  Psalm. 


•s« 


DOCTOR  FAUST. 


go  tumbling  and  etambling  among  and  on  one 
another  in  the  clumsiest  manner,  and  amidst 
sputtering  fires  sink  into  the  earth.  Roaring 
applause,  for  which  Faust  and  Mephistophela  bow 
in  thanks  to  the  nobility  and  honourable  public. 

After  each  of  these  exhibitions  of  magic  the 
gaiety  increases,  the  four  chief  personages  rush 
again  to  the  dancing-place,  and  in  the  quadrille, 
which  is  renewed,  passion  becomes  bolder  and 
bolder.  Faust  kneels  before  the  Duchess,  who, 
in  not  less  compromising  action,  admits  her  love ; 
the  Duke,  having  pulled  away  by  force  the  laugh- 
ing Mephistophela,  kneels  before  her  like  a  lustful 
faun.  But  as  he  by  chance  turns  round  and 
sees  his  wife  and  Faust  in  such  a  compromising 
attitude,  he  jumps  up  in  a  rage,  draws  his  sword, 
and  will  stab  the  insolent  conjurer.  Faust  grasps 
his  magic  wand  and  taps  the  Duke  on  the  head, 
from  which  spring  two  immense  stag's  horns,  by 
the  ends  of  which  the  Duchess  holds  him  back. 
A  general  tumult  among  the  courtiers,  who  attack 
Faust  and  Mephistophela.  But  as  Faust  waves 
his  wand  there  is  a  warlike  peal  of  trumpets,  and 
from  the  back  advances  a  procession  of  fully 
armoured  knights.  While  the  courtiers  turn  as 
if  to  defend  themselves,  Faust  and  Mephistophela 
fly  through  the  air  on  two  black  steeds.  At  the 
same  instant  the  knights  vanish  like  a  phantas- 
magoria. 


ACT  THIRD. 

NoCTTJENAL  meeting-plac5e  of  the  witch  Sabbat. 
A  broad  plain  on  the  summit  of  a  mountain. 
Trees  on  either  side,  on  whose  branches  hang 
strangely  formed  lamps,  which  illuminate  the 
scene.  In  the  midst  is  a  stone  pedestal  or  block, 
like  an  altar,  on  which  stands  a  black  goat 
with  a  black  human  face,  and  a  burning  candle 
between  the  horns.  In  the  background  rise,  one 
above  the  other,  the  tops  of  mountains,  as  in 
an  amphitheatre,  on  whose  colossal  steps  sit  as 
spectators  the  notabilities  of  the  Under-world — 
that  is,  those  princes  of  hell  whom  we  have  seen 
in  the  previous  acts,  and  who  now  appear  giant- 
like. On  the  trees  right  and  left  sit  musicians 
with  faces  like  birds,  holding  eccentric  stringed 
and  wind  instruments.  The  scene  is  animated 
with  groups  of  dancers,  whose  dresses  recall  the 
most  difiEerent  lands  and  ages,  so  that  the  whole 
assembly  seems  like  a  masked  baU,  the  more  so 
because  many  are  really  masked  and  mummed. 
But  however  baroque,  bizarre,  and  startling  many 

933 


234 


DOCTOR  FAUST. 


of  these  forms  may  be,  they  should  not  conflict 
with  a  sense  of  beauty,  and  the  ugly  impressions 
of  caricatured  creatures  is  softened  or  extin- 
guished by  fairy-like  splendour  and  positive 
horror.^  Before  the  goat's  altar  a  man  and 
woman  walk  up  and  down,  each  bearing  a  black 
candle ;  they  bow  before  the  back-side  of  the  goat 
kneel  down,  and  pay  it  the  homage  of  a  kiss. 
Meanwhile  new  guests  come  riding  through  the 
air  on  brooms,  pitchforks,  great  spoons,  or  on 
wolves  and  cats.  These  arrivals  find  their  lovers 
or  sweethearts  awaiting  them.  After  a  most 
joyful  welcome  they  mix  with  the  dancing  groups. 
Also  her  Highness  the  Duchess  comes  flying  on 
an  immense  bat ;  she  is  as  devoid  of  clothing  as 
is  possible,  and  wears  on  her  left  foot  the  golden 
shoe.  She  appears  to  seek  with  impatience  for 
some  one.  Finally  she  beholds  the  desired  one, 
or  Faust,  who  comes  with  Mephistophela  on  a 
black  horse  to  the  festival.  He  wears  splendid 
knightly  clothing,  and  his  companion  is  modestly 
clad  in  the  tight-fitting  Amazone  of  a  noble 
German  lady. 

^  A  nice,  easy  little  direction  for  an  average  property-man, 
or  even  manager,  to  work  up.  The  Idas  described  in  the  next 
sentence  would  indeed  have  caiued  a  sensation  in  Her 
Majesty's  Theatre.  It  will  occur  to  the  reader  that  there  wer« 
other  things  besides  the  rivalry  of  Jenny  Lind,  or  the  jealousy 
of  the  maitre  de  ballet^  which  prevented  the  production  of 
Faust ! — Translator.  i 


^221 


DOCTOR  FAUST.  31$ 

Fanst  and  the  Dnchess  rush  into  each  other's 
arms,  and  their  attachment  shows  itself  in  the 
most  impassioned  dancing.  Mephistophela  has 
meantime  also  found  her  expected  sweetheart — a 
dry  and  slender  gentleman  in  a  black  Spanish 
cloak,  and  with  a  blood-red  cock's  feather.  But 
while  Faust  and  the  Duchess  dance  through  all 
the  steps  of  a  progressive,  passionate,  wild  love, 
the  diw  of  Mephistophela  and  her  partner  is,  as 
contrast,  only  the  vulgar  sensual  expression  of 
gallantry,  or  of  the  desire  which  makes  sport  of 
itself.  All  the  four  at  last  take  black  candles  and 
pay  homage  to  the  goat  in  the  manner  already 
described,  and  end  with  a  grand  round,  in  which 
the  whole  assembly  whirl  about  the  altar.  What 
is  peculiar  in  the  dance  is  this,  that  the  performers 
turn  their  backs  on  one  another,  and  do  not  see 
one  another's  faces,  which  are  turned  away.^ 

Faust  and  the  Duchess  escaping  from  the  round 
dance,  having  attained  the  acme  of  passionate 
love,  disappear  behind  the  trees  to  the  right  hand. 
The  round  dance  ends.     New  guests  come  before 

^  "  At  the  Sabbat  the  devils  danced  with  the  most  beautiful 
witches,  in  the  form  of  a  he-goat.  They  generally  dance  in 
a  round,  back  to  back."  Some  writers  rather  simply  declare 
this  was  done  that  the  dancers,  not  seeing  one  another's  faces, 
might  not  incur  mutual  recognition  in  ordinary  life.  De 
Lancre,  TraetcU.  de  Magia,  cited  in  "  Gypsy  Sorcery,"  by  C.  G. 
Leland,  chap.  x.  p.  159.  The  witches  had  three  kinds  of  dances 
one  of  which  was  probably  the  polka. — Trandator. 


•36  DOCTOR  FAUST. 

the  altar  and  renew  the  adoration  of  the  he-goat ; 
among  them  are  crowned  heads,  even  the  high 
dignitaries  of  the  Church  in  their  pontifical  gear. 
Meanwhile  many  monks  and  nnns  appear  in 
the  front  ground,  whose  extravagant  polka-leaps 
delight  the  demons  on  the  hills  around,  who  ap- 
plaud with  their  long  stretched-out  claws.  Faust 
and  the  Duchess  reappear,  but  all  his  expression 
is  changed,  and  he  turns  with  disgust  from  the 
woman  who,  with  her  hair  flowing,  pursues  him 
with  her  voluptuous  caresses.  He  shows  her  in 
most  unmistakable  manner  that  he  feels  satiety 
and  aversion.  In  vain  she  throws  herself  im- 
ploringly before  him,  he  repels  her  with  disgust. 
At  this  instant  three  negroes,  clad  in  tabards  of 
gold  on  which  black  goats  are  embroidered,  come 
forward,  ordering  the  Duchess  to  appear  at  once 
before  her  lord  and  master  Satan,  and  the  lady 
resisting  is  dragged  away  by  force.  In  the  back- 
ground the  goat  is  then  seen  to  descend  from  his 
pedestal  and,  after  making  several  very  singular 
signs  of  courtesy,  dances  with  her  a  minuet,  in 
slow  and  ceremonious  step.  The  countenance  of 
the  goat  expresses  the  misery  of  a  fallen  angel 
and  the  profound  ennui  of  a  blas6  prince,  that 
of  the  Duchess  desperate  despair.  The  dance  at 
an  end  the  goat  resumes  his  place  on  the  pedestal, 
and  the  ladies  who  have  been  looking  on  ap- 
proach the  Duchess  with  courtesies  and  reverences, 


DOCTOR  FAVST.  337 

and  then  take  her  away.  Faust  meanwhile  stands 
in  the  foreground,  and  while  looking  at  the  minuet 
Mephistophela  appears  by  his  side.  Faust  points 
at  the  Duchess  with  disgust  and  dislike,  and 
seems  to  relate  something  horrible.^  He  specially 
manifests  his  aversion  for  all  the  grotesque  ab- 
surdities which  he  sees  around,  and  all  this  Gothic 
rubbish,  which  only  amounts  to  a  stupid  and  des- 
picable burlesque  of  ecclesiastical  asceticism,  and 
which  is  as  disagreeable  to  him  as  the  latter. 
He  feels  an  infinite  yearning  for  the  purely 
beautiful,  for  Greek  harmony,  for  the  unselfish 
and  noble  forms  of  the  Homeric  world  of  spring. 
Mephistophela  understands  him,  and  touching  the 
ground  with  her  magic  staff  the  image  of  Helen 
of  Sparta  rises  and  at  once  disappears.  This  it 
was  which  the  learned  Doctor,  with  his  heart 
yearning  for  the  antique,  had  always  desired. 
He  manifests  the  greatest  inspiration,  and  at  a 
sign  from  Mephistophela  the  magical  steeds  again 
appear,  on  which  both  fly  away. 

At  this  instant  the  Duchess  comes  on  the  scene, 
sees  Mephistophela  and  her  lover  disappearing,  and 
falls  fainting  in  despair  to  the  ground.  Eccentric 
monsters  then  raise  and  carry  her  round  about 
as  if  in  triumph,  with  laughter  and  coarse  tricks. 


^  Suggested  by  "the  red  mouse"  which  sprung  from  her 
mouth. 


>3S 


DOCTOR  FAUST. 


A  renewal  of  the  infernal  round  dance,  whicli  is 
interrupted  all  at  once  by  the  Bhrill  ringing  of  a 
handbell  and  a  choral  of  an  organ,  which  is  a 
wild  sacrilegious  parody  of  church-music.  All 
press  up  to  the  altar,  where  the  goat  flames  up 
crackling  and  bums  away.  After  the  curtain  has 
fallen  the  grotesque  and  horrible  sounds  of  the 
Satan's  mass  are  still  heard.^  I 


^  Heine  omits  the  important  part  of  the  ceremony,  the 
gathering  of  the  ashes  of  the  goat.  According  to  Bodinus, 
{DctmoTiomagia,  lib.  2,  cap.  4),  the  devil,  as  a  goat,  or  rather 
as  a  black  satyr,  after  dancing  and  singing  with  all  the  witches, 
holding  burning  candles  in  their  hands — "  und  in  den  Hindem 
gekiisst  haben  " — suddenly  burnt  himself  up  in  a  flame,  and  the 
witches  gathered  up  his  ashes,  wherewith  to  destroy  the  cattle 
or  flocks  of  people,  or  cause  other  evil.  And  then  came  a  loud 
and  terrible  cry  from  the  devil  of,  Revenge  yow$dves  or  ye 
tihalL  die  I  And  when  this  was  done  every  one  found  himself 
by  the  help  of  the  devil  at  home  again. — Trantlator. 


ACT  FOURTH. 

An  island  in  the  Archipelago.  To  the  left  a  view 
of  the  sea,  of  a  pure  emerald  hue,  contrasting 
charmingly  with  the  turquoise  blue  of  the  sky, 
whose  sunny  daylight  shines  over  an  ideal  land- 
scape. Vegetation  and  Greek  architecture  as 
beautiful  as  once  were  dreamed  by  the  poet  of  the 
Odyssey.  Pines,  laurel-bushes  in  whose  shadows 
white  statues  repose,  great  marble  vases  with 
fabulous  plants,  trees  wound  with  garlands  of 
flowers,  crystal  waterfalls.  To  the  right  side  a 
temple  to  Venus  Aphrodite — whose  statue  gleams 
from  among  the  pUlars — all  animated  with  a  race 
of  men  in  the  prime  of  beauty,  youths  in  white 
festival  garments ;  girls  in  Kghtly-girded  dresses 
of  nymphs,  their  heads  crowned  with  roses  or 
myrtle.  Some  amuse  themselves  in  groups, 
others  are  engaged  in  religious  ceremonies  about 
the  temple  of  the  goddess.  Everything  breathes 
Greek  joyousness,  the  ambrosial  peace  of  the 
gods  and  classic  repose.  Nothing  recalls  the 
cloudy  past,  the  mystical  thrills  of  rapture  and  of 
agony,  the  supernatural  ecstasy  of  a  spirit  which 

'39 


040  DOCTOR  FAUST. 

emancipates  itself  from  the  body.  Here  all  is 
real,  plastic  happiness,  without  retrospective 
melancholy  or  any  foreboding  empty  yearning. 
The  Queen  of  this  island  is  Helena  of  Sparta,  the 
most  beautiful  woman  in  poetry,  and  she  dances 
as  the  leader  of  the  ladies  of  her  court  before  the 
temple  of  Venus,  The  dance  and  the  attitudes 
are  in  keeping  with  the  surroundings,  all  in 
measure  chaste  and  solemn. 

All  at  once  Faust  and  Mephistophela  break  into 
this  world,  flying  on  their  black  steeds  through 
the  air.  They  seem  to  be  suddenly  freed  from 
the  gloomy  pressure  of  a  nightmare,  from  a 
horrible  illness  or  a  sad  lunacy,  and  both  are 
revived,  and  refresh  themselves  by  this  sight  of 
the  primevally  beautiful  and  the  truly  noble. 
The  Queen  and  her  train  dance  hospitably  toward 
them,  offer  them  food  and  drink  in  richly  em- 
bossed plate,  and  invite  them  to  dwell  in  their 
peaceful,  fortunate  island.  Faust  and  his  com- 
panion accept  the  invitation  by  a  joyous  dance,  and 
all  forming  a  festive  procession  seek  the  temple  of 
Venus,  where  Faust  and  Mephistophela  exchange 
their  romantic  mediaeval  garb  for  superb  yet 
simple  Greek  dresses.  Returning  with  Helen  to 
the  front  scene,  they  execute  a  mythologic  dance 
of  three.  I 

Faust  and  Helena  at  last  seat  themselves  on  a 
throne  at  the  right  hand,  while  Mephistophela, 


DOCTOR  PAU3T.  341 

eeizing  a  thyrsne  and  a  tamboTuine,  leaps  about 
as  a  bacchante  in  wild  attitudes.  The  maidens  of 
Helena,  seized  with  inspiration,  tear  the  roses  and 
myrtles  from  their  heads,  wind  vine  leaves  into 
their  loosened  locks,  and  with  flowing  hair  and 
swinging  thyrses  dance  excitedly  as  Bacchantaa. 
Then  the  young  men,  arming  themselves  with 
shield  and  spear,  take  the  place  of  the  damsels, 
and  dance  in  mock  battle  one  of  those  warlike 
pantomimes  which  are  so  genially  described  by 
early  authors. 

Into  this  heroic  pastoral  there  may  be  intro- 
duced an  antique  humorous  byplay — that  is,  a 
swarm  of  Cupids  riding  on  swans,  who  also  begin 
with  bows  and  spears  a  battle-dance.  But  tiiis 
beautiful  scene  is  suddenly  interrupted  by  the 
entrance  of  the  Duchess,  who  comes  sweeping 
through  the  air  on  her  enormous  bat,  and  advances 
like  a  fury  before  the  throne  on  which  Faust  and 
Helena  are  seated.  The  frightened  Cupids  leap 
hastily  on  their  swans  and  fly  away.  The  enraged 
Duchess  appears  to  reproach  Faust  like  a  fury, 
and  threatens  Helena.  Mephistophela,  who  re- 
gards the  whole  scene  with  malicious  delight, 
begins  anew  the  Bacchantic  dance,  in  which  the 
maids  of  the  Queen  also  join,  so  that  this  joyous 
chorus  contrasts  mockingly  with  the  rage  of  the 
Duchess.  The  latter  can  at  last  no  longer  contain 
her  rage,  she  whirls  the  magic  wand,  and  seems 

VOL.  u.  q 


M»  DOCTOR  PAUST. 

to  accompany  the  action  with  the  most  terrible 
invocations.  Then  the  heaven  grows  dark,  there 
is  thnnder  and  lightning,  the  sea  rises  roaring  and 
storming,  and  there  is  on  the  whole  island  a 
terrible  change  in  persons  and  things.  All  seems 
struck  by  death.  The  trees  stand  leafless  and 
barren,  the  temple  falls  into  a  min,  the  statnes 
lie  broken  on  the  ground.  Queen  Helena  sits  as 
a  dried-up  corpse,  inmost  a  skeleton,  in  a  white 
shroud  by  Faust's  side ;  the  dancing  maidens  are 
also  only  bony  spectres,  wrapped  in  white  garments 
which,  hanging  over  the  head,  only  reach  to  their 
withered  hips.  These  are  the  Lamias  who  are 
thus  represented,  and  in  this  form  they  continue 
their  gay  dancing  in  the  round  as  if  nothing  had 
taken  place,  nor  do  tiiey  appear  to  have  observed 
any  change.  Then  Faust,  furious  at  seeing  all 
his  happiness  wrecked  by  the  revenge  of  a  jealous 
sorceress,  darts  from  the  throne  with  drawn  sword, 
and  plunges  it  into  the  breast  of  the  Duchess. 

Mephistophela  has  meantime  brought  the  two 
magic  steeds.  She  anxiously  urges  Faust  to  mount 
one,  and  they  ride  away  through  the  air.  The  sea 
continues  to  rise,  it  gradually  covers  men  and 
monuments,  only  the  dancing  Lamias^  seem  to 

^  These  are  called  in  the  German  version  Lamice,  but  in  th« 
French  Lemuret,  which  are  a  very  different  class  of  beings,  aa 
Heine  should  have  known.  The  Lamia  was  a  serpent  spirit  which 
often  appeared  as  a  beantiful  woman,  seeking  to  seduce,  or  even 


% 


DOCTOR  FAUST.  ay 

take  no  notice  of  it,  and  they  continue  to  dance 
to  the  merry  sound  of  tambourines,  till  the  waves 
reach  their  heads,  and  the  whole  island  sinks. 
Far  above  the  storm-lashed  sea,  high  in  the  air, 
Faust  and  Mephistophela  are  seen  careering  away 
on  their  black  steeds. 


devoar,  young  men.  She  was  the  incarnation  of  the  witch  in  • 
deceptive  and  attractive  form.  The  Lemares  were  ghoats, 
apectres,  or  nightly  haunting  shades  in  grotesqae  shapes,  and 
had  in  them  a  great  deal  of  the  repulsive  bugbear,  which  forms 
no  part  of  the  smiling,  deceptive  Lamia.  As  an  illustration  of 
the  latter,  we  have  the  story  told  of  Apollonias  and  his  pupil, 
so  beautifully  poetised  by  Keats.  Of  the  Lemures  there  ii 
another  narrated  by  Cardanus  {De  Subtilitate),  how  a  poor  man 
was  followed  by  a  spectre,  which  threw  him  down,  rolled  him 
over,  and  frightened  him  so  that  he^-octo  diebtu  periit — died 
in  eight  days.  In  the  Romagna  Toscana,  Lemuri  are  to  this 
day  t  apiriti  dei  eampo  $anti,  "graveyard  spirits,"  or  ghosts. 
Wierus,  in  his  work  De  Lamiii,  treats  them  (the  Lamiae)  as 
witches.  Neither  Lamia  nor  Lemures  occur  as  "  bony  spectres ;  ** 
the  latter  are,  however,  frequently  preternaturally  long  and 
thin.  {Vide  Gerhard's  Abbildungen,  Berlin,  1868,  and  similar 
works. )—  Trorulator. 


ACT  FIFTH. 

A  GREAT  open  space  before  a  cathedral,  whose 
Gothic  door  is  seen  in  the  background.  On 
either  side  neatly  trimmed  lime  trees,  under  which 
sit,  eating  and  drinking,  citizen  folk  dressed  in 
the  Netherlands  style  of  the  sixteenth  century. 
Not  far  off,  men  with  cross-bows,  who  in  turn 
shoot  at  a  bird  on  a  pole.  All  about  are  amuse- 
ments, as  at  a  fair — booths,  musicians,  puppet- 
shows,  jack-puddings,  leaping,  and  merry  groups. 
In  the  middle  a  turfed  place,  where  the  better 
class  are  dancing. 

The  bii'd  is  at  last  shot  down,  and  the  victor, 
who  is  a  great  beer  brewer,  has  his  triumphal  pro- 
cession as  archer-king,  with  an  immense  crown 
on  his  head,  on  which  are  many  bells.  On  his 
back  and  before  him  are  sheet-gold  shields,  with 
which  he  walks  about  proudly  ringing  and  rattling. 
Before  him  march  drummers  and  fifers,  with  a 
standard-bearer,  a  bandy-legged  dwarf,  who  acts 
comically  with  an  immense  flag.  The  archer-pro- 
cession follows  gravely  behind.  I 


DOCTOR  FAUST.  «#$ 

Before  the  fat  burgomaster  and  his  not  lees 
oorpnlent  spouse,  who  sit  with  their  daughter 
under  the  lime-tree,  the  flag  is  waved,  and  all 
passing  bow  in  salutation.  The  burgomaster  and 
wife  return  the  compliment,  and  their  daughter, 
a  beautiful  girl  with  blonde  hair  of  the  Flemish 
type,  offers  the  cup  of  honour  to  the  king  of  the 
cross-bow  men. 

Trumpet  peals  are  heard,  and  the  wise  and 
learned  Doctor  Faust,  in  the  scarlet  and  gold 
embroidered  costume  of  a  mountebank,  appears 
on  a  high  car  adorned  with  foliage.  Mephisto- 
phela,  who  goes  before  the  vehicle  leading  the 
horses,  is  also  dressed  in  a  "  loud,"  highly-coloured 
costume,  as  for  one  who  cries  in  the  market-place, 
extravagantly  set  off  with  ribbons  and  feathers. 
She  bears  a  great  trumpet,  on  which  she  sounds 
flourishes  now  and  then,  while  she  dances  an 
attractive  r^ame  to  the  mob.^  The  people  crowd 
round  the  waggon  where  the  itinerant  wonderful 
doctor  sells  all  kinds  of  draughts  and  mixtures. 
Some  bring  him  large  flasks  of  water  to  examine. 
He  draws  the  teeth  of  others.  He  works  visible 
cures  on  crippled  invalids,  who  leave  him  sound 
and  well,  dancing  for  joy.  At  last  he  leaves  the 
car,  which  is  driven  away,  and  distributes  his 


^  Ridame,  va  advertisement,  catch  or  gag,  editorial  puff,  or 
anything  to  attract  and  draw  attention  to  an  object. — Trarulator. 


346  DOCTOR  FAUST. 

phials  containing  a  flnid,  a  few  drops  of  wliich 
cure  every  ill,  and  excite  in  the  taker  an  irresis- 
tible desire  to  dance.  The  king  of  the  marksmen 
having  tasted  it,  experiences  its  magic  power ;  he 
seizes  Mephistophela,  and  hops  with  her  a  pas  de 
deux.  The  drink  has  the  same  effect  on  the  old 
burgomaster  and  his  wife,  and  both  hobble  in  an 
antiquated  dance.  I 

While  all  the  public  whirls  in  a  mad  waltz 
Faust  has  approached  the  burgomaster's  daughter, 
and,  enchanted  by  her  unaffected  naturalness, 
modesty,  and  beauty,  declared  his  love,  and  with 
melancholy,  and  almost  modest  gestures,  pointing 
to  the  church,  begs  for  her  hand.  He  renews 
his  request  to  her  parents,  who  sit  gasping  for 
breath  on  a  bench.  They  are  contented  with 
the  proposal,  and  the  naive  beauty  at  last  yields 
a  modest  assent.  She  is  with  Faust  crowned 
with  flowers,  and  they  dance,  as  bride  and  bride- 
groom, a  sober  bourgeois  nuptial  round.  The 
Doctor  has  found  at  last  in  a  modest,  sweet,  and 
quiet  life  the  domestic  felicity  which  contents  the 
soul.  The  doubt  and  extravagant  and  visionary 
raptures  of  suffering  of  a  proud  soul  are  forgotten, 
and  he  beams  with  inner  happiness  like  the  gilded 
cock  on  a  church-spire.  I 

The  bridal  train  is  formed  in  becoming  style, 
and  it  is  on  the  way  to  church,  when  Mephis- 


DOCTOR  FAUST.  ~  947 

tophela  Bnddenly  steps  in  the  way,  and  with 
mocking  laughter  and  gestures  tears  Fanst  from 
his  idyllic  sentiments,  and  seems  to  command 
him  to  instantly  depart  with  her.  Fanst,  in  a 
rage,  refuses,  and  the  bystanders  are  startled  at 
the  scene.  But  far  greater  terror  overcomes 
them  when  suddenly,  at  the  invocation  of  Mephis- 
tophela,  a  midnight  darkness  and  a  terrible  storm 
covers  all.  They  fly  in  terror  to  the  church  near 
by,  where  a  bell  begins  to  toll,  and  the  organ  to 
peal — a  sound  suggesting  religion  and  piety,  which 
contrasts  with  the  flashing  and  thundering  in- 
fernal horrors  of  the  stage.  Faust,  who  would 
fain  fly  with  the  rest  into  the  church  for  refuge, 
is  kept  back  by  a  great  black  hand  rising  from 
the  earth,  while  Mephistophela  with  bitter  mockery 
draws  from  her  bodice  the  parchment  which  Faust 
once  signed  with  his  blood,  showing  him  that  the 
time  of  the  contract  has  expired,  and  that  he  now 
belongs,  body  and  soul,  to  heU.  He  uses  every 
argument  in  vain,  and  in  vain  has  recourse  to 
wailing  and  prayers  for  mercy — the  female  fiend 
dances  round  him  with  every  grimace  of  scorn 
and  mockery.  The  ground  opens,  and  there  come 
forth  the  horrible  princes  of  hell,  the  crowned 
and  sceptred  monsters.  In  a  round  of  rejoicing 
they  also  mock  Faust,  till  Mephistophela,  who  has 
transformed  herself  into  a  horrible  serpent,  winds 


..^   .    -^jL  j- 


M 


DOCTOR  PAUST. 


about  and  strangles  him.  The  whole  group  sinks 
amid  roaring  flames  into  the  earth,  while  the  peal 
of  the  church-bells  and  the  loud-ringing  sound  of 
tiie  organ  from  the  church,  call  pious  Christian 
souls  to  prayer.  , 


KMt     .  .^  **  *  <^  *-.-.. 


COMMENTS   ON   FAUST. 


-•♦- 


TO 

LUMLEY,  ESQ"* 
Director  oftlie  Theatre  of  Her  Majesty  the  Queen.^ 

Dear  Sir, — ^I  experienced  a  hesitation  or  fear 
which  is  readily  intelligible  when  I  reflected  that 
I  had  chosen  for  my  ballet  a  subject  which  our 
great  Wolfgang  Goethe  had  already  employed  in 
his  masterpiece.  And  if  it  was  dangerous  even 
with  equal  means  of  representation  to  strive  with 
such  a  poet,  how  much  more  terribly  perilous 
must  the  undertaking  be  when  one  provokes  the 
combat  with  unequal  weapons.  In  truth,  Wolf- 
gang Goethe  had,  to  express  his  thoughts,  the 
whole  arsenal  of  the  arts  of  speech;  he  was 
master  of  all  the  coffers  of  the  treasury  of  the 
German  language,  which  is  so  rich  in  minted 


1  Thu  u  the  original  dedication  by  Heine  himself  in  English. 


UHlVtRSlTY  Of 


h-.tfi,* 


*$»  COMMENTS  ON  PAVST. 

thonght-words  of  deep  meaning,  and  ancient 
native  sounds  of  the  world  of  feeling,  or  magic 
formnlas  which,  long  vanished  from  life,  still  ring 
as  echoes  in  the  rhymes  of  Goethe's  poems,  and 
thrill  so  marvellously  in  our  imagination.  And  how 
scant  and  poor  are  the  means  with  which  I,  poor 
as  I  am,  can  express  what  I  think  and  feel.  I 
can  work  only  with  a  slender  libretto  in  which  I 
must  indicate  as  concisely  as  possible  how  male 
and  female  dancers  are  to  act  and  make  signs, 
and  how  I  think  the  music  and  mise  en  scene  should 
be  arranged.  Yet  despite  this  I  have  dared  to 
poetise  a  Doctor  Faust  in  the  form  of  a  ballet, 
rivalling  the  great  Wolfgang  Goethe,  who  had 
before  me  taken  all  the  freshness  from  the  sub- 
ject, and  who  to  execute  it  could  devote  to  it  a 
long  blooming  life,  like  that  of  the  gods,  while  to 
me,  the  afflicted  invalid,  only  four  weeks  were 
allowed  by  you,  my  honoured  friend,  in  which  to 
finish  my  work.^ 

I  could  not  go  beyond  the  bounds  prescribed, 
but  within  them  I  have  done  what  a  man  with 
good  heart  and  will  may,^  and  I  have  at  least 
aimed  at  one  excellence  of  which  Goethe  certainly 
cannot  boast.  What  we  entirely  miss  in  his  Faust- 
poem  is  fidelity  to  the  original  legend,  a  pious 

1  The  oonclading  lines  of  this  sentence  are  omitted  from  the 
French  version. 

'  "  Was  ein  braver  mann  zn  leisten  vermag."  i 


COMMENTS  ON  FAUST.  «5I 

respect  for  its  inner  sonl,  a  reverence  which  the 
sceptic  of  the  eighteenth  century  (and  snch  Goethe 
was  to  the  end  of  his  life)  could  neither  feel  nor 
understand.^  In  this  respect  he  was  guilty  of 
a  certain  arbitrary  or  original  treatment,  which 
was  culpable  from  an  aesthetic  point,  and  which 
finally  revenged  itself  on  the  poet.  Yes,  the  faults 
of  the  poem  came  from  this  offence,  since,  in 


^  These  passages  for  naivety  vanity,  and  error,  are  probably 
without  a  parallel  in  modern  literature.  Heine  reproaches  Goethe 
for  departing  from  the  original  tradition,  to  which  the  answer  is, 
"  What  was  the  original  tradition  ? "  Is  it  that  which  preceded 
the  authentic  John  Faust,  or  the  collection  of  tales  from  many 
sources  which  gathered  about  his  name  after  his  death  ?  And 
does  not  Heine,  by  converting  Mephistopheles  into  a  girl,  and 
the  whole  tale  into  a  French  ballet,  and  in  adding  a  hundred 
minor  original  modern  details,  depart  by  commission  and  omission 
utterly  from  the  spirit  of  the  old  traditions  in  his  work  ?  In  all 
this  our  author  reminds  me  of  a  very  apropos  incident.  An 
artist  had  won  a  prize  of  ;^200  at  a  competition  for  a  picture 
of  Faust  in  his  studio.  As  he  had  represented  Faust  as  a  very 
aged  and  decrepid  man,  I  objected  to  it  that  it  was  not  in 
accordance  with  the  original  text  (meaning  that  of  Goethe),  in 
which  the  hero  is  set  forth  as  being  of  vigorous  middle  age.  To 
which  the  artist  protested  that  he  had  very  carefully  followed  the 
original.  Whereupon  a  lady  who  was  present  went  into  the 
adjoining  library,  and  bringing  thence  "  Faust "  in  two  full-sized 
bound  volumes,  asked  the  painter  to  point  out  his  authority  ;  to 
which  he,  aghast,  replied,  "  Why,  I  did  not  know  that  '  Faust ' 
was  so  big  a  book  as  that  I"  Investigation  revealed  the  fact 
that  he  bad  never  heard  of  Goethe,  and  that  the  only  "Faust" 
known  to  him  was  the  libretto  of  the  opera  by  that  name. 
Heine's  "  original  text "  and  its  adaptation  to  the  stage  is  very 
suggestive  of  this  picture. — Ttxmdator. 


SfS  COMMSNTS  ON  PAUST. 

departing  from  the  reverent  Bymmetrj  according 
to  which  the  legend  lived  in  German  popular 
familiarity  with  it,  he  could  not  execute  the  work 
according  to  the  newly-conceived  plan  based  on 
incredulity ;  it  was,  in  fact,  never  finished,  unless 
we  consider  that  lame  or  crippled  second  part  of 
"  Faust "  which  appeared  forty  years  later  as  the 
completion  of  the  whole  poem.  In  this  second 
part  Goethe  frees  Faust  the  necromancer  from 
the  fangs  of  the  devil ;  he  does  not  send  him  to 
hell,  but  permits  him  to  enter  heaven  in  triumph, 
accompanied  by  dancing  angels  and  Catholic  cupids, 
and  the  terrible  compact  with  Satan,  which  caused 
such  hair-on-end  horror  to  our  ancestors,  ends  like 
a  frivolous  farce — I  had  almost  said  like  a  ballet.^ 
My  ballet  contains  what  is  most  important  in 
the  old  legends  of  Doctor  Faustus,  and  in  com- 
bining their  principal  motives  to  a  dramatic  whole, 
I  adhered  conscientiously  to  the  existing  traditions 
as  I  found  them  in  the  popular  chap-books,  as 
they  are  sold  in  our  market-places,  and  in  puppet- 
shows  as  I  saw  them  played  in  my  youth. 

1  Heine  here  advances  the  one  great  point  in  which  he  con- 
Biders  that  his  ballet  excels  the  poem  by  Goethe,  i,e.,  that 
Goethe  departs  from  the  tradition  by  the  salvation  of  Faust's 
■ouL  And  yet  Heine  himself  has  told  ns  a  few  pages  back, 
in  the  introduction,  that  in  the  old  Saxon-Norman  "original 
legend "  Faust  is  finally  saved  by  the  grace  of  the  Mother  of 
God.  In  fact  it  was  Goethe,  and  not  Heine,  who  was  true  to 
the  original  legend. — Trandaior.  I 


COMMENTS  ON  FAUST.  w$$ 

The  Volksbiieker,  or  popnlar  works  referred  to, 
are  not  by  any  means  in  accordance.  Most  of 
them  have  been  patched  together,  as  the  compiler 
pleased,  from  two  much  older  and  greater  works 
on  Faust,  which,  with  the  so-called  Eollenzwangy 
are  to  be  regarded  as  the  chief  sources  of  the 
legends.  These  works  are  iu  this  relation  too 
important  to  be  passed  over  without  special  men- 
tion. The  oldest  of  them  was  published  in  Frank- 
fort in  1587  by  Johann  Spiess,  who  appears  to 
have  not  only  printed,  but  also  to  have  written  it, 
although  in  a  dedication  to  his  patrons  he  says 
that  he  received  the  MS.  from  a  friend,  a  native 
of  Speier.  This  old  Frankfort  Faust-book  is  far 
more  poetic,  profound,  and  with  a  deeper  signifi- 
cance of  symbolism  than  the  second  work  on  the 
same  subject,  written  by  George  Rudolph  Widman, 
and  published  in  1599,  in  Hamburg.  The  latter, 
however,  became  far  more  popular,  perhaps  because 
it  is  diluted  with  sermon-like  remarks  and  grave 
erudition.  By  it  the  better  book  was  crowded 
out  of  sight  and  sunk  into  oblivion.  The  third 
source  of  the  Faust  legend  is  to  be  found  in  the  so- 
called  Hollemwang — "hell-compulsions  "  ^ — which 
are  written  partly  in  Latin,  partly  in  German, 
and  which  are  attributed  to  Doctor  Faust  himself. 
They  differ  very  oddly  one  from  the  other,  and 

1  French  TenioD,  CUfdu  Ei^tn. 


flS4  COMMENTS  ON  PAUST. 

circulate  nnder  different  titles.  The  most  famons 
of  them  is  the  Meergeist,  the  Spirit  of  the  Sea — 
the  very  name  of  which  was  whispered  with 
trembling.  The  manuscript  was  long  kept  in 
a  convent  with  chain  and  key.  But  by  some 
bold  indiscretion  it  was  published  by  Holbek  in 
the  Kohlsteg  in  Amsterdam  in  1692.  I 

The  popular  works  which  were  drawn  from 
these  sources  also  contributed  to  another  remark- 
able book  on  Doctor  Faust's  servant,  Christopher 
Wagner,  who  was  also  skilled  in  magic,  and 
whose  adventures  and  jests  were  frequently  at- 
tributed to  his  celebrated  master.  Its  author, 
who  published  his  work  in  1594,  declared  it  was 
from  a  Spanish  original,  and  called  himself 
Tholeth  Schotus.  If  it  was  really  from  the 
Spanish,  which  I  doubt,  there  is  here  an  indica- 
tion by  which  the  remarkable  resemblance  of  the 
*  legend  of  "  Faust "  to  that  of  "  Don  Juan  "  may  be 
explained. 

But  did  a  Faust  really  ever  exist?  As  with 
many  other  workers  of  miracles,  he  has  been 
declared  to  be  a  mere  myth ;  in  fact,  it  went  even 
worse  with  him,  for  the  unfortunate  Poles  have 
claimed  him  for  a  fellow-countryman,  declaring 
that  he  is  known  to  them  to  this  day  under  the 
name  of  Twardowski.  It  is  true  that,  according 
to  the  most  recent  researches  as  to  Faust,  he 
studied  magic  at  the  University  of  Cracow,  where 


COMMENTS  ON  FAUST.  <$$ 

it  was  pnbliclj  taught  as  one  of  the  liberal  artB, 
and  that  the  Poles  were  then  great  conjurers, 
which  they  certainly  are  not  to-day.  Bnt  oar 
Doctor  Faust  is  of  snch  a  fundamentally  honest 
nature,  so  yearning  for  the  true  inwardne^  of  all 
things,  and  so  learned,  even  in  sensuality  itself, 
that  he  must  be  either  a  fable  or  a  German.  But 
there  is  no  reason  to  doubt  of  his  existence ;  the 
most  creditable  authorities  attest  it :  for  example, 
Johannes  Wierus,  who  wrote  the  celebrated  book 
on  witchcraft;  then  Philip  Melancthon,  the 
brother-in-arms  of  Luther,  as  well  as  the  Abbot 
Tritheim,  who  was  also  addicted  to  mysteries,  and 
who,  by  the  way,  perhaps  decried  Faust  out  of 
professional  jealousy,  and  so  represented  him  as 
a  juggler  of  the  market-place  and  fair.  Accord- 
ing to  the  witness  of  Wierus  and  Melancthon, 
Faust  was  bom  at  Kiindlingen,  a  little  town  in 
Suabia,  and  I  may  here  remark  that  the  above- 
mentioned  principal  authorities  differed  as  to  his 
birthplace.  According  to  the  older  Frankfurt 
version,  he  was  bom  as  a  peasant's  son  at  Rod, 
near  Weimar.  In  the  Hamburg  version  by  Wid- 
man,  we  are,  however,  told  that  "  Faust  was  bom 
in  the  County  Anhalt,  and  his  parents  dwelt  in 
the  Mark  of  Soltwedel ;  they  were  pious  peasants." 
In  a  memoir  of  the  admirable  and  honourable 
tapeworm  doctor,  Calmonius,  with  which  I  am 
now  occupied,  I  have  an  opportunity  to  fully  prove 


»56 


COMMENTS  ON  FAUST. 


that  the  real  historical  Faust  is  no  other  than  that 
SabellicuB  whom  the  Abbot  Tritheim  sketched  as 
a  mountebank  and  arch-rogne,  who  had  abandoned 
God  and  the  world.  The  circumstance  that  he 
named  himself  Faustus  junior  on  a  visiting-card 
which  he  sent  to  Tritheim,  induced  the  error  that 
there  was  an  elder  magician  who  bore  this  name. 
But  the  word  junior  here  means  that  Faust  had  a 
father  or  elder  brother  still  livdng,  who  was  so- 
called,  which  is  a  matter  of  no  importance  to  us. 
Quite  different  would  it  be  should  I  give  our 
Calmonius  of  to-day  such  a  title,  since  I  should 
then  connect  him  with  an  elder  Calmonius,  who 
lived  in  the  middle  of  the  last  century,  and  who 
was  by  the  way  a  great  braggart  and  liar ;  as,  for 
instance,  when  he  boasted  that  he  enjoyed  the 
intimate  friendship  of  Friedrich  the  Great,  and 
often  related  how  the  King  with  all  his  army 
marched  past  his  house,  and  stopping  before  the 
window,  called  aloud  to  him  "  Adies,  Calmonius ;  I 
am  going  to  the  Seven  Years'  War,  and  I  hope  to 
see  you  again  all  well !  "  ^ 

It  is  a  widely-spread  popular  error  that  our 
magician  is  the  same  Faust  who  discovered  the 
art  of  printing,^  and  it  is  expressive  and  deeply 


'  All  of  this  preceding  passage  is  omitted  in  the  French  venion. 

*  Heine  had  not  discovered  this  when  he  wrote  that  passage 
in  Germany,  in  which  he  identifies  Faust  the  magician  with 
Faust  the  printer  in  the  moit  innocent  maimer. — Trantlator. 


COMMENTS  ON  FAUST.  257 

gignificant.  The  mnltittide  identified  the  two, 
because  they  surmised  that  the  intellectual  direc- 
tion which  the  black-artist  represented  had  found 
in  printing  its  most  terrible  means  of  extension, 
and  a  union  was  thereby  effected  between  the 
two.  That  intellectual  direction  is,  however. 
Thought  itself  in  opposition  to  the  blind  credo  of 
the  Middle  Age;  to  belief  in  all  authorities  of 
heaven  and  earth ;  to  a  belief  in  recompense  there 
for  abstinence  here,  as  the  Church  teaches  the 
charcoal-burner  who  kneels  before  it.  Faust 
begins  to  think ;  his  godless  reason  rises  against 
the  holy  faith  of  his  fathers ;  he  will  no  longer 
grope  in  darkness  and  idle  about  in  want.  He 
longs  for  knowledge,  worldly  power,  earthly  joys. 
He  will  know,  have  power  and  pleasure,  and 
— to  employ  the  symbolic  language  of  the  Middle 
Age — he  falls  off  from  God,  renounces  his 
heavenly  happiness,  and  worships  Satan  and  his 
earthly  glory.  This  revolt  and  its  doctrine  were 
BO  mightily  and  magically  aided  by  the  art  of 
printing,  that  in  the  course  of  time  it  inspired 
not  only  highly  advanced  and  cultured  minds, 
but  whole  masses  of  the  people.  Perhaps  the 
legend  of  "Faust"  exerts  a  mysterious  charm 
on  our  contemporaries,  because  they  here  see  so 
naively  and  comprehensively  set  forth  the  battle 
which  we  ourselves  now  fight,  the  modem  strife 
between  religion  and  science,  between  authority 

VOL.  II.  j» 


aS8  COMMENTS  ON  FAUST.  | 

I  . 
and  reason,  between  faith  and  thought,  between 
humble  renunciation  or  submission  to  sorrow  and 
daring  luxury — a  fight  to  the  death,  the  end 
whereof  will  perhaps  be  that  the  devil  will  take 
us  all,  as  he  did  the  poor  Doctor  bom  of  the 
Barony  of  Anhalt,  or  of  Kundlingen  in  Suabia. 

Yes,  our  black-artist  in  the  legend  oft  appears 
as  one  with  the  first  printer.^  This  is  specially 
the  case  in  the  puppet-plays,  where  we  always 
find  Faust  in  Mainz,  while  the  popular  chap- 
books  invariably  indicate  Wittenberg  as  his  abode. 
And  it  is  very  remarkable  that  Wittenberg,  the 
home  of  Faust,  was  also  the  birthplace  and  labora- 
tory of  Protestantism. 

The  puppet-plays  which  I  have  mentioned  were 
never  printed,  and  it  was  only  very  recently  that 
one  of  my  friends  published  the  manuscript  text 
of  such  a  work.*     This  friend  is  Karl  Simrock, 

^  It  is  generally  believed  that  the  term  "  printer's  devil "  is 
derived  from  the  story  of  Faust,  this  person  being  the  general 
attendant  or  Mephistopheles  of  the  "typos."  The  terms 
"chapel,"  "monk,"  "friar,"  and  "hell,"  all  date  from  the 
fifteenth  century. — Traiulator.  » 

*  This  was  written  in  1847.  Heine  does  not  seem  to  have 
been  aware  that  August  Zoller  in  his  Bilder  aut  Schwaben  had 
long  previously  published  a  description  with  most  of  the  text  of  a 
puppet-show  of  Faust,  which  the  author  witnessed  as  given  by 
a  troupe  of  wandering  gypsies.  A  translation  of  it  may  be 
found  in  my  work  on  Gypsy  Sorcery  (pp.  247,  248),  London, 
T.  Fisher  ITnwin,  1891.  Zoller's  book  was  published  at  Stutt- 
gart in  1834. — Translator. 


COMMENTS  ON  FAUST.  259 

who  attended  with  me,  at  the  University  of  Bonn, 
the  lectures  of  Schlegel  on  German  archaeology 
and  metres,  and  also  measured  out^  with  me 
many  a  good  pint  of  Rhine  wine,  and  so  to  a 
degree  perfected  himself  in  the  auxiliary  studies 
which  subsequently  aided  him  when  publishing 
the  old  puppet-play.  He  restored  the  missing 
passages  with  tact  and  genius,  selecting  from 
such  variations  as  were  available,  while  the  treat- 
ment of  comic  characters  shows  that  he  had 
made  deep  study  of  the  German  Jack-puddings 
or  clowns — probably  in  the  lecture  of  August 
WUhelm  Schlegel  in  Bonn.  How  admirable  is 
the  beginning  of  the  play  where  Faust  sits 
alone  in  his  study  among  his  books  and  repeats 
this  soliloquy : — 

"  And  I  have  brought  it  now  so  far  in  learning, 
That  everybody  laughs  when  me  discerning  ; 
All  books  I  have  read  over  again  and  over, 
And  yet  the  stone  of  Wisdom  I  can  by  no  means  discover. 
Jurisprudence  and  Medicine  are  of  no  use  to  me, 
There  is  no  healing  now — unless  in  Sorcery. 


^  Austteehen,  to  prick,  mark,  or  cut  out  a  pattern.  Also  a 
play  on  Attszechen,  to  empty  by  drinking.  Karl  Simrock  sub- 
sequently became  known  by  his  translation  of  the  Niieiun- 
genlied,  bis  Rhine  legends  in  ballad  form,  and  many  other 
valuable  works.  As  both  Heine  and  Simrock  were  passionately 
devoted  to  the  same  studies,  the  mutual  influence  exerted  by 
the  two  friends  was  doubtless  very  great.  — Trandator, 


26o  COMMENTS  ON  FAUST. 

I 

The  study  of  Theology  did  not  avail  a  whit, 
Who'll  pay  me  for  the  nights  which  I  wasted  over  it  ? 
In  this  my  only  coat  the  rents  sure  gaping  wide, 
And  from  my  creditors  I  know  not  where  to  hide,    i 
The  hidden  depths  of  hell  perhaps  may  help  me  more. 
That  I  the  hidden  depths  of  Nature  may  explore  ; 
But  to  call  up  its  spirits  by  citation 
I  must  in  magic  get  some  further  information." 

The  scene  which  follows  contains  several  highly 
poetic  and  deeply  moving  motives,  which  would 
be  well  worthy  of  far  greater  tragic  poems,  and 
have  indeed  been  taken  from  such.  These  are, 
firstly,  the  "  Faust "  of  Marlowe,  a  genial  master- 
piece, which  the  puppet-plays  imitate  not  only  as 
regards  plot  but  also  in  form.  Marlowe's  "Faust" 
may  have  served  for  model  to  other  English  poets 
of  his  time  as  regards  treatment  of  material,  and 
passage*  from  such  pieces  have  in  fact  passed  into 
the  puppet-plays.  Such  English  Faust-comedies 
were  probably  at  a  later  period  translated  into 
German  and  acted  by  the  so-called  English 
comedians,^  who  also  performed  the  best  Shake- 

*  "Von  den  so-gennanten  englischen  Komodianten."  This  is 
given  in  the  French  version  simply  as  "  par  les  trompes  ambn- 
lantes."  It  involves  a  great  error.  These  "  so-called  "  English 
actors  were  really  of  English  birth,  and  they  went  over  to  Grer- 
many  in  what  were  certainly  astonishingly  great  numbers,  as 
Dr.  Bell,  who  made  much  research  on  the  subject  in  German 
records,  shows  in  his  "Fuck."  Dr.  Bell  conjectures  that 
Shakespeare  was  for  a  long  time  in  Germany,  acting  in  such 


.>^. 


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From  a  Draunng  h\  SrhnrrJi 


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COMMENTS  ON  FAUST.  261 

spearean  works  on  German  stages.  Only  the 
names  of  the  plays  of  these  English  companies 
have  been  kept;  the  dramas  themselves,  which 
were  never  printed,  have  now  perished,  unless  they 
possibly  are  preserved  by  some  minor  theatre,  or 
in  strolling  companies  of  the  lowest  class.  I 
myself  remember  to  have  seen  the  life  of  Faust 
twice  played  by  such  art-vagabonds,  and  not  as 
worked  up  by  modem  poets,  but  probably  from 
fragments  of  old  and  long-perished  plays.  ^  The 
first  of  these  I  saw  twenty-five  years  ago,  in  a 
comer  theatre  on  the  so-called  Hamburger  Berge, 
between  Hamburg  and  Altona.  I  remember  that 
the  devils  who  were  summoned  were  all  deeply 
disguised  in  grey  sheets  or  shrouds.  To  Faust's 
question,  "  Are  ye  men  or  women  ?  "  they  replied, 

a  troupe,  and  he  cites  many  passages  from  his  plays  to  prove  it, 
some  of  which  are  very  ingenious,  while  many  are  unfortunately 
so  far-fetched  that  his  arguments  have  not  received  the  atten- 
tion which  they  perhaps  deserve.  It  is  possible  that  a  scrutiny 
of  German  town-archives  may  bring  to  light  more  information 
in  the  form  of  licenses  issued  to  such  English  players,  and 
possibly  the  names  of  many  of  them. — Translator. 

^  Heine  might  eanily  in  1834  or  in  1 844,  or  even  much  later, 
had  he  frequented  fairs  in  Germany  or  visited  Philadelphia, 
have  seen  "  Faust "  in  the  old  form,  not  twice,  but  scores  of  times, 
and  it  occasionally  occurs  even  at  the  present  day  as  a  "  side- 
show." Another  play  of  the  same  school  was  "0*d  Hontz 
(Hans)  and  his  Comical  Family."  The  first  time  I  ever  heard 
of  Dr.  Faustus  was  when  a  fellow-schoolmate  who  had 
seen  it  at  some  small  show  in  Philadelphia  narrated  to  me  the 
plot, — Tramlator. 


3fi4  COMMENTS  ON  FAUST. 

that  of  Astarte,  although  the  latter  in  the  secret 
lore  of  the  Magians  was  regarded  as  the  spouse 
of  Astaroth.  This  Astarte  is  in  those  writings 
represented  with  two  horns  on  the  head,  which 
form  a  half-moon,  as  she  was  really  once  wor- 
shipped in  Phoenicia  as  a  moon-goddess,  and  was 
consequently  regarded  by  the  Jews,  like  all  the 
deities  of  their  neighbours,  as  a  devil. '^  King 
Solomon  the  Wise,  however,  prayed  to  her  in  secret, 
and  Byron  has  celebrated  her  in  his  "  Faust,"  which 
he  called  "  Manfred."  In  the  puppet-play  published 
by  Simrock,  the  book  by  which  Faust  is  led  astray 
is  called  Clavis  Astarti  de  Magica. 

In  the  play  of  which  I  speak,  Faust  prefaces 
his  invocation  with  the  complaint  that  he  is  so 
poor  that  he  must  always  go  on  foot,  that  not 
even  a  cow-girl  will  give  him  a  kiss,  and  that  he 
would  give  himself  to  the  devil  for  a  horse  and  a 
fair  princess.  The  devil  when  called  appears  at 
first  in  forms  of  different  animals — of  a  swine, 
an  ox,  an  ape ;  but  Faust  rejects  him  every  time 

1  I  think  it  is  mentioned  in**  The  Mysteries  of  the  Cabin,"  by 
G.  Stanley  Faber,  that  it  was  recognised  in  Syria  that  the 
morning  star  had  its  phases  like  tho.se  of  the  moon.  Astarte 
is  in  fact  the  goddess  of  the  Morning  Star,  an  identity  curiously 
found  in  the  name  in  many  languages,  or  Venus.  All  the  early 
Assjrrian,  as  well  as  Etruscan  deities  were  in  pairs,  male  and 
female.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  the  goddess  Astarte  is  not 
celebrated  in  Manfred,  though  the  mysterious  love  of  the  hero 
bears  that  name. — Trandator.  i 


COMMENTS  ON  FAUST.  265 

with  the  remark,  "You  must  appear  in  a  more 
frightful  form  to  frighten  me ! "  Then  the  devil 
comes  as  a  roaring  lion — qucerens  quern  devorcU — 
but  he  is  not  terrible  enough  for  the  intrepid 
magician,  and  must  retreat  with  his  tail  between 
his  legs  behind  the  scenes,  whence  he  comes 
fori;h  again  as  a  giant  serpent.  "  You  are  neither 
hideous  nor  horrible  enough  yet ! "  exclaims  Faust. 
The  devil  again  put  to  shame  must  pack  oflF  as 
before,  and  we  see  him  reappear  as  a  magnifi- 
cently handsome  man,  wrapped  in  a  scariet  cloak. 
When  Faust  expresses  his  astonishment  at  this, 
Red  Cloak  replies  that,  "There  is  nothing  more 
terrible  or  cruel  than  man ;  there  grunt  and 
bellow,  bleat  and  hiss  in  him  the  natures  of  all 
other  beasts.  He  is  as  nasty  as  a  pig,  as  brutal 
as  a  bull,  as  wrathful  as  a  lion,  as  venomous  as 
a  serpent — he  is  a  combination  of  all  animality." 
The  extraordinary  agreement  of  this  old  comedy 
tirade  with  one  of  the  chief  doctrines  of  the 
new  philosophy  of  nature,  especially  as  developed 
by  Oken,  struck  me  forcibly.  After  the  dia- 
bolical compact  is  signed  Astaroth  proposes  to 
Faust  several  beautiful  women  whom  he  com- 
mends— for  instance,  Judith.  "  I  do  not  want  a 
she-executioner,"  replies  the  hero.  "Cleopatra, 
then,"  suggested  the  spirit.  "  No  more  than  the 
other,"  answers  Faust.  "  She  is  too  extravagant, 
too  dissipated;  she  ruined  Mark  Antony — why, 


266  COMMENTS  ON  FAUST. 

Rhe  drinks  pearls."  "Well,  then,"  remarks  the 
mischievous  fiend,  "  what  do  you  say  to  the  beauti-r 
ful  Helen  of  Greece  ?  "  adding  ironically,  "  You 
can  talk  Greek  to  her." 

The  learned  doctor  is  enraptured  at  the  pro- 
posal, and  then  requires  that  the  devil  shall 
bestow  on  him  bodily  beauty  and  magnificent 
garments  that  he  may  successfully  rival  Paris, 
also  a  horse  on  which  to  ride  at  once  to  Troy. 
Consent  being  obtained,  he  departs  with  the  spirit, 
both  reappearing  directly,  mounted  on  high 
horses.  They  cast  away  their  cloaks,  and  we  see 
them  in  gorgeous  spangled  finery,  as  English 
jockeys,  perform  the  most  astonishing  equestrian 
tricks,  to  the  amazement  of  the  assembled  grooms 
who  stood  round  with  their  red  Hanoverian  faces, 
and  in  rapture  slapped  their  yellow  leather 
breeches,  so  that  there  was  such  applause  as  I 
never  heard  before  at  any  dramatic  performance. 
Astaroth,  who  was  a  slender,  very  handsome  girl, 
with  the  largest  infernal  black  eyes,  really  rode 
most  charmingly.  Faust  also  was  a  smart  young 
fellow  in  his  gay  jockey  dress,  and  rode  far  better 
than  all  the  German  doctors  whom  I  have  ever  seen. 
He  galloped  with  Astaroth  round  the  ring,  at  the 
further  part  of  which  we  saw  the  city  of  Troy, 
with  fair  Helena  looking  from  the  battlements. 

The  appearance  of  Helen  in  the  legend  of  "Faust" 
is  of  inexpressible  significance.    She  characterises 


\ 


^...mM 


COMMENTS  ON  FAUST.  a&f 

the  time  in  wliich  it  appeared,  and  reveals  its 
deepest  sentiment.  That  ever  blooming  ideal  of 
grace  and  beauty,  fair  Helena  of  Greece,  who  one 
fine  morning  makes  her  appearance  in  Witten- 
berg as  Mrs.  Doctor  Faust,  is  that  Greece  and 
Hellenism  itself  which  suddenly  rose  in  the  heart 
of  Germany  as  if  summoned  by  magic  spell.  The 
magic  book,  however,  which  contained  the  most 
powerful  of  those  incantations  was  called  Homer, 
the  true  and  great  Eollemwang — Key  or  Compul- 
sion of  Hell — which  allured  and  seduced  Faust  and 
so  many  of  his  contemporaries.  Faust,  whether 
the  historical  or  literal,  was  one  of  those  humanists 
who  disseminated  with  zeal  and  enthusiasm  in 
Germany  Greek  culture,  learning  and  art.  The 
capital  of  that  propaganda  was  Rome,  where  the 
most  distinguished  prelates  adhered  to  the  cultus 
of  the  ancient  gods,  and  where  the  Pope  himself, 
like  his  predecessor  Constantine,  capped  the  office 
of  a  Pontifex  Maximus  of  heathenism  with  the 
dignity  of  chief  of  the  Christian  Church.  It  was 
the  so-called  time  of  the  resurrection,  or,  better 
expressed,  of  the  re-birth  of  the  ancient  view 
of  all  things,  or,  as  it  is  most  correctly  called,  of 
the  Eenaissance.  It  was  easier  for  it  to  flourish 
and  rule  in  Italy  than  in  Germany,  where  it  was 
opposed  by  the  contemporary  appearance  of  the 
new  translation  of  the  Bible,  and  the  new  birth 
of    the   Jewish   spirit,   which   we   may  call  the 


268  COMMENTS  ON  FAUST.  ! 

Evangelical  Renaissance,  which  attacked  it  with 
such  iconoclastic  fanaticism.  Strange  that  the 
two  great  books  of  humanity,  which  had,  a  thou- 
sand years  before,  waged  such  fierce  battle,  and 
then  rested  during  all  the  Middle  Age  as  if  weary 
of  war — I  mean  Homer  and  the  Bible — in  the  be- 
ginning of  the  sixteenth  century  again  enter  the 
lists.  As  I  have  already  declared  that  the  revolt 
of  the  realistic  sensual  lust  and  love  of  life 
against  the  spiritual  old  Catholic  asceticism  is 
the  leading  idea  of  the  legend  of  "Faust,"  I  will 
here  remark  in  relation  to  it  how  that  sensual 
realistic  joy  of  life  itself  rose  in  the  souls  of 
thinkers  suddenly  as  they  became  familiar  with 
the  monuments  and  records  of  Greek  art  and 
learning,  and  as  they  read  the  original  works 
of  Plato  and  Aristotle.  And  in  both  of  these, 
as  tradition  expressly  asserts,  Faust  had  so  deeply 
buried  himself  that  he  once  declared  that  if  those 
works  should  ever  be  lost  he  could  restore  them 
from  his  memory,  as  Ezra  did  of  yore  the  Old 
Testament.  How  deeply  Faust  had  penetrated 
into  Homer  appears  by  the  legend  that  he  once 
showed  the  students,  who  attended  his  lectures 
on  the  poet,  all  the  heroes  of  the  Trojan  war  in 
person.  In  the  same  manner  he,  at  another  time, 
to  entertain  his  guests,  called  up  the  beautiful 
Helen,  whom  he  subsequently  obtained  for  himself 
of  the  devil,  and  whom  he  possessed  even  unto  his 


COMMENTS  ON  FAUST.  269 

unhappy  end,  as  the  older  Fauet-book  informs 
us.  The  book  of  Widmann  merely  mentions  these 
incidents  as  follows ; — 

"  I  will  not  keep  from  the  Christian  reader  the 
fact  that  I  found  in  this  place  certain  stories  of  Dr. 
Johann  Faust  which  I  for  very  important  Christian 
reasons  would  not  describe,  as,  for  instance,  that 
the  devil  always  kept  him  from  marriage,  and 
so  drove  him  into  his  infernal  and  disgusting 
net  of  harlotry,  giving  him  for  concubine  Helena 
from  hell,  who  first  had  by  him  a  horrible 
monster,  and  after  that  a  son  named  Justus." 

The  two  passages  in  the  older  work  on  Faust 
referring  to  the  beautiful  Helen  are  as  follows : — 

"  On  Whitsunday  the  above-mentioned  students 
came  unexpectedly  again  to  supper  in  the  house 
of  Doctor  Faustus,  bringing  with  them  their  food 
and  drink,  and  were  agreeable  guests.  When 
the  wine  went  round,  conversation  turned  on 
beautiful  women,  and  one  said  that  there  was  no 
beauty  whom  he  desired  to  see  more  than  Helen 
of  Graecia,  through  whom  the  fair  town  of  Troy 
had  perished,  and  that  she  must  have  been 
beautiful  indeed,  because  she  had  been  so  often 
abducted,  and  caused  such  great  disturbance. 
'Since  you  are  so  desirous,'  said  Faust,  *of 
seeing  the  lovely  form  of  Queen  Helen,  wife  of 
Menelaus,  or  the  daughter  of  Tyndarus  and  Leda, 
sister  of  Castor  and  Pollux,  she  who  was  reputed 


270  COMMENTS  ON  FAUST. 

t 

to  be  the  most  beautiful  in  GrsBcia,  I  will  bring 
her  before  you  in  form  and  figure  as  she  was  in 
life,  as  I  also  did  to  the  Emperor  Charles  Y.,  at 
his  desire,  the  representation  of  the  Emperor 
Alexander  the  Great  and  his  spouse.'  Thereupon 
Dr.  Faustus  forbade  any  one  to  speak  or  to  rise 
from  the  table,  or  to  venture  to  salute  or  embrace, 
and  with  this  he  left  the  room.^  When  he  re- 
turned, Queen  Helena  followed  him  on  foot,  so 
wondrous  fair,  that  the  students  knew  not  whether 
they  were  themselves,  so  bewildered  and  burning 
with  passion  were  they.  This  Helena  appeared 
in  a  splendid  dark  purple  dress;  her  hair  hung 
down  beautiful  and  glorious  as  gold,  and  so  long 
that  it  came  unto  the  knee ;  with  coal-black  eyes, 
a  charming  countenance  with  a  small  round  head, 
her  lips  red  as  cherries  with  a  dainty  little  mouth, 
a  neck  like  that  of  a  white  swan,  cheeks  like 
roses,  an  extremely  beautiful  and  shining  face, 
with  a  tall  and  slender  person.  In  summa,  there 
was  no  fault  to  find  in  her,  and  she  looked  on  all 
with  such  bold  and  coquettish  glances,  that  the 
students  were  fired  with  love  for  her ;  yet  as  they 


1  It  may  be  conjectured  from  this  direction  that  Doctor 
Faustus  actually  exhibited  the  form  of  Helen  by  means  of  a 
magic-lantern.  The  well-known  passages  in  the  "  Life  of  Ben- 
venuto  Cellini  "  almost  prove  that  this  instrument  was  used  for 
such  a  purpose.  But  he  may  have  exhibited  some  living  woman 
with  stage  accompaniments  and  "colour." — Trandator.      , 


■^^...■;>. 


COMMENTS  ON  FAUST.  271 

regarded  her  as  a  spirit,  their  passion  passed 
away,  as  did  Helena  herself  with  Doctor  Faust 
from  the  room.  When  the  students  had  seen 
this,  they  begged  Doctor  Faust  that  he  would  do 
them  the  favour  to  let  them  see  her  again  the 
next  day,  that  they  might  bring  an  artist,  who 
should  take  her  portrait.  But  this  Doctor  Faust 
refused,  saying  that  he  could  not  evoke  this  spirit 
when  he  would;  yet  did  he  promise  them  her 
picture,  which  they  might  have  copied,  which 
indeed  was  done,  and  painters  spread  it  far  and 
wide,  for  it  was  a  truly  magnificent  picture  of  a 
woman.  But  who  made  the  original  for  Faust 
no  one  ever  knew.  As  for  the  students,  when 
they  went  to  rest  none  of  them  could  sleep  for 
thinking  of  the  figure  and  form  which  they  had 
so  distinctly  seen.  From  which  we  may  see  that 
the  devil  often  inflames  and  bewilders  men  by 
means  of  love,  so  that  they  fall  into  lasciviousness, 
from  which  they  cannot  afterwards  be  drawn." 
And  we  read  further  on  in  the  old  book : — 
"  And  now  it  came  to  pass  that  wretched  Faust, 
to  give  full  sweep  unto  his  carnal  lusts,  thinking 
one  midnight  when  he  chanced  to  wake  of  Helena 
of  Greece,  whom  he  had  shown  unto  the  students 
upon  Whitsunday,  demanded  of  his  spirit  in  the 
mom  to  bring  her  to  him  for  a  concubine,  which 
was  done,  and  this  Helena  was  even  the  same 
form  which  had  been  called  up  for  the  students. 


272  COMMENTS  ON  FAUST. 

And  when  Doctor  Faustus  saw  her,  she  did  bo 
captivate  his  heart  that  he  began  at  once  to  for- 
nicate with  her,  and  kept  her  for  his  bedfellow, 
and  loved  her  so  that  he  could  not  bear  to  be  ont 
of  her  sight.  And  in  the  last  year  she  was  with 
child  by  him,  and  bare  him  a  son,  at  which  Faus- 
tns  rejoiced  greatly,  and  called  the  babe  Justus 
Faustus.  This  child  revealed  to  his  father  many 
future  things  which  should  come  to  pass  in  all 
countries.  But  when  Doctor  Faustus  afterwards 
lost  his  life,  both  mother  and  child  vanished." 

As  most  of  the  chap-books  on  Faust  have  been 
drawn  from  the  work  of  Widmann,  there  is  but 
scanty  mention  in  them  of  the  beautiful  Helen, 
and  its  deep  significance  could  therefore  be  easily 
passed  over.  Even  Goethe  at  first  missed  it  when 
he  specially  relied  (in  writing  the  first  part  of 
"Faust")  on  these  popular  works,  and  did  not 
avail  himself  specially  of  the  puppet-plays.  Not 
till  four  decades  later,  when  he  composed  the 
second  part  of  "  Faust,"  did  he  bring  Helen  into 
his  work;  but  then,  indeed,  he  treated  her  con 
amove.  It  is  the  best,  or  rather  the  only  good 
thing  in  the  said  second  part,  or  in  this  allegoric 
and  labyrinthine  wilderness,  in  which,  however, 
on  a  sublime  pedestal,  a  wondrously  perfect  Greek 
marble  statue  rises  before  us,  its  white  eyes  gazing 
on  us  80  heathenishly  divine  and  fascinating  in  its 
loveliness  that  we  are  well  nigh  moved  to  sad- 


COMMENTS  ON  FAUST.  273 

ness.*  It  is  the  most  precious  statue  which  ever  left 
the  atelier  of  Goethe,  and  it  is  difficult  to  believe 
that  it  was  cut  by  the  hand  of  an  aged  man.  It 
is,  however,  much  more  of  a  work  of  calm  and 
deliberate  execution  than  the  result  of  inspired 
imagination,  which  latter  seldom  burst  forth  in 
great  strength  by  Goethe  any  more  than  in  his 
masters  and  elective  affinities — I  might  almost 
say  by  his  fellow-countrymen — the  Greeks,  for 
these  themselves  had  more  harmonious  sense  of 
form  than  excessive  fulness  of  creation,  more 
gift  in  giving  shape  than  in  imagination ;  yes,  I 
will  plainly  utter  the  heresy — more  art  than 
poetry. 

You  will,  dearest  friend,  readily  understand 
from  the  foregoing  indications  why  I  have  given 
an  entire  act  in  my  ballet  to  the  beautiful  Helen. 
The  island  to  which  I  transferred  her  is,  however, 
not  one  of  my  own  discovery ;  the  Greeks  found 
it  out  long  ago,  and  according  to  the  declaration 
of  ancient  authors,  especially  of  Pausanius  and 
Pliny,  it  was  in  the  Euxine  Sea,  near  the  mouth 
of  the  Danube,  and  bore  the  name  of  Achillea, 
from  the  temple  of  Achilles^  which  was  on  it. 
It  was  said  that  the  valiant  Pelides  himself,  risen 

^  In  the  French  version,  "  Labyrinthe  obacur  qui  s'eclaircissant 
soudain,  decouvre  k  nos  yeux  sur  un  pi^estal  de  bas-reliefs 
mythologiqnes  ce  sublime  marbre  grec,  cette  statue  divinement 
paienne  dont  I'aspect  subit  inonde  I'&me  de  joie  et  de  lomi^re." 

VOL.  II.  S 


374  COMMENTS  ON  FAUST. 

from  the  grave,  there  wandered  about  in  company 
with  the  other  celebrities  of  the  Trojan  war, 
among  whom  was  the  ever-blooming  Helen  of 
Sparta,^  Heroism  and  beauty  must  indeed  perish 
prematurely,  to  the  joy  of  the  vulgar  mob  and  of 
mediocrity ;  but  great  poets  raise  them  from  the 
tomb,  and  bring  them  rescued  to  some  isle  of  bliss, 
where  flowers  and  hearts  fade  nevermore. 

I  have  growled  somewhat,  it  may  be,  over  the 
second  part  of  Goethe's  "Faust,"  but  I  can  in 
very  truth  not  find  words  sufficient  to  set  forth 
all  my  admiration  of  the  art  and  poetry  with 
which  fair  Helen  is  set  forth  in  them.  Here 
Goethe  remained  true  to  the  spirit  of  the  legend, 
which  is,  unfortunately,  as  I  have  already  remarked, 
seldom  the  case  with  him,  a  stricture  which  I 
cannot  repeat  too  often.^     As  regards  this,  the 


^  Vide  Doctor  Pautt:  Die  bezauberte  Insel.  By  K.  Eakel, 
Oldenburg,  1879. — Tranttator. 

*  The  stricture  which  cannot  be  repeated  too  often  as  regards 
Heine's  excessively  high  estimate  of  his  own  work  on  "  Faust," 
and  his  depreciation  of  that  of  Goethe,  is  that  he  virtually  de- 
clares that  it  is,  as  it  were,  a  stem  moral  duty  for  every  one 
setting  forth  the  story  to  strictly  follow  the  same  as  described 
in  popular  legends  as  contained  in  chap-books,  or  as  given  in 
small  plays  or  puppet-shows,  in  which  latter  from  the  beginning 
every  player  has  improvised  or  varied  the  text  at  his  own  fancy. 
The  truth  is,  that  every  dramatist  of  "  Faust "  has  shaped  and 
coloured  it  according  to  the  age  in  which  he  lived,  as  did  Heine 
himself  unconsciously,  for  his  "  Faust "  is  essentially  a  modem 
French  ballet,  which  as  regards  dignity  is  not  even  equal  to  La 


COMMENTS  ON  FAUST.  275 

devil  has  the  most  cause  to  complain  of  Goethe. 
His  Mephistopheles  has  not  the  least  inner  rela- 
tionship with  the  true  "Mephostopheles,"  as  the 
old  chap-books  call  him.  And  here  my  opinion  is 
strengthened  that  Goethe  did  not  know  the  latter 
when  he  wrote  the  first  part  of  "Faust."  If  he 
had,  he  would  not  have  made  him  appear  so 
hoggishly  humorous,  or  in  such  a  cynically  scur- 
rilous mask.  For  Mephistopheles  is  no  common 
infernal  blackguard ;i  he  is  "a  subtle  spirit,"  as 


Sylphide.  Thoa  Shakespeare  treated  such  legends  just  as  he 
pleased,  in  direct  violation  of  the  law  laid  down  by  Heine  ;  and 
it  is  an  amusing  proof  of  the  brilliant  inconsistency  of  our  genial 
author,  that  he  lauds  Shakespeare  to  the  skies  in  the  Madcken 
vmd  Prauen  for  his  freedom  from  these  old  tyrannies  of  the 
"  Classic  "  school.  Heine  claims  for  "  Faust "  the  treatment  due 
t()  a  really  historical  character,  while  the  latter  was  really  a 
very  ancient  type  common  to  many  countries.  Vide  Der  Fautt 
der  Morgenlander,  oder  Wandervmgen,  Ben  Hafis,  Leipzig,  1 797  ; 
also  Meister  Ttoardowski  (Der  Pdnische  Faust),  by  H.  Max, 
Wien,  1879 ;  Uher  Calderons  Tragodie  vom  vmnderthdtigen 
Magus.  Beitrag  zur  Verst :  der  Faust  Fabel,  Halle,  1829;  Don 
Tenorio  von  Sevilla,  wnd  die  Sehwarzkunstler  versehiedcner 
Nationen,  in  Scheibele's  Kloster,  Band  2,  3,  5,  and  11.  Even 
the  name  of  Faust  was  probably  a  generic  one  for  jugglers 
before  the  time  of  the  one  in  question.  Vide  Wer  war  Faustut 
Senior,  by  G.  Schwetschke,  1855.  Finally,  it  is  almost  in- 
credible that  the  all-reading  and  all-searching  Goethe,  while 
writing  the  first  part  of  "  Faust "  at  a  time  when  the  play  was 
to  be  seen  at  every  fair  in  Frankfort  and  the  text  on  every 
book-stand,  was  in  ignorance  of  anything  in  relation  to  it — 
Translator. 

^  Kein  gewohnlicher  Hollenlump. 


276  COMMENTS  ON  FAUST. 

he  calls  himself,  very  aristocratic  and  noble,  and  of 
high  rank  in  the  hierarchy  of  the  lower  regions, 
or  in  the  diabolical  diplomacy  wherein  he  is  a 
statesman,  of  whom  an  imperial  chancellor  may 
yet  be  made.  Therefore  I  have  given  him  a  form 
corresponding  to  his  dignity.  The  devil  always 
delighted  from  the  earliest  time  to  take  the  form 
of  a  beautiful  woman,  and  in  the  older  Faust- 
book  it  was  in  such  guise  that  Mephistopheles 
was  wont  to  soothe  and  delude  Faust  when  the 
poor  soul  was  seized  with  scruples.  On  which 
the  old  book  thus  naively  expresses  itself : — 

"  When  Faust,  being  alone,  would  meditate  on 
the  Word  of  God,  the  devil  adorned  himself  as  a 
right  fair  woman  for  his  pleasure,  embraced  and 
practised  with  him  all  lewdness  and  indecencies, 
so  that  he  soon  forgot  the  Holy  Scripture,  casting 
it  to  the  wind,  and  going  onward  in  his  evil 
ways."  ' 

In  representing  the  devil  and  his  comrades  as 
female  dancers,  I  have  been  truer  to  tradition 
than  you  suppose.  It  was  no  fiction  of  your 
friend  that  there  were  corps  de  ballets  of  devils 
in  the  time  of  Faust,  since  it  is  a  fact  which  I 
can  prove  by  citations  from  the  life  of  Christian 
Wagner,  who  was  Faust's  pupil.^  In  the  six- 
teenth chapter  of  this  old  book  we  read  that  the 

^  Vide  Christoph  Wagner  chemals  Famvlus  des  Doctor  Faust, 
Oldenburg,  1876. — Translator. 


^ 


COMMENTS  ON  FAUST.  Xp! 

evil  sinner  gave  a  banquet  in  Vienna,  where 
devils  in  the  form  of  women  made  with  stringed 
instruments  the  sweetest  and  most  enchanting 
music,  while  other  devils  performed  strange  and 
indecent  dances.  On  which  occasion  they  also 
danced  as  apes,  since  we  are  told,  "Soon  came 
twelve  apes,  who,  making  a  circle,  danced  French 
ballets,  as  people  now  do  in  Italy,  France,  and 
Germany,  leaping  and  hopping  very  well,  so  that 
many  marvelled  thereat."  The  devil  Auerhahn 
(mountain-cock),  who  was  the  familiar  spirit  of 
Wagner,  generally  appeared  as  a  monkey,  especi- 
ally as  one  which  danced.  The  old  book  declares 
that  when  Wagner  invoked  him  he  became  a 
monkey.  "  Then  he  sprang  up  and  down,  danced 
gaillards  and  other  wanton  dances,  beat  on  the 
tambourine,  and  blew  on  the  cross  pipes  and 
trumpet,  as  if  he  had  been  a  hundred." 

And  here,  dearest  friend,  I  cannot  resist  the 
temptation  to  explain  to  you  what  the  biographer 
of  the  necromancer  means  by  the  name  "  gaUlard- 
dances,"  for  I  find  in  a  still  older  book  by  Johann 
Praetorius,  printed  at  Leipzig  in  1668,  and  which 
contains  information  as  to  the  Blocksberg,  the 
remarkable  information  that  the  above-mentioned 
dance  was  invented  by  the  devil,  the  honourable 
author  saying  expressly : — ^ 

^  Heine  here  refers  to  a  work,  the  full  title  of  which  is 
aa  follows  :   "  BIockes-Berges-Verrichtung,  oder  Aosfiibrlicber 


278  COMMENTS  ON  FAUST. 

"  Of  the  now  galliard-volta,  an  Italian  dance  in 
which  the  performers  act  in  a  most  unseemly 
manner,  and  spin  and  reel  round  like  tops  when 
whipped,*  and  which  was  brought  by  sorcerers 
from  Italy  to  France,  one  may  say  that  such  a 
whirling  is  full  of  infamous  and  revolting  gestures 
and  indecent  movements,  and  brings  evil  with  it, 
since  from  it  come  murders  and  miscarriages. 
Which  is  indeed,  where  there  is  a  proper  police, 
a  thing  to  be  looked  after,  and  most  severely  pro- 
hibited. And  while  the  city  of  Geneva  especially 
detests  dancing,  Satan  taught  a  young  daughter 


Geographischer  Bericht,  von  den  hohen  trefflich  alt  und  be- 
riihmten  Blockes-Berge :  ingleichen  von  der  Hexenfahrt  und 
Zauber-Sabbathe,  ao  auff  solchen  Berge  die  Unholden  aus  gantz 
Tentschland,  jahrlich  den  I  Mai  in  Sanct  Walpurgis-Nacht  an- 
Btellen  soUen.  Aus  vielen  Autoribus  abgefasset  und  mit  schonen 
Raritaten  angeachmiicket  aampt  zugehorigen  Figuren,  von  M. 
Jobanne  Prsetorio,  Poet&  Laureato  Casared.  Nebat  einen  Appen- 
dice,  vom  Blockea-Berge,  wie  auch  dea  alten  Reinateina,  und  der 
Baumanna  Hohle  am  Harz.  Zu  Leipzig,  Bey  Johann  Scbeiben 
und  Franckfurth  am  Mayn,  bey  Friedrich  Amsten  zufinden. 
Gedruckt,  Anno  1669."  Heine  was  indebted  to  tbis  rare  work 
for  several  suggestions  in  his  Barzreise,  if  he  did  not  indeed 
take  the  idea  of  the  whole  from  the  ascent  of  the  Brocken  by 
Prsetorius.  The  passage  here  attributed  to  Praetoriua  was  in  a 
great  meaaure  taken  by  the  latter  from  Pierre  Delancre. — 
Trandator. 

^  "  Wo  man  einander  au  schamigen  Orten  f asset,  und  wie  ein 
getriebener  Topf  herumhaspelt  und  wirbelt."  This  evidently 
indicates  a  waltz.  Delancre  adds  to  this  a  Bohemian  dance, 
which  was  probably  the  polka. — Translator. 


COMMENTS  ON  FAUST.  279 

of  that  place  how  she  could  make  everybody  there 
dance  and  spring  as  much  as  she  pleased,  by 
touching  them  with  an  iron  switch  or  rod  which 
he  gave  her.  And  she  also  mocked  the  judge, 
and  said  that  they  could  never  bring  her  to  be 
executed,  and  had  for  the  evil  deed  no  remorse." 

You  see  from  this  citation,  dearest  friend, 
firstly,  what  the  galliard  is,  and  secondly,  that 
the  devil  encourages  dancing  to  vex  the  pious. 
Truly  to  force  the  holy  city  of  Geneva,  the 
Calvinistic  Jerusalem,  to  dance  with  an  iron  rod 
of  magic  was  going  far,  even  to  the  pinnacle 
of  insolent  injury.^  Just  imagine  all  these  little 
Genevese  saints,  all  these  God-fearing  watch- 
makers, all  these  chosen  of  the  Lord,  all  of  these 
virtuous  female  teachers,  these  firm,  stifE,  angular 
preacher  and  pedagogue  figures,  all  at  once  dancing 
the  galliard!  The  story  must  be  true,  for  I 
remember  to  have  read  it  also  in  the  Dcemono- 
magia  of  Bodinus,  and  I  had  a  great  fancy  to 
work  it  up  into  a  ballet,  to  be  called  Dancing 
Geneva. 

The  devil,  as  you  see,  is  a  great  artist  as  to 

^  Tempora  mutantur.  I  am  translating  this  in  Greneva,  July 
14,  1891,  and  there  is  a  notice  of  a  dance  to  be  held  or  played 
in  the  public  garden.  Delancre  tells  this  story  of  the  witch 
with  the  iron  rod,  but  adds  significantly  that  the  judge  "  found 
a  way  to  blunt  her  petulance."  VicU  "  Gypsy  Sorcery,"  p.  158, 
where  the  quotation  from  Delancre  is  given  in  full. — Translator. 


>J:  '' 


■01 


28o  COMMENTS  ON  FAUST. 

i 
I 

dancing,  and  therefore   no   one   should   wonder 
»  when  he  presents  himself  as  a  danisenise  before 

'i.  a  highly  honourable  public.     Another  metamor- 

»  phosis  which  is  less  natural,  but  of  deep  signifi- 

cance, is  that  in  the  oldest  work  on  Faust 
Mephistopheles  metamorphoses  himself  to  a  winged 
horse,  and  carries  Faust  to  all  lands  and  places 
wherever  sense  or  sensuality  {Sinn  oder  Sinnlich- 
keit)  desire  to  go.  The  spirit  here  manifests  not  only 
the  swiftness  of  thought,  but  the  power  of  poetry ; 
he  is  actually  the  Pegasus  who  bears  Faust  to  all 
the  splendours  and  joys  of  life  in  the  shortest 
time.  He  brings  him  in  a  second  to  Constanti- 
nople, and  there  into  the  harem  of  the  Grand 
Turk,  where  Faust,  who  is  believed  by  the 
odalisques  to  be  Mahomed,  enjoys  himself  divinely. 
Again  he  is  transported  to  Rome,  where  in  the 
Vatican,  invisible  to  all,  he  snaps  from  the  Pope 
his  best  food  and  wine ;  and  being  merry,  often 
laughs  aloud,  so  that  the  Pope,  who  believes  him- 
self to  be  alone,  is  terribly  frightened.  Here,  as 
everywhere  in  the  "Faust"  legend,  we  observe 
sharp  animosity  to  Papistry  and  the  Catholic 
Church ;  and  in  this  connection  it  is  characteristic 
that  Faust,  after  the  first  invocation,  expressly 
orders  him  to  appear  in  future  when  summoned, 
in  the  cowl  of  a  Franciscan.  The  old  chap-books, 
not  the  puppet-plays,  show  him  in  this  monkish 
garb,  when  he  disputes  with  Faust  on  religious 


COMMENTS  ON  FAUST.  s8l 

subjects.  Here  blows  the  air  of  the  time  of  the 
Reformation. 

Mephistopheles  not  only  has  no  real  form,  but 
he  has  never  become  popular  in  any  determined 
one,^  like  other  heroes  of  the  chap-books — as,  for 
instance,  Tyll  Eulenspiegel,  that  laughter  personi- 
fied in  the  rude  and  tough  form  of  a  German 
travelling  journeyman;  or  like  the  Wandering 
Jew,  with  long  beard  of  eighteen  hundred  years' 
growth,  whose  white  hairs  have  again  become 
black  at  the  tip,  as  if  rejuvenated.  Nor  has 
Mephistopheles  any  peculiar  shape  in  the  books  of 
magic,  like  other  spirits — as,  for  example,  Aziabel, 
who  always  appears  as  a  little  infant;  or  the 
devil,  Marbeul,  who,  as  is  expressly  declared,  in- 
variably presents  himself  in  the  form  of  a  boy 
of  ten  years. 

And  I  would  here  remark,  that  I  leave  it 
entirely  to  your  machinist  whether  Faust  and 
his  diabolical  companion  shall  fly  through  the  air 
on  two  horses,  or  both  be  wrapped  in  a  great 

^  This  ia  but  partially  true.  Mephistopheles,  as  portrayed  by 
Retsch,  was  taken  from  a  figure  which  often  appears  in  the 
works  of  a  painter  of  the  sixteenth  century  (unless  I  err),  as 
mentioned  by  Kugler  ;  and  I  am  certain  that  the  devil  in  this 
form  of  a  slender  man  with  the  cock's  feather  occurs  in  other 
works  of  the  Middle  Age.  As  regards  the  Wandering  Jew  of 
the  next  sentence,  it  may  occur  to  the  reader  to  inquire  how 
he  can  have  a  beard  of  eighteen  hundred  yean'  growth  in 
pictures  in  books  of  the  sixteenth  century,  which  are  oertaioly 
here  referred  to. —yrotwZator. 


282  COMMENTS  ON  FAUST. 

magic  cloak.      The    magic    cloak   is   the    most 
common  in  popular  legend.  I 

As  for  the  witches  when  flying  to  their  festival, 
we  must  let  them  fly,  no  matter  whether  it  be  on 
household  implements  or  monsters.  The  German 
witch  generally  uses  a  broomstick  on  which  she 
smears  salve,  such  as  she  has  previously  rubbed 
all  over  her  own  naked  body.  When  her  infernal 
gallant  comes  in  person  to  accompany  her,  then 
he  sits  before  and  she  behind,  during  the  journey. 
The  French  witches  say,  "  Emen-hetan  I  Emen- 
hetan  !  "  while  they  are  salving  themselves.  "  Ohen 
hinaus  und  nirgends  an — "  Out  above  and  nowhere 
on  "  ^ — is  the  cry  of  the  German  chevcUUres  of  the 
broom,  when  they  fly  out  of  the  chimney.  They 
know  how  to  arrange  it,  so  that  they  meet  in  the 
air,  and  fly  in  swarms  to  the  Sabbath.  As  the 
witches,  like  the  fairies,  hate  the  Christian  sound 
of  church-bells  from  the  depths  of  their  hearts, 
they  are  accustomed  when  passing  belfries  to 
take  the  bells  and  throw  them  with  horrible 
laughter  into  some  morass.  Accusations  of  this 
occur  in  witch  trials,  and  the  French  proverb 
justly  declares  that  a  man  should  take  to  flight 

^  This  means  to  go  through  and  out  of  the  chimney-top 
without  touching,  or,  as  the  French  version  gives  it,  "Du  baa 
en  haut,  sans  toucher."  From  the  "Ingoldsby  Ballads"  it 
would  seem  that  the  English  witch  formula  was  :  "  Hey  up  the 
chimney-pot !    Hey  after  yon  ! " — Trandator. 


COMMENTS  ON  FAUST.  283 

if  he  be  accused  of  stealing  the  bells  of  Notre 
Dame.^ 

As  for  the  place  of  their  meeting,  which  the 
witches  call  their  convent  or  their  Diet,  there  are 
widely  differing  popular  opinions.  But  from  the 
united  testimony  of  a  Remigius,  a  Godelmann, 
a  Wierus,  a  Bodinus,  and  even  of  a  Delancre,^  I 
have  determined  on  the  top  of  a  mountain  grown 
about  with  forest,  as  I  have  indicated  in  the  third 
act  of  my  ballet.  In  Germany,  the  witch-meeting 
was,  or  is  usually  held  on  the  Blocksberg,  which 
forms  the  central  point  of  the  Harz  mountains. 
And  it  is  not  only  witches  of  our  native  growth 
who  assemble,  for  there  are  also  many  foreigners, 
and  not  only  living,  but  also  long  dead  sorceress- 
sinners  who  have  no  rest  in  the  grave,  and  who, 
like  the  Willis,  are  tormented  in  their  graves  by 
an  irrepressible  desire  to  dance.  Therefore  we 
see  at  the  Sabbath  a  mixture  of  dresses  of  all 
countries  and  ages.  Aristocratic  ladies — les  dames 
de  haut  parage — in  order  to  be  at  their  ease,  are 

^  Not  exactly  a  proverb,  but  the  saying  of  a  distingaished 
man,  who  took  the  idea  not  from  witch  trials,  but  from 
Gargantua's  stealing  the  same  church-bells  in  the  Chronicle 
of  Babelais.  But  the  origin  of  the  saying  lay  in  the  stealing  of 
bells  by  witches. — Translator. 

2  By  some  oversight,  Heine  here  omits  his  great  authority,  to 
whom  he  was  chiefly  indebted.  This  was,  as  usual,  Johannes 
PrsetoriuB,  who  devotes  thirty-seven  pages  in  his  Blockes-Berg 
to  the  subject  of  the  witch  convents  in  all  the  countries  of 
Europe. 


284  COMMENTS  ON  FAUST.  .1 

mostly  masked.  The  wizards,  who  are  also  pre- 
sent in  great  numbers,  are  often  men  who,  in 
ordinary  life,  affect  the  most  honourable  and 
Christian  conduct.  As  for  the  fiends,  who  fulfil 
the  functions  of  lovers,  they  are  of  all  degrees,  so 
that  an  old  female  cook  or  cow-girl  must  content 
herself  with  a  very  low-class,  poor  devil  of  a  devil, 
while  proud  and  stately  patrician  ladies  or  dames 
of  high  degree  are  proportionately  accommodated 
or  served  with  highly-refined  and  beautifully- 
tailed  devils,  and  may  solace  themselves  with 
the  most  gallant  nobles  of  hell — enjin  les  didbles 
comme  il  faut.  These  latter  generally  wear  the 
old  Spanish  or  Burgundian  court-dress,*  but 
either  all  black,  or  else  of  some  very  "loud" 
light  colour,  and  on  their  cap  waves  the  indis- 
pensable blood-red  cock  feather.  Yet,  however 
admirable  in  form  and  elegant  of  dress  these 
cavaliers  seem  at  first  sight,  it  is  always  un- 
pleasantly remarkable  that  a  certain  "finish" 
is  wanting,  and  close  consideration  of  their  whole 
being  reveals  a  want  of  harmony,  or  something 
out  of  keeping,  which  jars  on  eye  and  ear.  They 
are  always  too  fat  or  too  lean ;  their  faces  are  too 

I  This  very  graceful  costume  is  still  worn  by  the  Pope's 
chamberlains  on  ceremonial  occMions.  It  is  black.  In  the 
German  text  we  have  "  entweder  von  ganz  schwarzer  oder  gar 
zu  schreiend  heller  Farbe."  In  French,  "  on  tout  noir  on  d'un 
blanc  vif  et  cm." — Translator.  \ 


COMMENTS  ON  FAUST.  285 

pale  or  too  red;^  the  noses  are  a  trifle  too  short 
or  too  long ;  and  now  and  then  fingers  like  bird's 
claws,  or  even  a  horse's  hoof,  reveal  themselves. 
They  do  not  smell  of  brimstone,  like  the  lovers  of 
the  lower-class  witches,  who  have  to  content  them- 
selves with  common  snob-goblins,  and  with  the 
stokers  of  hell — les  ramoneurs,fiimistes  et  chauffeurs 
de  Fenfer,  et  autre  menufretin.  Bat  there  is  one 
sad  infirmity  common  to  all  the  devils  of  which 
all  the  witches  of  every  rank  complain  bitterly, 
according  to  all  the  judicial  investigations,  which 
is  the  icy  coldness  of  their  embraces  and  their 
gush  of  love. 

Lucifer,  King  of  Darkness  by  the  disgrace  of 
God,  presides  at  the  witch  meeting  in  the  form 
of  a  black  he-goat,  with  a  human  face  and  a 
candle  between  his  two  horns.  In  the  centre 
of  the  arena  of  the  meeting,  his  majesty  stands 
on  a  high  pedestal,  or  stone  table,  and  seems  to 
be  very  serious  and  melancholy,  like  a  man  who 
is  bored  to  death.  All  the  assembled  witches, 
magicians,  devils,  and  other  vassals  worship  him  by 
passing  in  pairs,  kneeling  and  then  piously  kissing 
his  rear.  But  even  this  homagium  seems  to  cheer 
him  very  little,  still  he  is  not  happy,  and  he 
remains  melancholy  and  serious  while  the  whole 
very  much  mixed  society  dances  in  jubilation 
round  him.  This  round  is  the  famous  Witches' 
Dance,  the  peculiarity  of  which  consists  in  this, 


286  COMMENTS  ON  FAUST. 

\ 
that  the  performers  all  turn  their  faces  away  so 
that  they  show  their  backs  to  one  another,  and 
none  see  each  other's  faces.^  This  is  certainly 
a  rule  of  precaution,  and  instituted  so  that  the 
witches  in  case  of  judicial  investigation  by  torture 
might  not  be  able  to  declare  whom  they  had  seen 
at  the  Sabbath.2  Yot  fear  of  such  betrayals  the 
aristocratic  dames  came  to  the  ball  in  masked 
faces.  Many  danced  en  chemise,  other  ladies  dis- 
pensed with  this  garment.*      Many  in  dancing 


*  This  turning  away  of  the  face  at  intervals  is,  strangely 
enough,  still  preserved  in  the  true  Bohemian  polka,  which 
Delancre  calls  the  Trescone  alia  Boema,  and  says  was  specially 
a  witch -dance. 

"  Tunc  lava  titu  tunc,  dextra. 
First  to  the  left,  then  t'other  way  ;         j 
Atpiee  retrd  in  vultu, 
You  look  at  her,  and  she  looks  at  you. 

Das  paltnam, 

Join  hands,  ma'am  1  ' 

Turn  away,  run  away,  just  in  sham." — The  Polka, 

'  This  is  only  a  conjecture,  taken  almost  verbatim  from  the 
puritanically  modest  Prsetorius.  The  witches  first  danced  in 
a  ring  looking  outwards,  with  their  backs  to  the  goat  or  centre. 
After  kissing  the  goat,  they  danced  in  couples  back  to  back,  and 
then  the  bodily  connections  with  the  devils  took  place.  That 
the  dancers  could  have  remained  with  faces  unseen  by  one 
another  through  all  these  performances  is  preposterous. 

'  According  to  Delancre  this  dispensation  was  de  rigeu/r  and 
general  According  to  Prsetorius  the  peculiar  disposition  of  the 
arms  was  not  exactly  ajs  Heine  describes  it,  but  "die  Hande 
Bcblossen  sie  in  einen  gerundeten  Krayss  zusammen" — "they 


COMMENTS  ON  FAUST.  287 

crossed  their  arms  or  held  them  akimbo,  others 
stretched  them  widely  out,  numbers  airing  their 
brooms  and  shouting  "  Har  /  Har !  ScMath! 
Sabbath  !  "  It  is  a  bad  omen  when  any  one  while 
dancing  slips  and  falls.  And  should  a  witch  lose 
a  shoe  in  the  tumult  of  the  dance  it  forbodes 
that  she  will  be  burned  alive  during  the  coming 
year. 

The  musicians  who  play  for  the  dance  are  either 
infernal  spirits  of  eccentric  or  hideous  form,  or 
else  vagabond  virtuosi,  picked  up  on  the  public 
roads.  Blind  fiddlers  and  flutists  are,  however, 
preferred,  so  that  they  may  not  be  terrified  by  the 
horrors  of  the  Sabbath,  as  would  be  the  case  if 
they  could  see.^  Among  these  horrors  is  the  initia- 
tion of  novices,  or  young  witches,  into  the  most 
fearful  mysteries.  Then  they  are  ofllcially  wedded 
to  hell,  and  the  devil,  their  gloomy  spouse,  gives 
them  a  new  name  or  worn  d! amour,  and  brands 
them  with  a  secret  sign  as  souvenir  of  his  tender- 
ness.    This  mark  is  so  well  concealed  that  the 


closed  their  arms  together  in  a  rounded  circle"  (not  crott,  as 
Heine  thought).  This  was  as  if  they  were  hugging  some  one. 
It  is  a  very  indecent  gesture,  which  is  often  performed  by  danc- 
ing girls  in  Egypt,  as  I  have  seen. — Trandator. 

^  Blind  musicians  are  mentioned  by  several  novelists  of  the 
last  century  as  having  been  in  great  demand  at  the  shameless 
orgies  which  were  then  commoner  than  at  present.  Albeit  the 
baUo  angdico  is  still  tolerably  well  known  in  Florence,  despite 
the  police. — Translator. 


/'■ 


«88  COMMENTS  ON  FAUST. 

judges  at  witch  trials  often  had  a  hard  time  to 
discover  it,  for  which  reason  they  caused  every 
hair  to  be  shorn  from  the  body  of  the  accused 
witch  by  the  beadle. 

The  prince  of  hell  has  among  the  witches  of  the 
meeting  a  chosen  one,  who  is  known  by  the  title 
of  archi-sposa  or  arch-betrothed,  who  is  his  special 
mistress.  Her  ball  costume  is  simple,  or  more 
than  simple,  for  it  consists  of  only  one  shoe  of 
gold,  for  which  reason  she  is  known  as  the  Lady 
of  the  Golden  Shoe.  She  is  a  beautiful  and  grand, 
yes,  almost  colossal  lady,  for  the  devil  is  not 
only  a  connaisseur  en  belles  formes,  like  a  true 
artist,  but  also  an  amateur  of  flesh,  and  thinks 
that  the  more  flesh  the  more  sin.  In  his  refine- 
ment of  wickedness  he  seeks  to  increase  his  sin 
by  never  selecting  a  maid,  but  always  a  married 
woman,  for  his  chief  bride,  thus  adding  adultery 
to  simple  immorality.  This  archi-sposa  must  also 
be  a  good  dancer,  and  at  an  unusally  brilliant 
Sabbath  ball  the  illustrious  Goat  sometimes  de- 
scends from  his  pedestal  and  in  eminent  person 
executes  with  his  naked  beauty  a  peculiar  dance 
which  I  will  not  describe,  "for  very  important 
Cliristian  reasons,"  as  old  Widman  would  say. 
Only  so  much  will  I  hint,  that  it  is  an  old  national 
dance  of  Gomorra,  the  tradition  of  which  after 
the  destruction  of  the  Cities  of  the  Plain  was  pre- 
served by  Lot's  daughters,  and  is  kept  to  the 


COMMENTS  ON  FAUST.  289 

present  day,  as  I  myself  often  saw  it  executed  in 
Paris  at  No.  359,  Bne  Saint  Honor^,  near  the 
Church  of  the  Holy  Assumption.  And  when  we 
consider  that  there  is  on  the  dancing-ground  of 
the  witches  no  armed  morality  in  the  uniform  of 
municipal  guards,  as  in  Paris,  to  check  Bao- 
chantic  frenzy,  one  may  easily  imagine  what  wild 
goat  capers  are  cut  at  the  aforesaid  pas  de  devx} 

According  to  many  authorities  the  great  goat 
and  his  chief  bride  preside  at  the  banquet  after 
the  dance.  The  table,  furniture,  and  food  at  this 
meal  are  of  extraordinary  richness  and  delicacy ; 
but  whoever  carries  aught  of  it  secretly  away, 
finds  the  next  day  that  the  golden  goblet  is  only  a 
coarse  earthenware  pipkin,  and  the  fine  cake  a  cow- 
flap.  What  is  characteristic  in  the  meal  is  the 
entire  absence  of  salt.  *  The  songs  which  the  guests 
sing  are  mere  blasphemies,  and  they  squall,  bleat, 
or  whine  them  to  the  airs  of  pious  hymns.  The 
most  venerable  religious  ceremonies  are  aped  by 
infamous  buffooneries.  Thus,  for  example,  bap- 
tism is  ridiculed  by  christening  toads,  hedgehogs, 
or  rats  exactly  according  to  the  rite  of  the  Church ; 
and  during  this  abominable  deed  the  godfather 

^  These  two  sentences  are  omitted  in  the  French  version. — 
Tremdalor. 

*  Here  there  is  a  contradiction  between  mediaeval  and  dassio 
tradition.  Salt,  according  to  Monesimos,  was  sacred  to  th« 
infernal  deities. — Trondator. 

VOL.  IL  » 


a|D  COMMENTS  ON  FAUST.  | 

and  godmother  act  like  devoat  Ghristians,  and 
make  the  most  hypocritical  faces.  The  baptismal 
water  is  that  of  the  devil.  The  witches  also  make 
the  sign  of  the  cross,  bat  reversed,  and  with  the 
left  hand.  Those  who  speak  Latin  tongues  pro- 
nounce meanwhile  the  words :  "In  nomine  Fatrica 
Aragneais,  Fetrica,  agora,  agora,  Valentia,  jouando 
goure  gaits  goustia,"  which  means,  "In  the  name 
of  Fatrike,  of  Fetrike,  of  Aragonia,  in  this  hour, 
Valentia,  all  our  suffering  is  past."  ^  To  mock  the 
divine  doctrine  of  love  and  forgiveness  the  infernal 
goat  at  last  soars  his  most  terribly  thundering 
voice,  "Revenge  yourselves,  revenge  yourselves, 
else  ye  shall  die ! "  These  are  the  sacramental 
words  with  which  the  witch  meeting  closes,  and 
to  parody  the  sublimest  act  of  the  passion,  the 
Anti-Christ  sacrifices  himself,  but  not  for  the  good, 
but  for  the  evil  of  mankind;  that  is,  the  goat 
burns  himself,  flaming  up  with  a  great  crackling 
sound,  and  every  witch  endeavours  to  obtain  a 
handful  of  his  ashes,  to  be  used  in  subsequent 
sorceries.  Then  the  ball  and  the  banquet  are  at 
an  end,  the  cock  crows,  the  ladies  begin  to  shiver, 
and  as  they  came,  so  they  go,  but  far  faster ;  and 

^  "  In  the  Dame  of  Peter  of  Aragon,  Peter,  now,  now  {ahora) 
Valentia,  now  our  suffering  passes."  Patrica  is,  I  think,  master 
or  priest.  Thii  passage  is  curious  and  interesting  as  probabl  j 
explaining  the  origin  of  the  word  patrieo,  a  priest,  in  early 
English  cant. — Tran^ator. 


COMMENTS  ON  FAUST.  291 

many  a  Mrs.  Witch  lies  down  in  bed  by  her  snor- 
ing sponse,  who  has  not  observed  that  it  was  only 
a  log  of  wood,  which,  having  assmned  the  form 
of  his  wife,  had  lain  daring  her  absence  by  his 
side. 

I,  too,  my  dear  friend,  will  go  to  bed,  for  I  have 
written  deep  into  the  night,  to  bring  together  all 
the  items  which  you  wished  to  have  noted.  I 
have  in  so  doing  thought  less  of  the  theatrical 
director  who  is  to  bring  my  ballet  on  the  stage 
than  of  the  gentleman  of  great  culture,  who  is  in- 
terested in  everything  relating  to  art  and  thought. 
You  understand  the  most  fleeting  hint  of  the  poet, 
and  every  word  from  you  is  of  value  to  him.  It 
is  incomprehensible  to  me  how  you,  the  experi- 
enced and  practical  man  of  business,  can  be  so 
gifted  with  that  extraordinary  sense  of  the  beauti- 
ful; and  I  am  even  more  astonished  how  you, 
amid  the  many  tribulations  and  trials  of  your 
professional  activity,  have  been  able  to  retain 
so  much  love  and  inspiration  for  poetry. 


THE  GODS  IN  EXILE. 

1836  and  1853. 


►.♦^.■•-i:;-j**"«"w *»>«*---<«4-.v^  ■>»*H'': ; ♦■-;-»«  :C-*  ^'* ••»■•-*  w^m^  r-^ "'*'■•'-  -*-' 


'^!km 


^m  Jt 


PREFACE  TO  THE  FRENCH  EDITION. 


The  study  here  presented  is  the  last  product  of 
my  pen;  only  a  few  of  its  pages  date  from  an 
earlier  time.  I  make  this  remark  that  it  may 
not  seem  as  if  I  were  treading  in  the  footsteps  of 
certain  book-smiths  who  have  often  profited  by 
my  researches  into  legendary  lore.  I  would  gladly 
promise  a  continuation  of  this  work,  for  which  I 
have  accumulated  material  in  my  memory,  but  the 
very  critical  state  of  health  in  which  I  now  am 
does  not  permit  me  to  contract  any  obligation  for 
the  future.^ 

We  are  all  passing  away,  men,  gods,  creeds,  and 
legends.  It  is  perhaps  a  pious  work  to  preserve 
the  latter  from  oblivion,  so  that  they  are  em- 
balmed, not  by  the  hideous  process  of  Gannal, 
but  by  employing  secret  means  which  are  only 

^  This  passage,  as  the  Grennan  editor  of  Heine'*  works  da- 
darei,  formed  the  introdaction  to  the  fiiat  pnblication  of  "The 
Goda  in  Exile  "  in  the  Bevue  dea  Denx  Mondet  of  April  i,  1853 
It  ii  not  found  in  the  latest  French  edition,  and  ia  given  in  tba 
German  as  a  note. — Translator. 


'•*>«»«»/'^'^,.Vi*«».»!ii*»  'r"'"*-. 


'*■■»¥•   ^:'*.  ♦-s^' 


'O' 


29«  PREFACE. 

to  be  fonnd  in  the  apotheca  of  the  poet.*  Tea, 
creeds  are  fleeting  and  traditions  too;  they  are 
vanishing  like  burnt  ont  tapers,  not  only  in  en- 
lightened lands,  but  in  the  most  midnight  places 
of  the  world,  where  not  long  ago  the  most  startling 
superstitions  were  in  bloom.  The  missionaries 
who  wander  over  these  cold  regions  now  complain 
of  the  incredulity  of  their  inhabitants.  In  the 
report  of  a  Danish  clergyman  of  his  journey  in 
the  North  of  Greenland,  the  writer  tells  us  that 
he  asked  of  an  old  man  what  was  the  present 
state  of  belief  among  them.  To  which  the  good 
man  replied,  "  Once  we  believed  in  the  moon,  but 
now  we  believe  in  it  no  longer."  ^  j 

HEINRICH  HEINE. 
Pabib,  March  i8,  1853. 


1  Among  the  thousand  wise,  witty,  or  true  remarks  of  Heine, 
there  is  not  one  better  worthy  of  note,  especially  by  folk-Iorists, 
than  this,  at  a  time  when  so  many  show  by  their  comments  that 
the  dififerences,  dates,  and  origins  of  traditions  are  all  that  is  of 
any  interest  to  them. — Translator. 

'  It  is  perhaps  worth  while  to  remark  that  this  old  Green- 
lander  referred  to  the  legend  which  may  be  found  in  Rink's 
work  on  the  traditions  of  Greenland,  that  the  moon  in  a  girl 
who,  having  been  debauched  by  her  brother  the  sun,  constantly 
flies  from  him.  The  same  story  is  found  among  Hungarian 
gypsies,  and  it  exists  or  did  exist  in  forms  more  or  less  modified 
among  the  old  Irish,  the  natives  of  Borneo,  and  in  Northern 
Italy.  , 


*t*     -^^    9 


t-^u.*.*  **  t*^  f*^'  ^^Mfr  ^  ' 


THE   GODS   IN    EXILE. 


A  QUEER  thing  is  this  writing!  One  man  has 
luck  in  the  practice  thereof,  and  another  none ; 
but  the  worst  mischance  in  such  work  which 
could  well  befall  any  man  happened  to  my  poor 
friend,  Heinrich  Kitzler — Henry  Tickler — Magister 
Artium  in  Gottingen.  There  is  not  a  man  there 
so  learned,  so  rich  in  ideas,  so  industrious  as  this 
friend ;  and  yet  to  this  hour  no  book  by  him  has 
ever  appeared  at  the  Leipzig  fair.  Old  Stiefel  * 
in  the  library  always  smiled  when  Heinrich  Kitzler 
asked  him  for  a  book  "  which  he  needed  for  a  work 
which  he  had  '  under  his  pen. ' "  "It  will  be  a  long 
time  under  the  pen ! "  murmured  old  Stiefel, 
while  he  went  up  the  ladder.  Even  the  cook- 
maids  laughed  when,  having  been  sent  for  books, 
they  cried  for  "  something  for  the  Kitzler ! "  ^ 

He  was   generally  regarded  as  a  goose,  but 
in  fact  he  was   only  an  honest  man.      No  one 

^  Stiefd,  lit  boot.     "True  to  one  as  an  old  boot" 
'  Tbia  passage  is  omitted  from  tbe  Frencb  versioiL 

»97 


i*'  >»^.  jrr^*— »  -*^-  •♦  •;  ii-r  -< 


098  THE  GODS  IN  EXILE.       i 

knew  the  real  canse  why  no  book  by  him  was 
ever  published,  and  it  was  only  by  chance  that 
I  discovered  it,  and  thus  it  was.  One  midnight 
I  went  to  his  room  to  light  my  candle,  for  his 
apartments  adjoined  mine.  He  had  just  com- 
pleted his  great  work  on  the  "Magnificence 
of  Christianity,"^  but  he  seemed  in  nowise  to 
rejoice  thereover,  and  gazed  with  sorrow  on  hiB 
manuscript. 

"And  now,"  I  remarked,  "your  name  will 
figure  at  last  in  the  catalogue  of  the  Leipzig  Fair 
among  the  books  really  published  ! " 

"  Ah,  no !  "  he  sighed  from  the  depths.  "  This 
work  too  must  be  burned  like  the  others." 

Then  he  confided  to  me  his  terrible  secret,  and 
truly  it  appeared  that  whenever  he  wrote  a  book 
bad  luck  befel  him  in  abundance;  for  when  he 
had  fully  developed  for  the  subject  in  hand  every 
point  in  its  favour,  he  felt  himself  in  duty  bound 
to  give  every  objection  which  an  opponent  might 
adduce.  Therefore  he  sought  out  with  care  all 
the  arguments  on  the  other  side  of  the  question, 
and  as  these  unconsciously  took  root  and  grew 
in  his  mind,  it  came  to  pass  that  his  opinions 
changed,  and  in  the  end  he  was  thoroughly 
convinced  that  his  book  was   all  wrong.      But 


1  "Die  Vortrafflicbkeik   det  Christenthuma.     Vortrefflich " 
impliea  pre-eminent  m  well  m  admirable  or  good  in  itself. 


THE  GODS  IN  EXILE.  agg 

he  was  then  honourable  enough  (as  erery  French 
author  would  be,  of  course,  under  similar  drcum- 
stances  ^)  to  sacrifice  the  laurel  of  literary  fame 
on  the  altar  of  truth — that  is,  to  throw  his 
manuscript  into  the  fire.  It  was  for  this  reason 
that  he  sighed  from  his  very  soul  after  having 
perfectly  proved  the  magnificence  of  Chrifl- 
tianity. 

"I  have,"  he  said  sorrowfully,  "copied  twenty 
basketfuls  of  quotations  from  the  Church  Fathers. 
I  have  bent  for  whole  nights  over  my  study  table 
and  read  the  Acta  Sanctorum,  while  in  your  rooms 
punch  was  drunk  and  the  Landesvater  sung.  In- 
stead of  buying  a  meerschaum  pipe,  which  I 
deeply  desired,  I  spent  thirty-eight  hardly  earned 
thalers,  for  recent  theological  works,  on  Vanden- 
hoeck  and  Kuprecht  the  booksellers.  I  have 
worked  like  a  dog  for  two  years,  two  precious 
years  of  life,  and  all  to  make  myself  ridiculous, 
and  to  cast  down  my  eyes  like  a  baffled  braggart 
when  the  church-counsellor's  wife,  Madame  Planck, 
asks  me,  'When  will  your  work  on  the  Magni- 
ficence of  Christianity  appear?'  Ah,  the  book 
is  ready,"  sighed  the  poor  man,  "  and  it  would 
please  the  public,  for  I  have  in  it  exalted  the 
victory  of  Christianity  over  Heathenism;  and  I 
have  proved  in  it,  too,  that  thereby  Truth  and 

'  ThlB  daxue  in  parentbeaM  !•  omitUd  in  tb«  French  ▼enion. 


r^«  *  fill  .«.;/^^"  i'«/-»..-.  .... 


300  THE  GODS  IN  EXILE. 

I 

Reason  prevailed  over  Hypocrisy  and  Folly.     But 
I,   miserable  man,   feel  in   my  heart  of  hearts 

that"! 

"Silence!"  I  cried  with,  just  indignation.  "Do 
not  dare,  oh  infatuated  and  blinded  man,  to 
blacken  the  sublime  and  pull  the  brilliant  light 
down  into  dust.'  Even  if  thou  wouldst  deny  the 
miracles  of  the  New  Testament,  still  thou  canst 
not  deny  that  the  victory  of  that  Evangel  was 
in  itself  a  miracle.  A  little  troop  of  unprotected 
men  pressed  into  the  great  Boman  world,  defying 
both  its  satellites  and  its  sages,  and  triumphed 
by  the  Word  alone.  But  what  a  Word!  Dry 
and  crumbling  heathenism  shook  and  was  shattered 
by  the  words  and  voice  of  these  foreign  men  and 
women,  who  announced  a  new  kingdom  of  heaven, 
and  feared  nothing  in  the  old  world,  not  the  claws 
of  wild  beasts,  nor  the  wrath  of  wilder  men,  nor 
fire  or  sword — for  they  themselves  were  the  fire 
and  sword — sword  and  fire,  of  God.  That  sword, 
trimmed   away  the  dead   leaves  and   dry  twigs 

'  French  version,  "Mais  infortun^  mortel  que  je  soui,  ja 
sais  au  fond  de  nion  &iue  que  le  contraire  a  eu  lieu,  que  le 
mensonge  et  I'erreur  " 

'  By  this  beautiful  mixed  metaphor  Heine  intimates  what 
he  anon  confesses,  that  this  is  the  eloquence  of  a  student  after 
many  pints  of  beer.  In  the  French  version,  "Oses-tu  bien, 
aveugle  que  tu  es,  rabaisser  ce  qu'il  y  a  de  plus  sublime,  et 
noircir  la  lumi&re?"  Which  is  probably  an  intelligent  "cor- 
rection "  by  a  French  reviser. — Trondator. 


r  ■  (   V  -..V  *  ■■•9 ,  ,:^  ■  •  '^  *  ••« 


THE  GODS  IN  EXILE.  301 

from  the  tree  of  life,  and  thereby  cured  it  of  the 
rottenness  which  was  eating  in ;  this  flame  warmed 
again  to  life  the  frozen  trunk,  so  that  fresh  foliage 
and  perfumed  blossoms  bloomed  anew.  It  is  the 
most  terribly  sublime  manifestation  in  the  history 
of  the  world,  this  first  appearance  of  Christianity, 
its  battles  and  its  perfect  victory."       ■ 

I  uttered  these  words  all  the  more  grandly  as 
became  the  subject,  because  I  had  that  evening 
drunk  a  great  deal  of  Eimbecker  beer,  for  which 
reason  my  voice  resounded  in  its  fullest  tones. 

Henry  Tickler  was  in  nowise  touched  by  this 
discourse,  nor  was  he  disconcerted,  and  with 
ironic  yet  suffering  smile  he  said,  "Brotherly 
heart,  give  thyself  no  needless  inconvenience! 
All  which  thou  hast  said  I  have  stated  in  this 
manuscript,  far  better  and  far  more  fundamentally. 
In  it  I  have  depicted  in  the  harshest  colours  the 
corrupt  condition  of  the  world  during  heathenism, 
and  I  dare  to  flatter  myself  that  my  bold  touches 
with  the  brush  recall  the  works  of  the  best  of  the 
fathers  of  the  Church.  I  have  shown  how  de- 
bauched and  debased  the  Greeks  and  Eomans 
became  from  the  bad  examples  of  those  gods  who, 
to  judge  by  the  vices  attributed  to  them,  were 
hardly  worthy  to  be  classed  with  men.  I  have, 
without  mincing  the  matter,  boldly  declared  that 
even  Jnpiter,  the  chief  of  the  gods,  deserved,  ac- 
cording to  the  criminal  law  of  Hanover,  a  hundred 


3CM  THE  OODS  IN  BXILB. 

times  the  penitentiary,  if  not  the  gallows ;  while, 
on  the  other  hand,  I  have  appropriately  para- 
phrased the  moral  axioms  of  the  New  Testament, 
and  shown  how,  according  to  the  example  of  their 
divine  prototype,  in  spite  of  the  scorn  and  per- 
secution which  they  thereby  incurred,  taught  and 
practised  the  most  perfect  moral  purity.  That  is 
the  most  beautiful  passage  in  any  work  where  I 
depict,  as  if  inspired,  how  youthful  Christianity, 
like  a  little  David,  enters  the  lists  with  ancient 
heathenism  and  slays  the  great  Goliath.  But, 
ah  me!  since  then  this  duel  appears  to  me  in 
a  new  and  doubtful  light !  Alas !  all  love  and 
joy  for  my  apology  disappeared  when  I  vividly 
presented  to  myself  how  an  opponent  would  re- 
present the  triumph  of  Christianity !  There  fell, 
unfortunately,  into  my  hands  the  works  of  several 
later  writers,  such  as  that  of  Edward  Gibbon, 
who  did  not  speak  so  favourably  of  that  victory, 
nor  did  they  seem  to  be  much  edified  by  the  fact 
that  the  Christians,  when  the  spiritual  sword  and 
flame  did  not  suffice,  availed  themselves  of  material 
weapons  and  material  fire.  Yes,  I  must  confess 
that  there  at  last  stole  over  me  a  terrible  pity  for 
the  remains  of  heathenism,  for  those  beautiful 
temples  and  statues,  for  they  no  longer  belonged 
to  the  religion  which  had  been  dead  long,  long 
before  the  birth  of  Christ,  but  to  Art,  which  lives 
for  ATor.     And  tears  came  to  my  eyes  when  I  one 


THE  OODS  IN  EXILE.  joj 

day,  by  chance,  read  in  the  library  the  "  Defence 
of  the  Temple,"  in  which  the  old  Qreek  Libaniua 
implored  most  touchingly  the  pions  barbarians  to 
spare  those  precious  masterpieces  with  which  the 
artistic  genius  of  the  Greeks  had  adorned  the 
world.  But  all  in  vain!  Those  monuments  of 
the  spring-tide  of  mankind  which  could  never 
return,  and  which  could  only  bloom  once,  perished 
irrecoverably  through  the  gloomy  zeal  for  the  de- 
struction of  the  Christians.  .  .  . 

"  No ! "  continued  the  master,  "  I  will  not  by 
publishing  this  work  contribute  to  such  sacrilege. 
No,  that  will  I  never.  And  to  you,  ye  shattered 
statues  of  beauty — to  you,  ye  manes  of  the  dead 
gods — to  you  who  are  now  only  lovely  phantoms 
in  the  shadowy  world  of  poetry — to  you  I  sacrifice 
this  book!" 

Saying  this,  Henry  Tickler  threw  his  manuscript 
into  the  flames  of  the  fireplace,  and  nothing  re- 
mained of  the  "  Magnificence  of  Christianity  "  save 
grey  ashes. 

This  happened  at  Gottingen  in  the  winter  of 
1820,  a  few  days  before  that  awful  New  Year's 
night  when  the  University  beadle,  Doris,  received 
the  most  terrible  beating,  and  eighty-five  duels 
were  contrahiert,  or  arranged,  between  the  Bur- 
schenschaft  and  Landsmannschaft.^     Those  were 

^  Stadent  usociations,  the  BancbeiMohaf  t  being  of  a  goMnl 


304  THE  GODS  IN  EXILE. 

.        ;  1 

fearful  blows  which  fell  like  radden  showers  of 
sticks  on  the  broad  back  of  the  poor  beadle.  But 
he  consoled  himself,  as  a  good  Christian,  with  the 
conviction  that  we  shall  be  recompensed  at  some 
time  in  heaven  for  the  pains  which  we  have  un- 
deservedly suffered  here  below.*  That  was  all 
long  ago.  Old  Doris  has  since  many  years  bid 
adieu  to  trouble,  and  sleeps  in  peaceful  rest  before 
the  Weender  Gate.  The  two  great  parties  who 
once  made  the  duelling  grounds  of  Borden, 
Ritschenking,  and  Rasenmuhle  ring  with  their 
crossing  swords,  have  long  since,  in  deep  con- 
sciousness of  their  common  worthlessness,  drunk 
together  with  extreme  tenderness  to  common 
brotherhood,  and  the  law  of  time  has  made  his 
mighty  influence  felt  likewise  on  the  author  of 
those  pages.  In  my  brain  less  gay  and  wild 
caprice  or  fancy  plays,  and  my  heart  has  grown 
heavy,  and  where  I  once  laughed  I  now  weep, 
and  I  burn  with  vexation  the  altar  pictures  which 
I  once  worshipped. 

There  was  a  time  when  I  in  faith  kissed  the 
hand  of  every  Capucliin  whom  I  met  in  the  street. 
I  was  a  child,  and  my  father  let  me  do  so  undis- 


and  political  nature,  and  the  Landsmannschaft  local  uniona 
of  those  from  different  parte  of  Germany. — Translator. 

^  The  two  pages  which  follow  this  sentence,  to  the  words 
"I  am  not  at  all  of  the  opinion  of  my  friend  Kitzler,"  are 
omitted  in  the  French  version. — Trandator. 


THE  QODS  IN  EXILE.  305 

tnrbed,  well  knowing  that  my  lips  would  not 
always  be  satisfied  with  Capuchin  flesh.  And  I 
indeed  grew  up  and  kissed  beautiful  women. 
But  they  often  gazed  at  me  so  pale  and  painfully 
that  I  was  frightened  in  the  arms  of  joy.  Here 
was  a  hidden  trouble  which  no  one  beheld,  and 
with  which  every  one  suffered,  and  I  often  re- 
flected on  it.  And  also  whether  renunciation 
and  abstinenc6  are  to  be  really  preferred  to  all 
the  joys  of  this  life,  and  whether  those  who  have, 
while  here  on  earth  below,  contented  themselves 
with  thistles,  will  be  on  that  account  the  more 
liberally  treated  with  pine  apples  in  the  land 
above.  No,  he  who  ate  thistles  was  an  ass, 
and  he  who  receives  blows  keeps  them.  Poor 
Doris! 

However,  it  is  not  permitted  to  me  to  speak 
out  plainly  as  to  everything  over  which  I  have 
reflected,  still  less  to  impart  the  results  of  my 
reflection.  Yet  must  I  too  go  to  the  grave  with 
closed  lips,  like  so  many  others  ? 

But  I  may  be  permitted  to  cite  a  few  fleeting 

facts  in  order  to  impart  some  reason,  or  at  least 

the  appearance  of  it,  to  the  fairy  fables  which  I 

here  compile.     The  facts  refer  to  the  victory  of 

Christianity  over  heathenism.     I  am  not  at  all  of 

the  opinion  of  my  friend  Kitzler  that  the  icono- 

clasm  of  the  early  Christians  was  so  bitterly  to  be 

blamed.     They  could  not  and  dared  not  spare  the 
VOL.  n.  u 


306  THE  GODS  IN  EXILE. 

old  temples  and  statues,  for  in  these  still  lived  the 
old  Greek  joyousness  which  seemed  to  the  Christian 
as  devildom.  In  these  temples  he  saw  not  merely 
the  subjects  of  a  strange  cultus  and  a  worthless  and 
erroneous  faith  which  wanted  all  reality,  but  the 
citadels  of  actual  devils,  while  the  gods  whom  the 
statues  represented  existed  for  him  in  reality,  but 
as  the  devils  themselves.  When  these  Christians 
refused  to  kneel  and  sacrifice  before  the  images  of 
the  gods,  they  always  answered  that  they  dared 
not  worship  demons.  They  preferred  martyrdom 
to  manifesting  any  act  of  adoration  before  the 
devil  Jupiter,  the  deviless  Diana,  or  the  arch- 
female  fiend  Venus. 

Poor  Greek  philosophers!  They  could  never 
understand  this  contradiction,  just  as  they  sub- 
sequently never  understood  that  they,  in  their 
polemics  with  the  Christians,  had  by  no  means  to 
defend  the  old  dead  doctrines  but  far  more  Kving 
facts.  What  was  wanted  was  not  in  reality  to 
prove  the  deeper  meaning  of  mythology  by  Neo- 
Platonic  subtleties,  to  infuse  new  symbolic  blood 
of  life  into  the  dead  deities,  and  to  terribly  tor- 
ment themselves  by  trying  to  refute  the  coarse 
and  material  abuse  of  the  early  Church  fathers 
who  ridiculed  the  moral  character  of  the  gods  in 
a  manner  almost  Voltarian — the  point  in  question 
was  to  defend  Hellenism  itself  or  Greek  methods 
of  feeling  and  of  thought,  and  to  defeat  the  exten- 


THE  GODS  IN  EXILE.  307 

sion  of  Judaism  or  of  Jewish  ideas  and  sentiment.^ 
The  real  question  was  whether  the  dismal,  meagre, 
over-spiritual,  ascetic  Judaism  of  the  Nazarenes, 
or  Hellenic  joyousness,  love  of  beauty,  and  fresh 
pleasure  in  life  should  rule  the  world  ?  Those 
beautiful  gods  were  not  the  essential  part  of  the 
polemic ;  no  one  believed  any  longer  in  the  am- 
brosial dwellers  on  Olympus,  but  people  amused 
themselves  divinely  in  their  temples  at  festivals 
and  mysteries;  they  crowned  their  heads  with 
flowers;  there  were  charming  religious  dances; 
they  stretched  themselves  on  couches  in  merry 
banquets,  and  perhaps  for  still  sweeter  pleasures. 

All  this  joy  and  gay  laughter  has  long  been 
silent,  and  in  the  ruins  of  the  ancient  temples  the 
old  Greek  deities  still  dwell ;  but  they  have  lost 
their  majesty  by  the  victory  of  Christ,  and  now 
they  are  sheer  devils  who  hide  by  day  in  gloomy 
wreck  and  rubbish,  but  by  night  arise  in  charming 
loveliness  to  bewilder  and  allure  some  heedless 
wanderer  or  daring  youth. 

The  most  fascinating  legends  are  based  on  this 


1  This  is  most  strikingly  illnstrated  by  Lanctantius,  who  by 
his  employment  of  ridicule  for  argument,  and  his  appeals  to 
vulgar  common  sense,  quite  deserves  the  title  of  the  Christian 
Voltaire.  {L.  Coclii  Lactantii  Firmiani,  Geneva,  16 13.)  But 
his  arguments  against  heathenism  are  of  such  a  nature  that 
they  would  be  used  to-day  by  a  Voltarian  infidel  far  more 
eflfectively  against  the  Catholic  Church  itadf.—Trandator. 


3o8  THE  GODS  IN  EXILE. 

popular  belief,  and  our  more  recent  German  poets 
drew  from  them  the  subjects  of  their  most  beauti- 
ful poems.  Italy  is  generally  the  scene  selected, 
and  the  hero  some  German  knight  who,  on  account 
of  his  youthful  inexperience  or  his  fine  figure,  is 
ensnared  by  the  beautiful  uncanny  belles  who 
seek  him  for  their  prey.  He  wanders  forth  on  a 
fair  autumn  day  with  his  solitary  fancies,  thinking 
perhaps  of  his  native  oak-forests  and  the  blonde 
maiden  whom  he  left  behind — the  vain  boy! 
But  all  at  once  he  stands  before  a  marble  statue, 
at  the  sight  of  which  he  stops,  startled.  It  may 
be  the  Goddess  of  Beauty,  and  he  regards  her  face 
to  face,  and  the  heart  of  the  young  barbarian  is 
secretly  seized  by  the  sorcery  of  the  olden  time. 
What  can  it  mean  ?  He  never  saw  such  graceful 
limbs  before,  and  he  strangely  realises  that  in  this 
marble  there  is  a  livelier  life  than  he  ever  found 
in  the  red  cheeks  and  lips  and  all  the  rosy  fleshi- 
ness of  his  fair  countrywomen.  Those  white  eyes 
gaze  at  him  so  voluptuously,  yet  with  such  suffer- 
ing sorrow,  that  his  breast  swells  with  love  and 
pity,  pity  and  love.  And  now  he  often  goes  to 
walk  among  the  old  ruins,  and  the  club  of  his 
fellow-countrymen  is  astonished  that  he  is  now  so 
seldom  seen  at  their  convivial  meetings  and  in 
their  knightly  sports.  There  are  strange  tales 
current  as  to  his  deeds  among  the  ruins  of  heathen 
days.     But  one  morning  he  burst  with  pale  dis- 


THE  GODS  IN  EXILE.  309 

torted  features  into  his  inn,  pays  his  reckoning, 
buckles  his  knapsack,  and  hastens  over  the  Alps. 
What  has  happened  to  him  ? 

Well,  it  happened  that  one  day  later  than  usual, 
he  strolled,  after  the  sun  had  set,  to  his  beloved 
ruins,  but  owing  to  the  growing  darkness,  could 
not  find  the  place  where  he  was  accustomed  to 
gaze  for  hours  at  the  statue  of  the  beautiful  god- 
dess. After  wandering  about  for  a  long  time  at 
random,  he  suddenly  found  himself  about  midnight 
before  a  villa  which  he  had  never  observed  before, 
and  was  not  a  little  astonished  when  servants 
with  torches  came  forth  and  invited  him  in  the 
name  of  their  mistress  to  enter.  What  was  his 
astonishment,  on  entering  a  vast  and  brilliantly 
lighted  hall,  to  behold  a  lady  who  was  walking 
to  and  fro  alone,  and  who,  in  form  and  features, 
had  the  most  startling  resemblance  to  the  beauti- 
ful statue  of  his  love.  And  she  was  the  more 
like  that  marble  image  from  being  clad  in  dazzling 
white  garb,  her  countenance  being  also  very  pale. 
When  the  knight  with  a  courtly  reverence  ad- 
vanced to  her,  she  gazed  at  him  long  and  in 
silence,  and  at  last  asked  him  with  a  smile  if 
he  was  hungry.  And  though  the  heart  of  the 
knight  was  leaping  within  him  for  love,  he  still 
had  a  German  stomach ;  in  consequence  of  hia 
wandering  for  hours  he  needed  a  bait,  and  so  very 
gladly  allowed  himself  to  be  led  by  the  fair  lady 


|4»   *.     t  .•-    -  imilin.  »^  ■  «l»|il^iim   ^  t->im|l>kw«i»««lli».l    «ril   i>  I   -~      Tl       .y>^t    ^'^'-'-Mk-iltM.,.^; 


310  THE  GODS  IN  EXILE. 

to  the  dining-liall.  She  took  him  graciously  by 
the  hand,  and  led  him  through  vast  and  echoing 
apartments,  which,  in  spite  of  all  their  splendour, 
seemed  to  be  strangely  desolate.  The  girandoles 
cast  a  pale  spectral  light  on  the  walls,  on  which 
variegated  frescoes  represented  all  the  legends  of 
heathen  love,  such  as  those  of  Paris  and  Helen, 
Diana  and  Endymion,  Calypso  and  Ulysses.  The 
great  and  strange  flowers  which  stood  in  marble 
vases  before  the  windows  exhaled  a  corpse-like, 
bewildering  odour,  the  wind  sighed  in  the  chim- 
neys like  a  dying  man.  At  last  the  beautiful  lady 
sat  in  the  dining-room  opposite  the  knight,  filled 
his  cup  with  wine,  and,  smiling,  presented  him 
with  the  choicest  delicacies.  And  yet  many  things 
seemed  significantly  strange  to  the  guest.  When 
he  asked  for  salt  a  convulsion  which  was  almost 
hideous  appeared  on  the  face  of  the  hostess,  nor 
was  it  till  the  knight  had  several  times  repeated 
his  request  that  she,  visibly  vexed,  bade  her  ser- 
vants bring  the  salt-cellar ;  and  as  they  placed  it 
with  trembling  hands  on  the  table,  half  of  it 
spilled !  However,  the  good  wine,  which  glowed 
like  fire  in  the  throat  of  the  knight,  soothed  the 
secret  terror  which  often  thrilled  him;  yes,  he 
became  confident,  confiding,  and  amorous,  and 
when  the  beautiful  lady  asked  if  he  knew  what 
love  was,  he  answered  with  burning  kisses,  till 
at  last,  intoxicated  with  passion,  and  perhaps  too 


*  -yiA- 


THE  GODS  IN  EXILE.  311 

with  sweet  wine,  he  slept  on  the  bosom  of  his 
tender  hostess.  Yet  wild  and  strange  dreams 
whirred  through  his  mind ;  harsh  and  odd  faces, 
such  as  we  see  in  the  delirium  of  fever,  passed 
before  him.  Then  he  seemed  to  behold  many- 
times  his  old  grandmother,  as  she  sat  at  home 
in  her  great  chair,  praying  with  trembhng  Kps. 
Anon  he  heard  a  mocking  tittering  which  came 
from  great  bats,  which  fluttered  around,  bearing 
great  candles  in  their  claws ;  but  when  he  looked 
more  closely,  it  seemed  to  him  that  they  were  the 
servants  who  had  waited  on  him.  At  last  he 
dreamt  that  his  beautiful  hostess  had  changed  to 
a  hideous  monster,  and  that  he,  in  reckless  fear  of 
death,  had  drawn  his  sword  and  cut  her  head  off ! 

It  was  not  until  a  late  hour,  when  the  sun  was 
high  in  the  heaven,  that  the  knight  awoke.  But 
instead  of  the  splendid  villa  in  which  he  thought 
he  had  passed  the  night,  he  found  himself  amid 
the  well-known  ruins,  and  he  saw  that  the  beauti- 
ful statue,  which  he  so  dearly  loved,  had  fallen 
from  its  pedestal,  and  its  head,  broken  from  the 
body,  lay  at  his  feet ! 

Of  a  similar  character  is  the  legend  of  the 
young  knight  who  once,  while  playing  at  ball 
with  some  friends,  finding  that  the  ring  on  his 
finger  was  in  the  way,  drew  it  off,  and  to  keep  it 
in  safety,  put  it  on  the  finger  of  a  marble  statue. 
But  when  the  game  was  over,  and  he  went  to  the 


*^*'!^'*'SV^'''* ''-<♦"•''-  -'•'»■/ 1"'  ■■■'\'i>'.-- 


311  THE  OODS  IN  EXILE. 

Btatue,  which  was  that  of  a  heathen  goddess,  he 
saw  with  terror  that  the  marble  finger  on  which 
he  had  placed  the  ring  was  no  longer  straight  as 
before,  but  bent  so  that  he  could  not  reclaim  the 
ring  without  breaking  the  hand,  from  which  a 
certain  feeling  of  sympathy  restrained  him.  He 
ran  to  his  companions  to  tell  the  strange  tale, 
bidding  them  come  to  see  it  with  their  own  eyes, 
but  when  they  were  before  it,  the  statue  held  out 
its  fingers  straight  as  before,  and  the  ring  was 
gone. 

Some  time  after  this  occurrence,  the  knight 
determined  to  enter  the  holy  state  of  matrimony, 
and  the  wedding  was  celebrated.  But  after  the 
bridal,  when  he  would  retire  to  bed,  a  female  form 
which  was  identical  with  that  of  the  statue  in 
face  and  form,  came  to  him  and  claimed  him  for 
her  own,  declaring  that  as  he  had  put  his  ring  on 
her  finger,  he  was  thereby  betrothed  to  her,  and 
was  her  spouse  by  right.  In  vain  did  the  knight 
resist  this  claim ;  every  time  when  he  sought  to 
approach  his  bride  the  heathen  woman  interposed 
herself  between  him  and  his  wife,  and  this  happened 
again  and  again,  so  that  the  knight  became  sad 
and  troubled  indeed.  No  one  could  help  him, 
and  the  most  pious  people  shrugged  their  shoulders 
at  it.  At  last  he  heard  of  a  priest  named  Palum- 
nus,  who  had  often  shown  himself  potent  in 
defeating  heathenish  delndons  of  the  devil.     But 


■-»iJ^*!%«  ^   »? 


THE  GODS  IN  EXILE.  313 

this  man  was  very  loath  to  aid  him  in  this  diffi- 
culty, declaring  that  he  himself  would  incur  the 
greatest  danger  by  so  doing.  At  last,  however, 
he  yielded  to  oft-repeated  prayers,  and  wrote  for 
the  knight  sundry  strange  characters  on  a  parch- 
ment. Then  he  advised  the  latter  to  go  at  mid- 
night to  a  certain  cross-road  near  Kome,  and 
wait.  He  would  see  pass  by  the  strangest 
apparitions,  but  he  must  not  be  moved  or  terrified 
at  anything,  and  when  at  last  the  woman  should 
come  who  had  taken  his  ring  he  must  go  to  her 
and  give  her  the  parchment. 

The  knight  did  as  he  was  bid,  but  it  was  not 
without  a  beating  heart  that  he  stood  at  the 
cross-roads  and  awaited  the  spectral  procession. 
It  came,  and  there  were  in  it  pale  men  and 
women,  magnificently  arrayed  in  festive  garments 
of  old  Roman  time,  some  bearing  golden  crowns, 
others  laurel-wreaths  on  their  heads,  which,  how- 
ever, hung  down  in  sorrow ;  and  there  were  also 
carried,  as  if  in  anxious  haste,  all  kinds  of  silver 
cups,  goblets,  and  such  things  as  belong  to  the 
service  of  temples.  Then  in  the  crowd  were  seen 
great  oxen  with  gilded  horns,  and  hung  with 
garlands,  and  at  last,  on  a  grand  triumphal  car, 
magnificent  in  purple  and  crowned  with  roses, 
appeared  a  tall  and  wonderfully  beautiful  goddess. 
To  her  the  knight  advanced  and  gave  the  parch- 
ment leaf  of  Palumnus,  for  he  recognised  in  her 


*  J^'**'^*K  '•  " 


314  THE  GODS  IN  EXILE. 

the  statne  wliich  kept  his  ring.  And  when  the 
beautiful  woman  had  read  the  writing  on  the 
parchment,  she  raised  her  hands,  as  if  in  agony,  to 
heaven,  burst  into  tears,  and  cried,  "  Cruel  priest 
Palumnus!  thou  art  not  yet  satisfied  with  the 
suffering  which  thou  hast  inflicted  on  us!  But 
thy  persecutions  will  soon  come  to  an  end,  cruel 
priest  Palumnus !  "  With  these  words  she  gave  the 
knight  again  his  ring,  and  on  the  following  night 
there  was  no  hindrance  to  his  nuptials.  But  on 
the  third  day  after  this  the  priest  Palumnus  died. 

I  first  read  this  story  in  the  Mo7is  Veneris  of 
Kommann,  and  more  recently  found  it  in  the 
absurd  book  on  magic  by  Del  Rio,  who  took  it  from 
a  work  by  a  Spaniard.  It  is  probably  of  Spanish 
origin.  Baron  von  Eichendorff,  a  recent  German 
writer,  has  availed  himself  of  it  most  charmingly 
in  a  beautiful  narrative,  and  Willibald  Alexis  has 
founded  on  it  a  novel  which  belongs  to  his  most 
poetically  inspired  works.^ 

The  book  by  Kommann,  Mons  Veneris,  is  the 
most  important  source  for  all  the  subject  of  which 
I  treat.  It  is  a  long  time  since  I  saw  it,  and  I 
can  only  speak  of  it  from  memory,^  but  it  always 
sweeps  before  me  in  memory,  the  little  work  of 

^  This  sentence  is  wanting  in  the  French  version. 

'  Of  which  rare  book  I  can  say  quite  the  same.  I  had  a 
copy  of  it  which,  with  a  number  of  valuable  works  of  the  same 
kind,  was  stolen  from  me  some  years  ago. 


i^2i2L. 


THE  GODS  IN  EXILE.  31$ 

abont  250  pages,  with  its  charming  old  letters.* 
It  was  probably  printed  about  the  middle  of  the 
seventeenth  century. 

The  doctrine  of  elementary  spirits  is  there  most 
concisely  set  forth,  and  it  is  with  this  that  the 
author  concludes  his  strange  information  as  to 
the  Venusberg.  After  Kornmann's  example,  I 
must,  as  regards  elementary  spirits,  also  speak  of 
the  transformation  of  the  old  heathen  divinities. 
And  these  are  no  spectres,  for  they  are  not  dead. 
As  I  have  said  full  many  a  time  and  oft,  they 
are  uncreated  immortal  beings  who,  after  the 
victory  of  Christ,  were  obliged  to  retire  to  under- 
earthly  secrecy,  where  they  in  company  with  other 
elementary  spirits  carry  on  their  daemonic  house- 
keeping. Among  the  German  race  rings  most 
exquisitely  romantic  the  legend  of  the  goddess 
Venus,  who,  when  her  temple  was  destroyed,  fled 
into  the  heart  of  a  hidden  mountain,  where  she 
leads  the  gayest,  strangest  life  with  a  mad  and 
merry  mob  of  fairy,  airy  sprites,  beautiful  nymphs 
of  forest  and  of  stream,  and  many  a  famous  hero 
who  has  suddenly  vanished  from  the  world.  From 
afar,  as  you  approach  the  mountain,  you  can  hear 
the  happy  laughter  and  the  sweet  sounds  of  the 

'  The  French  version  says  of  it,  "  avec  sea  vieux  et  charmants 
characteres  gothiqu^."  But  the  book  is  not  in  black-letter, 
and  if  my  memory  does  not  deceive  me,  it  is  much  larger  than 
Heine  describes  it  to  be. — Trandator. 


•^  ^».i*^  :0.^^.^-.^.^ 


3i6  THE  OODS  IN  EXILE. 

cithem,  which  twine  like  invisible  threads  ronnd 
the  heart,  and  draw  you  to  the  hill.  But,  fortu- 
nately, not  far  from  the  entrance,  an  old  knight 
keeps  watch  and  ward;  he  is  called  the  trusty 
Eckart  He  stands  leaning  on  his  great  battle- 
sword,  motionless  as  a  statue,  save  that  his  honour- 
able and  iron-grey  head  constantly  shakes,  warning 
the  one  approaching  against  the  dangers  which 
threaten  him.  Many  take  warning  and  are  terri- 
fied, many  more  never  heed  the  bleating  voice  of 
the  ancient  wamer,  and  plunge  blindly  into  the 
abyss  of  voluptuousness  and  of  perdition.  For  a 
while  all  goes  well,  but  man  is  not  made  for 
laughter  without  end ;  many  a  time  he  falls  into 
silence  and  seriousness,  and  thinks  back  into  the 
past,  for  the  past  is  the  true  home  of  his  soul, 
and  he  has  home-sickness  for  the  feelings  of  the 
old  time,  even  though  they  should  be  of  pain. 
And  so  it  happened  to  the  Tannhauser  according 
to  the  story  of  a  song,  which  is  one  of  the  most 
remarkable  records  of  language  preserved  among 
the  German  people.  I  read  it  first  in  the  already- 
mentioned  book  of  Kommann.  PrsBtorius  has 
taken  it  from  him  almost  verbatim,  and  the  com- 
pilers of  the  Wunderhom  from  the  latter,  and  I 
must  here  communicate  the  ballad  from  a  probably 
erroneous  copy  from  it.* 

^  The  deviations  from  the  copy  of  Pnetorius  ( Bloekeaberg,  p. 
19)  are  very  insignificant,  bat  I  give  them  in  notes.    The  cier- 


-...1    -:^,-^ 


THE  GODS  IN  EXILE.  m 

"  Now  I  again  will  raise  my  voice, 
Of  Tannhauser  we'll  sing  ; 
And  what  he  with  Dame  Venus  did, 
It  is  a  wondrous  thing. 

Tannhauser  was  a  noble  knight, 

Great  wonders  he  would  see, 
So  went  into  the  Venusberg, 

Where  other  fair  ones  be. 

'  Sir  Tannhauser,  thou'rt  dear  to  me. 

So  lay  it  to  thy  heart ; 
And  thou  likewise  hast  taken  oath, 

From  me  thoult  never  part' 

•  Dame  Venus,  that  I  never  did, 

And  firmly  I  deny't ; 
If  no  one  says  the  same  save  you, 
Qod  help  me  to  the  right  1 ' 

*  Sir  Tannhauser,  how  speak  you  so. 

You'll  stay  here  all  your  life ; 
I'll  give  you  of  my  playfellows 
The  fairest  for  a  wife.' 

'  And  if  unto  another  wife 

At  any  time  I  turn. 
So  must  I  in  the  flame  of  hell 

Ever  in  torment  bum.' 


man  editor  here  remarks,  "  In  the  French  version  Heine's  own 
parody  of  the  Tannhauser  song  is  here  inserted.  I  haye  retained 
the  order  of  the  German  edition,  but  have,  however,  worked  the 
missing  portions  into  the  proper  places  from  the  French  edition." 


3i8  THE  OODS  IN  EXILE. 

*  Thou  speakest  much  of  the  fire  of  hell, 

Yet  ne'er  hast  felt  its  power  ; 
0  think  upon  my  rosy  mouth, 
Which  smUes  in  every  hour  I ' 

*  What  care  I  for  your  rosy  mouth  ? 

Tis  naught  to  me,  I  trow  ; 
For  the  honour  of  all  women-kind 
I  pray  you  let  me  go  1 ' 

*  Sir  Tannhauser,  would  you  take  leave  ? 

To  you  no  leave  I'U  give  ; 
Oh,  stay  by  me,  Tannhauser  dear, 
And  merrily  let  us  live  1 ' 

'  My  life  is  sick,  I  must  be  gone, 

No  longer  can  I  stay  ; 
Your  face  is  fair,  and  proud  your  form, 

But  let  me  haste  away  1 ' 

'  Tannhauser,  speak  not  so  to  me. 
You  are  no  more  the  same  ; 

Come  with  me  to  a  chamber,  dear. 
And  play  our  secret  game.' 

*  Thy  tender  love  is  lost  on  me, 

I  have  it  in  my  heart ; 
O  noble  Venus,  beautiful, 
That  thou  a  devil  art ! '  ' 

*  How  darest  thou  speak  so  to  me  ? ' 

None  could  save  thou  alone  ; 

*  "  Nun  laast  una  in  ein  Kammer  gehn." — Pratoriug. 
"Nun  lasst  ana  in  die  Kammer  gehn." — Heine. 

•  "Tannhauser  wie  sprecht  ihr  also." — Prt^orius. 
"  Tannhauser,  acb,  wie  sprecht  Ihr  so." — Heine. 


THE  OODS  IN  EXILE.  319 

And  shonld'st  thou  longer  stay  by  us, 
These  words  thou  would'st  atone. 

♦  Sir  Tannhauser,  the  leave  you  ask 

You  must  of  our  elders  seek ; 
But  see  where'er  abroad  you  roam  * 
You  stiU  my  praises  speaL' 

Tannhauser  from  the  hill  has  gone 
With  rue  and  pain  in  soul ; 

•  To  holy  Rome  I'll  wend  my  way, 

And  tell  the  Pope  the  whole. 

'  111  go  full  gaily  on  the  road — 

God  governs  it  all,  I'm  sure — 
Unto  the  Pope  who's  called  Urban, 

He'll  find  me  certain  cure  1 

'  Lord  Pope,  spiritual  father  mine, 

My  sins  are  dire  distress. 
And  all  I  ever  did  commit 

I  will  to  you  confess !      ' 

*  I  have  lived  a  year  with  Venus  fair. 

That  sin  I  now  deplore  ; 
No  prayer  or  penance  will  I  spare 
To  be  with  God  once  more.' 

The  Pope  he  held  a  wand  so  white, 
Broke  from  a  barren  tree : 


1  *'  Und  wo  ihr  in  dem  Land  timbfahrt." — Pnetoriut. 
"Und  wo  Ihr  in  dem  Land  nmfabren." — Heine. 


3*0  THE  GODS  IN  EXILE. 

*  Not  till  this  rod  bears  leaves  again 

Shall  thy  sins  forgiven  be ! '  ^ 

<  And  I  live  but  a  year  on  earth, 
One  year  in  bitter  pain, 

Twill  pass  in  prayer  and  penitence, 
To  win  God's  grace  again.' 

So  from  the  town  he  went  his  way 
In  grief  and  misery ; 

*  0  Mary  Mother,  purest  maid  I 

Must  I  then  part  from  thee  ? 

'  So  I  will  seek  the  hill  again. 
And  there  for  ever  stay 

By  Venus,  my  own  lady  dear, 
Since  Gkxl  points  out  that  way.' 

*  Now  welcome,  my  good  Tannhauser, 

I've  missed  you  since  you're  gone  ;  * 
Be  welcome  now,  my  dearest  lord, 
My  hero,  my  own  true  one.' 

'Twas  on  the  third  day  after  this. 
The  rod  bore  leaves  so  green ; 


1  "  The  Pope  be  held  in  bis  right  hand 
A  dry  and  sapless  rod  ; 
Look  not  until  this  wand  shall  sprout  ; 

For  pardon  from  thy  God." 

This  is  from  a  version,  I  know  not  by  whom,  which  I  read 
many  years  ago.  i 

'  "  Ich  hab  euch  lang  entboren. 

Seyd  wilkommen  mein  liebster  Herr  1" — Pratorvu*. 
"I  hab  Each  lang  entbehret. 
Willkommen  seid,  mein  liebster  Herr  ! " — Heine. 


THE  GODS  IN  EXILE.  3*1 

And  men  went  far  and  wide  to  find 
Where  Tannhauser  had  been.* 

But  he  was  in  the  hill  ogain, 

And  there  he  now  must  stay, 
Till  Qod  shall  judge  him  as  he  may, 

Upon  the  final  day. 

No  priest  shall  ever  here  on  earth 

Deny  man's  hope  of  heaven. 
For  by  his  penitence  and  prayer 

His  sins  shall  be  forgiven." 

I  remember  when  I  first  read  this  song  in 
Kommann's  book  how  I  was  struck  by  the  con- 
trast of  its  language  with  that  of  the  pedantic, 
be-Latinised,  unrefreshing  style  of  the  seven- 
teenth century.^  I  felt  like  one  who,  in  the 
gloomy  shaft  of  a  mine,  has  suddenly  discovered 
a  great  vein  of  gold;  and  the  proudly-simple, 
original,  and  strong  words  flashed  up  so  brightly 
that    my  heart  was   well  nigh   dazzled   at   the 


^  "  Wohin  der  Tannhaaser  were  kommeti." — Prcetoritu. 
"Wohin  der  Tannhaaser  kommen." — Heine. 
This  verse  is  given  as  follows  in  the  anonymous  version  : — 

"  'Twas  on  the  third  day  after  this 
The  rod  began  to  sprout, 
And  messengers  tbrongh  all  the  land 
SoTight  Sir  Tannhauser  oat." 
^  Heine  would  appear  to  have  had  no  appreciation  whatever 
of  the  naivety  or  simple  unconscious  quaintness  of  expression, 
either  in  the  works  of  Kronmann  or  Frsetoriua. 

VOL.  II.  X 


333  THE  OODS  IN  EXILE.  ' 

sudden  gleam.  It  seemed  as  if  from  this  song 
there  spoke  to  me  a  well-known  joyous  voice. 
I  heard  in  it  the  notes  of  those  heretical  or  sus- 
pected nightingales  who  during  the  Passion  season 
of  the  Aliddle  Age  must  needs  hide  themselves 
in  silence,  and  only  now  and  then,  when  it  was 
least  expected,  perhaps  even  behind  some  cloister 
grating,  pipe  forth  a  few  joyous  tones.  Knowest 
thou  the  letters  of  Heloise  to  Abelard?  Next 
to  the  high  song  of  the  great  king  (I  mean 
King  Solomon),  I  know  of  no  more  burning  or 
flaming  song  of  tenderness  than  the  dialogue 
between  Venus  and  the  Tannhauser.  This  song 
is  like  a  battle  of  love,  and  in  it  runs  the  reddest 
heart's  blood. 

Ah,  how  magnificent  is  this  poem!  Even  in 
its  beginning  we  strike  on  a  startling  passage. 
The  poet  gives  us  the  reply  of  Lady  Venus 
without  having  set  forth  the  question  of  Tann- 
hauser which  called  for  it.  By  this  ellipsis  our 
imagination  gains  room  in  which  to  play,  and 
permits  us  to  fancy  what  Tannhauser  might  have 
said,  what  perhaps  would  have  been  difficult  to 
express  in  a  few  words.^     Despite  his  mediaeval 


*  A  careful  study  of  songs,  which  have  become  very  popiilar, 
and  also  been  transmitted  for  several  generations,  cannot  fail 
to  convince  the  reader  that  these  ellipses  or  omissions,  which 
are  generally  so  vigorous  and  effective,  are  due  principally  to 
the  people,  who  leave  out  all  which  is  not  essential  to  the 


m^mm 


I 


r 


' 


^ 


THE  GODS  IN  EXILE.  323 

poverty  and  piety,  the  old  poet  has  admirably 
depicted  the  unholy  arts  of  seduction  and  shame- 
less love-tricks  of  Lady  Venus.  Even  a  vicious 
and  sinful  modem  writer  could  not  have  better 
described  the  form  of  this  enchanting  witch — 
cette  diaUesse  de  femme — who  with  all  her  morgue 
Olympienne — celestial  pride  and  splendid  passion 
— still  shows  the  ferfime  galante  or  fast  woman. 
Yes,  she  is  a  heavenly  couriiesan  perfumed  with 
ambrosia,  a  camelia  goddess,  and,  so  to  speak, 
une  d4esse  entretenue — a  kept  divinity.^  When  I 
turn  over  my  memories  it  seems  as  if  I  must 
have  met  her  some  day  on  the  Place  Br^da, 
walking  with  a  divinely  light  and  graceful  step. 
She  wore  a  petite  capote  grise  —  a  little  grey 
head-covering  of  deliberate  simpKcity,  and  was 
wrapped  from  chin  to  heels  in  a  magnificent 
cashmere  shawl,  whose  fringe  swept  the  pave- 
ment. "  What  is  that  woman  ?  "  I  asked  of  De 
Balzac,  who  was  with  me.     "A  kept  woman," 

understanding  of  the  narrative  or  argument  And  it  is  more 
than  probable  that  the  greatly  admired  simplicity  and  concise- 
ness and  strength  of  the  Bible,  Homer,  and  the  Nibdvmgenlied 
are  due  to  their  having  passed  through  long  stages  of  oral  tradi- 
tion. This  is  according  to  the  principle  that  a  sketch  by  an  artist 
is  superior  to  a  finished  picture  by  an  amateur. — TrandcUor. 

^  So  Heine  in  "  Shakespeare's  Maidens  and  Women  "  speaks 
of  Cleopatra  as  a  kept  queen.  It  is  very  amusing  to  observe  the 
peculiar  light  in  which  the  Venus  of  the  ballad  appeared  to  our 
author,  and  the  Parisian  baroque  trimmings  with  which  he 
naively  surrounds  his  idiale. — Trandator. 


3l6  THE  OODS  IN  EXILE. 

'  Your  too  Bweet  wine,  fair  lady  mine, 
And  kisses  give  me  twitters ; 

My  very  soul  is  sick  in  me, 
Because  I  long  for  bitters. 

*  Until  this  day  we've  joked  and  smiled, 

I  long  for  tears  to-morrow  ; 
Instead  of  roses,  I  would  fain 
Be  crowned  with  thorns  of  sorrow.* 

•Tannhauser  brave,  my  chevalier, 
Why  wilt  thou  be  unruly  ? 

For  thou  hast  sworn  a  thousand  times 
To  never  leave  me — truly. 

•  Come  to  my  room — let's  conjugate 

Of  love  all  the  moods  and  tenses ; 
My  beautiful  form,  so  lily-white, 
I  am  sure  will  revive  your  senses.' 

'  Dame  Venus,  lovely  lady  mine, 

Thy  beauty  is  eternal ; 
But  many  have  read  those  pages  before. 

And  many  will  read  thy  joumaL 


'  And  when  I  think  of  the  heroes  and  gods 
Who  have  browsed  in  that  field  before  me, 

A  certain  unpleasant  je  ne  gait  quoi 
For  your  beautiful  form  cornea  o'er  me. 

That  beautiful  form,  so  lily-white, 
Gives  me  the  horrors — heed  me — 
When  I  think  how  many  gentlemen 
Axe  destined  to  succeed  me.' 


THE  GODS  m  EXILE.  327 

'  Tannbauser,  noble  chevalier  ! 

With  that  thou  sbalt  not  twit  me  ; 
I'd  rather  bj  far  thou  woold'et  hit  me  again, 

Ab  thou  often  before  hast  hit  me. 

'  I  had  rather  by  far  be  beaten  outright, 
Than  told  that  others  will  win  me  ; 

How  canst  thou,  ungrateful  Christian  knight, 
Break  the  pride  of  my  heart  within  me  ? 

*  Because  I  loved  you  far  too  well. 

All  love  for  you  now  I  banish  ; 
Adieu  1  you  have  full  permission  to  go — 

And  the  door  is  open — now  vanish  ! ' " 


"  At  Rome,  at  Rome,  in  the  holy  town, 
There  is  ringing  and  singing  and  fiddle  ; 

A  grand  procession  is  going  about, 
And  the  Pope  he  walks  in  the  middle. 

That  is  the  pious  Pope  Urbin, 
With  a  triple  tiara,  like  Aaron's ; 

He  wears  a  red-purple  mantle  grand. 
Its  train  is  held  up  by  barons. 

*  0  holy  father.  Pope  Urbdn, 
By  thy  power  o'er  things  eternal ! 

Thou  shalt  not  go  till  thou  hear'st  me  confess. 
And  sav'st  me  from  pains  infernal.' 

Then  aU  the  crowd  around  draw  back, 

Silence  o'er  all  is  stealing  ; 
Who  is  the  pilgrim  so  wasted  and  pale 

Before  His  Holiness  kneeling  ? 


328  THE  OODS  IN  EXILE. 

I 

*  0  holy  father,  Pope  Urb4n,  | 

With  power  o'er  good  and  evil ; 
Oh,  save  me  from  the  terrors  of  hell, 
And  the  fearful  might  of  the  devil !  i 

'  I  am  called  the  noble  Tannhanser, 
With  loving  and  sinning  wearied  ; 

For  I  have  been  in  the  Venusberg, 
Where  for  seven  long  years  I  tarried. 

*  Dame  Yenus  is  a  lady  fair. 

So  winsome  and  enchanting  ; 
Like  sunlight  and  the  scent  of  flowers 
Is  her  voice  my  senses  haunting. 

'  As  the  butterfly  flits  about  a  flower 
And  drinks  the  dew  of  posies. 

So  my  soul  once  fluttered  every  hour 
Around  her  lips  like  roaes. 

<  And  clustering,  blooming,  deep  black  hair 
Round  her  noble  face  is  wreathing  ; 

And  should  once  at  you  her  great  eyes  stare, 
'Twould  certainly  stop  your  breathing. 

*  If  her  grand  black  eyes  should  stare  at  you, 

You  would  certainly  be  enraptured ; 
Twas  with  greatest  trouble  I  escaped 
From  the  hill  where  she  held  me  captured. 

'  It  was  with  trouble  that  I  escaped. 
Yet  I'm  still  possessed  by  that  fairest 

Of  women,  whose  glances  seem  to  say, 
«  Come  back— oh,  return  to  me,  dearest" 


THE  GODS  IN  EXILE.  329 

*  I  am  but  a  wretched  ghost  by  day, 

But  by  night  in  dreams  beguilixig, 
I  am  ever  with  that  lady  fair, 
Who  sits  by  me  sweetly  smiling. 

'Her  laugh  is  80  real,  80  gay,  so  wild, 

With  beautiful  teeth  in  keeping ; 
Oh,  when  I  think  how  once  she  smiled, 

Oh,  then  I  burst  out  weeping. 

♦  My  love  is  like  a  wild  spring  flood, 

All  things  before  it  jamming  ; 
It  is  a  roaring  waterfall, 
Whose  course  defies  all  damming.^ 

•  It  springs  adown  from  cliflf  to  cliff, 

With  terrible  roar  and  foaming ; 
Though  it  broke  its  head  a  thousand  time«, 
It  would  still  keep  rushing  and  roaming. 

'  If  all  the  heaven  above  were  mine 

(In  confidence  between  us), 
I  would  give  it  with  the  sun  and  moon, 

And  also  the  stars  to  Yenus. 

*I  love  her  with  almighty  power, 
Fire  clothes  my  soul  like  a  raiment ; 

Is  that  a  touch  of  the  fire  of  hell. 
Which  I  get  in  advance  for  payment  ? 


^  "Da  kannst  seine  Flatben  nicht  dammea."  There  U  a 
suggested  sound  in  this  as  of  fiuchen  und  verdammen.  I  think 
the  poet  had  here  in  mind  the  excommunication. 


330  THE  GODS  IN  EXILE. 

*  0  holy  father,  Pope  Urbto, 

With  power  o'er  good  and  evil. 
Oh,  rescue  me  from  the  pains  of  hell. 
And  from  the  might  of  the  devil.' 

The  Pope  in  sorrow  upraised  his  hand, 
When  all  of  these  words  were  spoken  : 

'  Tannhauser,  most  unfortunate  man. 
This  charm  can  never  be  broken  i 

*  The  devil  Venus  is  worst  of  all, 

Without  any  respect  or  reverence  ; 
When  a  man  is  once  in  her  beautiful  claws 
He  has  not  a  chance  of  deliv'rance. 

*  For  lust  of  the  flesh  thou  hast  utterly  lost 

All  chances  of  salvation, 
And  now  for  ever  thou  must  bum 
In  the  depths  of  all  damnation.' 


Tannhauser  returned  so  rapidly 
That  his  feet  were  sore  with  piking. 

He  came  again  to  the  Venusberg 
As  the  midnight  hour  was  striking. 

Lady  Venus  awoke,  and  hearing  his  voice. 
Out  of  her  bed  came  springing ; 

And  in  an  instant,  with  snow-white  arms. 
To  the  dear  good  fellow  was  clinging. 

Sir  Tannhauser  tumbled  dead  weary  to  bed. 
O'er  his  ears  she  drew  the  cover  ; 

Then  went  into  the  kitchen  below 
To  warm  a  bouillon  for  her  lover. 


THE  GODS  IN  EXILE.  331 

She  gave  him  bouillon,  she  gave  him  a  roll, 

She  washed  his  sore  feet  so  neatlj  ; 
She  combed  his  awfully  touseld  hair, 

And  laughed  so  divinely  sweetly. 

*  Tannhauser  dear,  sweet  chevalier, 

How  long  you've  been  gone — oh  gracious  ! 
Pray  tell  me  now,  wherever  on  earth 
Have  you  travelled  about,  my  precious  ! ' 

*  Dear  Venus,  beautiful  lady  mine, 

I  have  been  to  Rome  a  rover ; 
I  had  business  there — but  now,  I  think, 
That  job  is  pretty  well  over.^ 

*  There's  a  river  called  Tiber  near,  and  the  town 

Is  in  seven  hills  dismembered ; 
I  saw  the  Pope — ^he  mentioned  you — 
And  begs  to  be  remembered. 

*I  stopped  at  Florence  on  my  way, 

And  also  looked  in  at  Milan  ; 
And  went  as  a  traveller  through  Switzerland — 

The  Swiss  were  perfectly  wiUin'. 


1  The  French  version  of  the  poem  here  ends  very  appropri- 
ately and  properly  with  the  following  verse  : — 

"  J'avis  h&te  de  revenir  aupr^  de  toi,  dame  V^nus,  ma  mie. 
On  est  bien  ici,  et  je  ne  quitterai  plus  jamais  ta  montagne. 

'Bnt  I  was  in  haste  to  return  to  thee, 
Dame  Venns,  so  sweet  to  me  ever ; 
I  am  happy  here  in  the  mountain,  dear, 
And  now  I  will  leave  thee  never.' " 


V'.  • 


332  THE  OODS  IN  EXILE. 

'  And  as  I  crossed  the  Alpine  pass, 
The  sun  was  flying  and  falling 

But  the  fair  blue  lakes  smiled  far  below, 
And  eagles  were  croaking  and  calling. 

'  And  as  I  on  the  Gotthardt  stood, 
Where  the  snow  and  ice  are  coolers, 

I  heard  a  snoring — 'twas  Gtermany, 
With  its  six-and-thirty  rulers. 


'  In  Suabia  I  saw  the  poet-school 

Of  ninnies — past  all  bearing ; 
They  sat  in  a  circle,  each  on  a  stool. 

With  guards  round  their  heads  all  wearing. 

*  To  Frankfort  I  came  on  the  Sehabbes  day, 

Where  I  ate  schalet  and  MOsse  ; 
Ye  have  the  best  religion,  I  own, 

I  am  fond  too  of  geese  gekroae.^  \ 

1 
'  In  Dresden,  too,  I  saw  a  dog 

Once  among  better  numbered, 
But  now  his  teeth  are  falling  out, 

He  only  barked  or  slumbered. 

'  In  Weimar,  the  widowed  muses'  seat, 

To  grief  full  utterance  giving  ; 
Men  wept  and  wailed  that  Ooethe  was  dead. 

And  that  Eckermann  still  was  living. 


^  Sehabbei,  the  Sabbath.  Sohalet,  Tdotai,  and  Oantegekrose, 
Hebrew  dishes  described  in  the  "Jewish  Cook- Book." — Trans- 
lator. 


THE  GODS  IN  EXILE,  333 

'  In  Potsdam  I  heard  a  mighty  shotit 

"  What's  the  matter  ? "  I  cried,  while  speeding ; 

"  Oh,  that  is  Professor  Qans  in  Berlin, 
On  the  eighteenth  century  reading." 

'  In  Gottingen  still  much  learning  hlooms, 

But  produces  no  fruit  for  dining  ; 
I  passed  through  the  town  in  stock  dark  night. 

For  never  a  light  was  shining. 

•  In  the  workhouse  in  Celle  I  only  saw 

Hanoverians — 0  Qerman  nation  I 
Ye  need  a  national  workhouse  for  all, 

And  one  whip — for  your  salvation  1 

'  In  Hamburg  I  asked  them  why  it  was 

The  streets  all  stunk  so  sadly. 
And  Jews  and  Christians  declared  it  came 

From  the  gutters,  which  ran  so  badly. 

'  In  Hamburg,  which  is  a  right  good  town, 

Lives  many  a  right  bad  fellow  ; 
But  when  I  came  upon  the  Exchange 

I  thought  I  was  still  in  Celle. 

'In  Hamburg,  in  that  right  good  town. 

The  people  will  see  me  never. 
For  now  I  will  live  in  the  Venusberg 

With  my  beautiful  lady  for  ever.' " ' 

^  The  German  editor  here  remarks  that  Heine  subsequently 
re-wrote  this  concluding  verse,  as  followB  : — 
"  In  Hamburg  I  saw  Altona, 
A  place  which  seemed  to  woo  me ; 


f 

334  THE  GODS  IN  EXILE. 

I  will  not  impose  upon  the  public,  be  it  in  verse 
or  prose,  and  I  publicly  confess  that  this  poem 
is  by  myself,  and  does  not  belong  to  any 
Minnesinger  of  the  Middle  Age.  I  felt  myselt, 
however,  tempted  to  follow  the  original  song  in 
which  the  old  poet  used  the  same  material.  Com- 
parison of  the  two  will  be  most  interesting  and 
edifying  for  the  critic,  who  would  fain  see  how 
differently  two  poets  of  entirely  opposed  epochs 
would  handle  one  and  the  same  theme,  should 
they  retain  the  same  subject,  measure,  and  almost 
the  same  mould.  The  spirit  of  the  two  ages  must 
become  more  manifest  from  such  juxtaposition; 
it  is,  so  to  speak,  a  specimen  of  comparative 
anatomy  in  the  field  of  literature.  In  fact,  when 
one  reads  the  two  together,  he  cannot  fail  to  per- 
ceive how  the  ancient  faith  inspired  the  older  poet ; 
while  in  the  modem,  who  was  born  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  nineteenth  century,  the  scepticism  of 
his  age  Reveals  itself.  One  sees  how  the  latter, 
limited  by  no  authority,  gives  his  imagination 
full  flight,  and  has  no  other  aim  than  to  properly 
and  well  express,  bien  exprimer,  in  his  verse, 
purely  human  feelings.     The  older  poet,  however. 

Another  time  I'll  tell  you  all  ' 

Tb»t  happened  there  unto  me." 

This  English  version  of  the  poem  is  very  free,  but  I  believe  it 
ia  true  to  the  spirit  of  the  original,  which  no  very  literal  version 
could  be. — Trandator. 


THE  QODS  IN  EXILE.  335 

is  ander  the  yoke  of  ecclesiastical  anthority,  he 
has  a  didactic  aim,  he  will  exalt  a  religioas 
doctrine,  he  preaches  the  virtue  of  Christian  love, 
and  his  last  words  indicate  the  gracious  power  of 
repentance  for  forgiveness  of  all  sins.  The  Pope 
himself  is  reproved  because  he  forgot  this  sublime 
Christian  truth,  and  the  dry  rod  which  burgeons 
in  his  hands  teaches  him,  unfortunately  too  late, 
the  infinite  depths  of  divine  mercy. 

The  previously  given  original  Tannhauser  ballad 
was  probably  composed  just  before  the  Reformation. 
The  legend  itself  does  not  go  much  further  back ; 
it  is  probably  hardly  one  hundred  years  older.* 
Lady  Venus  also  appears  at  a  very  late  period 
in  German  legend,  while  other  divinities,  as,  for 
instance,  Diana,  were  known  all  through  the 
Middle  Ages.     The  latter  appears  even  in  the 


^  Heine  appears  to  baye  been  quite  ignorant  tbat  there  was 
a  Minnesinger-knight  of  the  twelfth  century  named  Tanhtiser, 
who  was  equally  distinguished  as  a  love-poet  and  a  bitter 
satirist  of  the  priests,  as  is  shown  by  a  single  one  of  bis  lines  : — 

"  Grot  minnet  valsche  kutten  nit." 

"  God  does  not  love  false  cowls  "  (t.e.,  priests). 

These  two  characteristics,  eked  out  by  a  popular  misconception 
of  a  passage  in  his  poems,  and  the  wand^ng  life  and  wild 
adventures  of  the  minstrel,  most  unquestionably  gave  birth  to 
the  song,  which  I  believe  to  be  much  older  than  Heine  supposes, 
and  probably  of  the  time  of  the  Minnesinger  himself.  Vide 
"Sunshine  in  Thought,"  by  Charles  G.  Leland,  1862,  for  re- 
marks on  this  subject, — Trcmdator. 


336  THE  GODS  IN  EXILE. 

seventh  and  eighth  centuries  as  an  evil  demon, 
decried  in  the  decrees  of  the  bishops.  She 
appears  since  then  generally  as  riding,  she  who 
of  yore  in  Greece  ran  so  lightly  shod  through  the 
forests.  During  fifteen  hundred  years  she  had 
to  flit  about  in  varied  forms,  and  her  character 
underwent  strange  transformations.  I  shall  in 
another  place  set  forth  the  legends  relating  to 
them. 

And  here  a  remark  suggests  itself,  the  develop- 
ment of  which  suggests  material  for  most  interest- 
ing researches.!  I  again  speak  of  the  metamor- 
phoses into  demons  which  the  Grseco-Roman 
gods  underwent  when  Christianity  gained  the 
upper  hand  in  the  world.  Popular  opinion  as- 
signed to  those  deities  a  real  but  banned  or 
exorcised  existence,  agreeing  in  this  with  the 
doctrine  of  the  Church,  which  by  no  means  ex- 
plained the  ancient  deities,  as  the  philosophers 


^  Here  the  German  edition  of  "  The  Godi  in  Exile,"  edited 
by  Heine  himself,  began  with  the  words :  "  I  have  already  in 
my  earliest  writings  mentioned  the  idea  from  which  the  fol- 
lowing contribntion  sprung."  In  the  French  version  the  two 
following  pages  are  omitted.  In  the  latter,  and  probably 
in  the  original  German  manuscript,  we  hare  instead,  "I  will 
here  give  only  an  indication  hint  for  the  benefit  of  young 
scholars  who  are  wanting  in  ideas,  that  is,  I  will  in  a  few  words 
show  bow  the  old  heathen  gods  of  whom  we  speak  when  the 
triumph  of  Christianity  bad  became  definite,  Sio." — Oerman 
editor. 


THE  GODS  IN  BXILR.  fjff 

had  done,  as  mere  chimeras  or  births  from  false- 
hood and  error,  but  regarded  them  as  evil  spirits 
who,  by  the  triumph  of  Christ,  had  been  thrown 
from  the  shining  pinnacle  of  power,  and  who 
now  lead  a  gloomy  secret  life  on  earth  in  the 
darkness  of  old  ruined  temples  or  enchanted 
forests,  where  they  allure  weak  Christian  souls, 
who  have  therein  lost  their  way  by  seductive 
devilish  arts,  lust,  and  beauty,  specially  by  dances 
and  song,  to  their  ruin.  All  which  refers  to  this 
theme— the  transformation  of  the  early  worship 
of  Nature  into  devil-worship,  and  of  heathen 
priesthood  into  sorcery  or  witchcraft,  or  the  dia- 
bolisation  of  deity — I  have  freely  discussed  in 
my  contributions  to  the  History  of  Religion  and 
Philosophy  in  Germany,  as  well  as  in  the  Ele- 
mentary Spirits;  and  I  may  hold  myself  to  be 
the  more  excused  from  further  following  up  of 
the  subject  since  many  other  authors,  following 
in  my  track,  and  inspired  by  the  hints  which  I 
had  given  as  to  the  importance  of  the  subject^ 
have  treated  it  far  more  extensively,  comprehen- 
sively, and  thoroughly  than  I  have  done.  If  they  in 
so  doing  did  not  mention  the  name  of  the  author 
who  had  the  merit  of  taking  the  initiative  or  being 
first  in  the  field,  this  was  of  course  mere  forget- 
fnlness,  of  but  little  consequence.^ 

i . 

>  Heine  here  soars  to  tihe  fall  height  of  his  amusing  arro- 
gane&     He  was  as  little  the  first  as  the  last  of  Geroian  aatbon 
VOL.  II,  y 


338  THE  GODS  IN  SXILB. 

I  myself  will  not  set  a  very  high  valne  on  the 
daim.  It  is  true  that  the  theme  which  I  brought 
forward  was  no  novelty,  but  it  had  with  such 
vulgarisation  of  old  ideas  the  same  relation  as 
with  the  egg  of  Columbus.  Everybody  knew  the 
fact,  but  no  one  expressed  it.  Yes,  what  I  said 
was  no  novelty,  and  was  long  since  to  be  found 
printed  in  the  honourable  folios  and  quartos  of 
compilers  and  antiquarians;  in  those  catacombs 
of  erudition  where,  duly  arranged  with  a  terrible 
symmetry,  which  is  far  more  terrible  than  wild 
freewill  or  fancy,  the  most  heterogeneous  bones 
of  thought  are  piled  together.  And  I  also  admit 
that  modem  scholars  have  handled  the  same 
themes ;  but  they  have,  so  to  speak,  coffined  them 
in  the  wooden  mummy-chests  of  their  confused 
and  abstract  scientific  language,  which  the  public 
cannot  decipher  and  takes  to  be  Egyptian  hiero- 
glyphs. Out  of  such  vaults  and  catacombs  I  have 
evoked  these  thoughts  to  real  life  by  the  magic 
power  of  generally  intelligent  language,  by  the 
black-art  of  a  sound,  clear,  popular  style.  ^ 

to  discuss  these  subjects  genially,  or  to  offer  the  ideas  which 
he  claims  as  original,  while  as  regards  adopting  them  without 
mention  of  the  source  whence  they  came,  he  was  certainly  un- 
equalled by  any  of  those  of  whom  he  complains. 

'  This  flight  is  all,  very  wisely,  omitted  from  the  French 
version.  It  may  be  here  observed  that  the  French,  though  so 
often  reproached  for  self-conceit,  condemn  it  more  severely 
than  any  other  people.     A  few  years  ago,  a  man  who  was  the 


THE  GODS  IN  EXILE.  339 

But  I  return  to  my  theme,  whose  leading  idea, 
as  I  have  already  intimated,  shall  not  be  further 
elaborated  here.  I  will  only  with  a  few  words 
call  the  reader's  attention  to  the  fact  that  the 
poor  old  gods  above-mentioned  were,  at  the  time 
of  the  definite  victory  of  Christianity — that  is  to 
say,  in  the  third  century — ^in  sad  difficulties,  which 
bore  the  greatest  resemblance  to  those  in  which 
they  had  been  involved  at  a  much  earlier  period. 
They  found  themselves  in  the  alarming  and  dire 
need  which  they  had  suffered  in  the  primevally 
early  time,  at  that  revolutionary  epoch  when  the 
Titans,  bursting  the  bounds  of  Orcus  and  piling 
Pelion  on  Ossa,  stormed  Olympus.  The  unfor- 
tunate gods  were  compelled  to  take  to  ignominious 
flight,  and  hid  themselves  in  all  disguises  among 
us  here  on  earth.     Most  of  them  fled  to  Egypt, 


notoriety  of  the  hour,  began  a  letter  to  a  newspaper  with  the 
words,  "Depuia  quelques  jours  on  ne  parle  que  de  moL" 
There  was  a  general  roar  of  laughter  and  hisses  from  all  Paris, 
and  the  celebrity  was  forthwith  extinguished.  Yet  the  ex- 
pression, probably  a  very  careless  one,  was  modesty  itself  com- 
pared to  what  Heine  most  deliberately  declares  in  these  passages. 
He  speaks  proudly  of  his  "researches"  in  what  is  now  called 
Folk  Lore,  but  there  are  very  few,  if  any,  instances  of  any 
writer  who  had  read  so  little  of  any  subject,  yet  who  has  treated 
it  so  boldly  and  confidently  as  if  be  alone  of  men  had  exhausted 
and  understood  it.  And  with  all  this,  it  must  be  admitted  that 
be  made  more  of  what  he  did  know  than  the  most  learned  man 
living  could  have  done.  "  Had  he  not  praised  himself  onto  the 
skies,  others  would  willingly  have  praised  him  more." 


Jfi  THB  QODS  IN  EXILE,  \ 

where  for  greater  safety  they,  ae  is  generally 
known,  assnmed  the  forms  of  animals.  In  the 
same  manner  the  poor  heathen  gods  were  again 
driven  to  flight,  and  to  seek  nnder  all  kinds  of 
disgnises  in  remote  retreats  a  refuge,  when  the 
true  lord  of  the  world  planted  his  crusading 
banner  on  the  castle  of  heaven,  and  those  icono- 
clastic zealots,  the  black  bands  of  monks,  destroyed 
the  temples  and  hunted  down  the  gods  with  fire 
and  malediction.  Many  of  these  poor  emigrants, 
who  were  without  shelter  or  ambrosia,  were  obliged 
to  take  to  some  everyday  trade,  to  earn  at  least 
their  daily  bread.  In  such  circumstances,  many 
whose  holy  groves  had  been  confiscated  were 
obliged,  among  us  in  Germany,  to  work  by  the 
day  as  hewers  of  wood,  and  to  drink  beer  instead 
of  nectar.  Apollo  seems  to  have  taken  kindly  to 
his  tasks,  and  entered  the  service  of  cattle  raisers ; 
and  as  he  once  took  care  of  the  cows  of  Admetus, 
80  he  now  lived  as  shepherd  in  Lower  Austria. 
But  there  he,  having  become  suspected  on  account 
of  his  beautiful  singing,  was  recognised  by  a 
learned  monk  as  an  old  magical  god  of  the 
heathens,  and  handed  over  to  the  spiritual  court. 
He  confessed  on  the  scaffold  that  he  was  the  god 
Apollo.  But  before  his  execution  he  begged  that 
he  might  be  allowed  to  play  on  the  cithern,  and 
to  sing  one  more  song.  And  his  playing  was  so 
exquisitely  charming,  and  his  song  so  enchanting, 


THE  QODS  IN  BXILS.  341 

and  he  was  so  beautiful  in  face  and  form,  that 
all  the  women  wept,  and  many  of  them  from  their 
emotion  fell  ill.  After  his  death  they  sought  to 
take  his  body  from  the  tomb,  to  drive  a  pole 
through  it,  thinking  that  he  must  have  been  a 
vampyre,  and  that  the  women  who  had  suffered 
would  be  cured  by  such  a  well-proved  remedy. 
But  the  grave  was  empty. 

I  have  not  much  to  relate  of  the  destiny  of 
Mars,  the  ancient  god  of  war,  since  the  Christians 
won  their  victory.  I  am  inclined  to  think  that 
during  the  feudal  times  he  exercised  the  Faust- 
recht,  or  law  of  the  strong  hand.  The  tall  West- 
phalian  Schimmelpfennig,  nephew  of  the  exe- 
cutioner of  Miinster,  met  him  in  Bologna,  where 
he  had  with  him  a  long  conversation,  which  I 
will  relate  anon.  Some  time  before  he  served 
under  Frundsberg  as  a  Landknecht  or  mercenary 
soldier,  and  was  at  the  storming  of  Rome,  where  he 
must  have  suffered  bitterly  in  seeing  the  merciless 
ruin  of  his  favourite  ancient  city,  and  of  the 
temple  in  which  he  had  been  worshipped,  as  well 
as  the  shrines  of  all  his  relationa 

It  went  better  with  the  god  Bacchus  than  it 
did  with  Mars  and  Apollo ;  and  a  legend  relates 
the  following:  "There  are  in  the  Tyrol  large 
lakes  surrounded  by  forests  whose  trees  rise  to 
heaven,  and  which  are  mirrored  in  the  blue  depths 
below.     Trees  and  waters  rustle  so  strangely  and 


342  THE  GODS  IN  EXILE. 

nncannily,  that  a  wondrous  feeKng  steals  over 
him  who  wanders  there  in  solitude.  By  the 
shore  of  such  a  lake  stood  the  hut  of  a  young 
fisher,  who  also  acted  as  ferryman  when  any  one 
wished  to  be  carried  over  the  water.  He  had  a 
great  boat  which  was  bound  to  a  tree,  not  far 
from  the  house  in  which  he  lived  alone.  Once 
during  the  autumnal  equinox,  towards  midnight, 
he  heard  a  knocking  at  the  window,  and  going  to 
the  door  met  three  monks,  whose  heads  were 
deeply  hidden  in  their  cowls,  and  who  seemed  to 
be  in  great  haste.  One  of  them  begged  him 
hurriedly  to  lend  them  his  boat,  and  promised  to 
return  it  in  a  few  hours.  The  fisherman  had  no 
cause  to  hesitate,  and  so  untied  the  boat;  and 
while  the  monks  entered  it  and  rowed  away,  he 
returned  to  his  bed  and  slept.  After  a  few  hours 
he  was  awakened  by  their  return.  One  of  them 
gave  him  a  piece  of  silver,  and  all  three  departed. 
The  youth  went  to  look  at  his  boat,  and  found  it 
tied  fast:  then  he  shivered,  but  it  was  not  the 
night-air.  When  the  monk  paid  him  the  money, 
he  had  touched  his  fingers,  which  were  icy  cold, 
and  a  frosty  shudder  ran  through  all  his  limbs. 
He  could  not  for  several  days  forget  this;  but 
youth  soon  dismisses  what  is  uncanny,  and  he 
thought  no  more  of  it  when  the  following  year  at 
the  same  time,  and  towards  n^dnight,  there  was 
again  a  tapping  at  the  window,  the  three  monks 


THE  GODS  IN  EXILE.  343 

again  appeared,  and  again  in  great  haste  asked 
for  the  boat.  This  time  he  let  them  have  it  with 
less  care  and  when  they  returned  a  few  honrs 
after,  and  he  was  again  paid,  he  again  felt  with 
a  shudder  the  icy  cold  fingers. 

The  same  thing  happened  again  and  again,  till 
on  the  seventh  year  the  fisherman  began  to  long 
— cost  what  it  might — to  find  out  the  mystery 
which  was  hidden  under  those  three  cowls.  So 
he  put  into  the  boat  a  pile  of  nets,  which  formed 
for  him  a  hiding-place,  into  which  he  crept,  while 
the  monks  went  on  board.  They  came  at  the 
usual  time,  and  he  concealed  himself  unseen  by 
them.  To  his  great  amazement  the  passage  across 
the  lake,  which  always  required  an  hour,  was 
executed  in  a  few  minutes;  but  what  was  his 
amazement  when  he,  who  knew  the  whole  country 
so  well,  found  that  the  boat  had  arrived  at  a  vast 
open  space  in  the  woods,  which  he  had  never 
before  seen,  which  was  grown  about  with  trees 
of  a  kind  all  unknown  to  him.  Many  lamps 
hung  on  the  branches  of  these  trees,  while  here 
and  there,  on  pedestals,  were  vases  full  of  blazing 
pitch,  and  the  moon  also  shone  so  brightly,  that 
he  could  perceive  aU  the  many  persons  who  were 
present,  as  if  it  had  been  daylight.  Of  these 
there  were  hundreds,  young  men  and  young 
women,  nearly  all  beautiful,  though  their  faces 
were  white  as  marble,  and  this,  with  their  cloth- 


344  THB  GODS  IN  BXILB.  \ 

ing,  which  consisted  of  white  tanics,  girt  up  y&rj 
high,  with  purple  borders,  gave  them  the  appear- 
ance of  walking  statues.  The  ladies  wore  on 
their  heads  garlands  of  grape  leaves,  which  were 
either  real  or  made  of  gold  and  silver  thread, 
while  their  hair  was  partly  woven  from  the  parting 
in  a  kind  of  crown,  and  partly  flowed  wildly  from 
this  crown  in  tresses  to  the  neck.  The  young 
men  were  also  crowned  with  grape-leaves.  But 
men  and  women  all,  flourishing  golden  wands 
bound  with  similar  leaves,  came  bounding  joyously 
to  welcome  the  three  newly  arrived.  One  of 
these  threw  o£E  his  cowl  and  frock,  and  appeared 
as  an  impudent  fellow  of  middle  age,  who  had  a 
repulsive,  lascivious,  yes,  lewd  face,  with  pointed 
he-goat's  ears,  and  a  laughably  exaggerated  stu- 
pendous virile  organ.  The  second,  laying  aside 
his  garments,  revealed  an  enormously  fat  paunch, 
and  a  bald  head,  on  which  the  wanton  women 
placed  a  wreath  of  roses.  But  the  faces  of  both 
monks  were  white  as  marble,  as  was  that  of  the 
third,  who  stripped  off  his  disguise  with  a  hearty 
laugh.  As  he  unbound  the  rope  round  his  waist, 
and  threw  away  the  pious  dirty  dress,  cross,  and 
rosary  with  every  sign  of  disgust,  he  appeared 
as  a  young  man  of  extraordinary  beauty,  clad  in 
a  tunic  glittering  with  diamonds,  and  who  was 
of  perfect  form,  only  that  his  supple  rounded 
haunch  and  slender  waist  seemed  feminine.     And 


THE  OODS  IN  BXILE,  ||f 

his  delicately  arched  lipe  and  soft  features  gaye 
him  a  maiden  air,  tHoagh  his  face  had  a  bold 
and  almost  haughty  and  heroic  expression.  The 
women  caressed  him  with  wild  inspiration,  placed 
a  garland  of  ivy-leaves  on  his  head,  and  threw  a 
magnificent  leopard's  skin  over  his  shoulders.  At 
the  same  time  there  came  a  two-wheeled  golden 
triumphal  chariot  drawn  by  two  lions,  on  which 
the  young  man,  with  the  dignity  of  a  conqueror, 
yet  with  joyous  smile,  leaped.  He  drove  the 
wild  span  with  purple  reins.  On  one  side  of  hia 
chariot  walked  one  of  his  unfrocked  companions, 
whose  lustful  gestures  and  indecent  extravagance 
amused  the  multitude,  while  his  companion  with 
the  mighty  paunch,  whom  the  merry  wives  had 
lifted  up  on  an  ass,  rode  along  holding  a  golden 
goblet,  which  was  constantly  filled  for  him  with 
wine.  Slowly  went  the  chariot,  and  behind  it 
whirled  in  wild  eddies  the  reckless  troop  of  vine- 
clad  revellers,  while  before  it  advanced  the  conrt- 
choir  of  the  victor.  Beautiful  full- cheeked  youths 
blowing  the  double  flute,  then  high-girt  maidens 
with  their  tambourines,  drumming  with  knuckles 
on  ringing  skin;  then  other  beauties  beating 
triangles ;  then  hom-players,  he-goat  footed  fellows 
with  fair  but  lascivious  faces,  who  blew  flourishes 
on  strange  horns  of  animals  or  sea-shells,  and 
then  the  lute-players. 

But,  dear  reader,  I  forget  that  yon  are  very  well 


346  THE  GODS  IN  EXILE. 

educated  and  informed,  who  have  long  observed 
that  all  this  is  a  description  of  a  Bacchanalian  orgie 
or  festival  of  Dionysius.  Yon  have  seen  often 
enough  old  bas-reliefs,  or  in  the  engravings  of 
archaeological  works,  the  triumphal  processions 
which  glorify  the  god,  and  in  faith  with  your 
classic  and  refined  sense  you  would  be  but  little 
alarmed,  I  trow,  should  you  even  at  midnight,  in 
the  darkest  solitude  of  the  forest,  encounter  the 
beautiful  apparition  of  such  a  Bacchic  train,  even 
if  all  its  gloriously  tipsy  crew  were  to  dance  on 
before  your  very  eyes.  At  the  utmost  you  would 
only  feel  a  slightly  licentious  thrill,  an  sDsthetic 
shiver,  at  seeing  this  assembly  of  delightful  phan- 
toms, risen  from  the  sarcophagi  of  their  monu- 
ments or  their  lairs  in  ruined  temples,  to  again 
renew  their  ancient  gay  and  festive  rites,  to  once 
more  celebrate  with  games  and  dance  the  triumph 
of  the  divine  liberator,  of  the  saviour  of  sensuality, 
to  revive  the  joyous  dance  of  heathendom,  the 
cancan  of  the  merry  world  of  yore,  without  any 
of  the  policemen  of  spiritual  morality  to  hinder — 
all  revelling,  rioting,  hurrahing,  Evoe  Bacche!^ 

*  In  the  French  version  the  following  passage  is  here  added : — 
"  Comme  j'ai  dit  men  cher  lecteur,  voas  dtes  un  homine  in- 
stmit  et  ^air6  qu'une  apparition  nocturne  ne  saurait  ^pou- 
▼anter,  pas  plus  que  si  c'^tait  une  fantasmagorie  de  I'academie 
imperial^  de  musique,  ^vouqu^e  par  le  g^nie  po^tique  de  M. 
Engine  Scribe,  en  collaboration  avec  le  g^nie  musical  du  o^bre 
•MMsfro  Giacomo  Meyerbeer."  I 


THE  GODS  IN  EXILE.  347 

But,  dear  reader,  the  poor  fisherman  of  onr  story 
was  not,  like  yon,  familiar  with  mythology ;  he  had 
not  Btndied  archaeology,  and  he  was  terrified  and 
agonised  at  the  sight  of  that  beantiful  triumphator 
with  his  two  strange  acolytes,  when  they  leaped 
from  their  monk's  dress;  he  shuddered  at  the 
immodest  gestures  and  leaping  of  the  bacchantae, 
the  fauns,  the  satyrs,  who,  from  their  he-goat's 
feet  and  horns,  seemed  to  him  to  be  devils,  so 
that  he  regarded  the  whole  society  as  a  congress 
of  spectres  and  demons,  who  sought  by  their 
sorceries  to  bring  destruction  to  human  beings. 
The  hair  stood  on  his  head  as  he  saw  the  neck- 
breaking  impossible  postures  of  a  mcenad,  who 
with  flowing  locks  cast  her  head  back,  and  only 
kept  her  balance  with  the  thyrsus.  His  brain 
reeled  at  beholding  Corybantes,  who  wounded 
themselves  with  short  swords,  madly  seeking  for 
ecstasy  in  pain.  The  soft,  sweet,  and  yet  terrible 
tones  of  the  music  flowed  through  his  soul  like 
flames — flashing,  shuddering,  awful !  But  when 
the  poor  mortal  saw  that  abominable  Egyptian 
symbol  which,  of  enormously  exaggerated  size, 
and  crowned  with  flowers,  was  carried  by  a  shame- 
less beauty  on  a  long  pole,^  he  fairly  lost  hia 

^  The  French  version  is  here  somewhat  more  flowery  or  ez> 
pansive : — 

"  Ce  symbole,  ou  platdt  cette  hyperbole,  ^tait  coaronn^  da 
flenrs,  et  1»  belle  devergond^  I'agiUit  avec  des  gestes  impa- 


348 


THE  OODS  IN  EXILE. 


Benses,  and,  rushing  back  to  the  boat,  crept  under 
the  nets,  shivering  with  clattering  teeth,  as  though 
the  devil  already  held  him  by  one  foot  Soon 
after  the  three  monks  returned  and  pushed  forth. 
And  when  they  reached  the  opposite  shore,  the 
fisherman  contrived  to  slip  away  so  quietly,  that 
the  monks  thought  he  had  waited  for  them  be- 
hind the  willows ;  and  so,  when  one  of  them  had 
pressed  with  icy-cold  fingers  into  his  hand  the 
usual  fee,  they  went  their  way.  t 

For  his  own  salvation's  sake,  which  he  deemed 
endangered,  as  well  as  to  preserve  all  other  good 
Christians  from  perdition,  the  fisherman  believed 
it  was  his  duty  to  denounce  the  unholy  and  strange 
events  to  a  spiritual  tribunal ;  and  as  the  superior 
or  prior  of  a  Franciscan  convent  not  far  off  was 
president  of  such  a  court,  and  was  in  great  repute 
as  a  learned  exorcist,  he  determined  to  seek  him 
without  delay.  Therefore  the  early  morning  sun 
saw  him  on  his  way  to  the  cloister,  and  it  was  with 
his  eyes  humbly  cast  down  that  he  found  himself 
before  his  reverence  the  prior,  who  sat  with  his 


diques,  en  psalmodiant  a  tue-tdte  une  inf&me  cantique,  auqual 
faisaient  chorus  sea  compagnons  velus  aveo  leur  gros  rire  et  lean 
gambades  burlesques.  En  mSme  temps  lea  accords  de  la  musique 
de  la  procession  triompbale,  accords  moUement  tendres  et  d^ea* 
p^r^  i,  la  foia,  p^n^tr&rent  dans  le  coeur  du  pauvre  jeune  homma 
comma  autant  de  brandons  enfiamm^  ;  il  ae  crut  d^jh  embraa^ 
do  feu  mfemal,  et  il  ooorut  b  toate*  jambaa  ven  aa  barque." — 
Tra$idator. 


THE  OODS  IN  BXILB.  349 

oftpncbin  drawn  deep  over  hiB  eyes  in  a  high  arm- 
chair, remaining  in  this  reflective  attitude  while 
the  fisherman  narrated  the  terrible  tale.  Bnt 
when  the  young  man  had  ended,  the  prior  sud- 
denly raised  his  head,  and  the  visitor  was  startied 
at  recognising  in  his  reverence  one  of  the  three 
monks  who  went  annually  over  the  lake,  and  he 
was  indeed  the  very  one  whom  he  had  seen  the 
night  before  seated  as  a  heathen  deity  on  the 
triumphal  chariot  with  the  yoke  of  lions.  There 
was  the  same  marble,  pale  countenance,  the  same 
regular  and  beautiful  features,  the  same  mouth 
with  its  delicately  arched  lips,  and  over  those 
lips  played  a  pleasant  smile,  and  from  that 
mouth  flowed  the  soft-ringing  and  sanctimonious 
words: — 

"  Beloved  son  in  Christ !  we  truly  believe  that 
you  have  passed  this  night  in  company  with  the 
god  Bacchus,  as  your  fantastic  ghost-story  perf ectiy 
proves,  and  we  would  not  for  our  life  say  aught 
unloving  of  this  god.  Many  a  time  doth  he  break 
the  sorrows  and  soothe  the  heart  of  man ;  but  he 
is  also  very  dangerous  unto  those  who  cannot  bear 
much,  and  verily  you  seem  to  me  to  be  one  of 
those  weak  mortals.^     We  therefore  counsel  you 

'  Here  the  French  venion  is  again  diffasire  to  originali^ : 
"  Nous  nous  garderons  bien  de  dire  da  mal  de  ce  dieu,  bien  de 
fois  il  noui  fait  oablier  nos  aoacu,  et  il  r^jooit  le  coear  dm 
Utomme,  mais  les  dons  que  la  bont^  divine  aooord  anz  hnmaiiM 


350  THB  GODS  IN  EXILE. 

to  enjoy  in  future  with  great  moderation  the  golden 
juice  of  the  grape,  and  to  trouble  no  further  in 
future  the  spiritual  authorities  with  the  imaginary 
tipsy  fancies  of  your  brain,  and  also  to  be  silent 
as  regards  this  last  vision — that  is,  to  hold  your 
jaw  altogether  (das  maid  zu  halten),  else  the  secvilar 
arm  of  the  beadle  shall  count  off  on  you  five  and 
twenty  stripes  with  a  cart-whip.  But  now,  dearly 
beloved  son  in  Christ,  go  to  the  cloister-kitchen, 
where  the  brother  butler  and  brother  cook  shall 
serve  you  with  a  luncheon." 

With  this  the  spiritual  lord  gave  the  fisherman 
his  blessing ;  but  when  the  latter,  quite  bluffed  and 
abashed,  packed  away  to  the  kitchen,  and  saw 
the  pater  cellarer  and  the  pater  cook,  he  nearly 
fell  flat  with  terror,  for  they  were  the  two  very 
nocturnal  companions  of  the  prior,  the  two  monks 
who  had  rowed  with  him  over  the  lake ;  for  right 
well  did  the  visitor  know  the  great  paunch  and 

sont  diff^rents,  beaucoup  sent  applies,  et  peu  sont  ^lus."  (Here 
Heine  may  have  had  in  mind  the  ancient  saying,  "  Many  are 
the  thyrsus-bearers,  but  few  the  bacchantae.")  "II  y  a  dee 
hommea  qu'une  douzaine  de  bouteilles  ne  sauraient  abattre 
En  toute  humility  Chretienne  j'avoue  que  je  suis  un  de  ces  Stree 
d'^lite,  et  je  'n  rends  gr&ces  au  Seigneur.  II  y  a  aussi  des  nature* 
incompletes  et  faibles  qu'une  seule  cbopine  pent  renverser,  et 
il  parait,  mon  cher  fils  en  J^us  Christ,  que  tous  Stes  de  nombre. 
Nous  vous  conseillons  done  de  n'absorber  qu'avec  mesure  le  jua 
dor^  de  la  treille."  Heine  here  borrows  the  pious  thanks  of  the 
prior  that  he  can  drink  twelve  bottles  from  an  ancient  flight  of 
facetia. — Tramlator. 


THE  OODS  IN  EXILE  351 

bald  head  of  the  one,  and  the  grinning,  Instful  face 
and  goat's  ears  of  the  other.  But  he  held  his 
tongne,  and  spoke  thereof  word  to  none  till  many 
years  after. 

Old  chronicles  which  relate  similar  tales  transfer 
the  scene  to  Spires  on  the  Ehine.^ 

*  I  have  not  been  able  to  find  whence  Heine  took  the  whcU 
of  this  story,  and  until  I  do,  shall  believe  that  all  the  part  re- 
ferring to  Bacchus  is  his  own  invention.  Grosius,  Magica,  $em 
mirabilium  Hintoriarum,  &,c,  1597,  tells  effectively  the  same  tale 
in  reference  to  three  fishermen  of  the  Rhine,  and  many  monks 
who  proved  to  be  a  party  of  devils  going  to  take  part  in  the 
great  Council  of  Spires.  On  which  subject  Georgius  Sabinns 
wrote  a  rather  clever  Latin  poem  of  118  verses,  which  latter 
approaches  in  several  points  more  closely  to  the  tale  of  the  text, 
as  in  depicting  the  amazement  of  the  fisher  at  seeing  the  monks 
on  the  chariot : — 

"  Qui  que  manu  fiexas  auriga  tenebat  habenaa, 
Terribili  naso  conspiciendus  erat, 
Attonitus  curru  stat  prsetereunte  viator, 
Nee  Monachos  illos  spectra  sed  esse  vident." 

There  is,  however,  in  all  this  no  allusion  whatever  to  Bacchus 
or  Silenuu.  It  may  be  observed  that  in  the  "  Grods  in  Exile," 
Heine  gives  several  "legends"  without  mentioning  his  authori- 
ties or  the  source  whence  he  derived  them,  though  as  a  rule  he 
is  generally  very  careful  to  do  so  when  he  can,  and  of  all  these 
unaccredited  stories  I  have  failed  to  find  a  trace  elsewhere. 
Perhaps  my  readers  may  be  more  fortunate.  Grosius  declares 
that  the  event  took  place  "anno  millesimo,  quingentesimo  trioe- 
simo,  Juliidecinio  octavo. "  It  is  rather  amusing  to  contrast  this 
neglect  to  mention  obligations  with  our  author's  previous  com- 
plaint that  other  authors  have  not  acknowledged  their  indebted- 
ness to  him.  But  the  mdt  d'enigme  in  critidsing  Heine  is  never 
to  take  him  quite  au  grand  ierieux.     The  tale,  as  told  by  him. 


^1.. 


35S  THE  OODS  IN  EXILE.  I 

There  are  similar  traditions  of  the  East  Frisian 
coast  in  which  the  ancient  heathen  description  of 
the  voyage  of  the  dead  to  the  realm  of  shadows  is 
most  significantly  set  forth.  Nothing  indeed  is 
said  in  them  of  a  Charon  who  steers,  thongh  this 
old  cock — alter  Katoz — has  not  kept  his  place  in 
legends,  but  in  puppet-shows.  But  we  recognise 
a  far  more  important  mythological  personage  in 
the  so-called  Spediteur,  or  forwarding  agent,  who 
attends  to  the  passage  of  the  dead,  and  the  ferry- 
man who  performs  Charon's  duties,^  and  who,  as 
a  common  fisherman,  receives  the  due  payment. 
Yet,  despite  his  baroque  disguise,  we  can  readily 
divine  his  true  name,  and  I  will  therefore  give  the 
tradition  as  accurately  as  possible. 

In  East  Friesland,  on  the  North  sea-coast,  are 
many  coves,  which  are  also  small  harbours,  known 
as  sieJile.^  On  the  jutting  headland  of  one  of 
these  stands  the  lonely  house  of  a  fisherman,  who 
lived  with  his  family,  peaceful  and  contented. 
Nature  is  sad  here,  not  a  bird  is  heard  save  the 


hai  a  great  reMmblanoe  to  a  Venetian  ttarj  narrated  by  Bemoid 
of  a  fisherman  who  hid  himself  in  hii  boat  while  three  witches 
■ailed  in  it  to  Egypt,  and  I  have  heard  the  aame  in  greater 
detail  in  Florence.  Bat  in  neither  of  these  did  any  heathen  gode 
appear.     Hawthorne  has  also  used  the  same  idea. 

*  "  And  that  grim  ferryman  whom  poets  write  of." 

The  French  version,   though  effectively  the  same,   is  bare 
differently  expressed  from  the  German. 

'  Sidj  a  drain  or  sloioe. — TramtlaUir, 


THE  GODS  IN  EXILE.  353 

sea-mews,  who  often  fly  with  evil  cry  from  their 
nests  in  the  sand  announcing  a  storm.  The 
monotonous  plashing  of  the  surging  sea  agrees 
well  with  the  gloomy  flying  clouds.  Even  man 
never  sings,  and  on  this  melancholy  coast  there  is 
never  heard  a  verse  of  any  popular  song.  The 
people  here  are  serious,  honest,  more  reasonable 
than  religious,  and  very  proud  of  the  bold  common- 
sense  and  freedom  of  their  ancestors.^  They  are 
not  imaginative,  and  speculate  but  Uttle.  The 
main  object  of  the  fisherman  who  dwelt  on  his 
lonely  siehl  was  fishing,  and  now  and  then  the 
fare  of  the  travellers  who  wished  to  be  ferried 
over  to  some  neighbouring  island  of  the  North 
Sea. 

At  a  certain  time  of  the  year,  it  is  said,  just 
at  noon,  when  the  fisher  and  his  family  sat  at 
their  meal,  a  stranger  appeared  in  the  great 
family  room,  and  begged  the  master  of  the  house 
to  speak  with  him  apart  for  a  few  minutes,  on 
business.  The  fisherman,  having  in  vain  en- 
deavoured to  induce  the  visitor  to  take  part  in 
the  meal,  compKed  with  his  request,  and  both 
retired  to  a  bow-window.     I  will  not  describe  the 

^  French  version,  * '  Et  bien  qu'ils  aient  perdu  leurs  institu- 
tions d^mocratiques  d'autre  fois,  ils  n'en  ont  pas  moins  gard^  un 
Esprit  d'inddpendance,  heritage  de  leurs  intr^pidea  aieux,  qui 
avaient  combattu  avec  hero'isme  contre  lea  envalissements  de 
I'oc^an  et  des  princes  du  Nord." 

VOL.  n.  « 


354  ^HB  GODS  IN  EXILE. 

appearance  of  the  stranger  in  the  leisurely  manner 
of  modern  novelists,  a  simply  accurate  account 
must  suffice.  He  is  a  man  somewhat  advanced 
in  years,  but  still  fresh ;  in  short,  an  old  boy,  well 
rounded  but  not  fat,  his  cheeks  as  red  as  Bors- 
dorfer  apples,  and  with  merry  eyes  glancing 
everywhere,  while  on  his  powdered  head  is  a 
three-cornered  hat.  Under  an  overcoat  of  clear 
yellow,  garnished  with  innumerable  small  capes, 
the  man  wears  the  old-fashioned  dress  which  we 
see  in  old  portraits  of  Dutch  merchants,  and 
which  denotes  a  certain  ease — a  silk  parrot-green 
coat,  a  flower-embroidered  waistcoat,  short  black 
breeches,  striped  stockings,  and  buckled  shoes, 
the  latter  so  bright  and  shining  that  it  seemed 
strange  that  he  could  have  come  through  the 
mud  of  the  Siehl  with  such  clean  feet.  His  voice 
is  asthmatic,  wiry,  and  sometimes  passing  into  a 
whine  or  treble ;  but  the  demeanour  and  manner 
are  grave  and  measured,  as  becomes  a  Dutch 
merchant.  This  gravity  seems,  however,  to  be 
more  assumed  than  natural,  and  often  contrasts 
oddly  with  the  searching  glances  of  the  eyes  here 
and  there,  as  well  as  the  indifferently  suppressed 
and  nervous  activity  of  his  limbs.  That  the 
stranger  is  a  Dutch  merchant  is  shown,  not  only 
by  his  clothing,  but  by  the  mercantile  accuracy 
and  caution  with  which  he  conducts  a  negotiation 
to  the  advantage  of  his  employers.     He  is,  as  he 


THE  OODS  IN  EXILE.  J5$ 

says,  a  forwarding  agent,  and  has  received  from 
one  of  his  business  friends  an  order  to  have  con- 
veyed a  certain  number  of  souls,  or  as  many  as 
may  find  room  in  an  ordinary  boat,  from  the  East 
Frisian   coast  to   the   White    Island.      On    this 
account,  he  continued,  he  would  like  to  know 
whether  the  fisherman  could  carry  such  a  cargo 
on  that  very  night,  in  which  case  he  would  pay 
the  money  down  in  advance,  but  hoped  that  in 
conscience  he   would  put  the   price    as   low   as 
became  a  Christian.    The  Dutch  merchant — albeit 
the  word  is  a  pleonasm,  since  every  Dutchman  is 
a  merchant — made  this  proposition  as  if  it  was 
concerning  carrying  so  many  cheeses,  and  not  the 
souls  of  the  departed.    The  fisherman  was  startled 
indeed  somewhat  by  the  word  "souls,"  and  he 
felt  a  shiver  in  the  back,  and  observed  at  once 
that  he  had  before  him  the  spectral  Dutchman 
who  had  so  often  given  a  similar  commission  to 
his  colleagues,  who  had  been  well  paid  for  it. 
But,  as  I  have  before  remarked,  these  East  Frisian 
coast  dwellers  are  courageous,  healthy,  and  sober ; 
they  are  wanting  in  that  morbid,  sickly  imagina- 
tion which  renders  us  so  susceptible  to  the  ghostly 
and  supernatural,  therefore  the   secret   shudder 
of  our  fisherman  lasted  but  an  instant,  he  soon 
became  himself,  and  with  an  air  of  perfect  in- 
difference began  to  bargain  the  ferry-money  up 
to  the  highest  possible  figure.    After  some  chaffer- 


356  THE  GODS  IN  EXILE. 

ing  and  higgling  the  two  came  to  an  understand- 
ing, Bhook  hands  over  it,  and  the  Dutchman  drew 
out  a  soiled  leather  purse,  full  of  small  silver 
pennies,  the  smallest  which  had  ever  been  coined 
in  Holland,  and  paid  down  all  the  sum  in  this 
Lilliputian  money.  After  having  instructed  the 
fisherman  that  he  must  be  ready  about  midnight, 
at  the  time  when  the  full  moon  would  appear  from 
the  clouds,  with  his  boat  at  a  certain  place  on  the 
shore  to  receive  his  cargo,  he  took  leave  of  the 
family,  who  again  repeated  in  vain  their  invitation 
to  share  their  meal,  and  the  ever  dignified  figure 
tripped  away  with  strange  agility. 

At  the  appointed  time  the  skipper  found  him- 
self at  the  proper  place  with  his  barque,  which, 
being  empty  and  light  of  ballast,  rocked  lightly 
on  the  waves ;  but  as  the  moon  rose  he  observed 
that  it  became  steadier,  and  gradually  sank  deeper, 
till  the  water  was  within  a  hand's-breadth  of  the 
gunwale.  By  this  he  knew  that  his  passengers, 
the  souls,  were  now  all  on  board,  so  he  pushed 
forth  with  his  freight.  But  however  he  strained 
his  eyes  he  could  see  nothing  in  his  boat  but 
something  like  trails  of  mist  moving  about,  but 
which  assumed  no  certain  form,  and  which  seemed 
to  whirl  into  one  another.  Nor  could  he  hear  any- 
thing save  a  soft  chirping  and  whisper-like  sound. 
Now  and  then  a  sea-gull  shot  with  shrill  cry  over- 
head, or  some  fish  lifted  its  head  from  the  water 


THE  GODS  IN  EXILE.  357 

with  a  strange  glare.  The  night  wore  on  and  the 
air  grew  cold;  everywhere  all  was  water,  moon- 
shine, and  silence ;  and  silent  as  his  surroundings, 
the  fisherman  came  to  the  White  Island,  where  he 
moored  his  boat.  He  saw  no  one  on  the  strand,  but 
heard  a  sharp  asthmatic  gasping  and  whining  voice, 
which  he  recognised  as  that  of  the  Dutchman.  He 
seemed  to  be  reading  a  list  of  proper  names  mo- 
notonously, as  if  verifying  them,  and  among  them 
were  those  of  many  whom  the  fisher  had  known, 
but  who  had  died  during  the  past  year.  During 
this  calling  oflE  the  boat  was  lightened,  so  that 
while  at  first  it  had  lain  deep  in  the  sand,  it  now 
swam  lightly  on  the  waves  when  the  reading  was 
over,  and  the  skipper,  perceiving  that  his  cargo 
was  duly  delivered,  sailed  quietly  back  to  wife 
and  child,  and  his  dear  home  on  the  Siehl. 

So  it  passes  every  year  as  regards  the  transport 
of  souls  to  the  White  Island.  A  skipper  once 
remarked  as  a  peculiar  circumstance  that  the  in- 
visible controller,  while  reading  the  names,  sud- 
denly paused  and  said,  "But  where  is  Fitter 
Jansen?  That  is  not  Fitter  Jansen."  Where- 
upon a  piping,  wailing  little  voice  replied,  "  I  am 
Fitter  Jansen's  Mieke,  and  have  had  my  name 
inscribed  in  his  place." 

I  have  already  ventured,  despite  their  crafty 
disguises,  to  surmise  the  names  of  the  important 
mythological  characters  who  appear  in  these  tradi- 


358  THE  GODS  IN  EXILE.  j 

tion&  This  one  is  nothing  less  than  the  god 
Mercury,  the  ancient  leader  of  souls,  Hermes 
Pyscopompos.  Yes,  under  that  shabby  overcoat, 
and  in  that  sober  shopman's  form,  the  most 
brilliant  and  youthful  of  the  heathen  deities,  the 
crafty  son  of  Maia,  is  disguised.  On  that  three- 
cornered  hat  there  is  not  the  least  sign  of  a  feather 
which  could  recall  the  wings  of  his  divine  head- 
covering,  and  the  heavy  shoes  with  steel  buckles 
do  not  at  all  suggest  pinioned  sandals ;  this  heavy 
Dutch  lead  is  difiFerent  from  the  mobile  quick- 
silver to  which  the  god  gave  a  name,  but  the 
very  contrast  betrays  the  identity,  and  the  god 
chose  this  disguise  to  be  the  more  securely  con- 
cealed. Yet  it  may  be  that  he  in  nowise  chose 
it  from  mere  caprice.  Mercury  was,  as  you  know, 
at  the  same  time  the  god  of  thieves  as  well  as 
merchants,  and  it  was  natural  that  in  choosing  a 
garb  which  rendered  him  incognito,  and  a  calling 
by  which  he  could  live,  he  had  in  mind  his  ante- 
cedents and  talents.*    Therein  he  was  experienced, 

1  The  French  version  varies  here  very  much  from  the  German. 
It  is  as  follows  : — 

"  Mercure  ^tait  comme  toos  savez  le  diea  des  voleors  et  des 
marchands.  .  .  .  U  n'avait  qu'a  calculer  lequel  des  oes  metiers, 
qui  ne  different  que  par  dea  nuanoes,  lui  afibrait  le  pins  de 
chances  de  r^aissite.  II  se  disait  que  le  vol,  par  des  pr^jng^ 
B^ulaires  ^tait  fl^tri  dans  1' opinion  publique,  que  les  philosophes 
n'avaient  pas  encore  r^ussi  &  le  r^abiliter  en  I'assimilant  &  la 
piopri^t^  qu'il  4tait  mal  m  de  la  police  et  des  gendarmes,  et 


THE  GODS  IN  EXILE.  359 

he  had  discovered  the  tortoise-shell  lyre  and  the 
helioscope,  he  robbed  men  and  gods,  and  even  as  a 
babe  he  was  a  little  Calmonius,  who  slipped  from  his 
cradle  to  steal  a  yoke  of  oxen.  He  had  to  choose 
between  the  two  occupations,  which  are  in  reality 
not  very  different,  since  in  both  the  aim  is  to 
obtain  the  property  of  others  as  cheaply  as  pos- 
sible ;  but  the  shrewd  god  reflected  that  thievery 
does  not  stand  so  high  in  public  opinion  as  trade, 
that  the  former  is  interdicted  by  the  police  while 
the  latter  is  even  protected  by  law,  that  mer- 
chants reach  the  top-rung  on  the  ladder  of  honour 
while  those  of  the  thieving  fraternity  must  climb 
a  ladder  of  a  much  less  agreeable  description,  that 
the  latter  stake  liberty  and  life  while  the  merchant 
only  risks  his  capital  or  that  of  his  friends ;  and 
so  the  cunningest  of  gods  became  a  merchant,  and 
to  be  as  perfect  a  one  as  possible,  Dutch  at  that. 
His  long  practice  as  Theopompos,  or  leader  of  the 
shades,  specially  adapted  him  for  forwarding  souls, 
the  transport  of  which  to  the  White  Island  is  by 
him  carried  on. 

que  poar  tout  prix  de  son  d^ploiement  de  courage  et  d'habilet^, 
le  voleur  ^tait  quelquefoia  envoy^  aux  galores,  sinon  k  la  po- 
tenoe ;  qu'aa  contraire  le  n^oce  jouissait  de  la  plus  grand  im* 
punit^,  qu'il  ^tait  honord  du  public  et  prot^g^  par  les  lois,  que 
les  negociantes  ^taient  d^cor^,  qu'ils  allaient  a  la  conr,  et  qu'on 
en  faiBait  mdme  des  presidents  du  conseil.  Par  consequent, 
le  plus  ruB^  des  dieux  se  decida  pour  I'^tat  le  plus  lucratif  et  le 
moins  dangereux,  et  pour  Stre  n^ociant  par  excellence,  11  m  fit 
n^ociant  hollandais." — Trand<Uor. 


36o  THE  GODS  IN  EXILE. 

The  White  Island  is  sometimes  called  Brea  or 
Britinia.  Does  this  allude  to  white  Albion  and  to 
the  chalk  cliffs  on  its  coast  ?  It  would  be  a  droll 
idea  to  set  forth  England  as  a  land  of  the  dead, 
as  the  realm  of  Pluto  or  hell.  Great  Britain 
does,  in  fact,  appear  to  many  strangers  in  such  a 
light.i 

In  my  discussion  of  the  legend  of  "Faust"  I  have 
entered  fully  into  the  subject  of  the  realm  of  Pluto 
and  of  himself.  I  have  there  shown  how  the 
ancient  realm  of  shadows  became  a  complete  hell, 
and  how  its  gloomy  and  ancient  ruler  was  al- 
together diabolised.  But  it  is  only  in  the  formal 
official  style  of  the  Church  that  the  matter  sounds 
so  harsh,  for  in  spite  of  the  Christian  anathema 
the  position  of  Pluto  remained  much  the  same  as 
it  was.  Neither  he,  the  god  of  the  world  below, 
nor  his  brother  Neptune,  ruler  of  the  ocean,  emi- 
grated like  their  mates,  and  even  after  the  pre- 
valence of  Christianity  they  ruled  on  in  their 
domains  or  in  their  elements.    Though  the  wildest 


^  Here  our  author  fully  illustrates  the  fact  that  "  comparaison 
n'est  pas  raison,"  as  a  MS.  of  the  twelfth  century  {Lerotue  de 
Lvney  Proverbes)  declares.  The  White  Island  of  the  old  Breton 
and  Norman  lais  was  doubtless  the  Isle  of  Wight  or  Englandi 
but  it  was  like  Avalon,  a  fairyland  or  paradise,  and  the  souls 
who  were  ferried  over  were  of  the  Hite.  It  would  have  been 
unjust  indeed  if  the  woman  mentioned  by  Heine,  who  sacrificed 
herself  to  keep  her  husband,  Fitter  Jansen,  alive,  bad  been 
damned  for  so  doing. — Translator. 


m 


THE  GODS  IN  EXILE.  361 

and  most  absurd  fables  were  circulated  on  earth 
relative  to  him,  old  Pluto  sat  down  below,  warm 
by  his  Proserpine.  Neptune  suffered  even  less 
from  calumny  than  did  his  brother  Pluto,  and 
neither  church-bells  nor  the  peals  of  organs 
offended  his  ears  far  below  in  the  ocean  depths,  by 
his  white-bosomed  Amphitrite  and  his  dripping 
courtiers,  the  Nereids  and  Tritons.  Only  now  and 
then,  when  some  young  sailor  for  the  first  time 
crossed  the  Line,  did  he  rise  from  the  flood,  holding 
the  trident,  his  head  crowned  with  seeds,  with  a 
silver  beard  hanging  down  to  below  his  waist. 
Then  he  bestowed  on  the  neophyte  the  terrible 
baptism  of  the  sea,  delivering  on  these  occasions 
a  long  address  full  of  unction  and  pathos,  also 
abounding  in  hard  old  salt-water  jokes,  rather  spit 
forth  than  spoken  in  company  with  tobacco-juice, 
to  the  great  delight  of  his  tarry  audience.  A 
friend  who  described  to  me  in  detail  how  such  a 
water  mystery-play  was  acted  by  sailors  on  ships, 
assured  me  that  those  very  sailors  who  laughed 
the  most  insanely  at  the  droll  burlesque  of  Nep- 
tune, never  doubted  for  an  instant  of  the  existence 
of  such  a  marine  god,  and  often  prayed  to  him 
when  in  peril.i 

1  This  story  would  appear  to  be  an  extract  from  Neptane's 
log-book  of  salt  yams.  It  baa  certainly  a  highly  maritime 
flavour.  Heine  seems  to  have  met  his  match  in  thijs  "  friend." 
— Trantlator. 


*^^ 


362  THE  GODS  IN  EXILE. 

Neptune,  therefore,  remained  ruler  of  the  waves, 
as  Pluto,  despite  his  being  devilled,  continued  to 
govern  the  lower  regions.  It  went  better  with 
them  than  with  their  brother  Jupiter,  the  third 
son  of  Saturn,  who  afber  the  fall  of  his  father 
attained  the  sovereignty  of  heaven,  and  led,  free 
from  care,  an  ambrosial  regime  of  joyousness  with 
the  splendid  retinue  of  laughing  gods,  goddesses, 
and  nymphs  of  honour.^  When  the  sad  catas- 
trophe took  place,  and  the  rule  of  the  cross,  of 
suffering  and  sorrow,  was  proclaimed,  the  great 
Ghronidas  also  fled  and  disappeared  in  the  migra- 
tion of  races.  All  traces  of  him  were  lost,  and  I 
have  questioned  in  vain  old  chronicles  and  old 
women — no  one  could  give  me  tidings  of  his  fate. 
With  the  same  view  I  have  rummaged  and  hunted 
through  many  libraries,  where  I  had  shown  me 
the  most  magnificent  manuscripts,  adorned  with 
gold  and  jewels — true  odalisques  in  the  havens 
of  learning ;  and  I  thank  with  all  my  heart  the 
literary  eunuchs  who  guard  them  for  the  un- 
grumblingness,  and  even  affability,  with  which 
they  unlocked  for  me  their  shining  treasures. 
But  it  seemed  as  if  no  popular  tradition  as  to 
a  mediaeval  Jupiter  had  been  preserved,  and  all 


1  To  which  the  French  version  adds,  "  Tons  menaient  jojeose 
vie,  repuB  d'ambroisie  et  nectar  m^prisant  les  mananta  attach^ 
id-bas  2k  la  gl^be,  et  n'ayant  aucun  souci  du  lendemain." 


THE  OODS  IN  EXILE.  363 

which  I  forked  up  *  consists  of  a  story  which  my 
friend  Niels  Andersen  told  me.  This  was  a  man 
whose  droll  delightful  figure  rises  in  life  before 
me  as  I  write.  To  him  I  here  devote  a  few  lines, 
for  I  willingly  indicate  the  sources  whence  my 
tales  are  derived,  and  set  forth  their  peculiarities, 
that  the  kind  reader  may  himself  judge  how  far 
they  deserve  his  confidence.  Therefore  a  few 
words  as  to  this  particular  source. 

Niels  Andersen,  bom  at  Drontheim  in  Norway, 
was  one  of  the  greatest  whale-fishers  whom  I  ever 
knew.  I  am  deeply  indebted  to  him  for  all  my 
knowledge  relating  to  his  craft.  He  told  me  of 
all  the  tricks  which  the  cunning  animal  employs 
to  escape  the  fisherman,  and  confided  to  me  the 
secrets  of  war  by  which  those  tricks  are  defeated. 
He  taught  me  the  trick  of  handling  the  harpoon ; 
how  one  must  push  with  the  right  knee  against 
the  forward  edge  of  the  boat  when  throwing  the 
harpoon,  and  at  the  same  time  give  a  good  kick 
to  the  sailor  whose  duty  it  is  to  pay  out  the 
harpoon  rope,  should  he  not  let  it  go  &st  enough. 
All  this  I  owe  to  him,  and  if  I  never  become 
a  great  whaler  myself  the  fault  is  neither 
Andersen's  nor  mine,  but  that  of  my  evil  destiny, 
which  never  allowed  me  in  all  my  life  to  come 

^  AufgegabdU  I  have  in  no  instance,  I  believe,  given  a  cant 
or  slang  word  which  did  not  oorreepond  to  a  similar  expression 
in  the  text. — Trandalor. 


364  THE  GODS  IN  EXILE.  i 

across  a  whale  with  which  I  could  have  a  conflict 
worthy  of  me.  I  have  met  hitherto  only  common 
dnn-fish*  and — ill  or  well — ^red  herrings.  But 
what  is  the  use  of  a  harpoon  against  a  herring  ? 
And  now  I  must  abandon  all  hopes  of  all  fishery 
whatever,  on  account  of  my  stiff  leg.  But  when 
I  first  made  the  acquaintance  of  Niels  at  Ritze- 
buttel  near  Cuxhaven,  he  himself  was  not  in  best 
condition  as  to  his  feet,  inasmuch  as  one  of  them 
was  gone.  A  young  shark  by  Senegal,  who  perhaps 
mistook  his  right  leg  for  a  stick  of  sugar-candy, 
had  bitten  it  off,  and  poor  Niels  ever  after  had  to 
hobble  about  on  a  wooden  leg.  His  great  delight 
was  to  sit  on  a  hogshead  and  drum  thereon  with 
that  wooden  leg.  Many  a  time  did  I  help  him  to 
climb,  and  many  a  time  too  I  refused  to  help  him 
down  until  he  had  told  me  one  of  his  marvellous 
salt-yams. 

As  Mahomet  Eln  Mansur  began  all  his  poems 
by  praising  the  horse,  Niels  Anderson  prefaced 
his  tales  with  an  eulogy  of  the  whale.  Therefore 
the  story  which  I  here  repeat  commences  with 
such  exaltation. 

"The  whale,"  exclaimed  Niels  Andersen,  "is 
not  only  the  greatest  but  also  the  handsomest  of 
animals.      From   his  two    nostrils   spring  great 

^  Stoehfitche,  dried  cod,  called  in  America  dun-fish.  Also  an 
equivalent  for  a  stupid  person  in  both  words,  German  or 
Yankee. 


THE  GODS  IN  EXILE.  365 

streams  of  water,  which  look  like  wonderful  foun- 
tains, and  which  in  the  night,  by  moonshine, 
seem  like  magic.  He  is  also  good-natured,  peace- 
able, and  very  fond  of  family  life.  It  is  a  touch- 
ing sight  when  father  whale  with  his  folk  are 
gathered  together  on  an  enormous  ice-flake,  and 
young  and  old  frolic  and  contend  in  loving  and 
harmless  games.^  Very  often  they  all  jump  to- 
gether into  the  water  to  play  at  blind  man's  buff 
among  the  floating  blocks  of  ice.  The  purity  of 
manners  and  chastity  of  the  whale  are  far  more 
due  to  the  ice-water  in  which  they  continually 
paddle  their  fins  than  to  any  moral  principles. 
Nor  can  it  be  denied  that  they  have  no  sense  of 
religion,  nay,  are  utterly  wanting  in  it." 

"I  believe,"  I  said,  interrupting  my  friend, 
"  that  that  is  a  mistake."  I  lately  read  a  narra- 
tive by  a  Dutch  missionary  in  which  he  describes 
the  glory  of  creation  as  revealed  in  the  high  polar 
regions,  when  the  sun  rises  and  day  shines  on  the 
stupendous  and  strange  masses  of  ice.  "  These," 
he  says,  "  which  remind  us  of  fairy-palaces  of 
diamonds,  afford  such  striking  proofs  of  the  power 
of  God,  that  not  only  man  but  even  the  coarse 


^  Here  the  ancient  mariner,  or  Heine  himself,  manifestly 
confounds  the  walfiseh  or  whale  with  the  vxdlross  or  walrus.  A. 
school  of  whales  playing  on  the  ice  out  of  water,  high  and  dry, 
would  be  indeed  "  a  pensive  sight."  But  "  'tis  nothing  to  what's 
a-coming." — Trcmtlator. 


366 


THE  QODS  IN  EXILE. 


natures  of  fish  are  so  moved  at  the  sight  as  to 
adore  their  Creator.  "  Yea,"  declares  the  dominie, 
"I  have  with  my  own  eyes  seen  many  whales 
who,  leaning  against  a  wall  of  ice,  stood  up  and 
moved  the  upper  part  of  their  bodies  after  the 
fashion  of  people  who  pray."  I 

Niels  Andersen  shook  his  head  doubtfully. 
"  He  had  himself  seen,"  he  said,  "  whales  leaning 
against  upright  ice-blocks,  making  movements 
like  such  as  we  behold  in  the  religious  exercises 
of  many  sects,  but  he  could  not  attribute  such 
acts  to  piety."  He  explained  the  phenomenon 
physiologically,  remarking  that  the  whale — the 
Chimborazo  of  animals — has  under  his  skin  such 
an  enormous  layer  of  fat  (blubber)  that  a  single 
individual  often  yields  from  one  hundred  to  a 
hundred  and  fifty  barrels  of  tallow.^  And  this 
tallow  is  so  thick  that  many  hundred  water-rats 
make  their  nests  in  him,  while  the  great  animal 


1  Talg.  There  is  an  insect  which  annoys  the  whale,  but  I 
believe  that  for  all  this  romance  of  the  rats  Heine  was  entirely 
indebted  to  an  epigram  on  Dussek  the  singer,  which  was  in 
vogue  in  Paris  in  his  days  : — 

I 
"  Le  grand  Dussek  etait  sigras, 
Que  des  souris  ou  bien  des  rats, 
Faisaient  une  carri^re 
Dans  I'immensit^  de  son  derri^re, 
Et  ils  y  firent  leur  carnival,  I 

Sans  qu'il  sentit  le  moindre  mal." 

— Trandator. 


THE  GODS  IN  EXILE.  367 

sleeps  on  a  flake  of  ice ;  and  these  creatures,  which 
are  infinitely  larger  and  more  voracious  than  our 
land-rats,  lead  a  joyous  life  under  the  skin  of  the 
whale,  where  they  by  day  and  night  eat  the  best 
of  fat  without  leaving  their  nests.  This  revelling 
becomes  at  last  somewhat  annoying  or  intolerably 
painful  to  the  unwilling  host,  who,  not  having 
hands  like  man  wherewith  to  scratch  himself 
when  tickled,  seeks  to  allay  his  pain  by  placing 
himself  on  the  sharp  edge  of  an  ice-floe,  and 
rubbing  his  back  up  and  down  against  it,  as  dogs 
do  when  they  scrape  themselves  against  any 
board  when  they  are  afflicted  with  fleas.  The 
honest  Dominie  mistook  these  movements  for  those 
of  prayer  and  so  ascribed  them  to  piety,  while  they 
were  merely  caused  by  the  orgies  of  rats.  "  The 
whale,"  said  Niels  Andersen,  in  concluding  his 
proeme,  "  though  he  holds  so  much  oil,  is  utterly 
wanting  in  the  least  sense  of  religion."  It  is 
indeed  only  among  the  middle-sized  animals  that 
one  finds  it,  vast  creatures  like  the  whale  are 
not  endowed  with  this  quality.  What  can  be  the 
cause  of  this  ?  Is  it  because  they  cannot  find  a 
church  sufficiently  roomy  or  "broad"  enough  to 
receive  them  in  its  bosom  ?  This  monster  honours 
neither  the  law  nor  the  prophets ;  even  the  little 
prophet  Jonas,  whom  he  once  heedlessly  swallowed, 
went  against  his  stomach,  and  after  three  days  he 
spat  him  out.     This  magnificent  animal  no  more 


368  THE  GODS  IN  EXILE. 

adores  the  Lord  our  God  than  does  the  false 
heathen  deity  who  lives  on  Rabbit  Island  near 
the  North  Pole,  and  whom  he  sometimes  goes  to 
visit^  I 

"What  place  is  that— the  Rabbit  Island?" 
I  asked  Niels  Andersen.  He  drammed  awhile 
with  his  wooden  leg  on  the  hogshead,  and 
answered : — 

"  Well,  it  was  the  island  on  which  the  thing 
happened  which  I  am  going  to  tell  you.  But  I 
can't  tell  you  exactly  where  it  is.  Nobody  has 
ever  been  able  to  find  it  again  since  it  was  first 
discovered.  Perhaps  the  great  icebergs  which 
float  everywhere  round  it,  and  don't  allow  many 
approaches  to  it,  have  prevented  ships  from  get- 
ting there.  However,  it  may  be  a  hundred 
years  ago,  the  crew  of  a  Russian  whaler,  driven 
there  by  storms,  landed  on  it  Going  ashore 
with  a  boat  they  found  it  a  very  desolate  place. 
Broom  plants  waved  sadly  along  the  quicksands ; 
only  here  and  there  grew  a  dwarf  fir,  or  there 

'  Heine  is  here  altogether  at  issue  with  the  New  England 
Primer,  a  school-book  of  the  time  of  Charles  II.,  still  known  in 
America,  and  which  was  the  first  work  ever  put  into  my  hands. 
When  I  learned  the  alphabet  from  it  I  began  by  acquiring  the 
information  that  "  In  Adam's  Fall,  we  sinned  all,"  and  coming 
to  W  found  that — 


"  Whales  in  the  sea 
Their  Lord  obey." 


— Trandator. 


"^^ 


ifgiiiJH. 


THE  GODS  IN  EXILE.  369 

were  some  worthless  dwarf  bnshes.  But  they 
saw  many  rabbits  jumping  about,  from  which 
they  called  it  Eabbit  Island. 

"At  last  they  saw  a  poor  hut,  which  showed 
that  some  human  being  dwelt  there.  Going 
into  it  they  found  a  very  old  man,  who,  badly 
clothed  in  rabbit  skins  sewed  together,  sat  on 
a  stone  bench  by  the  fire-place  warming  his 
lean  hands  and  tottering  knees  by  a  few  burning 
twigs.  By  him  at  his  right  hand  stood  an 
immense  bird,  which  seemed  to  be  an  eagle,  but 
which  time  had  gnawed  so  cruelly  that  only  the 
long  bristly  quills  of  his  wings  remained,  giving 
him  a  comic  and  yet  horribly  ugly  look.  On  the 
left  side  of  the  old  man  cowered  on  the  ground 
a  very  large  hairless  she-goat,  which  also  seemed 
to  be  very  old,  though  full  udders  with  fresh  and 
rosy  nipples  were  on  her  belly. 

"  There  were  among  these  Russian  sailors 
se'^''3ral  Greeks,  and  one  of  them,  not  supposing 
that  he  would  be  understood  by  the  old  man,  said 
to  a  comrade  in  Greek : — 

"  *  This  old  fellow  is  either  a  ghost  or  an  evil 
spirit.' 

**  But  on  hearing  this  the  old  man  rose  from 
his  seat,  and  to  their  astonishment  the  sailors 
saw  a  tall  and  stately  figure,  who  in  spite  of  his 
age  appeared  to  be  of  majestic  or  royal  dignity, 
whose  head  almost  touched  the  timbers  of  the 

VOL.  II.  2  A 


37©  THE  QODS  IN  EXILE.  I 

roof — a  man  whose  featurei,  thongh  wasted  and 
worn,  indicated  that  he  had  once  been  very 
handsome,  for  they  were  noble  and  strongly  out- 
lined. A  few  spare  silver  hairs  hung  over  his 
forehead,  which  was  stern  with  age  and  pride; 
his  eyes  gleamed  sharply,  though  pale  and 
staring,  and  from  his  high-curling  mouth  came 
forth  in  ancient  Greek  the  sonorous  and  mournful 
words  :— 

"  *  You  are  wrong,  young  man.  T  am  neither 
a  ghost  nor  an  evil  spirit,  but  only  an  unfor- 
tunate being  who  has  seen  better  days.  But 
who  are  ye  ? ' 

"The  sailors  told  him  of  the  disaster  which 
had  befallen  them,  and  asked  for  information 
concerning  the  place,  but  obtained  very  little. 
The  old  man  said  that  he  had  lived  since  time 
immemorial  on  the  island,  whose  bulwarks  of 
ice  protected  him  securely  against  bitter  enemies. 
He  lived  chiefly  by  catching  rabbits,  and  once 
a  year  when  the  icebergs  were  solidly  frozen  there 
came  to  him  on  sledges  certain  savages,  to  whom 
he  sold  his  rabbit-skins,  and  who  gave  him  in 
exchange  the  articles  which  he  most  needed. 
The  whales,  which  often  swam  about  the  shore, 
were  his  favourite  companions.  But  it  gave  him 
pleasure  then  to  talk  with  them,  for  he  was  a 
Greek  by  birth,  and  therefore  begged  his  fellow- 
countrymen   to  tell    him    something  about  the 


THE  QODS  IN  EXILE.  371 

present  condition  of  Greece.  He  Beemed  spite- 
fnlly  pleased  to  learn  that  the  Cross  had  been 
torn  from  the  battlements  of  the  Greek  cities, 
bat  less  glad  to  know  that  the  Crescent  had  taken 
its  place.  And  it  was  very  strange  that  none 
of  the  sailors  knew  the  names  of  the  cities  of 
which  the  old  man  inquired,  and  which  he  said 
were  flourishing  in  his  time,  nor  did  he  recognise 
the  names  of  the  towns  and  villages  of  Greece 
of  which  they  spoke.  On  this  account  he  often 
shook  his  head  sorrowfully,  and  they  gazed  at 
one  another  in  amazement  But  they  observed 
that  he  knew  the  situation  of  every  place  in 
detail;  the  bays,  the  promontories,  the  cliffs, 
often  even  the  smallest  hills  and  little  groups  of 
rocks,  so  that  his  ignorance  of  the  chief  places 
caused  the  greatest  wonder.  Then  he  inquired 
of  them  with  great  interest,  indeed  with  some 
anxiety,  as  to  a  certain  great  temple,  which  he 
declared  had  been  in  his  time  the  most  beautiful 
building  in  all  Greece.  Yet  none  of  his  listeners 
knew  the  name  which  the  old  man  pronounced 
with  tenderness,  till  at  last,  when  he  described 
its  situation  closely,  a  young  sailor  recognised 
the  place. 

"  The  young  man  said  that  the  village  where  he 
was  bom  stood  on  that  very  spot,  and  that  he 
had  in  it  long  tended  the  swine  of  his  father. 
There,  as  he  declared,  were  really  the  ruins  of 


37a 


THE  QODS  IN  EXILE. 


very  ancient  bnildings,  which  indicated  a  magni- 
ficence now  departed.  Only  here  and  there  stood 
a  few  great  marble  pillars,  either  singly  or  con- 
nected by  the  blocks  of  a  pediment,  from  the 
fissures  in  which  hung  down  blooming  masses 
of  honeysuckles  and  red  bell-fiowers,  like  tresses 
of  hair.  Other  columns,  among  them  several  of 
rose-marble,  lay  broken  on  the  ground,  and  the 
grass  grew  exuberantly  on  the  magnificent  capitals, 
which  were  carved  in  leaves  and  flowers.  And 
there  too  were  great  four-cornered  or  triangular 
slabs  of  marble,  which  had  covered  the  roof,  lying 
here  and  there,  half  sunken  in  the  ground,  over- 
shadowed by  an  immense  wild  fig-tree,  which  had 
grown  from  among  the  fragments  The  youth 
related  that  he  had  often  passed  hours  under  the 
shadow  of  that  tree,  looking  at  the  wondrous 
figures  in  high  relief  on  the  sculptured  stones, 
which  represented  all  kinds  of  games  and  con- 
flicts, but  which  were  full  sadly  worn,  as  if  by 
time,  or  overgrown  with  moss  and  ivy  wild.  His 
father,  whom  he  had  questioned  as  to  the  mean- 
ing of  all  these  columns  and  images,  had  replied 
that  they  were  the  remains  of  an  ancient  temple, 
in  which  a  heathen  god  of  evil  fame  had  dwelt  in 
days  of  yore,  who  was  given,  not  only  to  the  most 
naked  and  shameless  debauchery,  but  who  also 
practised  unnatural  crime  and  incest;  yet  the 
blind  heathen  ever  held  him  in  such  reverence 


THE  GODS  IN  EXILE.  373 

that  they  often  sacrificed  to  him  hundreds  of 
oxen  at  once.  And  that  the  basined  marble 
block  into  which  the  blood  of  the  victims  ran 
was  there  before  his  eyes,  and  it  was  that  very 
stone  trough  in  which  he  fed  his  pigs  with  oflfal 
or  gave  them  drink. 

"  When  the  young  man  had  said  this  the  grey- 
beard sighed  bitterly,  and  then  manifesting  the 
greatest  grief  sank,  as  if  heart-broken,  on  his  stone 
seat,  covered  his  face  with  both  hands,  and  wept 
like  a  child.  The  great  bird  screamed  horribly, 
and  flapping  his  monstrous  wings  threatened  the 
strangers  with  beak  and  claws.  But  the  old  goat 
licked  the  hand  of  her  master,  and  bleated  sorrow- 
fully, as  if  to  soothe  him. 

"An  uncanny  dread  seized  the  sailors,  they 
hastened  from  the  hut,  and  felt  relieved  when 
they  no  longer  heard  the  sobs  of  the  old  grey 
man,  the  screams  of  the  bird,  and  the  bleating  of 
the  she-goat.  When  returned  to  the  ship  they 
told  the  tale.  Among  others  on  board  was  a 
learned  Eussian,  professor  of  the  philosophical 
faculty  of  the  University  of  Kasan,  and  he 
declared,  placing  his  forefinger  knowingly  on  his 
nose,  that  the  discovery  was  of  great  import, 
for  the  old  man  on  the  Island  of  Babbits  could 
be  none  other  than  the  ancient  deity,  Jupiter, 
son  of  Saturn  and  Ehea,  once  the  king  of  all 
the  goda    The  bird  at  his  right  side  was  probably 


..^••ISJklPSNPM^^  «  *^— -**•  *" 


374  THB  QODS  IN  EXILE. 

the  eagle  who  once  bore  the  terrible  lightnings 
in  his  talons.  And  the  old  she-goat  could  be 
no  other  person  than  Amalthea,  the  old  nurse 
who  had  suckled  the  god  long  since  in  Crete, 
and  which  now  in  exile  again  fed  him  with  her 
milk."  I 

Such  was  the  story  of  Neils  Andersen,  and  I 
confess  that  it  filled  my  soul  with  sorrow.  I  will 
not  deny  that  what  he  had  already  told  me  of 
the  secret  sufferings  of  the  whales  had  greatly 
excited  my  sympathy.  Poor  colossal  beast ! 
There  is  no  help  for  thee  against  the  despicable 
rabble  of  rats  which  have  nested  in  thee  and 
gnaw  thee  continually,  and  whom  thou  must  bear 
about  with  thee  for  life,  though  thou  shouldst 
flee  in  despair  from  the  northern  to  the  southern 
pole,  and  rub  thee  on  the  icy  comers  of  the  bergs ! 
It  is  all  of  no  avail,  and  withal  thou  hast  not  the 
consolation  of  religion !  And  such  rats  gnaw  at 
every  great  being  on  this  earth,  and  the  gods 
themselves  must  at  last  go  in  shame  to  sorrow 
and  a  lowly  end.  Such  is  the  will  of  the  iron 
law  of  fate,  and  nnto  it  the  grandest  and  highest 
of  immortals  must  bow  in  suffering.  He  whom 
Homer  sung  and  Phidias  did  counterfeit  in  gold 
and  ivory,  he  who  had  but  to  wink  to  crush  the 
world,  he  who  had  folded  in  his  passionate  arms 
Leda,  Alcmena,  Semele,  Danae,  Kallisto,  lo, 
Leto,  Europa  —  he   must  after  all   hide   at  the 


'         THE  QODS  IN  BXILB.  375 

North  Pole  behind  icebergs,  and  trade  in  rabbit- 
skins  like  a  beggarly  Savoyard ! 

I  donbt  not  that  there  are  many  people  who 
would  take  spiteful  pleasure  in  such  a  spectacle^ 
Such  folk  are  possibly  the  descendants  of  the 
unfortunate  oxen  who  were  slaughtered  in  heca- 
tombs on  the  altars  of  Jupiter.  Bejoice,  oh 
rejoice,  ye  children  of  cattle,  for  the  blood  of 
your  ancestors,  the  sacrifice  unto  superstition  is 
avenged !  But  we  who  have  no  hereditary  grudge 
are  shocked  at  the  sight  of  fallen  grandeur,  and 
devote  to  it  the  deepest  pity  of  our  hearts.  This 
susceptibility  hinders  us  perhaps  from  imparting 
to  the  narrative  that  air  of  seriousness  which  is 
the  charm  of  history;  only  in  a  degree  can  we 
master  that  gravity  which  is  only  to  be  attained 
in  France.  Modestly,  therefore,  do  we  commend 
ourselves  to  the  kind  indulgence  of  the  reader, 
for  whom  we  ever  manifest  the  utmost  respect, 
and  therewith  we  conclude  the  first  part  of  our 
history  of  "  The  Gods  in  Exile."  ^ 

^  As  Heine  certainly  intended  to  continue  or  enlarge  thia  work 
no  fault  can  be  found  as  regards  incompleteness.  Otherwise  it 
might  be  suggested  that  it  should  have  contained  the  marvelloos 
legend  which  he  had  doubtless  read  in  Praetorius  that  Vulcan 
atill  lives  in  Mount  Etna,  and  that  he  was  once  seen  going  with 
a  gang  of  his  men  on  the  22nd  May,  1536,  up  to  the  summit. 
Being  interrogated  by  a  merchant,  Vulcan  replied  that  he  waa 
going  to  work,  after  which  he  entered  the  crater.  And  that 
night  and  the  next  day  there  was  a  terrible  eruption.    The  god 


^    jl      »>^-«»»«»^— »»  .aw»  ..ipiliii    I  I      ^  »« 


376 


THE  OODS  IN  EXILE. 


was  at  his  anvil.  There  are  als^  ourions  legends  of  Diana,  who 
ia  atiU  Queen  of  the  Witches  in  Tuscany,  and  in  fact  quite  a 
number  of  analo^roas  tales.  It  sbuuld,  however,  be  fairly  and 
honestly  indicated  to  the  reader  who  is  really  interested  in  folk- 
lore that  our  author  in  this  work  is  only  to  be  taken  half-seriously, 
and  that  the  whole  story  of  Jupiter  is  possibly  a  mystification 
or  joke.     I  do  not  think  he  meant  by  it  anything  worse. 

It  happened  by  a  most  extraordinary  coincidence  that  while 
engaged  in  translating  this  work  I  made  a  discovery  which 
would  have  doubtless  delighted  Heine,  and  been  of  signal 
assistance  in  giving  him  material  for  "The  Qods  in  Exile." 
This  was  that  in  La  Toscana  Romagna,  a  very  little  known 
and  remote  mountain  district  lying  between  Furli  and  Ravenna, 
and  which  appears  to  have  been  as  yet  unexplored  by  folk- 
lorists,  there  are  still  preserved,  chiefly  in  certain  families  and 
among  certain  old  people,  an  incredible  amount  of  very  ancient 
legends,  poems,  incantations,  and  sorceries.  Among  these,  as 
I  was  not  a  little  astonished  to  learn,  are  names  of  the  principal 
old  Etruscan  deities,  in  most  instances  but  slightly  changed, 
and  also  the  invocations  or  prayers  which  are  still  occasionally 
offered  to  them.  Among  the  spiriti  or  folletti  thus  reverenced 
are  Tinia  or  Jupiter  ;  Faflon,  the  ancient  Fufluns  or  Bacchus ; 
Teravw,  i.e.,  Turms,  or  Mercury  ;  Togo — Tages — Aplu,  or 
Apollo ;  TuraTM,  or  Venus ;  and  others  who  are  all  perfectly 
identified  by  the  attributes  and  stories  or  prayers  referring  to 
them.  In  addition  to  these  are  also  preserved  the  names  of  a 
number  of  the  Roman  minor  rural  gods,  such  as  Fanio  or  Faunoa, 
Silvano  or  Silvanus,  Palo  or  Falus,  ftc.  The  material  which  I 
collected  on  this  and  other  very  closely  allied  subjects  makes  a 
very  large  work.  Jupiter  in  this  lore  is  still,  even  at  this  end  of 
the  nineteenth  century,  the  terrible  spirit  who  wields  the  thunder- 
bolts and  directs  the  storm  ;  Faflon-Bacchus  laughs  behind  the 
vines  and  plays  tricks  on  the  vintagers,  while  Teramo- Mercury 
aids  merchants,  thieves,  and  messengers,  including  among  the 
latter  those  who  send  letters  by  means  of  carrier-pigeons,  for 
whom  there  is  a  special  invocation.  The  stories  narrated  by 
the  recorders  of  this  very  ancient  mythology  are  every  whit  as 
interesting  or  curious  as  those  told  by  Heine,  and  are  far  more 


THE  GODS  IN  EXILE.  377 

nomerouB.  Thus  in  •  certain  way  the  goda  still  live  in  Toacany, 
even  as  of  yore.  I  propose  to  publish  my  collections  on  this 
subject  with  comments  in  a  work  which  I  provisionally  entitle 
"  Etruscan  and  Roman  Remains  in  Tuscan  Traditions."  The 
resemblance,  or  in  fact  identity,  of  this  subject  with  that  of  the 
present  work  by  Heine  will,  I  sincerely  trust,  prove  a  sufficient 
excuse  for  my  speaking  of  it. — TraTulator. 


,^-  1^1  ■«  Hill  in  ■  0  s»   <ttm»*m 


►■'<♦!♦«  » 


•T*^.  .  'i.  _, .  r-  -^^ 


THE  GODDESS  DIANA. 

A   SUPPLEMENT   TO 

THE  GODS  IN  EXILE. 
1853 


>■■■"■.;■ 


^'    c^V'^-.'-^/'r.  ,.  '■■'::.■ 


—  '^rr 


„,..^  ^fc, 


PREFACE  TO  "THE  GODDESS  DIANA." 


The  following  pantomime  originated  in  the  same 
manner  as  my  choreographic  poem  "Fanst" 
During  a  conversation  with  Mr.  Lumley,  the 
director  of  the  Queen's  Theatre,  London,  he  ex- 
pressed a  desire  that  I  would  suggest  to  him  the 
subjects  for  ballets,  which  would  afford  the  oppor- 
tunity to  make  a  great  display  of  magnificence 
in  decoration  and  costumes,  and  when  I  offhand 
suggested  several,  among  which  was  the  legend 
of  Diana,  the  latter  seemed  to  the  clever  and 
brilliant  impresario  to  be  what  he  wanted,  and  he 
begged  me  to  sketch  a  mise  en  seine  of  the  whole. 
This  was  done  in  the  following  light  outlines,  to 
which  I  devoted  no  further  work,  because  it  was 
subsequently  ascertained  that  it  could  not  be 
used.  I  publish  it  here,  not  to  increase  my  fame, 
but  to  prevent  the  jackdaws  who  from  everywhere 
come  sniffing  after  me  from  dressing  themselves 
up  too  proudly  in  the  peacock's  plumes  of  another. 
The  fable  of  my  pantomime  is  substantially  given 

in  the  first  part  of  the   preceding  work,  from 

381 


382 


PREFACE. 


which  many  a  Maestro  Bartholomew  has  stolen 
many  a  pint  of  new  wine.^  I  also  publish  this 
Diana  legend  here  as  the  fittest  place,  because  it 
directly  closes  and  fits  to  the  cyclus  of  tales  of 
"  The  Gods  in  Exile,"  and  relieves  me  from  the 
necessity  of  making  farther  remarks  in  explana- 
tion of  it 

HEINEICH  HEINK 

Paris,  Maroh  i,  1854. 


*  In  allusion  tu  a  well-known  proverb,  "  Er  weias  wo  Bartel 
den  Moat  holt,"  "  He  knowa  where  Bartel  got  the  new  wine." 
Ai  "  Bartel "  is  the  niokname  for  Bartholomew,  this  saying  is 
explained  by  the  fact  that  about  the  day  of  the  aaint  of  that 
name,  Moit^  or  new  wine,  begins  to  ripen  or  mature.  It  has 
many  applications.  Analogous  to  it  are  the  following:  "He 
knows  whence  the  water  runs  to  the  mill,"  "  He  knows  where 
the  devil  haa  his  nest,"  "He  knows  where  the  cat  got  the 
dough"  (Suabian). — Tyantlator. 


FIRST  TABLEAU. 

A  VERY  ancient  decaying  temple  of  Diana.  The 
ruins  are  still  in  tolerable  preservation,  only  here 
and  there  is  a  column  broken  away.  Through 
a  cleft  in  the  roof  the  crescent  moon  and  some- 
thing of  the  evening  sky  are  perceptible.  To  the 
right  a  forest,  to  the  left  an  altar  with  a  statue 
of  the  goddess  Diana.  Her  nymphs  are  crouch- 
ing here  and  there  on  the  ground  in  careless 
groups,  apparently  rather  vexed  and  ennuy^e. 
Now  and  then  one  of  them  leaps  up,  dances 
a  few  paces,  and  seems  to  be  absorbed  in  joyous 
memories.  Others  join  her  and  execute  ancient 
dances.  At  last  they  all  dance  round  the  statue 
of  Diana  —  half-jestingly,  half-solemnly,  as  if 
rehearsing  for  some  festival  of  the  temple.  They 
light  the  lamps  and  twine  garlands. 

Diana,  dressed  in  the  well-known  huntress 
costume  in  which  she  is  also  represented  in  the 
statue,  suddenly  enters  from  the  wood&  She  seems 
to  be  as  frightened  as  a  flying  fawn,  and  narrates 

to  her  nymphs  how  some  one  has  pursued  her. 

383 


■') 


384  THE  GODDESS  DIANA, 

She  is  in  a  great  excitement  of  distress  or  fear, 
and  yet  not  from  them  alona  She  looks  con- 
tinually at  the  forest,  and  at  last,  seeing  her 
pursuer,  hides  herself  behind  her  own  statue. 

A  young  German  knight  enters.  He  is  seek- 
ing the  goddess.  Her  nymphs  dance  round  him 
in  order  to  distract  his  attention  from  the  statue 
of  their  mistress.  They  caress  or  threaten,  and 
at  last  wrestle  and  struggle  with  him,  while  he 
sportively  defends  himself.  At  last  he  frees 
himself  from  them,  sees  the  statue,  raises  his 
arms  to  it,  throws  himself  at  its  feet,  and  de- 
votes himself  to  her  service  for  ever,  life  and  soul. 
He  sees  on  the  altar  a  knife,  a  sacrificial  cup. 
A  terrible  thought  pierces  him.  He  remembers 
that  the  goddess  once  loved  human  sacrifices,  and 
in  the  intoxication  of  his  passion  he  seizes  the 
knife  and  goblet.  He  is  just  about  to  pour  out 
his  blood  as  a  libation,  the  point  of  the  steel  is 
at  his  heart,  when  the  true  and  living  goddess 
leaps  from  her  hiding-place,  grasps  his  arm, 
.-X  takes  the  knife  from  his  hands,  and  both  look 

deeply  into  one   another's  eyes  during   a  long 
''\  pause   with   mutual   amazement,   thrillingly  en- 

raptured, yearning,  trembling,  death-defying,  full 
of  lova  In  a  2}o.s  de  detix  they  avoid  and  seek 
each  other,  but  always  to  come  together  again, 
to  again  fall  into  each  other's  arms.  At  last  they 
sit  caressingly  together  like  happy  children  on 


THE  GODDESS  DIANA.  385 

the  pedestal  of  the  statne,  while  the  nymphs  dance 
in  chorus  round,  and  manifest  by  their  pantomime 
what  it  seems  the  lovers  are  saying.  For  Diana 
meantime  is  telling  the  knight  that  the  old  gods 
are  not  dead,  but  concealed  in  mountain  caves 
and  ruined  temples,  where  they  make  nocturnal 
visits  to  one  another  and  hold  festivals. 

There  is  suddenly  heard  charming  and  soft 
music,  and  Apollo  and  the  Muses  enter.  He 
plays  them  a  song,  and  his  companions  dance  a 
beautiful,  regularly  marked  circle  around  Diana 
and  the  knight.  The  music  becomes  louder, 
wild  and  exciting  motives  mingle  in  it,  with 
cymbals  and  beat  of  drum,  indicating  the  ap- 
proach of  Bacchus,  who  makes  a  joyous  entrance 
with  his  satyrs  and  bacchanals.  He  rides  on  a 
tame  lion,  accompanied  to  the  right  by  plump 
Silenus  on  an  ass.  There  is  a  wild  and  reckless 
dance  of  this  troop,  who  with  vine-leaves  or 
serpents  in  their  flowing  locks,  or  wearing  golden 
crowns,  swing  and  flourish  their  thyrses,  and 
execute  those  arrogant,  incredible,  in  fact,  im- 
possible postures,^  which  we  see  on  ancient  vases 


^  Heiae  in  the  "  Faust "  may  be  said  to  have  taxed  the 
patience  of  the  stage-manager  and  property-man  beyond  all 
endurance.  Here  he  literally  exacts  the  impossible  from  the 
chorus  girls.  We  are,  however,  assured  on  good  authority  that 
"the  word  'impossible'  is  not  French,"  and  it  is  perhaps  in  this 
French  sense  that  it  is  to  be  understood.  It  may,  however,  be 
VOL.  IL  2  B 


V 


386 


THE  OODDESS  DIANA. 


QT  in  bas-reliefs.  Bacchus  dismounts  to  the 
lovers,  and  invites  them  to  his  joyous  ceremonies. 
They  rise  and  dance  a  pas  de  deux  of  intoxicating 
rapture,  in  which  Apollo  and  Bacchus,  with  all 
their  train,  including  the  nymphs  of  Diana,  join. 


here  observed  that  however  "impossible"  they  seemed  to 
Heine,  there  is  not  a  single  feat  or  attitude,  however  extrava* 
gant,  depicted  on  Etruscan  or  Greek  vases  which  is  not  out* 
done  by  dancing  girls  to-day  in  Egypt — TVamlator. 


SECOND  TABLEAU. 

A  GREAT  hall  in  a  Gothic  castle.  Servants  in 
variegated  gaily-coloured  armorial  snits  are  busy 
with  preparation  for  a  ball.  To  the  left  a  plat- 
form or  estrade,  filled  with  masicians  taning  their 
instruments.  To  the  right  a  high  arm-chair,  on 
which  sits  the  knight,  brooding  and  melancholy. 
By  him  is  his  wife  in  closely-fitting,  chatelaine 
costume,  with  lace  ruff,  and  his  jester  with  fool's- 
cap  and  wooden  sword.  Both  endeavoar  ineffec- 
tually to  cheer  the  knight  by  their  dancing.  The 
chatelaine  expresses  by  a  respectful,  regularly 
measured  step  her  conjugal  tenderness,  and  be- 
comes almost  sentimental ;  the  jester  parodies  this 
to  extravagance,  making  absurdly  wild  jumps. 
The  musicians  play  in  accordance  irregular  and 
distracted  airs.  A  peal  of  trumpets  is  heard 
without,  and  there  enters  a  grand  procession  of 
guests,  knights  and  ladies,  who  are  rather  formal 
and  stiff  figures,  in  the  most  extravagant  style  of 
dress  of  the  Middle  Age — the  men  martially  rough 
and   awkward,  the  women  affected,  moral,  and 

aimpering.     As  they  enter  the  lord  of  the  castle 

387 


388  THE  GODDESS  DIANA. 

rises,  and  there  is  a  mutual  interchange  of  the 
most  ceremonious  bowings  and  courtesies.  The 
knight  and  his  lady  open  the  ball  with  a  majesti- 
cally grave  German  waltz.  The  chancellor  and 
his  secretary  advance  in  black  official  costume, 
their  breasts  covered  with  gold  chains,  bearing 
lighted  wax  candles.  They  dance  the  well-known 
torch-dance,  while  the  jester  jumps  up  into  the 
orchestra,  seizes  the  baton,  and  leads,  beating  time 
sarcastically. 

Trumpet  peals  are  again  heard,  and  a  servant 
announces  that  unknown  masqueraders  desire  to 
be  admitted.  The  knight  makes  a  sign  of  assent, 
the  doors  in  the  fiat  open,  and  there  enter  three 
processions  of  disguised  persons,  among  whom  are 
several  who  bear  musical  instrumenta  The  leader 
of  the  first  train  plays  on  a  lyre.  These  tones 
seem  to  awaken  strange  and  sweet  memories  in 
the  knight,  and  all  the  bystanders  listen  amazed. 
While  this  first  leader  plays  the  lyre,  his  troop 
dance  gaily  round.  From  the  second  band  come 
several  with  cymbals  and  tambourinea  At  the 
sound  of  this  music  the  wildest  feelings  of  delight 
seem  to  inspire  the  knight ;  he  snatches  a  tam- 
bourine from  one  of  the  masks,  and  while  playing 
on  it  dances,  adding  thus  to  the  mad  and  merry 
crowd.  In  the  same  wild  manner  do  the  personat 
of  the  second  train,  who  hold  thyrses  in  their 
hands,  dance  and  leap  about  him.     A  still  greater 


THE  GODDESS  DIANA.     '  389 

astonishment  seizes  the  knight  and  the  ladies,  and 
the  lady  of  the  castle  can  hardly  contain  herself  for 
modest  amazement.  Only  the  jester,  who  comes 
leaping  from  the  orchestra,  seems  to  most  perfectly 
and  delightedly  seize  the  spirit  of  such  merriment, 
and  dances  with  lascivious  capers.  But  suddenly 
the  masked  person  who  leads  the  third  procession 
advances  to  the  knight  and  imperiously  com- 
mands him  to  follow  her.  The  lady  of  the  castle 
seems  to  be  deeply  disturbed  or  shocked  at  this 
mask,  and  advancing  to  the  latter  seems  to  ask 
her  who  she  may  be.  The  latter  throws  away  her 
mask  and  cloak,  and  appears  as  Diana  in  her 
hunting  dress.  The  others  also  now  cast  away 
their  disguises ;  they  are  Apollo  and  the  Muses, 
who  form  the  first  array,  the  second  is  made  by 
Bacchus  and  his  company,  the  third  is  of  Diana 
and  her  nymphs.  At  the  sight  of  the  goddess 
revealed,  the  knight  throws  himself  at  her  feet, 
seeming  to  implore  her  not  to  forsake  him.  The 
jester  does  the  same,  as  if  entreating  her  to  take 
him  away  too.  Diana  commands  silence,  dances 
her  divinest  and  noblest  step,  and  makes  the 
knight  understand  by  signs  that  she  is  going  to 
the  Venusberg,  where  he  will  subsequently  find 
her.  The  chatelaine  gives  vent  to  her  anger  in 
the  wildest  leaps,  and  we  see  a  pas  de  deux  in 
which  Greek  and  heathen  divine  joyousness  dances 
a  duel  with  German  spiritual  domestic  virtue. 


390 


THE  OODDESS  DIANA. 


Diana,  weary  of  sach  competition,  casts  con- 
temptuous glances  at  the  whole  assembly,  and 
departs  with  her  companions  through  the  centre 
door.  The  knight  in  desperation  will  follow  her, 
but  is  held  back  by  his  lady,  her  maids,  and  all 
the  servants.  Without  the  wild  Bacchantic  music 
is  heard,  while  in  the  hall  the  formal  and  stately 
torch-dance  still  goes  on.  I 


THIRD  TABLEAU. 

A  WILD  monntain  region.  To  the  right,  fantastic 
groups  of  trees  and  part  of  a  lake.  To  the  left, 
a  projecting  steep  cliff  in  which  a  large  door  is 
seen.  The  knight  wanders  aboat  distractedly, 
seeming  to  invoke  heaven  and  earth  and  all 
nature  to  restore  him  his  love.  Undines  rise  from 
the  lake  and  dance  round  him  in  a  solemn 
but  seductive  manner.  They  wear  long  veils, 
and  are  adorned  with  pearls  and  coral.  They 
wish  to  entice  the  knight  into  their  watery 
realm,  but  the  sylphs  or  spirits  of  air  sweep 
downwards  from  the  foliage  of  the  trees  and 
restrain  him  with  joyous  wanton  will.  The 
Undines  leaving  him,  sink  in  the  lake. 

The  sylphs  are  clad  in  clear  light  colours, 
and  wear  green  garlands  on  their  heads.  They 
dance  lightly  and  gaily  round  the  knight.  They 
rally  him,  console  him,  and  would  bear  him 
away  to  the  realm  of  air,  when  the  ground 
opens  before  him,  and  there  come  storming 
forth  the  subterranean  sprites,  or  little  gnomes, 
with  long  white  beards  and  short  swords  in  their 

39» 


392  THE  GODDESS  DIANA. 

small  hand&  They  hew  at  the  sylphs,  who  fly 
away  like  frightened  birds.  A  few  of  them 
flutter  up  into  the  trees,  where  they  rock  on 
the  branches,  and  before  they  take  their  flight 
into  the  air  mock  the  gnomes,  who  threaten  them 
with  fierce  gestures.  1 

The  gnomes  dance  about  the  knight,  seeming 
to  exhort  him  to  courage,  and  to  wish  to  inspire 
in  him  their  own  ill-tempered  daring.  They 
show  him  how  a  man  should  fight,  and  form  a 
sword-dance,  acting  arrogantly,  like  conquerors 
of  the  world,  when  all  at  once  appear  the 
salamanders,  and  at  the  mere  sight  of  these  the 
gnomes  creep  back  rapidly,  and  in  abject  terror 
sink  into  the  earth.  1 

The  salamanders  are  slender  and  tall  men 
and  women,  in  closely-fitting  garments,  fiery  red. 
They  all  bear  large  crowns  of  gold,  with  sceptres 
and  emblems  of  royalty  in  their  hands.  They 
dance  round  the  knight  with  glowing  passion, 
they  ofier  him  also  a  crown  and  a  sceptre,  and  he 
is  whirled  away  with  them  into  the  flaming  air, 
which  would  have  consumed  him,  when  all  at 
once  the  sound  of  hunting-horns  is  heard,  and 
the  Wild  Hunt  is  seen  in  the  background.  The 
knight  tears  himself  away  from  the  spirits  of 
fire,  who  flash  forth  a  fire  as  of  rockets  and 
vanish ;  the  knight,  freed  from  them,  extends  his 
arms  to  the  lady  leader  of  the  "Wild  Hunt. 


THE  GODDESS  DIANA.  393 

This  is  Diana.  She  sits  on  a  snow-white  horse, 
and  beckons  to  the  knight  with  joyous  greeting. 
Behind  her  ride — also  on  white  horses — her 
nymphs,  as  well  as  all  the  host  of  divinities  who 
previously  appeared  in  the  ancient  temple;  or 
Apollo  with  the  Muses,  and  Bacchus  with  his 
jovial  crew.  The  rear-guard  on  winged  horses 
consists  of  the  great  poets  of  antiquity  and  of 
the  Middle  Age,  as  well  as  beautiful  women  of 
the  latter  period.  Winding  their  way  about  the 
summits  of  the  hills,  the  train  at  last  advances 
to  the  front,  and  enters  the  open  gate  to  the 
left. 

Diana,  however,  dismounting  from  her  horse, 
remains  by  the  knight,  who  is  intoxicated  with 
happiness.  The  two  manifest  their  joy  at  meeting 
again  by  enraptured  dances.  Diana  shows  the 
knight  the  portal  in  the  cliff,  and  explains  to  him 
that  this  is  the  entrance  to  the  Venusberg,  the 
home  of  all  pleasure  and  delight.  She  will  lead 
him  in  as  in  triumph,  when  all  at  once  there 
advances  towards  him  an  old  white-bearded  warrior 
in  harness  from  head  to  foot,  who  holds  the  knight 
back,  warning  him  against  the  danger  which  his 
soul  will  incur  in  the  heathen  Venusberg.  But 
as  the  knight  pays  no  attention  to  the  well-meant 
remonstrances,  the  grey  warrior,  who  is  called 
the  trusty  Eckhart,  draws  his  sword  and  chal- 
lenges the  latter  to  duel.     The  knight  accepts, 


^ 


394 


THE  GODDESS  DIANA. 


and  bids  Diana  not  to  interfere,  bnt  he  is  slain 
at  the  first  passage  of  arms.  The  tmsty  Eck- 
hart  totters  away  clumsily,  probably  rejoicing 
that  he  has  at  least  saved  the  sonl  of  the  knight. 
Diana,  despairing  and  disconsolate,  wails  over  the 
corpse. 


FOURTH  TABLEAU. 

The  Venusberg,  a  Bubterranean  palace,  the 
architecture  and  ornament  of  which  are  in  the 
Renaissance  style,  bnt  more  fantastic,  and  recall- 
ing an  Arab  fairy-tale.  Corinthian  pillars,  whose 
capitals  change  into  flowers,  forming  leafy  pas- 
sages, and  exotic  flowers  in  tall  marble  vases,  which 
are  adorned  with  antique  bas-reliefs.  On  the 
walls  are  pictures  representing  the  loves  of  Venus. 
Golden  candelabras  and  hanging  lamps  spread  a 
magic  light,  and  everything  has  a  character  of 
enchanted  luxury.  Here  and  there  are  groups  of 
people,  who  lounge  lazily  on  the  ground  or  play 
at  chess,  while  others  play  at  ball,  or  practise  with 
arms  in  mock-combats.  Knights  and  ladies  stroll 
together  in  couples,  talking  of  love.  Their  costumes 
are  of  the  most  diflerent  epochs,  for  they  are  the 
celebrated  men  and  women  of  the  antique  and 
mediasval  world  whom  popular  tradition  has  placed 
in  the  Venusberg,  either  from  their  reputation 
for  sensual  pleasure,  or  romance.  Thus  among 
the  ladies  we  see  the  beautiful  Helen  of  Sparta, 
the   Queen  of  Sheba,  Cleopatra,  Herodias,  and, 

395 


396 


THE  GODDESS  DIANA. 


strangely  enough,  Judith,  the  slayer  of  the  noble 
Holofemes — also  many  heroines  of  Breton  lays. 
Among  the  men  we  see  prominent  Alexander 
of  Macedon,  the  poet  Ovid,  Julius  Caesar,  Dietrich 
of  Bern  (Verona),  King  Arthur,  Ogier  the  Dane, 
Amadis  of  Gaul,  Friedrich  II.,  Von  Hohenstaufen, 
Klingsohr  of  Hungary,  Gottfried  of  Strasburg, 
and  Wolfgang  Goethe.*  They  all  wear  the 
costume  of  their  age  and  rank,  nor  are  there 
wanting  ecclesiastical  decorations  which  indicate 
men  holding  the  highest  ofl&ces  of  the  Church. 

The  music  expresses  the  sweetest  dolce  far 
niente,  but  it  suddenly  changes  to  a  voluptuous 
burst  of  joy.  Venus  appears  with  her  cavaliere 
servente,  the  Tannhauser.  These  two,  very  slightly 
clad,  with  rose-wreaths  on  their  heads,  dance  a 
very  lascivious  pas  de  deux,  which  almost  suggests 
the  forbidden  dances  of  the  present  day.  They 
seem  to  quarrel  while  dancing,  to  jeer,  to  sneer, 
to  turn  their  backs  in  mockery  of  each  other,  and 
suddenly  to  be  reconciled  by  an  imperishable 
love,  which  is  by  no  means,  however,  based  on 
mutual  respect.  Others  join  the  dance  in  a 
similar  reckless  manner,  and  there  are  most 
extravagant  quadrilles. 

This  wild  merriment  is,  however,  suddenly  inter- 


'  To  which  a  grateful  posterity  should  now,  in  all  conscience, 
add  the  name  of  Heinrich  Hein«. — Translator. 


THE  GODDESS  DIANA.  397 

mpted.  A  piercing  music  as  of  lamentation  is 
heard.  The  goddess  Diana  rushes  in  with  flying 
hair,  making  gestures  of  agony,  while  behind 
come  her  nymphs  bearing  the  body  of  the  knight, 
which  is  placed  in  the  centre,  while  the  goddess 
places  with  loving  care  a  silken  cushion  beneath 
its  head.  Diana  dances  in  extreme  despair,  with 
every  indication  of  tragic  passion,  without  any 
indication  of  gallantry  or  caprice.  She  invokes 
her  friend  Venus  to  raise  the  knight  from  death. 
But  the  latter  indicates  her  inability  to  do  so 
by  shrugging  her  shoulders.  Diana  casts  herself 
madly  on  the  body,  and  bedews  with  tears  and 
covers  with  kisses  his  stiff  cold  hands  and  feet. 

The  music  changes,  as  if  announcing  peace, 
and  a  happy  harmonious  end.  Apollo  appears 
with  the  Muses  to  the  lefb.  The  music  changes 
again  to  exulting  joy,  and  to  the  right  appears 
Bacchus  with  his  crew  of  revellers.  Apollo  tunes 
his  lyre,  and  while  playing  dances  with  the 
Muses  around  the  dead  knight.  At  hearing  the 
sound,  the  latter  awakens  as  if  from  a  heavy 
sleep,  rubs  his  eyes,  gazes  about  him  as  if  amazed, 
but  relapses  into  his  death-like  insensibility. 
Bacchus  now  seizes  a  tambourine,  and,  surrounded 
by  his  maddest  Bacchantae,  dances  round  the 
knight.  A  mighty  inspiration  seems  to  possess 
the  lord  of  life  and  joy,  he  almost  bursts  the 
tambourine.      These  melodies  again   arouse  the 


398  THE  GODDESS  DIANA.  I     ' 

knight  from  the  cold  sleep  of  death,  and  he 
raises  himself  to  a  sitting  position,  slowly,  how- 
ever, and  with  yearning,  opened  mouth.  Bacchns 
takes  a  cup  filled  with  wine  by  one  of  the  Sileni 
and  pours  some  into  the  knight's  mouth.  The 
latter  has  hardly  swallowed  the  draught  before 
he  leaps  up,  as  if  new-born,  from  the  ground, 
shakes  his  limbs,  and  begins  a  reckless  and  in- 
toxicated dance.  The  goddess  Diana  is  also  once 
more  joyous  and  happy ;  she  snatches  a  thyrsus 
from  the  hands  of  a  Bacchante,  and  joins  in  the 
rejoicing  and  wild  ecstasy  of  the  knight.  The 
whole  assembly  share  in  the  happiness  of  the 
lovers,  and  celebrate  in  continued  quadrilles  his 
revival  from  death.  Both  Diana  and  the  knight 
kneel  at  last  at  the  feet  of  Lady  Venus,  who 
places  her  own  wreath  of  roses  on  the  head  of 
Diana,  and  that  of  Tannhauser  on  the  head  of 
the  knight.     Magnificent  transfiguration.^        , 


^  As  Heine  plftces  this  pantomime  of  Diana  after  the  "  Gods 
in  Exile,"  and  expressly  declares  that  it  is  connected  with,  or 
forms  part  of  that  work,  it  may  not  be  uncalled  for  to  mention 
that  the  tradition  of  Diana  as  an  existent  being  was  very 
generally  and  commonly  sustained  in  Italy  during  the  Middle 
Age,  and  that,  as  I  have  abundant  proof,  there  are  many  now 
living  who  believe  in  the  existence  of  iritches,  of  whom  she  is 
the  acknowledged  queen.  Grillandos,  Pipemus,  and  in  fact 
almost  all  the  writers  on  witchcraft  of  the  sixteenth  centuries, 
basing  their  statements  partly  on  the  confession  of  innumerable 
witches,  and  partly  on  old  chronicles,  inform  us  that  all  these 


THE  GODDESS  DIANA. 

latter  declared  that  they  meet  at  the  Sabbath  to  worship,  not 
the  devil,  but  Diana  and  Herodias — a  coupling  of  names  which 
amused  and  puzzled  Horst,  to  whom,  by  the  way,  Heine  was 
deeply  indebted,  and  to  whom  he  makes  scant  acknowledg- 
ment, Horst  having  been  truly  the  first  to  treat  such  folk-lore 
in  a  genial  and  singularly  liberal  style,  based  on  vast  erudition. 
Horst  was  not  aware  that  the  Herodias  in  question  was  vastly 
older  than  the  danseuse  of  the  New  Testament,  having  been  an 
ancient  Shemitic  duplicate  of  Lilith,  who  in  turn,  as  queen  of  all 
sorcery,  was  a  counterpart,  or  the  same  with  the  true  Diana, 
the  sovereign  of  the  night — the  cat-queen,  who  drove  the  starry 
mice,  the  Hecate  ancestress  of  the  German  Hecse — Hexe — or 
witches.  Diana  was  in  fact  specially  adored  by  all  sorceresses — 
in  Egypt  as  Bubastis,  in  Italy  by  her  own  name — as  their 
mistress  and  ruler,  and  is  well  known  as  such  to  this  day, 
as  I  have  learned  not  only  from  books  but  from  a  fortune-teller 
in  Florence,  who  had  learned  it  as  a  peasant  girl  in  the  country. 
The  colleague  of  Diana,  or  rather  her  identity,  Herodias,  bor- 
rowed, however,  as  goddess  of  dancing,  a  great  deal  from  the 
lady  of  the  New  Testament,  but  did  not  btgin  with  her. 

It  happened  one  day  that  the  fortune-teller  gave  me  an 
old  recipe  with  which  I  had  been  familiar  from  boyhood,  "  for 
making  the  tree  of  Diana,  la  magia  deUe  strege  "  (the  magic 
mistress  of  the  witches).  It  had  been  preserved  as  a  rare  secret 
of  sorcery  among  the  initiated  or  adepti,  on  account  of  the 
name  of  Diana.  It  is  a  secret  which  may  be  found  in  "  The 
Boy's  Own  Book,"  and  it  derives  its  name  from  the  silver  which 
with  nitric  acid  enter  into  its  composition.  But  anything  which 
bears  the  very  name  of  Diana  has  to  this  day  a  strange,  unholy, 
delightful  fascination  for  those  in  Tuscany  who  tread  the  dark- 
some paths  of  divination  and  sorcery. — Trcmdator. 


Printed  by  Ballanttne,  Hanson  &*  Co. 
Edinburgh  iSr*  London 


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